IMPASSE

A Picard/Crusher Story

vanhunks

Series: TNG

Disclaimer: Paramount is Chief.

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Jean-Luc and Beverly reach an impasse in their lives.

***

IMPASSE

PART ONE

In the late afternoon the last rays of the sun tried valiantly to dispel the shadows that lurked in the room. It was a vain attempt as the inevitable dusk hovered outside and amplified the air of gloom that hanged inside. Even the cover that fell in folds down the sides of the bed moved in melancholy cadence as the slight breeze from the open window gave it an imperceptible push.

It was quiet, a time of day when events saw a winding down to a more restful pace, when nerves were less frayed and people could look forward to an evening of quietude, when they could let the harshness and strife of the day's work seep from their bodies.

The gardens with their gently sloping inclines and beds of flowers and plants, the rockeries and ponds, lay waiting for the first of the evening strollers to enjoy the last light of day. They could inhale the fragrance of hundreds of varieties of flowers, even brave Boothby's ire and pick a rose for their loved ones. They could walk to the ponds, look at the ducks with their ducklings not far behind as they bobbed on the water, or they could sit under the great oaks and elms on the dappled carpet of grass. It was a solitude that was generous in its bounty, and which touched those who came to the grounds of the hospital to embrace it.

In the room the silence touched everything. The figure on the high bed appeared to lie very still. Her bosom rose and fell as she breathed evenly. Her eyes were closed but she was not sleeping. The eyelids twitched as though an unpleasant thought touched her. From time to time her hands which rested on top of the cover, clenched, then relaxed again. She was not at rest. Her breathing at times caught in a low sob, then she would lie still again, hardly alive.

The monitors at the side of the bed flashed data noiselessly, strings of information that allayed fears or generated feelings of disquiet. Numerous cryptic figures and diagrams were assimilated, mulled over, accepted, discarded, repeated in an effort to reach a diagnosis, afford the comfort of a prognosis that would be regarded by the practitioners as a breakthrough in the recovery of the patient. Or not.

On the table beside the bed was a vase filled with flowers, their fragrance filling all the corners of the room with a boldness designed only to encourage the healing of the spirit.

Beverly Crusher, Starfleet doctor, one time Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise, one time Head of Starfleet Medical, took little notice of the things in the room. Her fingers clenched and unclenched as if she were still experiencing the excruciating pain that seared her body in the last two days. The pain had eaten ferociously into her, causing her body to lift from the bed as it arched against the flames. Drenched in sweat, she had fallen back against the bed exhausted and panting, her breathing raw as her lungs expelled the air from her body, only to be lifted again with the next wave of pain. Sometime through the haze of pain she knew Jean-Luc had held her hand. She felt his cool hand on her brow. She heard his cries... No, she thought, perhaps they were her own cries that filled the air.

Now the pain was gone at last. She lay with her eyes closed, her eyelids still heavy and reluctant to open. It was easier just to keep them closed. She didn’t want to see the monitors that told her the story of the last two days. She was too tired to turn her face to the window where she could see the sprawling green lawns of the gardens, or the long shadows and fine beams of sunlight of the setting sun. She knew the sky was painted red as the sun set; she could even imagine the heat of it on her skin.

She didn’t want to look. How ironic. She faced her pain yesterday and today she couldn't face the dying of the day.

It didn’t matter anymore.

Nothing mattered. She felt empty, devoid of feeling.

She heard the door of the ward open, but didn’t look to see who entered. The soft footfall of flat pumps on the smooth floor came closer until it stopped. Beverly’s nose twitched as the scent of perfume wafted towards her.

*

Elizabeth Paris looked at the still figure of Beverly Crusher. She had come here with her heart heavy, and she sighed. The patient hadn’t opened her eyes, although Dr Paris knew she was awake. Beverly had lain like this most of the day, and even Kate Pulaski could do little to draw Beverly out of this apathy she had sunk in.

"Dr. Crusher..."

Elizabeth’s voice was soft, as soft as the hand that touched that of the sick woman. A whisper of a touch, really. Beverly’s hand stiffened very slightly, though that didn't deter the doctor. Elizabeth took in the paleness of Beverly’s features, the red hair that was still matted to her skin. She noted the dry lips, the white line of strain around the mouth.

Her skin is almost translucent, Elizabeth thought as her fingers clasped Beverly’s hand. She gave a gentle squeeze and said again:

"Beverly..."

Elizabeth’s heart bled for this woman, but she was a doctor and she could see, even with Beverly’s eyes closed, how near to hysteria Beverly was. She needed to be calm, to rest, but she was retarding her own recovery.

"Open your eyes, my dear. I know you are awake," Elizabeth chided gently.

Elizabeth saw Beverly’s lips move. Her heart lifted. At least she was getting a reaction from the younger woman. It was one step forward. Last night she shrank from all communication and lay in an apathetic state that had made it impossible for them to work with her. Jean-Luc had given a distraught look, nodded to them and left at long last. He had been unable to pull himself away from his wife's side, but she had been so still that she looked almost comatose.

"I know the truth," the words came from the patient.

"Yes..."

"Then there is nothing, is there? To live for?"

"There is everything, Dr Crusher. That is what you’ve always told your patients, isn’t it?"

Beverly opened her eyes slowly and stared directly at Elizabeth. The Doctor felt heartened. A second reaction. This morning they could get nothing, and Jean-Luc Picard had left the ward again, a deeply disturbed and pained man. Now at least, Beverly took another step. "That’s better," Elizabeth said, a smile on her face as Beverly kept her eyes on the doctor.

"I... have not been a good patient, have I?" Beverly said, her mouth tightening as she tried to control the trembling of her lips.

"You’ve suffered severe trauma, Dr Crusher. In the circumstances – "

"Dr. Paris, those monitors don’t lie. They stared at me and taunted me with the truth. And then..." she paused, but forced herself to continue as her eyes reddened with tears she didn’t want to shed, "the pain. That was real...real..."

"Doctor Crusher, you know we could have – "

Beverly stirred at last from the bed and raised herself, propping herself on her elbow. She was still feverish and her eyes burned as she addressed Elizabeth Paris.

"Pain," she said slowly, "is a reminder…a constant guard policing the reality of what I had to go through. I wanted it so that I didn’t have to wonder forever afterwards whether what I went through was real, or a figment of my imagination. I would always have wondered, do you understand that?"

Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears. She nodded, unable to speak. Beverly fell back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Elizabeth could see how Beverly struggled She leaned forward and smoothed Beverly's hair from her face. One hand came up and caught the doctor's hand as it rested against Beverly's cheek.

"Prognosis, Dr. Paris?" Beverly asked softly, her other hand gripping the cover as she tensed for the doctor’s verdict.

Elizabeth sighed. Beverly would want the truth. Nothing less. Unvarnished. No smoothing or coating to anything that might engender false hope.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Crusher..." Elizabeth Paris whispered.

The hand that held the doctor's fell away to her side. The knuckles against the cover turned white, then the hands slowly relaxed their grip. Beverly looked at the doctor with bleak eyes. She was quiet a long time, a time in which Elizabeth respectfully waited until Beverly spoke again.

"No more...babies...?"

A sigh came from the older woman.

"No more. You are unable to have any more children, Beverly."

"This...this one," Beverly said as she placed her hand against her stomach, "was going to be a boy..."

"I know, Beverly," Elizabeth said kindly as she took Beverly’s right hand and held it in hers.

"We were going to call him Rene...for his nephew who died..."

"I am sorry..."

"The one before that was going to be a girl, did you know?"

"You told me that, Beverly," Elizabeth replied. She knew Beverly’s medical history but she encouraged Beverly to talk. At least she was feeling something, something that negated that dead look in her eyes.

"Jean-Luc wanted a boy very badly," Beverly said softly as she closed her eyes again and turned her face away from Elizabeth.

"He understands..."

"No...I am...empty..."

There was a slight pause. A soft knock on the door made Beverly swing back to face Elizabeth again. There was a look of pain in her eyes. Pain and fear.

"Jean-Luc..." she whispered.

"Yes. He’s right on time."

"Please, I don’t – " Beverly said, her hand outstretched towards Elizabeth in a gesture of pleading. But the door opened even as Elizabeth walked in that direction.

*

Jean-Luc Picard didn’t move from the door. He stood there, greeted Elizabeth Paris briefly, then his eyes went immediately to the bed.

"She needs you," Elizabeth whispered so that only he could hear. He nodded curtly.

Jean-Luc heard the door close behind him, then he turned to look at Beverly again. He hovered just inside the door, as if he waited on her signal to come forward.

"Beverly."

His voice sounded hoarse, it trembled. He felt a thickness in his throat and the lump caused his eyes to well with tears.

"Beverly," he whispered again.

Another pause. Then her words drifted to him.

"It is over, Jean-Luc."

**

END PART ONE

IMPASSE

PART TWO

It was with a heavy heart, a heart filled with dread that Jean-Luc Picard made his way through the corridors of the hospital at Headquarters to the ward where Beverly lay. It didn’t matter that the day had been at its most beautiful, or that the doctors had given him the kind of assurances that were designed mainly to comfort, console, offer solace, whatever. It didn’t matter that he could never have the privilege of holding a newborn infant in his arms, a child that he could call his own.

Beverly mattered.

The sun bid the day farewell - a time of day he always found to be truly remarkable as the thin streaks of clouds glimmered red against the blue sky. The beauty of his surroundings as he had made his way across the lawns registered only on the perimeter of his conscious as thoughts of Beverly crowded his mind. He didn’t notice the people who had started to take their daily stroll in the gardens, nor heard the sound of the ducks as they encouraged their off-spring to follow them. None of the fragrances of the freshly trimmed green lawns and beddings of flowers managed to penetrate the deep slough into which he had been damned, a pressing darkness that he knew had to lift soon if he were to cheer his wife and pull her out of the depression she had sunk in.

Cheer her up? How could he? How could he when he himself felt like dying?

The last two days had seen him ruthlessly wrenched between joy and pain, but mostly pain and despair as he watched his wife lose their baby. He had held her hand in his, wiped her sweat-drenched brow, soothed and cried when she screamed as the pain overpowered her. He had never seen Beverly like this. Never. The strong Starfleet doctor who could offer balm to anyone's pain, was unable to control her own as she fought for her life. He had wanted the doctors to sedate her...

She knew she was expelling her baby, tried in almighty desperation to prevent it from happening, tried to keep Rene inside her. Yet the truth was before her. It was in her conscious, her heart, her valiant heart that didn’t want to let go, but was impelled by the already dying fetus to accept the inevitable.

Jean-Luc gave a little sob as he entered the last corridor on the third level of the hospital.

Yesterday had been... devastating.

"Jean-Luc," she panted between bouts of painful contractions, "I want our baby..."

Beverly’s eyes had been pleading, large pools that shone with tears as her hand clamped convulsively around his. Then she would cry again:

"The pain..."

He had looked at Kate Pulaski and Dr. Paris, a desperate look in his eyes that beseeched them to relieve the pain Beverly was experiencing. Kate had wanted to, while Dr. Paris shook her head. But it was Beverly herself who gasped:

"Then I know it’s real...it's real, Jean-Luc."

"It’s too much for you, Beverly, please," he pleaded with her, again looking at Kate, then watched in renewed alarm as Beverly arched from the bed and fell back exhausted from another searing contraction.

"No...no sedatives, I want nothing..." she had panted.

Then he would hold her, smooth the damp hair that clung to her away from her face while Kate and Elizabeth Paris prepared for the final hour. Their eyes were on the monitors and the collection of data that spelled nothing but doom, and his eyes were on his wife, whom he could see was settling into the alarming melancholy that increased a hundred-fold by the time Beverly had been washed and cleaned and prepared for the night.

At twenty weeks, in the second trimester of her pregnancy, their baby had given up and slid quietly from its mother’s body.

Beverly had given one last cry of agony and it was over.

Then she hurled herself into his arms and cried, dry sobs that for a few moments wracked her already weakened body. When she stopped, there was a bleakness, a pained acceptance in her eyes. She had become quiet, and made no sound again after that.

That was yesterday, in the late afternoon. By last night, Beverly had been dry-eyed, eyes that were hollow, dead. None of the hope that flared so brightly in the last few months was there.

If he wanted a miracle, he would have wanted Beverly to say:

"At least, Jean-Luc, I am alive, isn’t it?"

If he believed in angels, he would have wanted them to lift her high and fill her with hope again.

Yes, he thought. Beverly mattered to him. She almost died this time. His heart contracted at the thought. Almost, Beverly had died, along with her rejected fetus. The first time her miscarriage had been so sudden, so unexpected, yet Beverly had remained hopeful, especially when Julian Bashir informed them that there was no reason they couldn’t try again.

He sighed. He wanted a baby. A living, breathing legacy to future Picard generations. He was human enough to admit to a feeling of selfishness in that. He made no apology for those yearnings, and Beverly was as excited as he had been the first time when they knew they were going to have a baby girl. He had been silly, already strutting around with an imaginary cigar in his mouth.

How soon that hope died, and how brilliantly it flared again when they were blessed a second time.

Neither of them had foreseen this. Not even Beverly, a medical wonder woman, could foresee what happened to them now. Her body had just inexplicably weakened, and while her age had been a factor, it was never an impossibility. Many women her age were still giving birth. Now, all thoughts of legacies and selfish need to perpetuate the Picard line fled as Beverly fought for her life and he had feared that she too, might die. He wanted her to live, to complete him and be a blessing in his life.

But last night when he had seen her... That look in her eyes, that look of utter sorrow he could just not dispel from his memory. It haunted him and worried him deeply.

Then came the next blow.

Dr. Paris had taken him outside the ward to speak with him.

"Captain Picard, I’m afraid I don’t have good news," she started as they stood in the corridor, about ten metres from Beverly’s room.

"Doctor, my wife...all I want is for her to be healthy...I care nothing..." he replied, knowing in his heart that he did care, he cared and was shattered and hurt as much as Beverly that they lost their baby boy. But he wanted Beverly to be well. He wanted to show he was strong, he had to bank down his own disappointment that their baby died and support her in this trying time. Beverly needed him, and he needed to be there in her period of grieving.

He thought of the moment the dead baby had been put in her arms.

She had been allowed to hold the tiny, tiny fetus swathed in a small receiver. It was as much as they could do for her to say goodbye. For long moments she rested her fingers against the body of the baby, her tears dripping hotly on the soft covering it was wrapped in. Then she handed it over to the nurse who had hovered in the background and who stepped forward when Beverly was ready.

"She will be healthy and strong again, Captain Picard," Dr Paris had said. "She will recover to full strength very soon."

"But...?"

Dr Paris pushed a strand of her grey hair behind the ear, her light brown eyes never wavering from him. She gave a soft sigh, then touched his arm.

"She may never have another child, Captain..."

Jean-Luc paled, his lips a thin line as they pressed together. He closed his eyes briefly, and felt a buzzing sound in his ears that became louder and pushed all thought away except what he just heard.

Never?

He felt the blood rush to his face then, knew that he wanted to burst into tears with the same sense of bereavement he experienced when he learned of his brother and nephew’s deaths.

"N-Never?" he stammered.

Elizabeth’s voice was soft, but calm, and he knew that it was good. It pulled him back to the reality – someone needed to be calm.

"Her health will be seriously compromised, Captain," Elizabeth stated quietly, "and..." she continued, "she will not ovulate again..."

"Never?" he asked again, needing that fact confirmed loudly, a verbal attestation of their childless fate.

"I’m sorry, Captain Picard. Even if she had been able to, she would die, as she almost did yesterday..."

He nodded. Comprehension at her words sank in; he was too shocked, too distraught at the what the knowledge might mean to Beverly.

Beverly...

"My wife, you have informed her?" he asked, a note of urgency in his voice.

Again Elizabeth sighed.

Beverly Picard had been sedated only after the trauma of the miscarriage.

"No..." she whispered, then said quickly again, "but she will be informed, Captain. I think, however, that she senses."

Jean-Luc nodded again. Beverly was a doctor, and she was aware of those possibilities.

That was yesterday. Last night she refused to speak to anyone, had been totally unresponsive and he left, worried at her state of apathy. And early this morning, the few minutes that she had been awake, she just stared at the ceiling, then slowly turned to him when he spoke, her eyes bleak. Then she slowly closed her eyes again and slept.

Now he was about to knock on her door. He knew that Dr. Paris was with Beverly at this moment.

His knocked softly, and heard Elizabeth’s voice. The door opened and he stood just inside the door and waited for Elizabeth to pass him.

"She needs you," Elizabeth whispered before she exited the ward.

Then he was alone with Beverly.

*****

"It is over, Jean-Luc," her words drifted to him. In a swift move he was at her side, pulling the chair out at the same time. He sat down on the chair and cupped her small hand in his. Her hand felt a little cold, listless, limp. There was no answering squeeze, no reaction except the monotone of her voice.

"Beverly," he croaked again when she closed her eyes. Her lips moved.

"Over..."

"No, Beverly, " he said quietly, feeling the dread settle in him again.

Something was happening. Something deeper than what he imagined, something more cataclysmic than the already traumatic loss of their son. He touched her brow and it felt clammy, warm as though she were still feverish.

"Beverly? What's wrong?" he asked, then: "Look at me, please. Tell me what's the matter."

She remained like that for long minutes, minutes in which Jean-Luc's hand trembled as it rested on hers. Then she looked at him at long last, her eyes filled with pain.

"I can't fulfil your desire, Jean-Luc," she said, her voice strangely calm despite the pain in her eyes that moments ago had been bleak.

"What are you saying - ?"

"I can never give you what you want, Jean-Luc. Never..."

He knew that she knew. He died a little inside when she raised her hand to his lips and gently caressed them with her fingers. It was a gesture filled with so much sadness, so much bleakness and so much pain that he closed his own eyes and felt the tears burning behind his eyelids.

"You have given me the most important thing, Beverly," he pledged hoarsely as his hand came up and covered hers. "The most important," he repeated.

"Not a child..."

"I want you, Beverly..."

"No child..."

"You are all that is left for me, all that I want, my love. I am grateful, I thank God that you are alive."

"No child, Jean-Luc, who will run in your vineyards and hide there like Rene used to..."

"You are alive, Beverly, my love. Alive, do you hear me?" he said in desperation as he realised she was drifting from him, withdrawing again. "Don't leave..."

"I am empty...always..."

"I am here. It is not the end, Beverly. Not the end. Please..."

"Let me go, Jean-Luc, I am no good to you now..."

"You are grieving, Beverly. I am here, at your side, forever as I promised before God I'll be for you. Always."

"You are a good man, Jean-Luc," she said, her words a soft flutter as her eyes started drooping.

"I love you."

"Yes... but always you will think of - of what we lost. I am sorry, so sorry..."

"Let me take you home, Beverly."

"Let me go, my love," she said again as she opened her eyes and saw the tears in his.

"I'll not let you go, Beverly," Jean-Luc said with quiet determination. "My whole life I have waited for you, watched you fall in love, marry, have a son and I... I stood and watched and bled and remained your friend while my heart broke into pieces."

"Let me - "

"I swear to God, Beverly, I'll never let you be alone again..."

*********

END PART TWO

IMPASSE

PART THREE

Kate Pulaski studied the PADD she held in her hand, frowning a little and then settled into a pensive mood as she put the PADD down. Elbows propped on her desk she assumed a posture of deep thought as she rested her chin on her hands. She thought of Beverly Picard and Jean-Luc. The results of tests run over and over on Beverly Picard were conclusive: she was to have no more children. Elizabeth Paris had informed Beverly and Beverly, Kate knew, sensed that even before she had been told of her fate.

Kate sighed. Beverly had a son once, the product of a union with Jack Crusher; but Wesley was a young man, and was no longer there. Knowing Beverly, and understanding that in second marriages women were sometimes obsessed with blessing their second union with a child too, Beverly had been no less human in that department. Beverly had been particularly intense, and Kate wondered how Jean-Luc and his wife would cope with this loss. Jean-Luc had been shattered and, in the few moments he had been vulnerable, she and Elizabeth Paris witnessed how quickly he had withdrawn and concealed his pain from them.

She gave a little sigh. It was why she needed to see Jean-Luc.

She was deep in thought when the doorbell of her office chimed. She shook her head a little to pull her back to the present, and let the caller enter. The object of her musings stood just inside the door, then he moved forward quickly. Since both he and Beverly were not currently serving on their ships, he was in civvies.

"Jean-Luc!" she said as she rose out of her chair, a smile hovering on her lips. She wasn't quite certain whether she should smile or not. Jean-Luc's business here with her had none of the happy, or friendly or even just cordial overtones their past associations had had.

He looked troubled. There was a frown that marred his forehead, deep grooves and a tightness about the mouth: the old austereness she always remembered about him which closed off anything or anyone coming too close. He was not a happy man.

She wondered how he could be. He was traumatised. He just lost a baby son, and Beverly...

"Dr. Pulaski..." he started.

"Please, you know it's Kate," she answered, wondering briefly why he was so formal.

""You wanted to see me," he said and she beckoned to him to take the chair opposite her. He sat down heavily. He was indeed weighed down by his present grief and suffering.

His hands rested on the surface of the desk; she took a quick glance and then looked at him again. His eyes were bloodshot, and he appeared suddenly an old man who had lost everything, or just given up. A beaten man, although she was certain that was not in Jean-Luc Picard's make-up. He had concluded far too many difficult diplomatic meetings, been in far too many situations that only his great strength saved him not to have any idea now as to how he would deal with what has happened to them.

Kate rose slowly again from her chair, stood with her hands braced on the desk and kept her gaze on him. There was not a flicker of emotion from him, other than the way his fingers were thrumming on the surface of the desk. She doubted very much he even realised that.

"Jean-Luc," she asked firmly, "are you alright?"

She could see the understanding glimmer in his eyes. She didn't mean Beverly miscarrying, or the way he refused to leave Beverly's side throughout the period his wife was in pain.

"I'm fine, Kate," he said quietly. "There's nothing wrong with me - "

Kate Pulaski had already taken the medical tricorder that was never far from her hands, and walked round the desk. The scanner had been removed by the time she reached him, and he jerked his head away in alarm. She remained impassive as she raised the scanner to his cranial region and read the data on the tricorder.

"When are you due back on the Enterprise?" she asked matter-of-factly before snapping the scanner back in its casing.

"Three week's time, Kate. Why?" he asked as he continued thrumming his fingers on the desk top. She noted that and sat down in her chair again. She leaned back, looking thoughtful.

"You're not fine, Jean-Luc," she said finally.

"I told you there's nothing - "

Kate Pulaski did smile now. Poor Jean-Luc, she thought. He had no idea. She leaned forward and clasped her fingers, then she reached out and touched his hand briefly.

"Jean-Luc, have you any idea how your fingers are trembling?" she asked and he looked quickly at his hands, drawing it away from her and resting them hands on his lap. "And you look like hell," she braved, thinking that the always together Jean-Luc Picard, the ever strong and supremely disciplined captain was showing signs of stress. He was nervous, yet had no idea that he was showing it. To her at least. Another person might have missed these signs altogether.

There was a flash in his eyes, a flash of angry denial, and Kate felt almost pleased that her words pushed him to at least some reaction. Then he concretised his denial into:

"What do you mean? Beverly is the patient, you know that. She - she's the one who lost a baby..."

"Jean-Luc, you've been through as trying a time as Beverly. You need to tell her at some point how you feel - "

"You don't understand, Kate," he said emphatically, "Beverly has been severely affected. She'll not have children ag - "

"That certainly doesn't mean that you haven't been affected as well. You lost a baby too, Jean-Luc." Kate watched his eyes close and open again at her words, but she pressed on: "You are on the verge of collapse, Captain Picard. You need a vacation, and you need it immediately. Take Beverly somewhere where you can both rest, resolve something, if you like. It's important that you do before start on your next mission."

"I - I...:" There was a long pause, a pause in which Kate Pulaski observed her former Commanding Officer as he stared through the window which overlooked the grounds of Starfleet Medical. When he finally turned to look at her, she felt a sudden pang in her heart, a burning sensation at the unhappiness she saw in his eyes. She watched how he swallowed before he spoke. His eyes had a sheen in them, though Beverly doubted whether he was aware of it.

"She is finding it difficult, Kate..."

"I know, Jean-Luc, and you are repressing your own grief to comfort her and offer solace because right now, she needs you."

Jean-Luc nodded briefly, staring down and not wanting to look at her. He looked embarrassed, she realised suddenly. "Yes," he admitted softly, "she needs me, Kate. But Beverly, Beverly is very strong, you know. I - "

"I know, Jean-Luc," Kate said kindly, "that's why you need to take a break..." She didn't want to tell him both he and his wife gave the appearance of great fortitude, but their loss meant for Jean-Luc especially more than that, and Beverly had been particularly distraught that she failed her husband.

Kate sighed. It was not her business to pry, but she knew Jean-Luc and Beverly had a difficult road ahead. Beverly was ready to be discharged, but this morning Beverly had been so...closed. Something was brewing, but she couldn't put her finger on it exactly. Beverly looked controlled, too controlled, she thought. Much like she could see Jean-Luc trying to be now.

"Well, Kate," Jean-Luc said, "I'll take Beverly somewhere." He gave a tired smile, a smile that didn't reach his eyes. She nodded, then picked up the hypospray from the med-kit. He saw her action, and raised his hand. This time he pursed his lips before he said firmly:

"No, I don't need that, thank you, Doctor. I'll settle for the vacation."

She placed the hypospray back again, and nodded approvingly. Then she looked at him and smiled.

"Well, the vacation should help a great deal towards healing, Jean-Luc." She rose and held out her hand. He gripped hers gratefully as he too, stood up, knowing that the visit was at and end.

Kate felt she had done what she needed to do: let Jean-Luc know that he himself needed to come to terms with his loss. He looked terrible. It meant a great deal to him to have a child, a son. Now, that was to be no more. As long as he was aware that not only Beverly needed to come through this trauma in the lives, they would endeavour to work towards accepting their bereavement.

Jean-Luc was right that he didn't need artificial means of relieving the stress he was experiencing. He was too strong, too disciplined not to find that inner strength and let that crucial facet of his being help towards his own healing.

"She waiting for you, Jean-Luc," Kate said as he moved towards the door.

He looked at her for long moments before he said at last:

"Kate, I haven't thanked you for what you and Dr. Paris did for us the last few days. I -" he paused, then said softly, a whisper really, "thank you..."

She smiled her acceptance and watched Jean-Luc Picard leave her office.

She wondered whether she would see him again.

**

Jean-Luc opened the door to Beverly's room and stepped inside, stopping as he saw her standing at the window. The door slid noiselessly close behind him, but he remained where he was, looking at his wife.

Always, Jean-Luc thought, always he would be caught breathless by Beverly's unique kind of stillness as he watched her. There was an aura about her which right at this moment, was emphasized as she stood in silhouette at the window. Her hair had that reddish-bronze sheen he always found so irresistible to run his hands through. She wore her ankle-length dress which revealed the slight rise around her belly, as if she were still with child. Still, she was slender. Had always been. Now, it gave her an ethereal appearance, a fragility which belied her strength. But he knew her. Had known her too long not to understand that Beverly's stillness concealed an amazing amount of turmoil.

He had seen that too often, experienced it a hundred times in his quarters on the Enterprise when she sat perfectly still, her feet tucked under her on his couch. Then she had just lost a patient, or had to perform a difficult procedure that demanded absolute and intense concentration. Or she'd tell him about Odan, personal aspects of her associations with people over the years, whenever she felt the burden too great. She would sit in his quarters where, always, she could come to peace. She would sit and he'd wait for her till she was ready to talk.

That was how it had always been between them. He surmised it was his own disposition to reflecting on issues, his own manner of quietude that made him her perfect mate in that respect. She would not be pressured into rushing through explanations, or scared off by impatient questing for answers. In her time she would reveal what was in her heart. And then it never came out as full and long dissertations on her feelings. He read her well. Sometimes it was just a word, a phrase of which the colour and timbre of the sound all but told him what he wanted to know. Now she stood at the window, ready to go home.

Home without a baby. How many women hadn't gone home without their babies?

His heart burned fiercely for a moment before he brought it under control and stepped up to his wife.

She did not move, kept staring out at the green lawns and the coming of the evening shade. She was quite, quite still, but what lay beneath that? His hand came up and touched her soft tresses, a caressing gesture the familiarity if which he hoped she'd respond to.

"Beverly..."

The merest flicker of her eyelids was all response, and when he touched her smooth cheek, there was a twitch. She had been standing with her arms folded across her chest and when she loosened them, he saw that she had something in her hand which he hadn't seen until this moment. A small soft toy.

He wanted to cry. He remembered the day he had given it to her.

"For René," he said as he leaned into her to give her a lingering kiss while his hand rested against her stomach.

"We have too much already, Jean-Luc," she had complained, but nonetheless held the little toy close to her bosom. Her eyes shone with pride, with love, she glowed as if the angels themselves had touched her.

"It's going to be my only son, love. I want to give him everything..."

"He may not thank you for all the fluffy toys he's getting."

"You want I should give him the 'Enterprise'?"

Beverly had wormed her way into his arms and buried her face in his neck before her words came out in a muffled answer:

"That might not be such a bad idea, Jean-Luc..."

Now Jean-Luc watched the way her eyes softened and a sad, sad little smile played around her mouth.

Beverly must have remembered that day at their home. He had been on a month long break and had been anxious to be with her. She had returned to light duty at Starfleet Medical, wanting to remain 'grounded', she said, to await the birth of their baby.

"Beverly..." he tried again, his voice soft, but feeling a strange alarm in him. She was still lethargic, he knew, still with that melancholy air that gave her such an ethereal look.

Only then she turned to look at him, her hair creating little sparks as it swung into her neck,.

Jean-Luc 's heart thudded wildly.

He would love Beverly till the day he died.

Their was a deep sadness in her beautiful eyes, a sadness he hoped to heaven would leave her soon. A sadness which, God help him, not ever another baby can help relieve or lift or let vanish. Will he ever see Beverly smile again?

"Jean-Luc," came her soft answer, then she slowly lifted her hand holding the soft toy. "We don't need this anymore, do we?"

He felt a lump forming in his throat again. He took the toy from her and ruthlessly suppressed his own urge to cry.

"I'm sorry, Beverly...forgive me..."

"For what, Jean-Luc?"

"We can't - "

"I know, my love," she said sadly. She touched his cheek, held her palm against it and he closed his eyes. He wanted to take her in his arms and just hold her to him.

"Let me take you away from here, Beverly. A place where we can both rest, become peaceful again..."

"Where will you take me, Jean-Luc, where I won't have to think about - about what we lost?"

"We must accept it, my love, and I will be there, to be with you when you cry..."

Beverly had not shed a tear since she had handed the baby to the nurse. His hands went to her slender shoulders and he pulled her into his embrace. He was glad when she acquiesced, giving a sigh when she rested her face against his hard chest. It felt so good holding her, yet he knew when she gave a light sob, that she was close to tears. Her arms went round his waist, clamping convulsively while he held her so close, his one hand pressing her head against him. Still holding the soft toy in his other hand, he felt the shudders beginning. Deep inside they rumbled towards the outside where they could be heard as racking sobs. He thought Beverly would break the way she shook. Her tears soaked into his shirt. He pressed his face against her hair and all the time he held her so close to him, Jean-Luc held his own tears in check. They burned him, but for her, he needed to be strong.

At last Beverly shifted and stood away from him, her eyes tear-stained, but she appeared calmer. Her hand came up again to touch his cheek, his own instinctively covering hers.

"We'll make it, Beverly," he promised, "I swear we will..."

"Without our baby..." she whispered, her voice hoarse from her bout of crying.

He sighed.

"Without our baby, Beverly," he said quietly.

"Where will we go?" she asked and frowned, for the first time seemingly interested in what was happening around her.

"France?" he asked. France pained him. Labarre pained him. René and Robert were no longer there, and, if anything, being home on the Picard estate would enforce rather than heal their loss. No, he didn't want to go home, not now. Not really. But Beverly, if that was where she wanted to be... Marie had constantly been asking them to visit. He had to let her know too, of the miscarriage.

"No - no, somewhere else, please, Jean-Luc. Not the vineyard..."

He pulled her into his arms again, seeing how she started trembling slightly.

"Somewhere else it is then," he agreed.

"Where there'll be no René..."

"No, Beverly," he sighed again, "where there'll be no René."

"Only memories, Jean-Luc."

"Memories..."

***

END PART THREE

IMPASSE

PART FOUR

She must have been dreaming again. A dream in which she played with Wesley as a baby, then the baby's face changed into a blotch - an unidentifiable blotch that became bigger and bigger and, as if she had been staring at a screen, filled the screen completely. She wanted to cry out, but the cry stalled in her throat when she realised there was no child...just a blank, a colourless picture of nothing. It had been like this most nights, and when she became aware that it had been a dream, she would lie with her eyes closed for a long time, feeling the scalding tears run down her cheek. Most times she had been careful not to wake Jean-Luc, too afraid that he would see her distress. Other times she had not been so lucky...

With a sigh Beverly Picard opened her eyes at last and stared into the darkness. The only light that could remotely offer some means of finding her way about the room, was the moon that threw its beams in darkish blue streaks against the wide French window on the opposite side. It could be a softness that just touched the floor immediately in front of the window, but the glow invited her to rise from where she lay and walk towards it so that she could enjoy the view of the forest. She could see only dimly the swaying branches as they were moved by a gentle breeze.

It was warm, and she had slept only in snatches since Jean-Luc himself had come to bed long after she had prepared for the night. She turned to her left and for a few moments Beverly watched his sleeping form now that her eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom. She sighed again.

When he came to bed, she had woken up, and for a few painful moments Beverly had seen the look in his eyes. Even now, after almost three weeks in this haven that was Palings, the Paris estate, Jean-Luc had tried so hard to comfort her. Her hand had gone instinctively to her stomach and Jean-Luc's eyes closed for a brief moment after she had seen the pain in them. She knew that he was aware that their little vacation seemed to have helped little in restoring in her some measure of peace, of acceptance. Beverly knew that her unresponsiveness bothered him, and in unguarded moments she could see the disappointment in his eyes. Then she hardened herself, armoured herself with bitterness and guilt that kept her from reaching out to him, or allowing him to touch her even.

But that look in his eyes. Beverly clutched at her stomach again and felt the quickening of her heartbeat, her breathing coming suddenly in short little low gasps.

He had wanted their baby. He wanted a baby boy. And she... Beverly pressed her lips together and cursed herself for her own weakness, cursed herself for the fact that she had taken on too much, worked too hard and then lost their precious child. If she hadn't worked that day. She gave another sigh and expelled the air softly, careful not to wake Jean-Luc.

I'm a doctor...a doctor...yet right now I'm just another woman who suffered a tragedy...just a woman. I am supposed to rationalise, no, just diagnose what happened as a medical occurrence, my body just could not... I am a doctor....

A sob escaped her and she drew in her breath quickly as Jean-Luc stirred. She lay quite still until his own body stilled. On an impulse she drew closer to him. He had been lying on his side, facing away from her as it always happened when he settled into deep sleep. She gave a wan little smile at the thought, then spooned herself to his body, her arm going round him so that her fingers splayed across his chest. She felt his deep breathing, then as her own movement caused him to stir again, she heard his soft murmur:

"René...Beverly..."

Her heart contracted. He must have dreamed, and the baby too strong in his subconscious that he had been unable to quell calling out René's name.

I failed you, Jean-Luc...failed to give you the thing you most wanted...

Pressing her lips against his neck, she clutched tighter at him, felt his hand come up and cover hers.

Forgive me, Jean-Luc... I can't let you suffer any longer... was her agonising thought as she pulled herself gently away from him again and almost stealthily rose from the bed. Her bare feet touched the carpeted floor and reaching for her robe, she stood up and padded to the wide window.

She stared out the window that overlooked the lawns and the embankment of the small stream that murmured not a hundred metres away from where she stood in the room. She turned to look at Jean-Luc again, saw that he had turned on his back with an arm flung out. Pretty soon he would wake when he sensed she wasn't there. That's how he was. His arms had always been such a refuge - even in deep sleep he would reach for her when she just touched him and she would feel his solace, feel his warmth, his love for her.

But the last two and a half weeks...

She had not behaved well.

She looked out the window again, saw the moon moving behind a few clouds, then appearing again, seeming to move as the clouds moved too. This was a beautiful place.

Palings.

"You are welcome to use our home, Captain Picard," Admiral Paris had said when the four of them had met in one of the restaurants at Headquarters.

"We were going to go to Risa - " Jean-Luc had fielded and the admiral had given a little smile. Beverly had seen the exchange between the Admiral and his wife, a sad little exchange.

"We haven't been to Palings for almost six months, Jean-Luc," Admiral Paris had said, then continued as he directed his gaze at her, "it needs some living in."

The last had been said quite softly and Dr. Paris' hand had gone to cover that of her husband where it rested on the top of the table. Did his hand tremble a little? Everyone knew about Voyager and that the admiral's son was an officer on board the ship that had gone missing six years ago. Recently there had been some contact with Voyager, the Pathfinder project under the Admiral's leadership and Reg Barclay who had made the first astonishing contact with Captain Kathryn Janeway. That had been almost six months ago. Did the Admiral and Dr. Paris come to Palings and sought refuge here too? Jean-Luc had put his arm around her shoulder, squeezed it briefly, then said:

"If it is not an imposition, sir, we'd be honoured to go to Palings."

"It is a pleasure. We hope you'll enjoy your stay there, Captain Picard," Dr. Paris had said, then leaned over to squeeze her husband's arm. The Admiral had the grace to blush a little, but Beverly and Jean-Luc had both been aware of the underlying pain in the words of both the Admiral and his wife.

That had been almost three weeks ago. In a few days Jean-Luc would be back on the 'Enterprise' for their next few missions. Jean-Luc had been worried about her the last weeks; he couldn't rest quite properly, and neither could she. It had been awkward between them.

"I want to be on the 'Enterprise', Beverly, knowing you'll be alright," he said a few days ago when they were picnicking on the embankment under a huge oak tree.

"Then don't worry so, Jean-Luc, I'll be fine."

She lied.

She had looked away quickly, not wanting to meet his gaze, yet it was that every time she looked at him, she remembered.

She would always look at Jean-Luc and remember what he represented to her now. Not the kind, loving husband who would never leave her; not the gentleman whose quarters on his ship had always been such a haven of quietude; not the commander, the friend, the lover...

She'd remember his look of disappointment when their baby came out dead.

That was what had been so difficult the last weeks. She'd see that look in his eyes and the feeling of inadequacy increased a hundred-fold.

"I'll always be concerned, Beverly. I love you," he had said quietly, but with such finality, she had almost, almost succumbed to just throwing herself in his arms and forget that she lost a baby, forget that she'll never have any more children, forget that he was disappointed, forget her own guilt.

It would have been so easy.

"You'll be home for two more weeks before you board the 'Benguela'" Jean-Luc had said conversationally.

She had just shaken her head in affirmation. Chief Medical Officer of the Benguela. She had turned down the lucrative position of Head of Starfleet Medical.

"Yes," she had replied while staring at the bubbling water as it bounded over the rocks in the stream.

She gave another sigh, remained where she was standing and thought of her communication with Headquarters the previous day. Jean-Luc didn't know that she had received communication. He had been walking the three miles downstream and back while she remained around the beautiful house, pottering here and there, even did some exercises. Her stomach had toned down dramatically since the miscarriage as she had kept to a daily regime of dancing and exercising.

Headquarters.

They wanted an answer.

She sighed again and folded her arms across her chest.

***

Jean-Luc watched his wife. She didn't know he was awake and observing her. She stood quite still at the side of the window, looking out, watching the moon - he could see how she looked up at the sky - or listen how the water rushed over the rocks in the stream. Even he could hear it. Palings was as peaceful a place as he had ever experienced, and at first he had been glad that they didn't go to Risa. In retrospect he wondered at that. There were always crowds there, and perhaps being amongst a lot of people would have been the distraction Beverly needed. He realised that the solitude of Palings did not do as much as he had hoped to.

He had been with Beverly at various times during the day, but she would brood when she was alone. He caught her many times just sitting under the oak and her thoughts would be far away.

He gave a little sigh.

They were no closer to healing than they had been two weeks ago, and he was deeply worried that she'd not be with him on the 'Enterprise' where he could be with her when they settled for the night. He wanted her in his arms, he wanted her.

The thought of René flamed through him, like a lance in his heart and for a few moments he allowed the pain to overwhelm him. Beverly could not see it, and hadn't seen anything while he had been the rock that offered solace to his grieving wife. But he wanted his wife to be well, and even if she could never give him children, he had her.

Oh, he had dreams of playing with his son; he had dreams that his son would one day follow in his footsteps; he had dreams that his own René would grow into a fine young man. But that was not to be, and he accepted that. He had Beverly, and that was all he wanted now.

He had her.

That weighed more than anything. Whatever he felt, whatever his disappointment, he was dealing with it, in silence, away from Beverly where she couldn't see his own pain. He had taken longs walks downstream, criss-crossed the whole estate where right at the edge, almost on the border between Palings and the next property, he could stand still and scream.

Only the birds that fluttered nervously from their perches on branches heard his desperate cries. His tears that streamed down his face was seen by no one, and the birds remained mute witnesses to his wailing.

But he was healing. It wasn't perfect, but it was something. At least he was the strength Beverly needed, the strength she could draw on. He had wanted her to be near him, and while she would be serving on the 'Benguela', he could be in contact with her most of the time. She had open communication to him anyway, and he had assured her she could get in touch with him whenever she needed to, until they were both on a break.

Now he looked at her where she was standing. She had sounded non-committal yesterday when he questioned her about her posting on the 'Benguela' and he could feel some foreboding as he rose quietly from the bed and walked towards her.

Did he imagine her shoulders stiffening imperceptibly when he put his hands there and drew her against his hard frame? She leaned back briefly against him and he caressed her hair, smoothing it away from her face. He planted a kiss on the top of her head and he heard her give a sigh. Other than that, she had made little acknowledgement that he was there, holding her close to him, feeling his heat penetrate the satiny fabric of the robe she was wearing.

"Come to bed, love," he coaxed as he kissed her hair again.

She remained still as he held one hand in his own.

"I need you in my arms, Beverly..."

Just a slight nod from her when he said that, his voice hoarse. They had not made love - he shrugged at that, understanding that even with her miscarriage, he still had to wait several weeks before they could be intimate again. But that hadn't meant that he couldn't allow his hands to roam her body, knowing her, enjoying her warmth and softness. Sometimes she had just thrown herself against him, then burst into crying again...

"Beverly...darling..."

She moved out of his embrace and then turned to face him.

Jean-Luc felt his heart thudding wildly. Even in the light from the moon he could see a glint in her eyes, a certain resolve he hadn't seen there the day they came here, or even two days ago. Yesterday morning... Something was wrong with her. Something was very wrong. He turned cold.

"What is it, Beverly?" he asked softly. His hand went out and touched her cheek, and he cringed when she pulled gently away from him.

"Is something the matter, my love?" he asked again, then felt a chasm opening beneath him when she opened her mouth to speak. There was a sudden buzzing in his ears, a glaze in the way he looked at her. He frowned heavily, then something dawned...something... He saw only her lips move, saw only the soft gleam of the moonlight in her hair, saw only her eyes.

He didn't want to hear.

He knew.

"I'm leaving you, Jean-Luc."

***

END PART FOUR

IMPASSE

PART FIVE

The planet Nu'mai was the seventh planet of the Imaros star system. In sector 2756 of the Beta Quadrant Nu'mai lay exposed in the onslaught of the heat of the system's two suns. Still, its population was the largest of all six of the system's inhabited worlds. It could be due to the fact that despite the dry atmosphere, it sustained life-supporting water sources.

All five continents had extensive networks of subterranean rivers and springs, more than amply providing at least two of the other dry, less populated worlds with water. It was not an uncommon sight to see water carriers - large vessels built for that purpose - leave the launching pads and head for the busy traffic lanes in space to deposit their valuable cargo on Rega and Bikar.

Nu'mai's First City teemed with life and was the seat of government for the planet, and also the conference hub of the entire Imaros system of planets. At the present time though, the city lay huddled in a cloak of gloom, its once bustling streets and lanes, promenades and plazas now empty as it waited to record yet another child's ascent to the Place of the Lasting Light.

In the large medical facility - a series of buildings and annexes - of the city, there was a hushed atmosphere. The Grand Imperator of Nu'mai walked next to the tall, red-haired woman whose Starfleet uniform was covered by her three quarter length hospital coat. They were trailed by three officials who all bore the distinctive markings of nodes along their necks to their collarbones. All of them wore the uniformed garb of officials in the Imperator's office. They were long robes that flapped about their ankles. The long braids that gathered the garments in their waists emphasized their lissome bodies. Given their immense height, their movements were slow, almost lazy long steps that gave the impression of floating. Only their sandalled feet were visible.

Beverly Picard had a hard time matching her step with that of the Imperator and his ministers. Though she counted herself tall, it was not enough to keep up with the others so she walked faster, appearing to be running alongside them. They had been walking in silence, their faces grim, unsmiling as they proceeded down the long corridor to the end of the passage - a solemn procession that seemed to reflect the absolute quiet that settled around the vast annexes which formed part of the big hospital centre.

"Excellence," she broke the silence, "I have done all I could. I wish I could do more. I have sent for help..."

Her voice was soft, and the Imperator looked down from his great height at her. He noted the tiredness in her voice, yet her eyes held a glint in them that told him she was not going to give up, or succumb to her fatigue. He turned his face away from her again, and when he spoke, none of the dread of what they were facing, was present in his face. It was a mask. He was as distraught as most parents on this planet whose children were here, fighting for their lives, waiting for a cure...

"I understand, Doctor Crusher." His face was austere, grim. He appeared not to have believed her, and continued, as if to confirm his own apprehension:

"However, your Federation has agreed to help us, Doctor, and I wish that assistance such as you have required will come soon, or we are doomed..."

"I am sorry, but help is arriving. My Federation is sending medical supplies. Even then it will be hours before we can have a vaccine ready. My team - "

"What good will they do?" the Imperator asked as he stopped, the three ministers - two women and a man - almost colliding into them. He looked down at her, then turned his face to the door at the end of the corridor.

"They are doing their best, Imperator," she replied, "they are working round the - "

"Our children are still dying..."

Beverly saw the momentary flash of pain in his eyes. But his words were not comforting. They sounded almost bitter.

"I am sorry, Imperator," Beverly said quietly, her tired eyes not wavering as the Imperator looked at her.

"No, no... forgive me. It was unworthy of me. You are doing everything in your power. I am merely...distraught."

"I understand..."

Beverly looked up at the tall man with the sallow face and thick nodes that ran from his temples down his neck. She gave a little sigh, pursed her lips and felt the frustration build in her. Why were they taking so long? She had communicated with Starfleet six days ago. Medical supplies were running low. They could not keep up here with the demand for medicines that kept the children barely breathing. As fast as new medicines were developed, just as fast it vanished in the bellies of hospitals, schools, other large facilities used to hospitalise the planet's thousands of children.

And the Imperator's son...

It was as if he held her responsible should his son die. He pinned all his hopes on her. She sighed again. How could they stop the strange Acarian flu virus they nicknamed Hydra that had attacked the planet's children? Until the third day after her arrival here she had been baffled why the children had fallen prey to the virus and not the adults. She was reminded of the old Earth children's illnesses that had seemed to be such a part of a child's development in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, along with other common ailments that were no longer heard of. By the end of the twenty first century, such diseases as German measles, tuberculosis and most of the high biohazard haemorrhagic fevers had been completely eradicated.

Now, she and her team had been sent from the Institute of Science on Altosa near Deep Space 4 where she had been stationed for the last six months to assist the medical teams here with the epidemic they had on their hands. She had done extensive virological studies on Altosa and it was this expertise that was being called upon to unravel the baffling attack of the virus on children. Fortunately - and Beverly breathed a sigh of relief as she matched her step with that of the tall Imperator - the virus was contained. She gave a little shrug. To this planet, yes. She had placed an immediate restriction on all off world travel. It sent angry murmurs among the populace, but the Imperator's decree stood.

Beverly had been awake twenty out of every twenty four hours and fatigue was setting in. There were dark rings under her eyes, her face was drawn, and her hair looked like it did six months ago. It was lank, listless, she badly needed to wash it, but the children had been her priority. That was why she drove herself, remaining alert despite her tiredness, being ready to revive yet another child, or close the eyes of one who lost his tenuous hold on life. Most of the time in the last ten days she had been filled with a screaming rage at the loss of life, then at the same time if one child rallied, she had felt glad. It was a ruthless vacillation between pain and joy, between the depths of despair and the height of hope.

They reached the end of the corridor and prepared to enter the room.

If only Starfleet could hurry with the rare plants she requested be sent from Oban IV, the only planet on which the aspalathus grew. She had experimented with it at the Institute with some surprising results. Something she had hoped would work here with the children. The first results of tests she had run using a replicated version of the plant had yielded positive results, but not enough. They needed the plant itself. Lots of it. That way the could combine replicated drugs with the extract from the aspalathus. If it worked. She prayed to heaven it would. The genome of the Nu'maians could reject the alien medicine... But she had done enough research, found one or two ways to bypass the rejection by making the body's DNA ''forget' the intrusion of DNA from the vaccine. It worked in the laboratory, under controlled, experimental conditions. It had been too late then. By the time she and her team had arrived here, already thousands had died...

The door slid open as the Imperator's hand touched the panel against the wall. The ministers waited to let Beverly and the Imperator in first. Beverly moved immediately to the narrow bed against the far wall. She touched the shoulder of the woman sitting on the seat next to the bed. Madame Louanda was holding the child's hand in hers.

"Beloved," Beverly heard the Imperator say, "you must rest..."

The woman drew her eyes reluctantly away from the barely breathing boy, and gazed with sad eyes at her husband. Her free hand had gone instinctively up to be clasped by his.

"I have told him all his favourite stories, husband," she said, her voice quivering as if she thought that her child, lying in a coma, could not possibly hear her. Beverly had told her she could do that, and for the past three days when the boy had lain here his mother had been constantly at his side.

"He hears you," the Imperator said, trying to keep his voice calm as he rubbed his wife's hand.

"His subconscious registers your voice, Madame Louanda," Beverly assured both of them as she took her tricorder from her pocket, removed the scanner and began scanning the boy.

What more could she do now? Just run the scan and look as if it could heal the boy like magic? She half listened to the muted voices of Qiseb's parents, while the ministers hovered in the background. Like figurants they remained there, their eyes impassive but Beverly knew that Lim Ponat lost two children to the dreaded Hydra. Nu'maians buried their grief very deeply as Beverly discovered soon after coming here, seeing how the bereaved closed the eyes of their children with so much dignity, so much restraint that she wanted to scream at times. Those were the first few days until she learnt that that was the way of the people of this world. They were no less shattered or bereft or too near the need to weep as would any human on Earth have been in the same circumstances. As she herself had been.

She had seen Lim Ponat with her children, had seen her with other fathers and mothers where they tried to keep their children alive. But the fever spread like a wildfire, unkind, unloving, unhindered by protestations of childish innocence. It leveled women like Lim Ponat who was a senior minister of Nu'mai, with the poorest of workers who toiled the great mines of the Southeastern continent.

Beverly looked at Qiseb. At twelve - if measured in earth years - he resembled his mother, though Beverly could see the strength in the jaw was very much the Imperator. The children of this world did not have the distinctive nodes the adults had, and when Beverly had seen a young teen with the fledgling markings she didn't have to ask the Nu'mai medical staff about them. The girls and boys developed their nodes during their transition from puberty to adolescence. Much like a menstrual cycle in human girls, the nodes marked the children's entry to the world of the young adults. It was, she realised after the first day, the reason the virus took its hold on the children and not the adults. Somehow the nodes were part of their immune systems, and adults were not likely to contract the deadly virus. However, when she and her team tried to inject the new serum into the children, it didn't work.

Qiseb had yet to develop his immunodes as she and her team had come to refer to it. Beverly snapped the scanner back in the casing of the tricorder. She sighed as she touched Qiseb's fevered forehead lightly. He would one day be a worthy successor to his father, if he lived.

If he lived.

The Imperator's eyes were on her as she looked up at them. What could she tell them? Qiseb was weakening? Qiseb was dying? Could she tell them a lie and say she had every confidence that their son would live?

She was spared that answer as her communicator suddenly beeped.

"Agaron to Dr. Crusher."

Beverly felt a sudden flutter of excitement, her heart beating faster as she hit her badge.

"Crusher here. What is it, Agaron?"

"The medical supplies have arrived, Doctor. Your presence is required in Laboratory I in the Science Annex..."

"Thank you, Agaron. Crusher out."

She smiled for the first time in days as she looked at Qiseb's parents. The light in their eyes told her enough. They had reason to hope again. Not only for Qiseb, but the thousand children hospitalised here, and the thousands more at other facilities dotted throughout the city and the rest of the continent.

"Thank you, Doctor," said the Imperator as he straightened up, released his wife's hand and splayed his own hand across his chest. It was their form of greeting. He was doing so on behalf of his wife and the other ministers. He looked at his son, a long and lingering look before he made to move to the door again. His wife rose too, a tired woman, yet a woman whose spirit remained indefatigable as she bid them goodbye. At the door Beverly turned round once more and smiled at Louanda as the woman sat down at her son's side again.

Back in the corridor she turned to look at the four officials, noting the gleam in Lim Ponat's eyes. The tall woman nodded approvingly, her quiet grace had had a shattering impact on Beverly. She had been with Lim three days ago as her second child lay dying. Beverly gave a sigh and said:

"Please, if you will excuse me, I need to get to the Science Annex."

The lifts were situated at the other end of the corridor and Beverly hurried towards it as she

left the others still floating behind her, this time leaving them in her wake.

**

Beverly walked from the main building to the Science Annex, and even though in a great hurry, her thoughts were a cauldron of rushing images. Children who died, others who clung tenaciously to their young lives; parents accepting their loss with such grace and dignity while their hearts must have cried inside; images of Jean-Luc bending over her as she lay crying her heart out...

Hope was here at last. In the form of an innocuous plant that people of that Oban IV dismissed as weeds, Hope arrived and gave Beverly's step an urgency as she walked. towards the Annex.

Aspalathus.

It could grow only in the lush swampy undergrowth of the forests of Oban IV and nowhere else. A plant living in symbiotic harmony with its host plant, it had not been possible to transplant it from its natural habitat. So from time to time the Federation sent out a science vessel to harvest the plant. It worked well in the treatment of certain diseases on other homeworlds within the Federation, but she had an outside chance that its unique composition of DNA elements of its host plant and its own DNA could be the cure for the Hydra.

Naturally, whoever entered this planet's orbit would have to wait until they too, were inoculated with the vaccine.

She thought of Lim Ponat and of her tremendous courage and unfailing faith as her remaining daughter lay dying. Bits of conversation which had given Beverly so much to ponder on, Lim's revealing words which had Beverly reeling with shock came to her as she approached the Science building.

"You cannot have children," Lim Ponat said without looking at Beverly while at the same time she caressed the forehead of her seven year old daughter.

"I - " Beverly started, "how did you know...?"

She was too shocked that this woman knew. Was that how she revealed herself to Lim Ponat? She had not told anyone here, it was not something that needed to be told. Yet, every time a child died, another lance pierced her heart. She knew what it was to lose something precious. She, a doctor, wife of Jean-Luc Picard, a woman who found it so difficult to come to terms with her own barrenness.

"Yes, I sense your pain, Doctor Crusher. It lies as deep as my people conceal their own grief. But it is our way. We acknowledge our pain still, in other ways..."

"I have mine - "

"I do not think so, Doctor," Lim said kindly, "you have yet to acknowledge that within yourself."

"I don't understand - "

"You will. Soon."

Beverly had shivered at what sounded like an apocalyptic utterance from Lim Ponat. The woman had looked so completely certain of her words.

"Perhaps...Lim Ponat," Beverly had whispered distraughtly, then she looked sharply at the little girl. Her scanner revealed the truth. Within a few seconds she watched how the heartbeat slowed until it didn't register anymore on the monitor. Beverly imagined she heard a soft little sigh coming from the child as she looked at Lim's daughter.

Kaya's open eyes slowly lost what little animation had been there. She seemed to stare at her mother. A kind of quiet farewell sigh. Beverly watched as Lim Ponat placed her fingers gently on Kaya's eyelids and closed her daughter's eyes for the last time. Lim had leaned over and kissed Kaya's forehead. When she sat back, her eyes were closed, her hands resting on the body of her child, and Beverly could see only the movement of Lim's lips. She was in obvious prayer, a hallowed moment in which Beverly had been deeply affected, and when Lim Ponat opened her eyes at last and looked at Beverly, the doctor could see odd flashes of pain, but mostly, a quiet grace, a humility that transcended anything Beverly had ever experienced.

Beverly felt touched by Lim Ponat's humility. Only then she understood Lim's prophetic words.

How long had she, Beverly, aspired to just such an acceptance, such a humility of her own condition, an acknowledgment of some infinite power beyond her understanding and beyond which she just had to have one thing alone: faith?

That was three days ago, and Lim Ponat had continued to offer solace to other families, other distraught mothers and fathers whose children lay here in this very hospital. Lim was a woman of strength and a worthy member of the Imperator's government.

Since Lim Ponat's conversation with her, she had often thought of Jean-Luc. More than she had in the last six months she was stationed at Altosa. Her work there had kept her busy, too busy to reflect. She had wanted it that way. In spite of Jean-Luc's protestations, he had to bow to her wishes. He was forced to, she thought grimly. She had not been on her best behaviour six months ago, having been too close to hysteria to have been rational. How could she be? She had seen her son born dead, had been dealt the equally crushing blow that she'd never have more children. Jean-Luc didn't understand that. She had been empty, devoid of any feeling, distancing herself from her husband, internalising her pain, disconnecting herself as if someone had thrown a switch and everything went dark. In those early days Jean-Luc had refused to leave her. Yet, in the end, he relented. Had given in to her insistent pleas that she be left alone to 'find herself'. In those trauma-filled days she had known that she needed to get away from everything, from all that was dear to her, from Jean-Luc. She had not seen him since, although she was certain that he kept an eye on her.

In the first days after her arrival at Altosa she was thrust immediately into the harrowing, frenetic pace of finding cures, experiments, days and nights studying, studying. Some nights when the loneliness became too much and she allowed herself to think, she cried herself to sleep. Jean-Luc was only a subspace communication call away, but even then she had been too proud to rely on him as she had done before.

Lim Ponat taught her a new kind of reverence. She had been deeply influenced, had experienced for a moment a glorious sense of being liberated from the tight, tight cloak of grief in which she had wrapped herself for so long.

She wondered idly where Jean-Luc was right now. Her last communication with Headquarters revealed him to be in Sector 574 of the Beta Quadrant. She sighed. She missed Jean-Luc, but she dreaded thinking too much about him. He reminded her of...everything she lost, yet she felt the first stirrings of hope.

Beverly reached the doors of the Science Annex and as if on cue, they slid open just as she reached for the panels and her fingers barely touching it. She stepped into the cool foyer of the building, its white paneled walls lending a clinical atmosphere to the large room. Beverly noted idly the sparse furnishing as she made her way to the inner entrance, where most of her team were stationed in the main laboratory.

She had been preoccupied with thoughts of the cure so she didn't really notice him until she almost knocked into the Captain of the Enterprise.

"Jean-Luc?"

"Hello, Beverly."

**

END PART FIVE

IMPASSE

PART SIX

Beverly suppressed the urge to throw herself in Jean-Luc's arms. He stood there so tall, so distinguished, so worried. He had a frown and his greeting sounded firm, collected, although she could hear the slight change in the register of his voice he enunciated each syllable that he sounded apprehensive, uncertain perhaps of her reaction.

Her own exclamation of his name had hardly helped. In a sort of detached manner she registered her surprise and pleasure at his presence, her own urgency at the prospect of getting the plant extract and serum developed in the most effective and quickest way supplanting any spontaneous utterance from her. Finally, the realisation that Jean-Luc and the crew who beamed down with him would not be able to return until they too, had been inoculated.

She paled as the sight of him registered in the next seconds. He looked so dear, so achingly familiar with such a heartbreakingly expectant look in his eyes.

Beverly knew she didn't look her best, though Jean-Luc would never use her slightly disheveled appearance, her distracted air and what she knew to be the result of exhaustion, as a precondition for loving her. She noted absently Lieutenant-Commander Agaron standing just behind him and the presence in the background of the laboratory personnel moving silently, efficiently.

"Beverly?" she heard him again and then she pulled herself together to remember that he was here with her, that he had brought with him the aspalathus she needed. That he was here... Jean-Luc Picard, her husband.

"I - I'm sorry. I am just surprised to see you, Jean-Luc. I didn't know that Starfleet would send the Enterprise - "

She didn't hug him, though she wanted to. She could see the way he pitched a little forward to do the same, then stood back again. She sighed. Protocol. He was her husband, but he was also Captain Jean-Luc Picard, whom she had not seen in six months. That he was here on business - emergency freight of critical supplies of medicine - weighed heavier even in these moments that she took in his gaunt appearance; heavier than any personal agenda he could have had.

"The Enterprise was on route to this sector when we received the call from Starfleet Command..."

Beverly nodded, then looked pointedly beyond him to where the other scientists were busy. He noted her gaze, and as if he suddenly remembered why he was on Nu'mai, he said:

"We've harvested as much of the aspalathus as we were allowed on Oban IV. Everything is here, Doctor," he said, smiling a little grimly at his own formality, "as well as samples of the host plant, should you need that. That was our instruction anyway," he continued.

Beverly smiled wanly. She had stated in her emergency message that she'd need samples of the host plant.

"Thank you, Jean-Luc," she said quietly, then turned to Commander Agaron, who stepped forward. "Please, oversee the transfer of the plants to the special containers we have prepared, Agaron."

"Aye, Doctor. Captain." He almost clicked his heels as he looked at Captain Picard then turned and left quickly to join the other scientists who were already busy setting up the procedure.

"Beverly."

"Please, could you come to the office, Jean-Luc?"

He nodded, then followed her to a small alcove that had been set up at the end of the lab. As soon as they entered the room, she turned to him.

"Thank you."

"For what, Beverly?" he asked, then said quietly, "I wanted to take this mercy mission. I think you know why."

She gave a tired sigh and he put his hand to her cheek. Her eyes closed and for one ridiculous, wonderful moment, she felt the urge to cry. She must have given a sob, for the next moment she was in his arms.

"Oh, Jean-Luc...I've missed you..." she whispered, burying her face against the reassuring hardness of his chest. She felt his hand on her hair, fingers that stroked her cheek, lips that burned into her scalp. She was dizzy from his nearness, from an indescribable hunger that manifest itself in the way he made little sounds of comfort, of solace. "I missed you..." she murmured again.

"Shhh..." he said in the caressing tones she knew so well, "I'm here, now...always, Beverly."

Her arms encircled his waist, and hearing those words from him, she clutched convulsively at him, and, as if the movement reminded her of the devastation the dreaded Hydra caused, she cried softly.

"So many children, Jean-Luc...so many children who died..."

There was a note of desolation in her voice, a feeling of helplessness - too helpless to express rage. Jean-Luc's hand stilled where it was still on her hair, caressing, smoothing it away from her face. He held her a little away from him so that he could look in her eyes.

She was deadly tired, he thought. She need to rest, to sleep for a few hours at least. But this was Beverly Crusher, now Picard, who pushed herself beyond human endurance to save a life. One life.

"You couldn't save them all," Jean-Luc comforted, his thumb grazing the dark rings under her eyes.

"We arrived here, and by that time - " She paused, felt a lump forming in her throat again.

"Beverly, you don't need to - "

"Already thousands of children had died. And Lim Ponat... Lim Ponat lost two children. Her only children, Jean-Luc."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Beverly," Jean-Luc said, wondering who Lim Ponat was, but understanding that Beverly must have been in attendance when those children died. She was not taking well to the loss of children's lives, he thought privately. She was on the verge of bursting into tears again, but he saw how she applied rigid control over her emotions. Like before, like six months ago when they lost René, she needed his strength, not his own sorrowful meandering into the depths of self-pity.

"She is an amazing woman."

"Lim Ponat?" he asked.

"Yes... I will introduce you to her. She is the First Minister of Nu'mai, and the Imperator's right hand in government."

"I should like to meet her, Beverly," he said soberly, glad now that she had pulled herself together.

"Jean-Luc, there's something you should know. You and the crew who beamed down with you."

Jean-Luc frowned, for a wild moment thinking Beverly was going to say something personal to him, for the two of them. That feeling was soon doused when she looked seriously at him.

"What is it, Beverly?" he asked as the initial feeling was replaced by a little disappointment. Still, he was also worried when she spoke again.

"I have to place you under quarantine, Jean-Luc," she said as she took up a PADD from her small desk and studied it briefly. Then she handed it to him. "Not the kind you might imagine, but no beam-outs..."

He took it, read the instructions he had to issue to his crew, and looked at her again. If the situation weren't as dire as it was in this very instance, Jean-Luc thought, he could have accused Beverly of using it as a reason to keep him with her. Any old excuse to be together.

But the planet's children were dying. That made the situation very, very critical indeed. Beverly meant every word she said.

He had no reason at all to doubt the veracity of her statement.

"I understand."

"Some quarters have been prepared for you and the crew. I take it Will has the bridge?"

"Yes. He hasn't wanted to be anywhere. No other commissions..."

"That's Will Riker."

Jean-Luc looked at her for long moments. She felt a little uneasy at the open scrutiny. His eyes softened, became warm pools in which she wanted to drown if it weren't for their present predicament.

"How are you, Beverly?" he asked at last the question he had been dying to ask the minute he saw her again.

It was his tone more than the words that told her he didn't just enquire about the current emergency and her own state of exhaustion. His hand came out to touch a strand of her hair that had fallen across her eye, and he smoothed the hair back again behind her ear. He was glad she didn't reject him outright. That she had not even flinched. Perhaps she wanted him to touch her again. Even draw her into his arms...

That had been his biggest fear. At the beginning - six months ago - she had made her decision clear: she didn't want to have him so directly a part of his life. She needed to deal with her loss alone, and so did he. He thought that he had done that, but looking at her again, looking at every new baby born on his vessel, every young mother who nursed her baby, or who walked through the corridors clasping her toddler's hands, threw him back to where he had been at the start. He missed that he and Beverly didn't have their baby. He missed that he didn't have a son who could carry on the Picard name. He just plain missed holding a small, dependent infant in his arms that he could call 'son', who would one day call him 'papa'. But those were desires and a raging hunger he managed to put away successfully. Little by little as each time a reminder brought him forcefully to the reality of what he and Beverly lost, the hunger began to dim, to dissolve slowly, and he began to live again. Not for a son, but to see his wife again, a wife who would come back to him on no terms at all.

But the latest desire remained just that. On what terms could he have his wife back with him? He couldn't give her the child she craved... He wanted her back unconditionally, because he loved her without condition.

He wanted his Beverly. He wanted to be a living, breathing part of her life again.

He didn't know if she wanted that. That was why this mercy mission to Nu'mai took on a greater urgency for him. In the same way that the aspalathus promised so much hope for the children of Nu'mai, so he desired that his coming here would give Beverly reason to hope again. He desired to convince Beverly to return with him. That was why he had looked at her with such expectancy.

He heard her give a sigh and his hopes plummeted.

"I'm well, Jean-Luc," she answered, but her eyes had a sheen in them when she looked at him.

"You need to rest, Beverly. You can't continue like this - "

"I have to conduct some tests once we've developed the serum. Another forty eight hours and then..."

"Just a few hours, Beverly. I'll stay with you while you rest. You will feel rested, and in a more positive frame of mind to continue."

Beverly looked at him for long moments, moments in which Jean-Luc could see that she gave his suggestion some very strong consideration. She wavered a moment and Jean-Luc marveled for the umpteenth time that Beverly's face could look uncertain in one second and the next instant there would be total resolve and commitment, an inner drive in her.

"I have my own quarters not far from here..."

He saw the suggestion in her stance, was touched by it, that she wanted him to stay with her. He nodded, then stood aside to allow her through.

"Let me give Commander Agaron new instructions," she said with a tired smile on her face.

For the first time since he beamed down on Nu'mai, Jean-Luc Picard felt his spirits rise.

**

"You are not to worry, Captain," Commander Agaron said as Jean-Luc prepared to leave the laboratory. "Dr. Crusher needs the few hours of sleep, and the preliminary work is nothing that the team can't handle. She's been pushing herself very hard, Captain. " He paused as he saw the Captain wavering, then added: "If I may be so bold..." Jean-Luc nodded, knowing that Agaron would tell him what Beverly would not divulge herself. "Doctor Crusher has been in here for forty hours at a stretch Captain, and she's close to collapse. I am glad that you have convinced her..."

"Thank you, Commander," Jean-Luc said, thinking how Beverly had wanted to fall on her bed in her quarters and he coaxed her to change into something comfortable to sleep in. She had hardly put her head down, just sighing his name softly, when her eyes closed.

"We'll be fine," Agaron said with a smile on his face, "and don't let Doctor Crusher in here until you're certain she's rested..."

Jean-Luc nodded again, then tugged at the jacket of his uniform.

"I have instructed my science officers to help in the laboratories and the hospital. Three of my nurses are already stationed there, I believe." Jean-Luc had been glad that Will Riker reminded him that some of the Enterprise's personnel could be of use on Nu'mai. It seemed that Jean-Luc's words reminded Agaron of something when he raised his hand as if to stop Picard from leaving.

"You understand, Captain, that no one may leave until they have been seen by one of the doctors here," the Bajoran scientist said, just as he saw the slight impatient move the Captain made. Agaron knew the Captain wanted to join Doctor Crusher as soon as possible again after he had accompanied her to her quarters an hour earlier. So he said:

"You can assure Dr Crusher that by the time she's ready to conduct the tests, all the plant extractions will have been done." Agaron looked back to where the men and women were busy with the containers, moving swiftly around the large complex. "They have been given two hours..."

Jean-Luc smiled He heard Beverly an hour earlier giving instructions to her team. She had been short, almost barking her orders despite her tiredness. She would push them to the same limits she would push herself. And although he knew that she wanted to oversee the extractions of the aspalathus herself, she trusted Commander Agaron and the Enterprise's Chief Science Officer to do the work in her absence.

"We don't want to see her taking catnaps in her desk chair, Captain."

"Certainly not. You are handling things here, I can see. There will be improvement as well in the containment of the virus..."

"Yes, Captain, it's why Dr. Crusher insisted on no off-world travel, even for those crew who just arrived..."

"I understand the extreme urgency, Commander. I have no doubt about that. But while there is some manner of containment, I have been given the assurance by Dr Crusher that no child who is ill now, will die."

"They are on life-supporting medication that is keeping them alive at least, whatever the quality of that life is at this point."

Jean-Luc nodded his agreement.

"Well then, Commander," he said at length, now in an obvious hurry to get to his wife, "I'll take my leave now. I have an interview with the Imperator in the morning, and until then I have to make certain that Dr Crusher does indeed rest..."

Agaron smiled and Jean-Luc found himself returning that smile. Agaron obviously knew Beverly was his wife, but the entire time they had this conversation, Beverly was 'Dr. Crusher'.

"You do that, Captain. And Captain?"

"Yes?"

"She needs you," Agaron said softly.

He moved as fast as his legs could carry him to where Beverly's quarters were. He felt the excitement rise in him, the hope flare that she didn't turn him away outright. In fact, it seemed as if Beverly had wanted him. She declared she missed him, and that meant a lot.

She even threw herself in his arms the second they were alone, away from prying eyes. She allowed him to caress her, soothe her fevered brow, even kiss her, even though it was just her hair he touched with his lips.

He had rejoiced in those moments. Rejoiced.

Six months ago he thought all hope was lost when she declared she wanted to leave him. He had never before felt so empty, so scared as he had been then when she looked at him and told him she wanted to deal with her pain alone.

He had been in as much pain he believed, but he could never divulge any of it to her. She had not been ready or even rational to listen to his own professions of hunger, of pain and loneliness, of bereavement and grieving. He wondered if she had given any thought at all to that during the time they had been apart.

Apart.

She might tell him she wanted to continue without him. Once again it was in a crisis that she expressed her need of him. Now, the sickness that touched so many thousands of children drew her into his embrace again - a place, refuge, a safe haven where she could become calm and draw anew on his strength.

Jean-Luc did not deny that he relished Beverly declaring her need of him in that way, but there were times, God help him, that he wanted to lie in her arms and find comfort there for his own pain.

When would that happen for him? he wondered. When would he experience such a luxury?

He was slightly surprised when he found himself at the door of her quarters in one of the side buildings of the Science Annex. He opened the door quietly, knowing that she must still be sleeping.

Tiptoeing to her bedroom to look in on her, he was surprised to hear a sound.

His surprise turned to alarm. They were sounds. Jumbled words. Murmuring. He stood in the door and saw Beverly thrashing around on the bed, obviously plagued by a nightmare.

"Beverly!"

He was at her side in an instant. He touched her gently, not to alarm her. But it was the movement of her hands that disturbed him the most in those moments that she was so distraught in her dream-filled sleep.

She was clutching her stomach with both hands and crying.

"My baby..."

**

END PART SIX

IMPASSE

PART SEVEN

"Beverly..." Jean-Luc whispered again softly, urgently.

Beverly stilled at the sound of his voice. Her eyes were still closed and her hair, damp from the way she perspired, clung in limp strands against her face. The bed creaked as Jean-Luc sat down beside her. His hand went to her hair, smoothing it gently away from her face.

"Beverly..."

When her eyes opened at last, she stared blankly for a few seconds, a little disoriented. Then her eyes darted wildly as if still in the throes of her dream. Then she fixed on Jean-Luc's face. Recognition dawned. She gasped softly.

"Jean-Luc!" she cried, then she tried to lift herself to a sitting position. His arms clasped around her as he helped her up. "Jean-Luc!" she cried his name again as her hands sought him, his hardness an obvious welcome reassuring presence, a reality in which the swirling images of her dream was assimilated. She clutched convulsively at him, like a small child seeking refuge in his arms. He felt her shudders as she buried her face in his neck.

"Shhh... It was a dream, Beverly," he soothed her as his fingers caressed her hair: slow, long trembling strokes that he seemed to relish as her body moulded itself to him. "It's only a dream..." he murmured as he kissed the top of her head.

Beverly's arms loosened, and she moved so that she could look at him. His eyes held concern, a deep compassion, a knowledge, a realisation that she was still experiencing the trauma of losing their baby. Even if it were only in her dreams - how much worse was it then? - since her dream-filled cries of hopelessness, abandonment, were an outward manisfestation of her deepest fears, her deepest pain, an embarrassing revelation of something she wanted to keep concealed. Beverly was unable to control that part of her subconscious that betrayed her in this way.

She reached out and touched his face, as if she needed to reaffirm his presence. Jean-Luc looked at her, aware now how her nightgown clung to her, enhancing the fullness of her breasts, the scalloped neckline of the gown revealing the creaminess of her skin, alabaster-like smoothness that caused him to suck in his breath slowly. He didn't want her to see how her unconscious allure affected him. He forced himself to a measure of control, regulated his breathing to normalcy. Beverly needed him, she needed him to comfort her. Anything else, any other dream would have to wait. Even if it had to wait forever.

Her eyes were on him and when she spoke it was soft, breathy, tremulous, as if she were still in the throes of her dream.

"Yes..." she murmured, "a dream." She paused, then added: "I'm sorry..."

"You must rest," he whispered as he pressed her gently back so that she could lie against the pillows. Her nightgown clung to her, a fine film of perspiration in her neck made Jean-Luc think of occasions when Beverly and he made love... He pulled himself viciously from that thought, and tried to concentrate on her present predicament. A dream...nightmare...

"I'm sorry," she repeated, "you're doing so much for me, Jean-Luc, I -"

"It's alright Beverly," he calmed her, his hand touching her cheek, closing his eyes as she leaned into his hand as if she didn't want to let go of him or release herself from his touch.

"You require rest..."

"I have slept..." she replied, frowning a little, her eyes widening when she looked at her chronometer. Barely an hour had passed since Jean-Luc had virtually tucked her in. She had felt so cosseted then, glorying in the knowledge that he was there with her.

"Not enough, it seems," he said quietly, his attempt at levity drawing a tired smile from her. He relaxed a little and then rose from the bed. She did indeed look like she could fall asleep any second. He should be going to his own quarters. He came to look in on her. Staying would only...

"Jean-Luc...?"

"Yes?" he answered, his heart suddenly racing at the way she looked at him, and the way her hand had shot out and clasped his arm, restraining him. "What is it, Beverly?" He felt his face warming as the glow of pleasure spread into every pore. He ached to stay...

"Stay...please. I don't want to be...alone..."

Jean-Luc groaned. It had been an invitation he had wanted to hear for so long, an indication of her need of him, an attestation that she wanted him to be by her side, always. But Beverly... He sighed. Her need had been... He wanted to refuse but was pulled, sucked into her allure. He was assailed by a terrible conflict of wanting to stay and being needed, and getting away to save himself from more pain. His resolve was short-lived. He wondered if he had any at all, seeing her lie there and looking at him with so much trust in her eyes.

Beverly's need won.

"I don't want you to leave..." she whispered as she raised herself and braced herself on her elbow. Jean-Luc swallowed as he saw how the strap of her gown slid over her shoulder and the rise of her breast was revealed.

Snap out of it, Picard. She needs your solace...

"You must sleep, my love... You are tired..."

He called her love. He last called her that when she was losing her baby. And in every dream he had of her in the last six months she was his love, his life, everything. All the endearments he ever called her, became real, open declarations of his feelings for her. He had never stopped. That's why his dreams were his constant reminders that she was alive somewhere, breathing, working, being lonely like he was. Yes, in his dreams she was all that she had always been.

Only in his dreams...

He smiled grimly as Beverly's hand slackened against his arm and she lay back again, her eyes already drooping. But his presence must have been so strong that she sensed him there still, even though her eyes had closed and she looked to be fast asleep again. He tried to move from the bed, pull the covers over her again. It was as if she sensed he wanted to leave. She became agitated as she murmured:

"Don't leave..."

Jean-Luc sighed, stared at his wife for long, long seconds. Perhaps, he thought, she just wanted him close, a connection - a tactile presence - that she needed to be assured that he was there, all the time.

"For you, anything, dearest Beverly," he gave in at last as he took off his shoes, discarded his uniform and slid under the covers next to her.

She gave a contented sigh as she felt his body close to hers. She wormed her way into his arms and he groaned as her softness, her smell of perfume invaded his senses. He tried with superhuman effort not to be aroused by the way she moulded herself against him, an old, unconscious gesture her body remembered from the days and nights she spend in Jean-Luc's arms, snuggled closely to him.

When she was comfortable, she settled into her even breathing pattern again, and Jean-Luc was gratified that she was at last sleeping. He doubted though that she would let go of him if he tried to move out of her embrace. She clung to him and even in sleep, her one arm lay across his chest, her legs entwined with his as if the last six month had never happened.

Jean-Luc wanted to die with the pleasure of just holding her. It was enough, for now. She needed him still, it sang in his heart as he pressed his lips against her hair from time to time. She had washed it when she showered earlier, and it smelled of rich fragrances... flowers... apples, even. A potpourri of aromas that he remembered so well. So well. All she needed to do was caress his head, her small hands rubbing the smoothness of his hairless pate.

"You lost more hair..." she whispered sleepily as if she heard his thought. He smiled at that.

"I thought you were sleeping."...

"No hair...," came her sleepy response and by the time he was certain that she was really sleeping, he kissed the top of her hair again.

"At least I won't turn grey..." he parried softly, thinking what grey there had been had been lost in the last months...

She lay inclined against him, her hand on his chest in such a trusting gesture that Jean-Luc felt the thickness in his throat again. His own hand covered hers, and long minutes he reveled in her feel, her perfume, her incredible softness he had only ever dreamed about in the last six months. He recalled every nuance of her movements when she spoke, whispered endearments in the darkness, just relying on the familiarity of touch. Sensory images, desperate kisses, lips touching, tasting, whispering... He played them over and over in his mind as Beverly lay breathing evenly, her sleep so much more peaceful, restful, so without the trials of the last ten days she had been here on Nu'mai. She was relaxed at last as he shifted so that she could be more comfortable against him.

Tomorrow she could tackle her gargantuan task with greater drive, a renewed energy that she gained in this night of essential rest. He was still thinking of essential rest when his own eyes closed, and Jean-Luc Picard drifted dreamlessly into sleep.

*

He dreamed.

She was touching him, sliding along his body so that the satin robe became an erotic device that incited his senses. It slid against his bare skin and he squirmed deliciously as he tried to hold the images and the desire it evoked in him.

Hold the images. Beverly's red mane all over them. Her seductive smile before she planted kisses on his bare chest. Her throaty murmurs. Her purring as he kissed the hollow in her throat. Hands, senses, touches, smiles...

Hold the images.

Dream.

Her lips burned a trail on his skin. Fine hairs danced to attention as the warmth journeyed, spread out like water rings and her breath made patches of damp heat that made his skin crawl with every whoosh of air she expelled. More, Beverly...please... he begged. Then her lips closed around one nipple, caught the rough nub between them so that her tongue played little circles in its centre. His hands found life at last as they came up and held her head still, his fingers lacing into her hair. His eyes were fevered, crazed with passion, with need.

"Yes..." he croaked hoarsely.

"Hmmm..." came her response as her mouth sought the other nipple and her body slid over his so that she lay flush with him...straddled him...

He died in his dream... It had to stop. He was punishing himself.

"Beverly..." he groaned desperately, "no more..."

"Really?" she murmured as she lifted her head to look at him.

"This is a dream, my love...only a dream..." he croaked as he tried to touch her shoulder and lift her from him.

"Look at me, Jean-Luc... Open your eyes..." she commanded seductively, her voice low, husky.

Jean-Luc's eyes flew open and he stared into a pair of smoky eyes in a face that hovered inches above his. Her hands were braced on each side of him. She held him captive. Her lips were parted, ready to touch him, suck the very breath from him...

"I...am...dreaming..." he whispered as his hand touched her hair, her face, groaning as her hips wiggled against his. Then his eyes widened and Beverly laughed a little throatily as he realised that his arousal pressed against her own inviting flesh.

"A dream, Jean-Luc? Feel..." and she took his hand and guided him to touch her. Like a child he touched her eyes, saw how they closed and opened at the feather-light caress. He stroked her hair, and then his hands touched her shoulders and slowly, slowly they slid over the satin fabric of her night gown, its smoothness inflaming his senses as his hands caressed, stroked, moved lower and lower until they reached her buttocks. She pressed into him and he gave a low moan, the sound muffled immediately as Beverly's lips descended on his.

He drowned in a swirling vortex of desire as her lips, so light, so soft, so incredibly soft touched his. He heard her low breathing, slow, deep gasps that fanned his lips to heat up and open under hers.

Lock...

Burn...

Probe

His hands supported her head, his fingers in her hair as he tasted her tongue inside his mouth. He became dizzy, almost breathless as Beverly's lips moved over his and her tongue probed, touched, tasted him. Something swelled in Jean-Luc. It came from deep within him and billowed till it filled him.

Beverly wanted him.

Unashamedly, Jean-Luc Picard let the tears roll from his eyes, scalding him as they slid down his cheek and settled in his neck.

Beverly was here, with him.

When he could breathe from a moment's respite when her lips released his and she looked at him in open adoration, open sultry Beverly Picard whose hair cascaded and fanned on his chest, Jean-Luc said:

"I am not dreaming..."

"No..."

Did he even hear her? He was to wonder at that as all he felt, all he sensed was her flesh against his. She whispered, he responded by touching, reaffirming familiar erotic pleasure spots where his mouth roamed over her. The hollow in her throat which caused her to gasp, nipping her ear, trailing burning little kisses from her lobe to deep into her neck.

Then there were her breasts. They filled his hands, they were home...

"Mine..." he murmured.

Only then he galvanised into movement.

Her nightgown became the final barrier as Jean-Luc slipped it up her body, his hands sliding against smooth thighs, up...up... over her hips.

Then it was gone.

That was real.

His wife lay in his arms, his hands were on her. Warm, urgent, eager hands that kneaded, comforted, stroked, and gave her body back to her, only to be captured by him again and made his.

"I love you..." came his desperate plea as she sought his old pleasure points. His nipples that had hardened a lifetime ago, tracing little patterns with her fingers over his darkened aureoles. He groaned, squirmed under her, then ground his hardened arousal against her. She gave a soft sigh of contentment, moaned when his insistent hardness wanted greater exploration, searching, finding... knowing then exactly where it wanted to be.

"Yes..."

"Love you..."

"Jean-Luc..." came her voice, soft and thready...

He knew what she wanted. In a swift move, yet gentle enough that she was not alarmed, he flipped her expertly over so that he straddled her. His hands cupped the sides of her head and he looked deeply into her eyes in the semi-dark. There was a question in his eyes.

"Yes, Jean-Luc..."

He linked his fingers through hers and held her hands above her head. Her eyes were aflame, they burned with passion. A fire... the flames reached and licked, flaring all over him. She spread her legs and groaned when he shifted to fit perfectly between them. He saw through glazed eyes her creamy, alabaster skin, the breasts with their pert nipples calling to him... calling his name...

"My love..." was all he said before he buried his face in the softness of her breasts.

"I love you, Jean-Luc...love me..."

"Yes..."

He moved his mouth over her skin, sobbed for a few heart rending moments as he caught a nipple in his mouth, sucked gently and heard her deep gasps turn into low moans. His tears dripped onto her skin...

"Let me kiss you...here..." he whispered as he reached her navel, his tongue dipping into the hollow of it, "and here..." he managed brokenly when he reached the damp patch of hair that was her centre, her core...

"Yes..." came her invitation as she shifted so that her legs spread and he fitted his torso so that his mouth hovered hungrily, ready to taste, nip...feast...

She cried out when he covered her. His mouth was hot, moist and his tongue danced...danced...danced... With well-known, expert steps his tongue sashayed and dipped and sidestepped and paused... She arched, wanting more... pushed desperately into his mouth. Her hands were gripped tightly in his and as she moved, as her body began to fill with nameless electric tremours that swelled higher and higher, he held on to her, refusing to let go.

"More..."

"My love..."

She rose, her body swamped as she careened with intoxicating bliss towards the centre of the maelstrom that Jean-Luc's mouth caused as his tongue dipped deeply into her. She cried out loud this time as every muscle tensed in readiness, and when it came, the explosion of novas caused a temporary blindness she was unable to control as her body, her very core against Jean-Luc's mouth spun dizzyingly for several moments that Beverly wondered for an instant why there was so much light in the room. But it was, she realised in crazed, giddy pleasure, the blinding flashes behind her closed eyelids that caused the stupendous explosion. White light that burned brightly for several seconds.

Her body was bathed in perspiration as her legs clamped around Jean-Luc's head and she cried out his name in desperation again and again and again.

Only then her legs collapsed away from his head and he slid up against her body again, her hands still gripped tightly in his. He gave her little respite as his mouth covered hers, sharing her juices that she spilled, tasting her on his lips, warm and moist and erotic. She was dizzy.

"I love you..." he croaked raggedly as he slipped between her legs, her core still quivering, trembling as it begged for greater, supreme completion.

"Yes..." came her ragged answer as she arched against his engorged member, widening her legs and pushing against him. For a wild second the tip of his arousal thrust at her entrance, nudging, searching, finding and separating her wet, soft folds even as his hands still gripped hers and held them captured above her. "Now...please..." she pleaded as she pushed into him.

"Beverly!" he groaned as he slid into her, then he gave a long cry as he filled her. Heavy, strong, hard, he filled her. It was moist, warm, her walls adjusting to his size as she accepted him. He gave one last thrust, grunting as he went all the way in. Only then Beverly sagged back, with Jean-Luc embedded in her.

"Don't cry, my love..." he whispered as he leaned in to kiss her, and when his lips soaked up the tears from her closed eyelids, he started moving in her. Slow, even, long thrusts. She needed little invitation as her body responded and she keened with pleasure.

They found their rhythm quickly, and she used her legs to hold him to her, her calves clamping around his hips, high so that he pushed deeply into her.

"Don't cry..." he cried brokenly as they moved, their slow strokes quickly becoming stronger and harder, much bolder.

"I missed you, my love... missed you...missed you..."

"Love me, Jean-Luc..."

"Yes..."

There was no thinking of past hurt, no thinking of present ill-feeling, no thinking of future prospects as Jean-Luc pounded into her. It was the here, the now that reigned, that overpowered them: the present with no thought of anything except that Jean-Luc gave and received, and Beverly gave generously, a bounty he waited for for so long. He was home, he was swamped with an overwhelming passion, a driving force of pleasure that filled his being. Every heart-beat became a testimony of hope, an undisputed revelation of fact that Beverly was joined to him in the most fundamental manner possible when two beings become one in the flesh. No Jean-Luc existed, and no Beverly existed.

They were one, an elemental force of oneness that transcended everything, unique in these moments only for Jean-Luc and Beverly. Therefore, when they reached their pinnacle together, it was impossible to determine where one ended and the other began.

They screamed together as their bodies rocked, shook, shuddered and then hovered for a precarious precious second in a sphere, an area, a vacuum where time stood still. It became quiet, a deathly stillness in which they remained suspended before the dam broke and they crashed, and the force of water long held prisoner by the dam wall, thundered in endless spraying falls down...down...down...

Jean-Luc collapsed over her, his face buried in her neck. Long minutes later, as if he remembered that his weight bore down on her too much, he shifted to lie next to her, her one hand still clasped tightly in his. She breathed deeply, the raggedness of earlier now gone and replaced by a contented purring that made Jean-Luc turn on his side to face her.

He traced a little line down her cheek, drawing her face at the same time towards him. Her eyes were warm as they rested on him, warm and filled with a new kind of exhaustion. A pleasurable one in which her parted lips were red, very red from his kisses.

"I don't want to be away from you again, Beverly..." he said quietly, almost soberly.

She answered by pulling his head down to kiss him, a long, gentle, yet passionate kiss in which he felt his body betraying him again.

"Beverly?" he asked when he surfaced to breathe and he looked queryingly at her, as if he were unable to fathom this deep response of his body to hers. Perhaps the circumstances were such that it enhanced...

He couldn't think after that as Beverly turned on him: sultry, loving, sexy and wanting him again.

"Oh, my love..." was all he said as they were lost again in the vortex of their passion.

****

Jean-Luc whistled as he soaped his body in the shower unit of Beverly's en suite. He felt a lightness he hadn't experienced in a long time. He thought absently that he had to communicate with Will Riker on the Enterprise. Then he was scheduled for an audience with the Imperator and that woman Beverly mentioned yesterday: Lim Ponat.

He was excited. Last night things happened for him - for them, he corrected himself - that gave him so much hope he kept on singing. Off key notes he didn't really care about. They were just an expression of his state of mind. He was carefree, relaxed, at ease for the first time in months. Perhaps Beverly's dream - her nightmare, really - was just one of those that had become less, diminished with time. He was saddened momentarily that he didn't have any idea that their loss had tormented her for so long in such a way. But she must he recovering at last.

Their lovemaking eradicated everything he felt, that caused so many barriers between them six months ago. It was necessary, a timeous occurrence that all but told him there's reason to hope that Beverly and he could resume their lives together again, as a loving couple. No children, but still happy, accepting their fate with God's good grace and allowing their relationship, what they had together - so much more! - to be the complete focus of their existence.

"I'll have to get my things from my own cabin," he muttered to himself as the warm water cascaded over him, "and bring them here..."

He had noted last night already that the water was always warm. There was no hot or cold water. It was the natural hot spring water that abounded on this planet, used in every home.

"Tonight we'll be together again, my love," he murmured softly as he stepped from the shower, grabbed Beverly's large towel and wrapped it round his waist.

She had been gone by the time he woke up, and knowing his wife, he naturally assumed her to be at the Science Annex where she was probably already testing the new serum. He gave a happy sigh. He stepped into her bedroom, his feet noiseless on the carpeted floor. He would use her replicator to get him a good breakfast before he started his 'working day'.

Jean-Luc reached her bed, and his uniform, which Beverly had thoughtfully folded up and put at the end, lay waiting for him. He hummed 'Caro nome', and only then, as he looked at her chronometer, he noticed the PADD lying on the bedside.

"I wouldn't have noticed it anyway," he muttered again to himself as he took the PADD in his hand, "I was too wrapped around the body of my wife to take note of anything.

He flicked on the PADD, read the first words:

"Hello, Jean-Luc..."

He smiled at the salutation. Not "My love," or "darling" like she called him sometimes, just:

"Hello..."

He read. His smile dissipated slowly. The relaxed lines around his mouth stiffened gradually as he scanned each word. His fingers gripped the PADD so tightly that his knuckles showed white. His face tightened, and by the time he finished he was deathly pale.

"No, please...Beverly. Oh, dear God in heaven, don't do this to me again..."

***

END PART SEVEN

IMPASSE

PART EIGHT

Beverly leaned over the child - no more than six in Earth years - and scanned her heartbeat. She looked much better than she had three days ago. She looked at Beverly with wide, earnest eyes, eyes that were trusting even as she shrank slightly from the medical tricorder Beverly held in her right hand.

"Shhh...it's alright," Beverly said in her soothing voice, "I won't hurt you..."

The child pointed with tentative fingers to the tricorder. Beverly saw the gesture and smiled. All the children appeared fascinated with the tricorders and other more advanced instruments Beverly and her team had arrived here with. The tricorder appeared to be some talisman or simply a gadget all the children found unique.

"It tells you you are getting better," Beverly assured the little girl, whose mother hovered in the background. She had respectfully risen from her seat next to her daughter's bed when Beverly had come in to examine the child.

"My mama says I will play again..."

"You certainly will," Beverly promised as she finished scanning. The child smiled at her, and Beverly smiled, then eyed the child's mother. She nodded and the woman approached them.

"Your daughter will recover, Einat Pol," she said as she took the woman's hand. "In a few days she will be able to play in the plaza again - "

"This - this virus," Einat said as she sat down on the other side of the bed, "will the children be struck with it again?"

"No," Beverly assured Einat Pol, whose face still held a worried frown, as if she couldn't believe that her child was out of the woods. "They have built up enough antibodies that will be a forever reminder when the virus should strike again. It means they won't get it again. I have made provision - "

"Yes..." Einat Pol interrupted Beverly, who was now stroking the little girl's cheeks and smoothing the dark brown hair away from her face, "the Imperator has sent out a decree."

"I asked that he do so. All babies will get an inoculation in the first minutes after their birth."

"I am glad," Einat said smiling, then she caressed her stomach.

Beverly had noticed earlier that Einat was with child and had seen the woman's concern, although for the most there had been a quiet pride, a glow about Einat. Beverly sighed. She was still finding it so difficult to come to terms that she would never have more children. And

Jean-Luc... Jean-Luc had been distraught when she left him that message the first morning. Beverly drew herself almost forcibly from those thoughts. She still had some work to do here, and the Enterprise was still in orbit.

She rose from her chair and took Einat's hand.

"I may not be seeing you again, Einat Pol. I wish you great blessings on the coming of your second child."

"Thank you," Einat Pol said softly, her demure disposition a trademark of the women here on Nu'mai. Like Lim Ponat - like most women here - Einat had a quiet grace about her, an inner strength that belied her fragile looks.

Beverly turned to the little girl who was touching her mother's hand and who wanted to sit up.

"And you, peanut, you get well soon, okay?"

The girl just nodded, too mute to speak now and much more inclined to be coddled by her mother. Beverly left mother and daughter, and proceeded towards the Science Annex. She had to give last minute instructions to the Nu'mai scientists. They had manufactured enough of the serum to last a few decades, near the end of which time the Federation will be supplying them with more serum as per the agreement with the Imperator. Beverly gave another little sigh. Jean-Luc had, after all, been the right man Starfleet Command sent to conclude these diplomatic talks. Nu'mai was not a member of the Federation and would join soon. It was a step in the right direction, Lim Ponat had told her after the talks Jean-Luc had concluded with them.

"Your husband is a fine man, Dr. Crusher," she had stated four days ago, when Beverly had a chance to take another breather and happened to come across Lim Ponat in one of the hospital wards.

"He is, Lim Ponat," Beverly had agreed. Lim looked speculatively at her, then said:

"And?"

"I hurt him, I think..."

"You think?"

"Fine, I'll say it: I hurt him."

"I sensed his pain, Dr. Crusher, even when he was at his most diplomatic," Lim Ponat told her while they were walking down the long corridors to the other wards.

"I'm sorry, I can't talk about it..."

"I understand. You do not wish to acknowledge your own pain and bring in the open your own...selfishness?"

Beverly blanched at Lim Ponat's frankness.

"Please..."

"Forgive me...if I spoke out of turn, Dr. Crusher."

"It's alright, don't worry so," Beverly said kindly as she placed her hand on Lim Ponat's arm. Lim looked a little shamefaced.

"Maybe I am too much the politician, to want to interfere..."

"No, Lim Ponat. You have not interfered," she assured the minister, then added: "And, it is the woman who spoke to me just now."

Lim Ponat had smiled her graceful smile and Beverly had found it so hard to believe that she had just lost two children to the virus.

Now she had to see the staff of the Science Department, and then to see Lim Ponat again. Jean-Luc, Beverly sighed, had refused to move out of her quarters that first night after his arrival here. He was still there now, waiting for her to answer to his demands.

Demands.

They were not really demands, she thought wistfully. Jean-Luc was fighting, not only for himself, but for them. He simply wanted what they had before and she... She couldn't - still couldn't - see her life with him in it as a constant reminder of what she'd lost.

Their conversation after their night of passion - she still felt the old, old familiar tremours her body was so attuned to - was nothing if not explosive. He had been on edge after he had been to see the Imperator and concluded that side of his official mission here. And she had just completed the last of the tests on the serum that her staff and the Enterprise medical personnel had prepared. Her joy at seeing the virus being 'swallowed' by the new serum under test conditions had been marred by her worry at Jean-Luc's possible reaction once he had read her message.

She had been a prize fool, she thought. A fool. Already, working in the lab and setting up the inoculation procedures and the carting of the supplies to other centers, she had felt that mild sense of regret that she actually composed it. But she hadn't wanted to raise Jean-Luc's hopes. She didn't want him just assuming that they'd be together again simply because they'd made love.

But her words had been all wrong.

"Hello, Jean-Luc"

She could kick herself. Why not "darling', or 'my love'? Just...'hello'. Then the rest of the message:

"I don't know exactly how to put it, but please don't think of what happened last night as something that has possibilities. I still believe I can't continue living with you. I don't know when I will..."

She cringed inwardly at the heartless sound of her message. Thinking about it now, she couldn't have put it in a worse way to let him think that she rejected him again. She just needed more time... More time...

She knew he'd ask why.

He must have thought that she didn't want him anymore. In retrospect there was no there was no other way he could have interpreted it. He was not to be a part of her life anymore. She didn't mean it that way. Why she thought now, almost five days later, did she need more time? Jean-Luc... He had been...furious...

"What is the meaning of this, Beverly?" Jean-Luc asked as he stormed into her office the minute she stepped into her little sanctuary. He thrust the PADD at her, none too gently. She actually took two steps back at the way he moved towards her with such force.

Jean-Luc was intimidating.

And he was angry.

She had not seen him so angry, not with her. He had been irritated with aliens who were recalcitrant, with anything that threatened the Enterprise. He had been angry when so many thing had happened on the ship. But never with her. Most of the time she had always had the ability to let his anger dissipate. He could never be angry with her. But this time... He was rejected again. So he thought.

Now, there was a fire in his eyes. They flashed ominously, his jaw clenched after he thrust the PADD in her hands.

"I - " Beverly paused, saw the resolute expression on Jean-Luc's face, then continued, "I don't want to put you under any obligation to - "

"What? Make love to my wife? Love her with the very breath of my being? Be sick with concern wondering whether she misses me? Or, just plain hungry for more of what we shared last night? Shared! Not Jean-Luc taking what he wanted or Beverly taking what she wanted. Shared! That's what happened last night, Beverly," Jean-Luc said heatedly. "We shared something beautiful, something I know you needed and wanted! Do you understand?"

"I'm s- "

"No, don't say you're sorry, Beverly," Jean-Luc said as he took a step forward to her and she moved back till the desk blocked any further movement. Using her hand against the desk to brace her, the other still holding the PADD, she could not stop Jean-Luc from coming closer. She could see the specks in the pupils of his eyes, so close her was to her. He touched her cheek. She almost crumbled, gave in to the desire and the hunger to be in his arms again. But she knew he would not understand.

"Don't say you're sorry," he repeated softly, his voice low, cutting and dangerously seductive. His anger had subsided... "How could you feel sorry for the most beautiful act of intimacy that happened between us?" He crooned. He purred now. He had her...

"You don't understand, Jean-Luc," she tried feebly, her eyes closing as his hand cupped her cheek and the touch of it now so tender, so gentle, caressing...

"You are not sorry," he whispered in hoarse tones, "how could you be after what happened?"

"Please..."

"Please, what, Beverly?" he whispered again, his face close to hers, "please...kiss me...?

The next moment it went dark. His face blocked out the light, and when his lips touched hers, she gave a soft sigh of capitulation. Her eyes closed. The PADD clattered to the floor, her fingers suddenly lifeless as her body answered to its own need again, the desire coursing through her as Jean-Luc pressed her closer to him. The next minute her arms went round his neck and she moaned with pained pleasure as his lips brushed over hers. Then under its insistence, her own lips parted and she allowed him entry. He probed, tasted her again, let her feel everything that they had during their night of passion. She moaned as the feeling of wanting to drown swamped her again, Jean-Luc's smell, his maleness incensing as her hands tightened their grip on his neck. She heard his own low moans as their breaths mingled in an orgy of teasing pleasure.

When she eventually pulled away from him to draw in some air, his eyes reflected the burning passion that was in hers. He brought his hand up, while his other hand still held her close, secured around her waist. With infinite gentleness that made her give a little sob, he traced the outline of her lips with the cushion of his thumb. A feather-light grazing that did not incite her so much as it reinforced his special brand of Picard tenderness. She wanted to cry. She did feel the tears as they burned behind her closed lids. When she opened her eyes to look at him, all she could see in his was...his love.

"I love you, Beverly," he reiterated his fervent outpouring of the previous night. "There is not a way in which I can let you out of my life again, Beverly. Whatever happens, sweetheart."

She wanted to fight his attraction, the ancient pull of love between them.

"Jean-Luc..."

"Whatever happens, Beverly. What lies ahead of us is nothing that we cannot tackle and resolve together. I can't let you go now... Let me into your life..." he said with impassioned entreaty.

"I want to, Jean-Luc, so much. But..."

"Whatever happens, Beverly," he said again, holding her close to him. There was no passion that raged this time as it did last night, just simply...tenderness. He looked deep into her eyes, not allowing her to look away from him, wanting to see the affirmation in hers.

She had given in then. Had known that Jean-Luc was not going to leave Nu'mai, beautiful Nu'mai with its systems of subterranean rivers and hot springs, Nu'mai with its twin suns that kept the planet bathed in the balmiest of sunlight. Jean-Luc was not going to leave Nu'mai until he had at least a firm assurance from her that she'd come back to him.

"Give me these few days..." she whispered.

His body stilled against hers, and she felt the sudden squeezing as he hugged her close to him again. His own whispered 'thanks' expelled from him with such relief that she wanted to cry.

Yes. He wanted her to return and make them what they had been a lifetime ago: a team. Albeit one without spawn...

How bloodless that sounded.

Without spawn. No children. No history, no future. Just...them...

It sounded bleak.

It didn't have to be. That was what Jean-Luc promised. That was what she had to believe in.

She smiled grimly as she approached the wide doors of the hospital and made her way the Annex across the way. Jean-Luc could sometimes surprise her with his forcefulness.

Jean-Luc had stayed, simply taken his luggage from his own designated quarters and moved it into hers.

"I am you husband, Beverly. It's not so much claiming certain rights, but more, infinitely more, a blessing, a benediction of what we shared last night," he told her when she showed her surprise after returning to her abode.

How could she send Jean-Luc away? A Jean-Luc who behaved in such an unaccustomed manner, almost as if he had foresworn being too nice with her, too overly considerate. She was never certain whether she liked this new Jean-Luc in those first moments. This was Captain Picard who acted as mediator in so many explosive diplomatic situations, so many arguments and stand offs, the tough as nails negotiator, yet who was so tender, so caring of her own feelings that he would deny mostly his own, or subdue his own pain because he felt she needed him more. Yes, she thought with pained insight, this was Jean-Luc who never complained or showed his grief to her because she came first. It was a Jean-Luc she liked, she decided. Loved.

He hadn't given her time to think in the warm, heady nights of their lovemaking.

She didn't want to think in the immediate aftermath of their passion. She claimed him as he claimed her, and that was that. They were one. They were blessed, as he promised.

During the day her mind had mostly been full of him. His passion which, God help her, she reveled in, incited and excited, flamed to higher and higher tongues of incredible love, never tired her. She had been giddy with desire from the moment she stepped into her quarters night after night to find him always waiting for her, ready with food, running her bath, massaging her aching muscles, or just ready...

She blushed now thinking how she would just slip out of her uniform and discard all barriers between them, naked by the time they reached the door of her bedroom.

"Of course, we could always eat later," he managed in between bouts of heady lovemaking, kissing, making her feel all woman...

"Yes," she would agree, "I'm eating enough as it is..." That was on the occasion she would straddle him and Jean-Luc would cry his delight as they reached their climax...

"Beverly..." His voice would be muffled where he lay amongst the crumpled sheets in the aftermath. That had been last night.

"Hmmm...?"

"I need to know, Beverly..."

"What, Jean-Luc?"

"Will you come home with me?"

She raised herself on her elbow and looked with tenderness in her eyes at him. There was again that expectant look in his eyes.

"I must finish here, you know that - "

"I know," he said quickly, then sat up and drew her in his arms.

"And I have to finish my contract on Altosa..."

He had given a sigh. She had another six months to go. But Jean-Luc was impatient. The tenor of their lovemaking had a new urgency in the last two nights.

Her answer seemed to give him some encouragement, but she knew Jean-Luc wanted more than that. It was still too non-committal. And she... In spite of her own responses to her husband, in spite of the way he made her body sing to his touches, there was always the underlying fear, the old wistful yearnings, and the frustration.

She had hidden them well from Jean-Luc in the last few days. In the nights he saw only her passion, imagined the tears were tears of happiness. They were, she had to admit. Yet... He assumed that she was happy, and he would croon to her, whisper soft words of comfort. He didn't know what the tears really were for.

So, how could she tell him that she was not returning to him? How could she tell him that every morning, in the bright light of day, when she was at work, away from him, she thought of the babies they didn't make? How could she tell him in the bright light of day that he reminded her every time of what they had lost?

She was indeed a fool.

I am a doctor, for heaven's sake, Beverly thought as she entered her office in the Science Annex. I should know the facts. They are there before me, now, ever and always. It is a reality, an unescapable truth, and however unpalatable that sounded, it is a truth I must live with. A truth I must accept and come to terms with...

"But it is so difficult, Jean-Luc," she whispered in anguish as she studied the final results of the medication that had been administered to thousands of children in the last number of days. The data lay before her, and she was satisfied that the medical staff of the Enterprise had also been inoculated against the virus. They were not at risk, but she had taken every precaution. The water-carriers had started their freight service to the two neighbouring planets the minute all their own personnel had been treated.

"So difficult..." she repeated softly, then turned her attention to the computer again.

It would take at least a generation for a new generation of children to be brought up here on Nu'mai, she thought as she read the data. Yet, the Nu'maians were so stoic, so accepting of their fate. A truly remarkable people. They were shaking off the terrors of the night and preparing for a brand new day, the trauma of the past few weeks to become a memorial to those children who lost their lives.

Tomorrow she and her team would leave. Their own vessel still orbited the planet, and she was glad that she could leave the rest of the medical care in the hands of the Nu'maian staff. The Imperator had been to see her earlier in the day , thanking her formally for the help the Federation had given their people. His son was recovering quickly and it had been a very grateful man who said his goodbye to her.

Now all she had to do was honour her last appointment with Lim Ponat.

Lim had wanted to see her before Beverly left for Altosa. Beverly sighed. She had to get to her quarters and there, Jean-Luc was waiting.

Jean-Luc who wanted an answer. She shivered.

All she had to do was say 'yes', and she'd be on the Enterprise with him.

What could she tell him? Stay with him, or away from him?

It was a dilemma, but one she had given thought.

She knew what she had to tell him.

****

END PART EIGHT

IMPASSE

PART NINE

Jean-Luc Picard paced the floor of the small lounge of Beverly's quarters. He stood still one moment as if a thought struck him, then he shifted impatiently again, standing at the window and staring at the shrubs and plants that graced a little hot spring in the centre of the courtyard. He had marveled the first day he arrived here at the abundance of springs with which this planet had been blessed. He had seen some of his officers slip into the water and enjoy its restorative qualities.

Nu'mai appealed to him. So different from Earth, yet so completely evoking in him a sense of rest...

It shouldn't surprise him anymore, he thought. As a seasoned 'star-traveler', one who sought out new worlds and joined them to the Federation, he had seen it time and time again. The planets of a star system were never the same. He had learned early on that there could not be a duplicate of Earth, down to its last molecule, its last atom, its last component that made up its atmosphere anywhere in the universe. Earth was unique, yet so were the other planets of Earth's solar system. Each one with its own 'habits', each with its own way of captivating a person's heart.

So was it here on Nu'mai. Although Nu'mai was not the largest planet in this system, it was the most densely populated and the most technologically advanced. How like Earth! Nu'mai had water in abundance and she shared her bounty with her sister worlds. Jean-Luc concluded that the nature of her people, the Nu-maians, was what gave this planet its status of leader among other worlds. They were a peaceful, spacefaring, benevolent, gentle race. He thought how ironic it was that this planet was struck with the Acarian virus, the Hydra. As if the gods punished them for being good, their children had died by the thousands. Strike at them, test their endurance, their innate sense of goodwill, their forbearance. Test them and sit back, watch a planet die.

Yet Nu'mai didn't die. She shook off the cloak of doom, mourned her children with such dignity as he had never, ever seen, and went on to establish the next generation of children.

They were now protected, strengthened by their adversity, made even more aware of how precious life is.

Jean-Luc Picard had been humbled as he observed the Nu'maians the last few days. Humbled and struck with a deep envy and admiration for the people of Nu'mai.

He sighed. He would have liked to stay here longer. This planet appealed to him, just like Ba'ku did. He felt rejuvenated, ready to take on the world in a manner of speaking. But in spite of the influence this planet and its people had on him, in spite of the way this world seduced him to like it more and more each day, he knew that part of its allure had to do with Beverly.

She was here.

Somehow, it was possible to picture her at home in this setting. The suns were golden in the late afternoon, and he could imagine her standing on a plaza, or walking along one of the many promenades. He pictured her hair, deep bronze as the late afternoon sun would touch it. Glints - sparks - that even as he stood thinking about it,, caused him to suck in his breath.

She was the sun.

She was everything he had to live for. Everything.

Yet, he sensed in her a reticence, a withdrawal that she thought was hidden from him. He grimaced, pulled his lips in a tight line at the thought of her when he tried to get a commitment from her last night. Or was it in the early hours of the morning? It wasn't as if she hadn't had time to think about it. He expelled the air through barely parted lips. Perhaps he had been too hasty, and he admitted, he had been inclined to pre-empt a positive response from her.

How had he come to that realisation?

She had been everything he dreamed of in the five days he had been here. She had melted away in his arms, had whispered burning endearments night after night, clung to him in the height of their passion, unable to separate herself from him. They had been marvelously one with each other. At times it had been difficult to think of themselves as two persons making love. They had melted together - no, he corrected himself - they melded, like Vulcans who could join their thoughts and bond to eternity, they bonded in the last few nights.

There lay the rub. He sensed her turmoil...movement on the fringes of her conscious thought, but still there.

When morning came and the planet was lit again by its two suns, it was as if it never happened. Yet... She would kiss him, fervently so. He felt that she held something back. It may have been in her eyes, the furtive way she looked when she didn't want to meet his gaze. It may have been simply the way in which the register of her voice changed to something teasingly familiar, yet different. She was friendly, happy, even swatted his behind just before she left to go to the hospital or the Science building.

"Tonight," she'd whisper seductively when he was still holding her, reluctant to break the spell of the togetherness.

"Yes..." he'd answer, then taken in completely by her enchantment, he'd forget to ask her what was wrong.

For something was wrong. Two days ago he did not only sense it, he knew.

How had he been so afraid to ask her? He, Captain Picard of the Enterprise, afraid of nothing?

Had he been too happy to break the bubble? Too ignorant of the subtle mood swings in his wife?

Or was it the discovery this morning, half and hour after Beverly had left for work?

He didn't want to think of that. Not yet. Not now. But he had a decision to make, a decision that had already found its roots in what he found this morning. It wasn't going to be difficult to make it, but on it depended his very sanity, his continued existence as a rational, balanced man and officer; on it depended his life.

For however much he vowed that he'd not leave her again, however much he wanted to have her by his side, part of him, his life, his love, in the final analysis her happiness mattered to him more than anything.

That fact was no more apparent than when he had gone with Lim Ponat on a goodwill tour of the continents yesterday morning. He had understood from Beverly that Lim Ponat lost two children to the Acarian flu, and he had been awed by her remarkable fortitude and dignity with which she carried herself in the wake of her own trauma at the loss of her dear ones.

**

"My home continent," Lim Ponat said as they viewed the rapidly approaching landing pads from the viewscreen of the small hovercar.

"It's beautiful," Jean-Luc offered. The valley they were in was perhaps a good twenty kilometres wide, flanked by two mountain ranges that appeared to claw at the sky, shimmering blue in the light of the mid-morning twin suns.

"I know," Lim Ponat answered proudly as they drew to a stop, and they alighted from the hovercar.

"I can't imagine that anyone would leave such a green, fertile valley - "

"It's the only continent that is rich in agriculture."

They walked down a narrow track - more a trail - as he followed Lim Ponat who was as tall as he was, but who appeared to be walking faster. He kept her pace though, although he was just behind her on the trail. Lim Ponat stopped suddenly. "Mostly, we mine the planet's ore on the other sectors, but Ceres - "

"Ceres?" Jean-Luc exclaimed in surprise.

"Is there something wrong, Captain Picard?" she asked, and he could see the disappointed look in her eyes, as if she thought he didn't approve.

"No...no, Lim Ponat. I'm just surprised it's called 'Ceres', that's all.

"It has some significance for you, Captain, on your home world perhaps?" she asked again, the astuteness of her question not surprising him. He smiled and was gratified when she returned his smile.

"It does, Lim Ponat. Part of Earth's cultural heritage is mythology, and Ceres was the goddess of agriculture..."

"Not surprising, Captain Picard, for here we have deities too, and what the soil yields, is a mark of fertility. Perhaps we can adopt your Ceres, for she would bless fertility."

Jean-Luc wanted to divert the conversation, the question of fertility rendering him a little uncomfortable. He didn't want to think of Beverly and their own inability to have off-spring.

"What are these?" he asked, pointing to row upon row - such symmetry he had seen only on Earth, in California and France...Labarre... They were much like vines, and growing on them were rich, dark brown fruit that appeared translucent, and velvety to the touch as Jean-Luc found when his hand went out to cradle two of it.

"They are the fruits from which we cultivate most of the wines of Nu-mai," Lim Ponat replied.

"A wine industry, straight from the heart of Ceres. You named your continent well, Lim Ponat," he said reflectively.

"Yes, Captain Picard, now that I understand the significance of your goddess."

He nodded in approval. Then he stilled, as if the thought struck him suddenly.

"Forgive me, for asking, Lim Ponat. You are a minister, a diplomat and politician. Why did you not remain in this beautiful place?"

Jean-Luc turned where he was standing, taking in the view of the mountains rising as sharp points against the sky. They were on a slight rise, and he looked over the magnificent green, rolling valleys of this region. He couldn't imagine how Lim Ponat who had been born here, could leave the beauty of this place and exchange it for the cold walls of ministerial palaces, pillared temples and colonnaded walkways. If he felt seduced by the beauty of what he saw around him, how much more Lim Ponat who was born here?

Her voice when she spoke, came from far off, almost an intrusion into his thoughts.

"I had other dreams, Captain Picard. Dreams of which this - " and Lim Ponat pointed to the lushh valley, "could not be a part of. I am fulfilled, but still, I come here when..." Lim Ponat paused, stared over the valley in deep reflection. Jean-Luc could see the faraway, absent look in her eyes, eyes that were speaking in their silence. She mourned her children. Here she came to pause, reflect, heal, gain sustenance from the rusticity, the pleasant feelings walking here had to evoke in anyone.

"Pastorale..."

"What - ?" she asked distractedly as she turned her gaze to him.

"No, I was thinking of the music of a great composer who lived long ago on my homeworld. He 'spoke' in his music about the pleasant feelings that are awakened when one walks in a place like this."

They had reached the end of the long trail, about a kilometer into the rows of wine fruit they were walking through.

"I understand, Captain," she said quietly as she remained standing, smiling kindly as he averted her gaze.

"How could you know..."

"We are of the same heart , Captain Picard. I saw laws and convocations instead of...this..." and she pointed again to the 'vines'. "You... I think you saw the stars first, and loved them before you loved the soil..."

"You are right," he said heavily, marveling that she could draw such a parallel. They had met only the day after his arrival, yet she knew what his heart needed.

"Only, you are not happy," Lim Ponat said softly, saying his name for the first time. She felt a little closer, more spontaneous when she spoke. "We come here to regain our strength, feel the power flow back into us, and acknowledge that we can heal. We need it, Jean-Luc Picard, if we were to remain - what is it you say - 'human'?"

Jean-Luc nodded. He felt a warmth, like tears that welled in his eyes. He had gone back to Labarre - home - after the trauma of his assimilation. Like a wounded animal he sought refuge in Labarre. He needed his home, his brother, his family. How many times had he done that? Labarre healed him, just as Ceres healed Lim Ponat.

"It heals us, Jean-Luc," Lim Ponat said as if she read his thoughts.

"Yes," he agreed.

"But something weighs heavily on you now."

He wanted to deny it, he wanted to refute her statement. In the distance he could see the heads of men and women - the women identifiable by their bright scarves - working in the groves and 'vineyards'. They appeared not to be disturbed by the sun, and from time to time he had seen them come up straight, and drink water. Then they bent down again to resume their labour.

"It's best when they are picked by hand," Lim answered his unspoken query.

"Like my home place. It is much like this, Lim Ponat. My brother always swore the fruits yielded better wine because they were handled with love."

There was a pause again, and only far off he could hear sounds of the Nu'maian pickers as they toiled in the sun. Then he looked at Lim Ponat. Her eyes were soft on him, kind. Her hand reached out and touched his arm. The touch was a solace.

He gave a sigh, and knew that he could not help the sadness that lurked there.

"You know," he said intuitively.

She didn't have to ask him and she didn't have to ask Beverly either. Lim Ponat's senses were very keen, not as developed as Deanna Troi, but enough that she could determine what bothered him.

"She is afraid, Jean-Luc."

He turned away from Lim's stare again, but her voice he could not blot out. It pierced inexorably at the frail fences he erected to protect his heart from the truth. He didn't want to hear it, but he could no more stop Lim Ponat from telling him than he could ask one sun to stop shining.

"She is obsessed still. She cannot make you happy..."

"I am happy."

"The laughter is not in your eyes, Jean-Luc. I have seen you once together, and still, you were uneasy, as if you were not certain of your wife's plans - "

He looked at Lim Ponat then. A sudden jerking of his body as if she shocked him.

"I have asked her, Lim Ponat," Jean-Luc replied, not wondering anymore why he was opening up to this woman. "I wish for her to accompany me to my homeworld again."

"If I were someone not familiar with what I understood about you and Dr Crusher, I would have said that your actions were selfish."

"Thank you..."

"Your wife must still come to terms with her barrenness, Jean-Luc, as I have."

"You? You could still have chil - "

"No more, Jean-Luc Picard. I cannot have more."

"Like Beverly..."

"Yes."

"It is no longer important to me, Lim Ponat. I have made my peace. I just want her to accept it as well, and...accept me..."

"I understand, Jean-Luc, but your wife holds on to something she knows is futile. She knows that. But I can see that she is - how do you say? - stubborn."

This time Jean-Luc smiled at her, and he gestured that they return to the hovercraft. They would be going to the mines on the other continents, and he wanted to have Beverly to himself this evening.

"You can say that again."

"But it may not rule in your favour, is that so?"

Jean-Luc sighed. He didn't answer the tall woman. No, it wouldn't rule in his favour. If Beverly was adamant, he couldn't stop her...

****

Jean-Luc pondered on that conversation with Lim Ponat and he knew that he and Beverly had to come to an agreement tonight.

He felt strange. Angered, almost. Resentful that Beverly could hold him hostage the way she did. She reached deep into his heart and with arrogant ease just pulled down every defence, stripped him till he was nothing, then in the next moment, the very next moment she'd deliver the coup de grâce. She'd leave him cold, shivering with unrequited need. How long had he known her and how many times had she done that?

He didn't want that anymore.

"I want peace, dammit, even if it meant being without her the rest of my life," he muttered to himself. He turned to the bedroom again, and looked at the items that were lying on the bed.

They told him, more than Beverly could ever have put it in words, that she would never let go. He was no martyr, but he thought privately that Beverly, who had had the blessing of a son years ago, was not satisfied. Wesley was still alive somewhere, and on rare occasions he'd make an appearance and for days Beverly would be ecstatic. When Wesley left again, it was always with the knowledge at the back of her mind that he cared about his mother, respected his stepfather and would always have them in his thoughts.

So, why was Beverly so obsessed?

He was saved further pondering on that when he heard the door to the quarters open. His heart raced for a few wild moments, then he forced himself to calm again. He took a deep breath and waited for her. He stood at the bed, picked up the soft woolly jumper, a miniature starfleet uniform that would have fitted their son at six months old.

Red of Command.

"Just so he knows where he's heading, Jean-Luc," Beverly said at the time, smarting a little because he teased her.

"What if he wanted to study viticulture?"

"He'll be Starfleet, just you see..."

Now the little suit, brand new, never used, lay in his hands and - God help him - a communicator pin attached to the tiny top.

Beverly's footsteps came closer, louder, and when it stopped, he knew that she reached the bedroom door. The door opened, suddenly. Beverly smiled broadly as her eyes rested on him, and when Jean-Luc didn't respond, she lowered her gaze to his hands. The smiled left her face. Slow. Painfully.

There was a deadly silence for a few seconds. The air appeared to pulse each heartbeat in noiseless rhythm. It was Beverly, pale and shaken, who spoke first.

"I see you found it," she said softly, her voice without censure.

Jean-Luc's lips compressed in a line and he bit out the words:

"You just can't let go, can you?"

****

END PART NINE

IMPASSE

PART TEN

Beverly paled as she stepped closer and tried to take the garment from Jean-Luc. He held it away from her, and she dropped her hands.

"Or shall I say," Jean-Luc said softly, "you don't want to let go, Beverly."

His voice had been hoarse, tinged with anger and a great sadness. He didn't want to touch her. Not yet. Maybe never again. She reached for his face, wanting to touch his cheek but he turned his face away from her.

"Jean-Luc, please, you must understand - "

His retort was swift, uncompromising.

"What is there to understand, Beverly Crusher-Picard? That you travel the Alpha Quadrant, going on field missions, taking these things everywhere with you?"

Jean-Luc leaned down to retrieve some other objects, and he thrust them at her. His lips were bloodless, his eyes bloodshot as he stared at her. His voice trembled.

"Look at this, Beverly. Another jumper - blue, for a boy, and some knitted booties, a christening pin with the name René on it, for God's sake."

"I wanted to keep it, Jean-Luc," Beverly started feebly. "I couldn't bring myself to discard it - "

"No, because that would have been too final, wouldn't it? Not good enough reason to recycle your memories. You wanted tangible evidence to keep you remembering. You didn't want to cut yourself off - "

It seemed as if Beverly got her spirit back. She prodded him in the chest and pushed him so that he had to take a step back. That took him to right against the dresser with the wide mirror just above it. He threw the booties and crawler back on the bed with disgust, his lips curling as the action was fierce, angered.

"I needed a connection, Jean-Luc."

"You needed a reminder, Beverly," he countered her words, taking her by her shoulders and shaking her gently. "Doing away with these items would have meant that nothing was left. Nothing."

"I lost two babies, Jean-Luc. Two, for heaven's sake! How could I just forget?"

"Beverly, we lost two babies," he responded heatedly, then softened when he saw how her hands shook and her eyes got a sheen in them. "But sweetheart, you have to move on. Make your peace. You're still mourning when you should have been over that hurdle and ready to jump the next one. This," he whispered in a hoarse voice as he bent down to pick up the little Starfleet jumper, "puts you right where you were six months ago, Beverly."

Beverly looked at him and Jean-Luc could have sworn she wanted to say something else, something important, something she'd been holding back.

"If you helped me - "

"Beverly, you left me! Left me to cope with my own grief. Alone, do you hear me? How could I help you when you pushed away every overture, every vow I made never to leave you or let you suffer alone?"

"Then stay with me, this time, Jean-Luc..."

He should have been glad. He should have been overjoyed. His heart should have been racing with euphoria. But...

"Destroy that," he said calmly. "It's a step forward for you..." His eyes went to the baby clothing on the bed. "Recycle it. Then you've taken a giant leap, Beverly."

"Jean-Luc, I didn't get rid of the clothes that would have been for our baby girl - "

He sighed. Why was Beverly acting like this when she was a doctor, a former head of Starfleet Medical with all the latest developments of 24th century medical advances as her store of knowledge? Yet, and he had to concede that at least, that she acted like a woman, a mother who had lost children. He couldn't begrudge her that. But that first set of clothes...

"Some of it we were able to keep, because we knew we were going to try again for another baby, Beverly."

"Then why - "

He knew what she was going to say, and he interrupted:

"Because there will be no more. Do you understand? We can have no more children together, not our very own off-spring. You have to accept that. Come to terms with it."

"Have you, Jean-Luc?"

"I don't know how you can ask me now, six months later, Beverly. I've had a lot of time to reflect. It meant a lot to me too - "

"See? You can't let go either, Jean-Luc, although you say it and make yourself believe it."

How was it possible, Jean-Luc thought, that Beverly could turn his words and intentions to her own advantage? She stood there before him and calmly took the wind out of his sails. It was no more about her, but about him. He, Jean-Luc Picard who had agonised deeply and bitterly over his own loss, who needed Beverly most when he shuddered in his sleep at night, wracked by nightmares, terrorised by dreams of a living, laughing, happy baby they were going to call René? He survived. It was a difficult road, made all the more difficult because Beverly wasn't there to share his pain. But he got through it, and the only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that Beverly would come back to him, that she would rejoice again and make her life with him.

He lived. He was alive because his constant thoughts of her kept him alive and hoping.

And now, this.

It was an obsession. A dangerous one if Beverly didn't snap out of it soon.

"When was the last time you saw a counsellor, Beverly?" he asked softly as he fingered the baby clothes. Heaven helped him, they even smelled of baby powder. René... Something hit him. A burning sensation in his chest, as if a hammer had been swung down on it. He groaned, then recovered quickly when he saw Beverly's expression, her eyes wide.

"Jean-Luc!"

"It's alright, Beverly. Don't worry about me."

He drew her into his arms, the previous nights' soft swell of desire that quickly overpowered them, absent now. In its place was a deep sigh Jean-Luc gave as he pressed her close to him. He felt her tremble in his arms, heard her muffled "Don't go..."

Jean-Luc's body stilled. He remained like that until Beverly raised her head to look at him. He saw the instant flash of fear. Beverly's lips parted.

"Jean-Luc...?"

"I'm sorry, Beverly. It's very clear to me that you're still unable to let go. They're in your dreams, did you know that? In your sleep you cry for a baby who will never smile, whose milestones we will never have the privilege of witnessing. Other women have walked that road and gone on with their lives, fulfilling lives," Jean-Luc said in soft, calm tones.

He thought of Lim Ponat who was getting on with her life, barely two weeks after her children died. Her children had been alive, living, breathing beings whom she raised, had seen grow. Beverly's was a miscarriage, albeit it in the traumatic second semester of her pregnancy. By now she should have left those memories where they belonged: in the past.

"I want to try, Jean-Luc..."

He wanted to believe her, yet in the entire time they had this conversation, she had not moved once to take the tiny garments and dump them in the recycler. Not once had he seen any indication that Beverly would put action to words. He had compassion for people like Lim Ponat, for his own sister-in-law Marie, whose son also died. A young boy who would have made Starfleet proud. He could understand Marie or Lim Ponat, or millions of women like them wanting to keep a little memento of their deceased loved ones.

Jean-Luc could see the uncertainty in Beverly's eyes, the reluctance of complying to his demands. He sighed again. He didn't know until this morning just how much these mementos had become a part of her life.

He half expected Beverly to say: "You ask too much."

Jean-Luc held Beverly away from him. His heart felt heavy at the thought of what he wanted to tell her. It had been a tough decision to make, but his continued peace of mind depended on this. He didn't want her with him for the rest of his life, and know that every single minute of every day Beverly looked at him, she was not supremely happy; that she would always be tormented by their childless state, that she would go into the kind of vacant stares she was unaware of doing the last five days.

"Is something the matter, Jean-Luc?" Beverly broke into his thoughts and he looked into her eyes. He dropped his hands from her shoulders and kept them at his sides, his fists clenched.

"You need time, Beverly. And once again, time is what I'm going to give you - "

"Jean-Luc!" Beverly exclaimed, aghast when she realised the import of his words.

"However long it takes you, Beverly. I'll be waiting."

"Please, don't do this, Jean-Luc, don't leave..."

"I have to go, sweetheart. And you, what you've got to do, I can't help you with. It may seem selfish of me, that someone might say I'm letting you go through this alone. But Beverly, finding peace, finding resolution is something only you can do. It is your will, your destiny. You control that. But you still need to take yourself through that process of reflection where I can't be in, and come to terms with your loss."

"I'll go with you now, Jean-Luc..."

Jean-Luc thought of her words and the promise it should have held, sounded lame to him.

He took her gently by the hand and guided her to the bed. He picked up the small christening pin with René's name on it and held it to her.

"This," he said, "when you discard this, it will be the first step."

"I'll do it."

"You'll do it to please me..."

"I swear, Jean-Luc."

But Jean-Luc Picard remained adamant. Beverly looked at him, looked around her and saw, for the first time, the room devoid of all his personal effects. She looked down and saw his duffel. She paled. He saw her expression.

"I will, as always," he said finally, "be on the Enterprise."

"Jean-Luc!"

He tapped his commbadge.

"Jean-Luc to Enterprise. One to beam up."

"No!"

*****

The suns were high, bathing Nu'mai in a shimmering heat. The springs were particularly active today, as the steam could be seen swooshing into the air at intervals, evaporating as soon as the sun's rays bore down on it. At most of the springs, little resting places had been erected. Not elaborate structures that mimicked the magnificent architecture of the cities and large towns, but small, intimate and cool trellises under which two or three persons could enjoy the view. They could go the spring nearest them and slide into the water, only to emerge later and seek refuge under the shades again.

Lim Ponat sat under the trellis, a fancy latticework which was graced by their most beautiful creeper plants. Large lily-like flowers ranging from white to light pink and peach grew on it, and it brought colour to the sandy terrain. Today her nodes did not give her trouble. The short period she had been in the water had soothed the raging pain she had had the last twenty four hours. She raised her hands to touch them, her fingers moving down her neck, touching each one in turn.

She sighed. Very soon, when Nu'mai's moon showed golden and full, the pain would be gone.

It was their way. Beverly had told her about how Earth's women reached their menopausal stage after which they were no longer child-bearing. Nu'mai women went through this stage soon after their second child had been born. Lim had prepared for it as thousands of Nu'mai women before her prepared for it - an inexorable fact of their life, unstoppable, instinctive as the body listened to the call nature's decree.

It was her final acceptance that she would never have another child.

A movement at the spring caught her attention. She wanted to rise from her seat, but settled back again. The woman at the water merely changed her own position, and it was her bright auburn hair that sparkled and swung about her face as she turned to face a different view of the springs. Her face was raised, as if she were in prayer, and even from here Lim Ponat could see that Beverly Crusher's eyes were closed.

Lim smiled. Their conversation a few hours ago was still clear in her mind. Every word, every nuance remembered as Beverly Crusher countered her, tried justifying her own decisions, then gradually...

It had been a painful journey for Dr. Crusher. Lim's eyes became soft as she recalled their words...

**

"You're late," Lim Ponat said as Beverly Crusher rushed towards the hovercar that was to take them to their destination.

"You picked up the Terran habits quickly," came Beverly's reply as she followed Lim into the transport.

"You have been here long enough that your habits rubbed off on us."

"So, where are we going?" Beverly asked as she made herself comfortable in the passenger seat and Lim began the start-up sequence.

Without looking at Beverly, she replied, her answer swift:

"Ceres."

"Ceres?" she asked.

Lim smiled, then looked at Beverly. Then the smiled left her, slowly dissipating as she saw the look in Beverly's eyes.

"Yes..." came her reply, "your husband was just as surprised."

"Jean-Luc was there. He didn't tell me the name of the place."

"I understand the significance of the name, Beverly..."

Beverly's smile was barely more than a whisper.

"Jean-Luc told you..."

"He was very taken with the place, Beverly," Lim said quietly as they sped away from Carros, the First City. "He expressed the wish to come here again one day. Perhaps then we can all - what is it you say? - holiday together. I have spoken with Sep Ponat. He is my friend-mate - "

Lim Ponat stopped as she turned to look at Beverly, who had suddenly become very still.

"Is there something wrong, Beverly?"

I should have seen it, Lim Ponat thought. Usually I sense these things. Why couldn't I now? Did Beverly Crusher have a kind of internal defence, a well-erected wall that brooked no interference?

Beverly's eyes were sunken, as if she hadn't slept, almost like she looked before... A light went up for Lim. She realised it with a start. It was almost the way Beverly looked before Jean-Luc Picard arrived here. Only now Lim sensed it. It was a desolation that touched her too.

"What is the matter, Beverly?"

When Beverly opened her mouth to speak, her voice was soft, tremulous.

"Jean-Luc will not be with me, Lim Ponat."

"I thought that you'd join him tonight - "

"No!" Beverly said quickly, then softened. "No... He left last night. The Enterprise will be leaving this system and heading for its original destination by the time I have to leave with my own team. The Enterprise's medical staff still have last minute clearing up to do..."

"You have decided not to go with him?"

"Even if I could," Beverly said, her voice tinged with sadness, "I'd only have been able to join him in a month's time..."

"That is not the answer I sought, Beverly."

Beverly sighed.

"I didn't decide this time, Lim Ponat. Jean-Luc was the one..."

"He didn't want you with him?"

"It's...it's rather difficult. He - he left me an ultimatum."

Lim Ponat thought of her conversation with Jean-Luc. She summed him up as an honest, disciplined man, a diplomat. The kind of ultimatums he would issue would most certainly have concerned his work, dealing with other peoples in this quadrant. Not giving his wife an ultimatum. It didn't sound like Jean-Luc. There was something not right, she thought. A puzzle of which some pieces were missing. A teasing, taunting puzzle. On an impulse, she changed course and headed for one of the hot springs. Beverly hardly noticed, too preoccupied to offer any objection.

"What was the ultimatum?" Lim Ponat asked carefully.

"He - "

Beverly was spared from answering as the hovercar touched down on the landing pads just five hundred metres away from the first trellises of the Mara spring systems.

"Well?" Lim asked when they were ensconced in their own trellis.

"What?"

"You know."

"Lim Ponat, why are you suddenly so insistent?"

"I am a diplomat, Beverly. It is my work to understand all the issues involved, know both sides of a story..."

"And Jean-Luc gave you his?"

"Yes, perhaps not in so many words, but it was enough. He loves you - "

"It's not your - "

Lim Ponat looked sharply at her friend - for Beverly had become a friend, someone she cared about - and held her gaze. Beverly dropped her gaze before the onslaught of Lim Ponat's direct stare. Beverly's cheeks were aflame. She looked up and her eyes were very sad, shadows that lurked and would not move away.

"Forgive me. I - " she paused, swallowed at the lump that formed in her throat, then continued. Her words were pained as she spoke. "I - he claims I won't let go. I miscarried twice, Lim Ponat..."

Lim nodded, then reached forward and touched Beverly's cheek, a soft touch, one of solace. Beverly's eyes closed, and when she opened them, there were tears.

"I think about it all the time. I can't not."

"He knows this?"

"Last night...last night he - he found some of the things we had for the birth of our son. I could never bring myself to throw them away and - and..."

"He assumed correctly that it was a symbol of your inability to come to terms with your loss?"

"Yes..." Beverly's whispered answer drifted in the small trellis.

"Why?"

"Sentiment, perhaps, I think..." Beverly sounded a little uncertain of the rightness of her response.

"Or obsession."

Lim Ponat was gratified to see the sudden spark in Beverly's eyes. Her retort was quick, heated.

"No! I - it's not an obsession, Lim."

"Forgive me, Beverly, but you did not have the privilege, the unutterable joy of seeing your child grow to eight years old, then plunged into the deepest of pits when you have to watch that child die..."

"I'm sorry - "

"Please, do not be, Beverly. That is not the point I want to make, but merely a statement to clarify a different issue. I will have things I about my children I will always treasure. Pictures, a toy, a memory."

"How is that different?"

"Are you not a doctor, Beverly Crusher, who has seen these things a thousand times? It is different because I do not see very much how you can still mourn something that never had the chance to breathe, grow, say his first words, call you 'mother'"

"I don't think I can listen to you speak like this, Lim Ponat. It...it is too..."

"Perhaps, Beverly, you should have heard this a long time ago. Your husband, a counsellor, a friend. Were they too careful around you to have spoken of those things?"

Beverly thought they couldn't have.

They weren't there.

How could they be?

She wasn't there. She went into hiding. On Altosa...

"Because I ran away..." she admitted painfully, and Lim Ponat drew the distraught woman in her arms. "I was a coward..."

"You were just...human, Beverly," Lim said softly. "Just human..."

"I didn't want to hear the truth..."

"And so you made two people unhappy. Your husband, I can see, would have stayed by your side, Beverly, but he let you decide..."

"Yes..." Beverly said on a sob, then sat up, drawing out of Lim's embrace. Her eyes were sad and her hair swung gently about her face as she turned to look out over the springs. She heard Lim Ponat speak.

"What is the truth?"

"Accept my state, accept my loss, come to terms with it."

"But that is not all, is it?" Lim Ponat asked, too astute not to notice that Beverly held something back.

"What do you mean?"

"Something you are afraid to acknowledge, because you have always feared that you would lose your husband. He might not love you if you couldn't give him more children - "

"How could you know? That is not true!" Beverly cut in sharply. "It's not true. Jean-Luc loves me..."

"Ah. For a man who loves his friend-mate for eternity, you are apart? I do not understand this arrangement." Lim Ponat found it hard not to sound a little sarcastic.

Beverly stirred, moved out of the trellis and walked to the nearest spring. She wore a dress which swayed about her calves. At the spring she sat down and dipped her feet into the water. She looked up as Lim Ponat approached and then sat down beside her. Beverly looked away, a certain knowledge that she couldn't escape Lim Ponat tearing down her walls. All with her deceptively soft voice and incredible ability to sense Beverly's emotions.

"Children are the blessings of a marriage, Lim Ponat," Beverly said at length.

"They are. I grant you that. But they should never be used to determine the success of the union, Dr Crusher," Lim said quietly, her formal address making her own statement something she believed as a fact.

"Jean-Luc wanted a child, very badly."

"He wanted you, Beverly, first and foremost."

"I - "

"I can understand that there must be women who seek to want children to the point of obsession because they imagine it would cement the union of friend-mates."

"You already accused me of being obsessed, Lim."

"So I did. I stand by what I said."

"I have no doubt about that," Beverly replied, squinting a little as she look up at Lim.

"I am certain that Jean-Luc could never have placed that as a condition of your union."

Beverly blanched a little at Lim directness. She wanted to refute the woman's words, but the sound stuck in her throat, although her lips moved.

"I have been married before, Lim. I have a son from that marriage."

Lim Ponat's surprise registered only for a second, then she pounced on Beverly's words, as if a great realisation struck her.

"Especially in a second union, then. Especially. You imagined that it was necessary, that having a child could keep Jean-Luc attached you. In your subconscious you were afraid you could lose him if you couldn't give him a child."

"Lim! How can you say that? I love him - "

"Exactly. Yet you are afraid. You never spoke of these fears to him..."

"No...no, I couldn't. I could never tell him..."

"Then I am right. Those are your fears."

Beverly's eyes widened as she realised she walked into the trap Lim set for her. Then she burst into tears. Lim held Beverly to her and waited until she had spent herself. Her hands caressed Beverly's hair and her touch was comforting.

"I am sorry..."

"You are finally beginning to acknowledge your fears, Beverly Crusher. That is good. I can have no more children. Very, very soon my body will undergo the changes I told you about, then that will be my final acceptance. You must come to that too."

Beverly gave a sob before she looked with tear stained eyes at her friend. Lim Ponat's heart sang. The look in Beverly's eyes was much calmer now, much more at rest. There was a serenity that struck Lim Ponat.

"I am beginning to, Lim Ponat."

"I am glad. And Beverly..."

"What?"

"Children are not the only things that bless a union. There are other very, very fulfilling things that enrich your life with your husband, that seals the love you have for one another. Those are the things that will ultimately matter, that will ultimately be what a good friend-mate relationship should be. "

"It is too late, I think..."

"Never, my friend. Jean-Luc will welcome you."

"You think?" Beverly sounded painfully pleased at Lim's words.

"It seems a great weight has rolled off you, Beverly Picard."

Beverly smiled a tearful smile. Lim used her married name, as if she underscored her own certainty. She watched Lim Ponat rise and walk back to the trellis. Then Beverly sighed and thought about Jean-Luc, how right he had been.

**

Lim Ponat woke from her reverie when a shadow fell across the entrance of the trellis.

"So, can we go to Ceres now?" Beverly asked with a smile on her face.

Lim didn't answer her, but simply rose to her feet. She stooped over her friend, then touched Beverly's shoulder.

"It's where everyone goes when they seek healing."

"I know, Lim Ponat. And Lim..."

"Yes?"

"I don't know how I could ever have doubted Jean-Luc's loyalty..."

*****

END PART TEN

IMPASSE

PART ELEVEN

He was on fire. Every muscle in his body ached and burned. In a frenzied move he thrust the cover from his body. The action caused him to cry out in pain and he slumped back, exhausted. His eyelids felt heavy, leaden ballasts that kept him from rising...rising... He tried to open his eyes and groaned when a stinging shaft of pain lanced the area behind his eyelids.

He thrashed about restlessly, trying to shake off the cloying damp sheet, willing himself to feel something that would soothe him. Something cool.

All that happened were flitting images that rushed at him and flared brightly as they came closer. They were faces, faces that taunted him, beckoned him to join them. Their hands and fingers appeared like long tentacles that reached out and wanted to ensnare him. One image was surrounded by a bright bubble that bobbed gently as if it danced in a breeze. The face looked serene, beautiful, smiling. He tried to touch the face; he tried to lift his hand, the finger trying to pierce the bubble that enfolded the face.

He saw her. The sunlight was behind her, he realised it was not a bubble at all, but the way the light played around her, shooting sparks from her hair. A halo. Her hair shone in burnished copper tones, and where the tresses touched her slender shoulders, they fanned about her. She wore a dress, and the skirt of it lapped against her calves as the breeze moved it.

She smiled. It was a soft, tentative smile that hovered...hovered... She held out her hand to him, long slender fingers that enticed him to join her. He tried to move, but lifting his head caused him to moan in pain. The smile froze; her face became somber, sad... Still, her hand remained outstretched, her invitation still clear. Then the image moved away from him. Slowly it receded further and further into the distance. He tried to reach for her and hold her.

Don't go...

He called her name.

"Beverly..."

****

Will Riker stood at the biobed on which Jean-Luc Picard lay and he shook his head. It didn't seem as if the Captain was recovering. The opposite was rather the case. And while he wasn't getting worse, he remained languishing in this state.

No better. No worse. Two days and they were still two more days from Altosa. The emergency message had gone out only yesterday when it seemed that Jean-Luc Picard would not make it. The Captain had been crying out Beverly's name constantly in his delirium. Yet, immediately after he had been beamed from the bridge to sickbay, Jean-Luc had regained consciousness momentarily. In those moments Jean-Luc Picard had been frantic in not wanting them to inform Beverly Crusher.

"We have to let her know, Captain. You're very seriously ill," he stated as he held the Captain down. Jean-Luc wanted to get up and grab him by his jacket, but he had already been too weak to lift himself even to a sitting position.

"No! No, don't call her now, Will. I don't want her to see me...like this... like this..." he repeated the last words as he gasped for breath.

"She has to know at least. She - she might be able to help..." he said somewhat ineffectually as he noted how Jean-Luc pursed his lips. The Captain looked adamant. This time he did manage to grab Will Riker's jacket front and pulled him down. The hands that held him were shaking, already indicating how ill the Captain was getting.

"She mustn't know, Will. She must never know. I can't let her suffer...again..." Jean-Luc Picard had whispered in a slurring voice as the medication took effect and his eyes closed.

Will Riker thought how in the first twenty four hours the Captain hovered between life and death and when he called Beverly's name in his delirium, he knew Beverly deserved to know at least that her husband was dangerously ill. It didn't matter that their relations were strained. It didn't matter that the Captain had retreated the last two months into a shell that made him terse, closed, reticent. Jean-Luc Picard had never been one to flaunt his private affairs in any case, never discussed it with anyone. But the first year of his marriage to Beverly Crusher, Captain Picard had been more affable to his closest officers, especially to him and Deanna. He was more relaxed, though by no means less of a diplomat, or shirking any of his duties. Picard had been as strong as ever, but Will had sensed in him a greater ease, a friendliness and eagerness to be a little more open. Beverly, they all knew, was responsible for these subtle changes in Captain Picard. Everyone on board the Enterprise concurred that this was a far more approachable man who captained the flagship of the Federation.

Will sighed. Last night he sent out a subspace message to Altosa. He had gone against the Captain's wishes, and he was prepared to be hanged for his decision. Beverly Crusher needed to know at least that her husband was ill and that for some reason he was not recovering. It was almost... He drew in his breath again. It was almost as if the Captain had lost the will to fight. It was as if he had lost purpose. Will Riker knew that if Deanna and he had similar troubles and she rejected him, he would have little reason to live. Exist. Yes. Live? Really live? He had that with Deanna, but the last nine months Jean-Luc had merely done his job. He did it, got it done, and went to his quarters.

Jean-Luc Picard needed his wife here.

"Still nothing, Doctor?" he asked the Chief Medical Officer who stood at the monitor and stared intently at the data before him.

Rayyan Khan looked up and nodded and Will's heart sank.

"I wish I could say he's getting better. There's reason he should, Commander. His condition isn't worsening either. We've managed to stabilise him, and our nurses are keeping an eye on him round the clock," Dr Khan informed him.

Will stared again at the sick man and touched his shoulder briefly. It felt feverish and clammy and for a second it appeared to him as if the Captain flinched. Was the Captain aware of who touched him? He had lain like this for two days, and only after intense research into the strange condition that felled Jean-Luc Picard was Dr. Khan able to determine that the Captain of the Enterprise had still been incubating from the inoculations he and the crew who had worked on Nu'mai had been given.

"He hadn't formed an adequate amount of antibodies, and that made him more vulnerable to succumb to the poison he inhaled."

"I understand," he had told the doctor while watching Jean-Luc fight for breath as he struggled against the strange fever. "But his condition is not impossible to correct, is it?"

"We can cure him, naturally, Commander," Dr. Khan noted as he looked at the PADD then handed it to Will. Will looked at it, and could discern that a significant amount of the poison in the Captain's bloodstream had been neutralised. But somehow his weakened system allowed the residue to keep him still in a high fever. If only Jean-Luc Picard could fight it.

Their visit to another planet, their original destination before they changed course to Nu'mai, was where the trouble really began. How long ago were they there? Two months?

The Doctor's voice broke into his thoughts again.

"It is very possible that he could have picked up another virus on Borani, Commander. In fact, we have determined that his antibodies mutated and absorbed the poison he inhaled. It was that poison that proved to be so dangerous - "

"Doctor, there were three others with the Captain on that away mission on Borani. They were not - "

"Commander, there were no traces of the poison in their bodies, for the simple reason that they did not inhale the fragrance of the psoralea plant."

"Only the Captain did."

"Yes. He walked with it for almost two months before the symptoms began to show. You know what happened that day, Commander."

Will Riker nodded his head. Jean-Luc Picard had simply stood near his command chair the one moment and the next, he collapsed in a heap on the floor of the bridge. He sighed as he looked at the Captain.

This was one very sick man.

He was still looking at Jean-Luc Picard when the captain opened his eyes very slowly. They were fevered, red, and burned as he tried to focus on Will Riker.

"We...parted ways..." he spoke in a voice that croaked. It was as if he had just dreamed of Beverly. "She has her own life..."

"Captain - "

He wanted to tell the Captain not to give up. He wanted to give Jean-Luc the assurance that Beverly Crusher still had feelings for him. No, correction, Will thought. Beverly loved her husband. He was positive of that. But they all knew how she struggled to come to terms with the loss of two babies. She had been devastated, leaving Jean-Luc and leaving him to cope with his own grief.

"I am undone, Will," Jean-Luc said before his eyes closed again and he sank into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

***

Beverly Crusher stared at the face of Will Riker. She had rarely seen this man so serious. He looked worried and the moment his face appeared on the screen she knew there was something wrong. Jean-Luc would have made any contact he needed to with her himself. Even given the fact they were not communicating anymore. Now she sensed with some dread that Will Riker had news about Jean-Luc.

And, it was not good news. That fact was attested the minute Will Riker opened his mouth.

"Doctor - "

"It's Beverly, Will. You have that dispensation, you know."

The formality of his greeting just struck her as too odd. They were friends. She knew she was stalling. Perhaps she didn't want to hear something catastrophic.

"Beverly..."

"It's Jean-Luc, isn't it? Something's wrong."

Will Riker didn't bother to elaborate on the nature of Jean-Luc's illness.

"He's in a serious condition, Beverly, but the medical staff here can treat it. He's still unconscious, though..."

"But?"

Beverly sensed Will's withdrawal; she knew there was something he wanted to say to her. She heard him give a sigh before he relented.

"He's not fighting it, Beverly. Please, I don't want to be too presumptuous, but something's holding him back, and...we need our Captain."

Beverly looked at him for a few seconds. Her heart raced at the sudden inspiration that filled her. She could feel the rush of adrenaline at the prospect that it was after all possible she might see Jean-Luc again. She hadn't wanted to bother him, hadn't wanted to presume too much in the last two months that he might want her back. She knew he wanted her to make the decision, wanted her to be fully recovered, accepting of her circumstances. But he had been so aloof, forbidding the last time she saw Jean-Luc that she had been convinced that he'd never want her back again. It was that thought alone that kept her from making overtures sooner. The decision rested with her. Only with her.

If she could only see Jean-Luc...

"Will," she said finally, "I want to make a download of the information of Jean-Luc's condition that I can study while I make the necessary arrangements to travel - "

"You will come?" Will asked hopefully. He hadn't asked her straight out that question, but it was what he had hoped to ask. Knowing the precarious situation between Jean-Luc and Beverly, he had been too diplomatic.

Beverly gave him a smile.

"Certainly. I've downloaded your co-ordinates. I'll be there, don't worry, Will. And you will have your Captain back in no time."

"He needs you, Beverly..." Will Riker said softly before he signed off.

"I...understand, Will. It's been difficult."

Will Riker nodded. A second later his image was replaced by the Federation insignia.

Beverly stared at the screen for long, long moments. Her eyes became suddenly dreamy. Jean-Luc would recover once he felt her presence. He would get better because he'd see her at his side.

And after that?

What then?

****

The images came to him again. Marie and René were walking along a beach, and they stopped to pick up shells. René held up one shell and held it against his ear. He smiled. Then his lips moved. They were words Jean-Luc couldn't make out. But René gestured animatedly to his mother.

Marie signaled to René and they moved on, walking along the lazy stretch of pristine beach towards the promontory. Then the mist descended on the figures. He wanted to call them, to warn them to wait for him, but slowly Marie and René were shrouded in the darkened fog and he saw them no more.

"Don't go...please..." he begged.

"Shhh... it's alright, Jean-Luc. I'm here," came a voice that emerged from the darkened fog. It drifted towards him, like a wave of recognition its timbre, the melodious, soft and calm quality of it registered in his conscious at last. It was a voice he knew so well.

"Beverly..."

"Yes, Jean-Luc. It's me..."

He felt something against his forehead and it was cool, heavenly cool. The ministering hand moved over his skin and the heat, the terrible heat abated for a moment. He gave a deep sigh. His body, so tense before, unwilling to fight the raging fever, yet battling to ignore the pain, relaxed. He tried to open his eyes to look at her. The movement produced pain again and he moaned softly.

"Don't worry, Jean-Luc. Sleep..." she calmed him, but he became agitated as he tried again.

For a second the heavy eyelids lifted. He closed them again as the light burned in his eyes. He groaned.

"Jean-Luc, it's alright..."

He tried again to lift the lids. They opened. There was light, a lot of it. He wanted to blink, but forced his eyes to remain open and challenge the light. Something blocked the path of the light. A head, with red hair that surrounded a face. The light formed a halo around her. A halo... The image of his dreams. He wanted to speak again. His throat was dry, on fire. His lips moved. The sound came out like a croak.

"You are an angel - "

"Jean-Luc..."

" - of mercy."

"Thank you, Jean-Luc. Now, you must rest, please," she commanded softly.

"Beverly?"

"Hmmm...? came her reply as she sponged his face, gentle movements that made him brave the pain and turn his face in the direction her hand moved. His own trembling hand came up and he wanted to touch her face. Long fingers connected with her cheek, and even as he lay burning, he could hear the sigh escaping from her as his fingers remained against her cheek before his hand slumped down again, weak and spent at his side.

"I never stopped..."

"Please, Jean-Luc."

"Loving you, you know..."

The light was blocked completely as Beverly leaned forward and he felt her lips on his. He closed his eyes and his hand came up again, the tired hand that slumped a second ago, and he touched her hair, caressed her long tresses as her mouth rested on his. When she moved away from him again, he gave another long sigh.

He heard her voice.

"I love you, Jean-Luc."

It was soft, so soft. He imagined she could not hear him.

"Don't leave," he murmured.

Her hand curled around his and squeezed it gently.

"I'm here..."

"Good..."

Then the swirling mists of sleep overcame him and he fell into a deep, restful slumber.

****

He opened his eyes. It wasn't so painful now, and his eyelids didn't feel like leaden ballasts weighing down on him. There was a momentary feeling of disorientation, and he lay like that for several seconds before the things around him registered as 'sick bay'. He had no idea how he came to be here, but he knew that he felt like dying.

Somehow in the last twenty four hours that thought changed. Something happened and he struggled for a few minutes to recall events or voices and ministrations that were at best, hazy. Yet one voice had penetrated the thick walls of sorrow that seemed to have surrounded him in the last two months.

He imagined she had been here.

That was a thought which was at once wonderful to harbour and terrible to contemplate. She was no more a part of his life, yet he wanted her to be here. He knew two months had passed and he had heard nothing from her.

He had hoped.

"Good, you're awake, Jean-Luc," that voice said.

It hadn't been a dream, an image in one of the thousands that seemed to flit in his haze of hallucinations. Jean-Luc tried to turn his head towards the voice, but already his hand was covered by another.

They were soft, and the voice...

"Beverly...?"

"Jean-Luc."

He stared at her where she had taken a seat next to his bed, still holding his hand in hers. He did not waver his gaze, and it seemed much like a dying man who feasted for one last time hungrily on the one he loved.

"You...are...here..." he said weakly.

"Yes, Jean-Luc," she replied, leaning forward to plant a kiss on his forehead. His eyes closed at the tenderness of her touch.

"I thought...I told...Will...not to..."

"He was very worried, Jean-Luc," Beverly answered calmly, then continued: "You were not responding to treatment."

He wanted to raise himself from the bed, but Beverly pushed him gently back. He gasped, then sagged against the headrest. Jean-Luc wanted to curse himself for this weakness. Beverly was here and he wanted to... He couldn't ask her. He couldn't. He knew he must have called for her in his state of delirium. Her image had been very strong. Now, those familiar, dear features and beautiful red hair that gave her such a deceptively ethereal look, was here where he could touch her. And he wanted to. How he wanted to. His hand came up and reached for her, but she took that hand and kept it enfolded in hers.

"You'll get better," she soothed. "You must rest, though, Jean-Luc. The fever has weakened you considerably - "

"You are here..."

He stared hungrily at her.

"I've helped Dr Khan with the new serum that'll will be kept on board ship. You are now at risk as well for other more common ailments."

"I...am?"

"Colds and flu, definitely."

"I never get a cold."

Beverly wanted to smile. He sounded his defiant self.

"Maybe not, Jean-Luc, but from now on you can never be too careful."

She took a sponge and wiped the perspiration from his brow.

"How - how long - "

"I've been here two days, Jean-Luc," she said and smiled as she noticed the surprise register on his face. He still looked far too haggard and he was still quite ill. He needed a lot more than just a few days' rest.

She could see he was getting tired again. The short conversation had exhausted him and his eyes were drooping. Still, he appeared aware enough to say:

"Thank you..."

***

"I take your recommendation very seriously, Dr Crusher," Rayyan Khan said to Beverly.

They were in the doctor's office and Beverly had felt a little tug at the new set-up. Everything was familiar, and yet different. She had been so long on this vessel as its CMO. Now she studied the PADD, put it down and faced Rayyan Khan. She smiled inwardly at his slightly deferential air, and hoped that her manner and tone of voice gave him assurance that they were equals.

"Even if you have to get Starfleet's backing, do it," she said firmly. "Captain Picard needs more than just a few days, and he's due for almost six months leave."

"I understand, Dr Crusher. He's been, well - "

"A pain in the rear?"

Dr Khan sighed. Beverly Crusher knew her husband well. He was just sorry she wasn't on board as a fly on one of the bulkheads to see just how cranky the Captain had become of late. He had been neglecting his health steadily and it was this state of affairs that made him so vulnerable to the strain of the virus he contracted. On top of it, the psoralea poison had made his condition much worse.

He was too diplomatic to amen Dr. Crusher's sentiments, but just nodded his head and - Beverly thought with some humour - blushing a little.

"Well then, Doctor, that's what you have to enforce on the Captain and let Commander Riker and Deanna Troi back you up. They will. They have indicated that they'd like to get the Captain off their backs for a while."

Rayyan Khan looked at Beverly. He wanted to sigh. Much of Jean-Luc's agues had his wife at the heart of it. All she had to do... Then he did sigh. Everyone knew. Relations were strained between the two. The Captain would never find complete peace if he didn't have his wife at his side.

Then Rayyan Khan smiled.

"Certainly, Dr. Crusher. Before you know it, Captain Picard will be off the Enterprise."

**

Beverly Crusher faced Will Riker in the ready room. He stood behind the desk and she smiled a little. Sitting down in Jean-Luc's chair was still a source of deep respect to him. It would be like 'usurping the Captain's position' he once told her. That he had been offered - and that he refused - a number of postings to other vessels was a testimony of his love for the Enterprise and his loyalty and devotion to Jean-Luc.

"So you have decided on what your next course of action would be, Beverly?"

"I have. I think it was time to come to a definite decision. Jean-Luc should be up and about in the next few days but definitely not ready to resume work. I've given Dr Khan my word that I'd support him if Starfleet - or Jean-Luc himself for that matter - should throw a spanner in the works."

Will Riker smiled. He towered over Beverly. He was even taller than Jean-Luc.

"Well, then I guess that's it then, Dr Crusher," he said firmly, using her title rather than the more familiar use of her name.

"My carriage awaits, as they say. I've said goodbye to Deanna and the others."

"Jean-Luc - "

"He'll be fine, Will," Beverly said quietly. She pursed her lips after she spoke and Will Riker knew that there was little he could do.

Beverly took a step forward and held her hand to him. He took it but drew her gently into his arms. She gave a little sigh.

"He'll be disappointed, Beverly," Will whispered before he let her go.

"I know what I have to do, Will. I have given it a lot of thought," she said before she turned round and left the ready room.

She walked towards the first turbolift that would take her to the shuttle bays.

I've made my decision... she was still thinking as she prepared the start-up sequence of her shuttle.

It's the best one I've made and I feel suddenly so much relieved...

**

Jean-Luc opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling for a few moments before he turned his head to the side. He scanned the sickbay. Something was missing. He felt cold, suddenly. A grave apprehension that seeped into him and left him feeling as though he lost something important - something vital that was missing from him. He stirred and the movement alerted the lone figure who was busy at the other end of the room.

"Doctor..."

Doctor Khan moved swiftly to his side.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Where is my wife?"

Rayyan Khan felt his heart contract as he saw the emotions play on the Captain's face. They ranged from expectation, to anticipation to disappointment. He wanted to kick himself. Captain Picard noted his long pause, and surmised...correctly.

Dr. Khan sighed before he spoke.

"I'm afraid Doctor Crusher left early this morning for Altosa, Captain."

**

END PART ELEVEN

IMPASSE

PART TWELVE

It was a beautiful day.  Marie Picard stood under the eaves of the large cottage style house that had been her home in Labarre for more than fifteen years. It had rained in the early morning. A steady, sifting rain that Robert always said was good grape rain. She hadn't wanted to stir from her warm bed at 0600 hours, and lay listening to the soft pitter-patter on her windowpane. The house had been quiet, and even the birds thought to give their busy throats a rest while the grey skies grew gradually lighter. Now it had stopped and the sun had broken through - bright streaks breaking through the gray clouds. She smiled a little. The birds were out, and their bright singing sounded like hymns from the heavens. After the rain they were rejuvenated.

The lawns and garden - her pride and joy - looked like a shiny new toy. Everywhere there were still signs that it had rained: little puddles here and there, trees shaking the last droplets of water from their leaves and boughs. The yellow roses looked exactly as though they had preened themselves and they basked in the new warmth the sunshine offered.

This was Labarre.

Beautiful, beautiful Labarre that Robert loved so passionately. This was the vineyard that had been in his blood all his life. He had breathed it, lived it, made it his life's work. She sighed. René was not cut from the same shoot as his father had been. A shoot that curled away from the rest of the vine. That was what René was. That was what Jean-Luc was.

Yet...

Marie gave a sigh. They fought so hard. René and Jean-Luc. They fought so hard against what had always been so Picard about the Picards. René had dreamed of the stars, and for a long, long time his father resented that his son had Jean-Luc's vision. Yes, Robert had been resentful, as much as he had been all his life because his own brother had chosen Starfleet and the stars to life on Labarre, to preferring a starship to wine barrels. Robert had worked so hard, and most of the time he had been angry too. Angry that he had been left to run the estate alone, angry that the glory was Jean-Luc's.

Then René wanted to fly and explore. It was a constant and unconscious hunger she had seen in her young son's eyes. And Jean-Luc had championed René's burning desire to be Starfleet one day.

How the fates decreed so differently!

Robert and René had both died. And while Robert had been able to witness the fruits of his labour, while he had been able to create beauty out of the soil and watch his life's work bloom before his eyes, René's life was cut short before he ever had the opportunity to realise even the beginning of his dreams. His dreams died, and with him, the Picard heritage. She had been numb for so long, and Jean-Luc had been away on a mission at the time. There had been no one who could share her grief here, no one who knew what she had gone through. Jean-Luc had been shattered when at the first opportunity he had been to Labarre to grieve and mourn with her. She had nothing left. There was nothing left. He had been convinced of that.

Nothing.

Until he married Beverly and their joy was complete when they knew there was to be a child.

Now, that was no more. There was no child and there was no Beverly. What had happened in the last year between Jean-Luc and Beverly Picard? Beverly had believed it was the end of the world for her when she lost the second baby. Yet there were so many things that they could be grateful for. So many blessings still that they could count.

Beverly still had Jean-Luc. Marie had no René, no Robert.

Marie Picard turned and went inside the house again. She walked towards the kitchen. She still liked to cook her own meals - Robert had always wanted everything to be authentic, and never wanted replicators in his home. She had become accustomed to that, and now, years after his death, she still kept to most of the traditions that Robert liked and that had become hers.

Today Jean-Luc would like some soup, and later he would enjoy her own home baked bread. And, she knew, he would not go without his Earl Grey.

She busied herself around the kitchen and wondered how far Jean-Luc had walked into the vineyard this afternoon. He had left as soon as the rain stopped and had not returned. It must be all of two hours since he left. He was still recovering from his illness and when he informed her he would like to spend his convalescence here, she had been overjoyed. He was after all, still half owner of the estate. But he had not been here very often since Robert's death, and the last time Beverly had been here with him. They had been so happy then.

Now her brother-in-law looked gaunt, and that in spite of the fact that he was recovering well from his illness. He wasn't happy. She could see it, although he had been such a perfect gentleman and never complained. Marie knew that Beverly had elected to leave Jean-Luc but she sensed it was more because of Beverly herself who needed to come to terms with her loss. She must still love Jean-Luc, of that Marie was certain.

Marie smiled. Jean-Luc had been here for two weeks now, and every day he had taken a walk down the rows of vines of the vast estate. Jean-Luc may have been looking for the stars in the wrong places, or, he was happily diverted to the stars and other strange worlds while he had been after all, a Picard who loved the land. It was in his blood, just as it had been in Robert. Jean-Luc would be the last person to admit to that, and she just watched him as he returned every day with a look very close to ecstatic when he spoke about a new vintage he was going to cultivate and bottle. Already, the project Robert had started four years ago was continued by Jean-Luc.

Jean-Luc had needed to find and explore and live and breathe Enterprise and everything that it symbolised, but he had come back to the land. Not that the stars had necessarily left his blood, but he was ready for different things now. He had been ready the moment Beverly consented to be his wife. Marie had seen the growing awareness, the wonderment, the same impatient hunger in Jean-Luc to be on the land she had always seen in Robert. Their eyes betrayed them.

It was in Jean-Luc now.

She turned as she heard a knock on the door. Frowning, she made her way quickly towards the front door, wiping her hands on her apron just before she opened it.

She looked. Stared really. She swallowed, then she found her voice.

"You..."

***

Jean-Luc removed his wide brimmed hat and scratched his scalp. He gave a grin. There was no hair. He was balding rapidly, and completely. The sun was high, and it was impossible to believe that it had rained steadily during the night and this morning.

He was at the furthest end of the special small vineyard that was the special grape cultivated some years ago by Robert, for the new vintage that his brother had never had the joy of seeing.

A shiraz wine that would be the flagship of the wines of the Picard estate.

He gave a long sigh, then touched the leaves on the vine nearest to him. They looked fresh, green, luscious, just beautifully crisp after the rain. He had been worried the last week when there hadn't been any rain and he could see the dryness having an effect on the vines. Now they looked ready to burst with life. He cradled a bunch in his hand, and it felt heavy although it would be picked in only a month's time. Each grape looked already so swollen, the skin slightly dusty.

He picked one grape, looked in the direction of the house as if he expected Marie to censure him on eating fruit without washing. On an impulse he wiped the grape on his shirt front and popped it in his mouth. It burst open as he bit on it and he pulled his face slightly as the sour juice hit his tongue. Then he closed his eyes as he savoured the flavour. This, he thought, would be the Picard Shiraz, Robert's dream before he died.

He smiled to himself. Beverly would have raised an elegant eyebrow and declared:

"Now, Jean-Luc, darling, you are not normally so impulsive, unless we're in bed together..."

He chewed quickly, spitting the seeds on the ground. His heart contracted as he thought of her. He pictured her as she looked the last time they had been here. They had been so happy those two weeks. Beverly's eyes had been bright, shining - she had been so loving and generous. He had never seen her like that: so completely relaxed and at ease than in those two weeks they had been here.

He remembered so many things about her. He hadn't wanted to forget anything and at night, alone in his room, he stood at his window and stared at the stars. He would think about her, wondering what she'd be doing.

"One day, Beverly, when you are ready," he had told her the last time they had been together. Nu'mai seemed so far away now. They had been blissfully happy for five short days.

She had wanted to tell him something, but he hadn't wanted to listen. He had been a coward, not wanting to hear that she'd never come back to him. He couldn't face that, so he made the decision.

He thought it was the best decision in the circumstances. He had become so cranky on the Enterprise... He had no idea that leaving her could affect him so. While he performed his duties to perfection on board his vessel, he knew that he couldn't have been the most congenial person on that ship. It's been a month since his illness. He had to conclude some business at Headquarters first before coming to this beautiful refuge.

He sighed. Beverly had been with him when he was so ill on the Enterprise. .

He hadn't imagined her presence. In the beginning he didn't want her there, thinking she might not come anyway.

But she was there. She had been real. He could still feel her lips on his forehead. She smelled of her favourite perfume. He remembered that.

She left before he woke up.

He missed her.

He missed her really badly.

Every day he walked these lanes, he thought of her. In his waking moments and in most of his sleeping moments she was with him all the time. Like a silent spectre, she moved within his conscious, and sometimes he would stand quite still to let the wild thudding of his heart subside. He ached with longing for her, and his hunger such as he admitted that it was so fierce at this moment, he knew in his heart, would never, never go away.

He needed her even as he had declared so arrogantly before, that he could live without her. He couldn't. He could never live without her. He had sworn never to leave her, but they parted nonetheless.

Now the pain burst upon him as he thought of her.

He could picture her walking down the vine row, with that blue dress he always liked so. The ankle length one that flapped ever so gently about her calves as she swayed her hips. His eyes misted. Beverly walked liked a dancer. Graceful, quiet, serene.

His heart burned with yearning.

Her hair would shine in bright copper tones in the sunshine and the light would play and sparkle in her hair. Her lips would be parted as she came nearer, exactly as if she was going to greet him. He could feel her moving towards him, her very air seductive as she eyed him.

Beverly had always known the effect she had on him. That was why remembering her and playing those images in his mind had been so strong. So strong that he could reach out and touch her...

He did reach out.

How long had he stared down the dappled row of vines?

How long?

He must have been dreaming. No voice could sound so sweet and angelic, no smile so magical.

"Hello, Jean-Luc."

**

He stood transfixed. Long moments he remained still until he found his voice.

"Beverly..." he said slowly, her name sounding hoarse on his lips.

"Marie said I'd find you here," she replied, still standing about a metre away from him.

Jean-Luc thought she looked...apprehensive. Almost afraid. This was not Beverly. He felt the tiny hairs on the back of his hands bristle, as if some excitement had ripped through him. He forced down the rising feeling of joy, of seeing her standing here in front of him, right here between two rows of vines.

He wanted to know why she was here. He was afraid to ask. Yet, she couldn't be here and not want it to mean something. He wanted it to mean something. Great, magnificent, like all his fantasies, every dream he had of her, became real...real...real...

Only then he touched her. His hand went to her cheek.

"You look...well, Beverly," he said, not knowing what to say, feeling suddenly that saying too much, or too little would have her scuttling down the long path again...away from him.

"And you look rested, Jean-Luc," she replied, still keeping her distance, her cheek feeling suddenly cold when his hand left it.

"Thank you..."

She took a step forward. His heart thudded so wildly he thought it would burst from his chest. There was a burn so fierce that he almost cried out from the pain of it. His face contorted but he steadied himself quickly.

"Have you come to torment me, Beverly?"

He had no idea why those words came out. Did the old bitterness, the feelings he had thought were successfully purged, still betray him? It was not what he wanted to say. He watched how she took a step back, and his hand went out to stop her, a hand that slumped back as she stiffened slightly.

"I have come," she said slowly, her eyes that had been so bright moments before suddenly dying, "to ask you to - "

"What, Beverly?" he asked quickly, hardly waiting for her to finish speaking, "to make me warm and then cold again?"

He wanted to curse. He hadn't wanted to be mean-spirited, never mean to her. She paled. He saw her withdraw, take another step back.

"No! No...please, I didn't mean to sound - "

"Bitter? You have every right to be, Jean-Luc and I...I have no right to expect you to - to..."

She stammered suddenly, seeing him draw closer to her.

"Take you back, Beverly?"

Her whole body stilled. She stood in the lane, facing him and she did not move. Yet he was certain that the turmoil raged in her. It was what he had always admired - or resented - about her. She could be still and yet say everything...and nothing...

Now, her posture told him she was ready to flee.

Away from him. Again. He could not bear that thought.

Still, he waited for her to speak. His heart raced in anticipation.

"Yes..."

It was a whisper, so soft that Jean-Luc could have sworn it was the newly sprung breeze that caught her word and carried it to him. In his peripheral vision the sun was setting, and he remembered suddenly, inexplicably, the beautiful rainbow of this morning after the rain had stopped and the sun broke through the clouds.

He saw that rainbow now.

She stood right before him.

He knew the battle she fought with herself was over. He knew that she was here because she wanted to be here, and that all her turmoil, all the sorrow was finally laid to rest. There would never be children of their own, but they had the most important gift of all: each other. That was what Beverly had to come to accept. A life without the precious babies she wanted. She was ready now. He could see it in her.

"I love you, Beverly Picard."

He touched her again, this time to draw her into his arms. He was struck with the unshakable faith this time that Beverly was home - home in his arms - for always. She felt soft, incredibly precious. She snuggled close to him and her arms around his waist felt as if it had never gone. He had seen it in her face. In spite of the apprehension, in spite of the fear that he might reject her, there was in her a new restfulness. She was at peace. He felt it in the way she leaned against him. No slight shivers, even from the breeze, no turmoil that he sensed in her.

She stood away from him, although her hands were still at his waist.

"Forgive me..."

A darkness descended on her. A pleasant darkness, for it was Jean-Luc's face, surrounded by his wide-brimmed hat, that came close to hers, his hands that cupped her cheeks, and his lips that touched hers. It was soft, just brushing tenderly over hers, yet it spoke of his love, his deep, deep affection for her. Long he held her like that, his lips on hers.

He heard a sob, a soft gasp.

He released her and brushed the wetness from her cheek.

"Tears, Beverly?"

"Forgive me, Jean-Luc," she repeated her words of earlier.

Jean-Luc turned his face to the sky. There were still a few clouds here and there, and the soft underfoot soil was fast beginning to dry again. The sky was blue, and the rainbow that had been there this morning and that was gone now, seemed to return. He smiled. Beverly was here. He asked no questions, did not wonder why or how she had come to him. All he knew was that she had come to stay. She was home in his arms. Many times in the past ten months he had been angry, resentful, unhappy, mournful, grieving. Most of the time Beverly had been at the root of all those feelings. But he knew too that in all the months that she had been away, she loved him. That never changed. Still, she felt she wronged him. How could he condemn her for being too human?

We all have our frailties, he thought. Some can control them better than others. Not all of us are entirely armoured against forces beyond our control.

"There...is...nothing to forgive, Beverly," he whispered.

A tear rolled down her cheek again.

But Beverly Picard smiled.

"I love you, Admiral Picard."

Jean-Luc Picard smiled.

"I love you, too, new Head of Starfleet Medical."

He put his arm round her shoulder and they proceeded to walk down the long lane between two vine rows, in the direction of the homestead.

"There's an old, very old hymn, Beverly. The writer had been struck blind...."

Her arm was round his waist, and she gave him a squeeze as they walked. She paused, looked up at him and smiled. She thought he looked beautiful in his Boothby hat.

"Tell me..."

"I trace the rainbow through the rain, and feel the promise is not vain..."

*****

END

The last line from the hymn: "O love, that wilt not let me go."

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