The blue that startled his heart has faded:
blue-grey like denim now her eyes by candlelight
across the table – and he knows the fingerprints
of time are on him, too, though candle's bloom
is less truthful than the unrelenting sun.
He knows them both to be weathered in the cascade
of the years, beyond redress – still, his hand
which has crept without volition over the linen
to clasp hers, touches, not the flesh time mars,
but the undimmed radiance of her love, pulsing
stronger for the passage of the years since first
he touched her. His hand tightens over hers
in that familiar reflex which has saved him,
times beyond remembering, from drowning.

– Tony Scanlon

Anij stared out the broad window into space. It was disconcerting to view the stars this way—no clouds blocking her view or the golden tinge her planet's atmosphere. She hadn't been in space since she was 37, the year she had stopped aging. The year they had found their home.

Soon she would tell him she was leaving. One more dinner. Maybe it would have been different if he had come to the Ba'Ku. But, he hadn't. He had asked her here. And she had come willingly—maybe that was her mistake. But she knew, even though he said differently, that she wasn't the one he wanted.

Almost as if thinking could make it so, he entered the room.

"Anij, I promised you I would be here an hour ago, and I'm sorry. But, you'll be glad I was late…" He rambled on about wine in a way that should have been charming, but grated her. The quarters felt small and suffocating. She had never been good at this.

"Stop, Jean-Luc, please. That looks expensive and I don't think—" she stopped. Picard fell silent, a look of resignation settling over him.

"You're leaving." It wasn't a question.

"I'm sorry, I think it's best." She spoke quietly.

"I understand," he said

"Do you?"

"You miss your home, your family—they're all you've talked about for the past four days," he smiled, "you're lucky to have them to go back to. I envy them—and

you."

"Yes," she spoke tentatively. "I mean, no." she sighed, "Of course I miss my family. I adore them and I haven't been away from them in, frankly, centuries. But, Jean-Luc, that isn't why I'm leaving."

"Computer, one cold beer."

"The calorie intake of your request greatly outweighs the nutritional benefit."

"I could swear you've gotten snootier, just give it to me," Beverly muttered as her beer appeared with a hum. She took a sip and frowned. It wasn't as good as Guinan's, but she'd be damned if she was going to let a computer tell her what to drink. She downed the last of it quickly and let herself flop onto her bed.

Three weeks. Anij had been on board the Enterprise for three fucking weeks. And Beverly was sick to death of her. Sick of her wisdom and serene disposition. She was like Guinan on Crystelline Halcynon. It was disgusting really. How could anyone be that—was there even a word? Tranquil. Beverly hadn't been that tranquil since the summer she'd spent on a marijuana farm on Ketar III.

But as much as she hated Anij, she hated herself more. There was no reason for the negative feelings she had. She looked at the empty glass in her hand and wished for some scotch. But instead, she turned to face her night table and touched her personal communication screen.

"Deanna, when are you coming back from your honeymoon, I'm going insane."

"Good morning, Beverly," Deanna's smiling face was illuminated by bright sunlight streaming into the room behind her.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry. What time is it there?" Beverly looked mortified.

"Oh I have no idea—Will! Will what time is it?! Will, Beverly's on and she wants to know—NO BEVERLY! I'm sorry, hold on a moment dear." There was a brief pause as Will entered the room. "Oh Will, there you are," she said turning partially around. The screen was briefly blocked by Will's hair as he kissed his wife good morning.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to cause a fuss, Deanna. I shouldn't even be harassing you—you'll be back in a week you said and—"

"Oh don't be silly. I don't mind. And Will's going to jump off a cliff somewhere. Where are you jumping, Will?" Deanna turned around again, "Will where are you jumping! WILL, WHERE ARE YOU JUMPING! Oh heaven's that man." Deanna's laugh tinkled like bells.

"So, Bev—what is driving you insane? It couldn't possibly be Anij could it?" Deanna smiled knowingly at her.

"I'm sorry I'm turning into a broken record, but I can't seem to help myself. That woman does something to me. You're smiling that smile you get. What?"

"Oh nothing, really," Deanna smiled again amusedly.

"No, tell me!"

"Well, I just don't seen any reason you would like her. I wouldn't like it if Will replaced me."

"What?" Beverly looked horror-struck. "Oh, lord, let's not go back there. That's not what this is about. I'm glad that Jean-Luc has found someone that makes him so happy. I just don't like her."

"Alright," Deanna gave in jovially.

"Oh, I can't talk to you when you're like this. You're far too happy over there and you think everyone is as crazy in love as you are," Beverly rested her head in one hand.

"Mmm, you're probably right. Oh no, I have to let you go. My mother is calling in. I've avoided her calls for over a week and I'm going to have to take this one."

"Oh, ok then—" Beverly didn't get a chance to finish before the screen went black. The five minute call had only made her feel worse. The idea of her and Jean-Luc together was appalling, but the idea of Jean-Luc with anyone else was more so. She had to admit that to herself—if not to Deanna.

And she had been replaced. She'd only had brunch with Jean-Luc once since Anij arrived. Only, Anij had joined them and Beverly had cut the meal short, claiming she had a meeting. Jean-Luc had let it go, but she hadn't been invited again. She hadn't been invited to anything. And why should she be invited. She wouldn't invite herself anywhere. It was her own fault for being so unfriendly. It was her own fault for alienating her dear friend.

It made Picard uneasy to dream. Most of the dreams he had were an uncomfortable reminder of the time he'd spent as a Borg. Hurtful nightmares where he destroyed the lives of people he cared dearly for.

But he had been dreaming. Real dreams. Happy dreams. He'd dreamt tonight; after helping Anij pack her things onto her shuttle and saying goodbye. He'd been sorry to see her go, but not that sorry. She was wonderful, he thought, but too happy. Too at peace with herself. It made him feel hollow and out of step and desperate. As though he were clinging to her so she would slow life down for the both of them. But of course, she couldn't.

And so, for once, there had been comfort in dreaming. He'd gone home to a place that didn't exist—or only existed in the soul.

It was strange, Anij had told him he didn't want her—and he had argued. Of course he wanted her, she was wonderful. Amazing. But after she left, he had realized she was right. He wasn't sad to look around at his empty quarters—everything seemed as it should be. He was sad to think that the time he'd taken to please himself had seemed to hurt Beverly. He couldn't recall the last time they'd spoken. It was his own fault of course.

He felt her loss, realized that there wasn't a life to be achieved in some unknown future. That the life—the family—he wanted was one he already had. The woman and son he treasured was the wife that was not his wife—the son that was not his son.

He touched the cool metal at his chest, knowing that however far away she seemed to be, bridging the gap was only the distance of a breath.

"Picard to Beverly," he couldn't help but smile as he said her name, rising to set the replicator for coffee.

"Beverly here," her voice was all business.

"Anij has gone back to the Ba'ku—you can come out of hiding now," he almost laughed as he said it.

"Hiding? Jean-Luc, really, I don't know what you're talking about—" she sounded as though she were caught between embarrassment and irritation.

"Come, we'll have some coffee," the silver pot in his had steamed as he set it on the coffee table in front of him along with two cups.

"Oh, alright," she said.

Beverly's communicator chirped as Jean-Luc signed off, and then there was silence. She felt transparent and shallow, but relieved. And so she rose and walked to her mirror to assess the damage. The face she saw was ordinary to her eyes. Soft strawberry curls replaced the deep cinnamon of her youth, but still the face was the same—if more lined. She smoothed her chocolate brown sweater, wondering not for the first time, if she lacked that feminine softness. Yet, she was satisfied. And, combing her fingers through her a final time, she exited her quarters.

The lights were dimmed to the evening level, but they were still the harsh fluorescent of Star Fleet standard. Beverly made her way down the hall, passing few people. Not surprising, considering the hour. Surely most were either on duty or having a rather late dinner.

Soon she was at the turbolift. It whisked open and Beverly signaled the level. She barely felt it as she rose and was almost surprised when the doors opened.

Then she was at his door. She had a sudden vision of the two of them, years ago, dancing. Well, of course, it hadn't been Jean-Luc. It had been an imposter. She tried to force the image away, but it stayed there in her head. The two of them, hand in hand. So, carefree.

She was carefree or, she thought, would be again. This suffocating feeling would pass. Anij was gone and everything would go back to the way it was supposed to be.

Suddenly Jean-Luc's door opened.

"Beverly, why don't you come inside. You know we were on Darleme'i'el a few weeks ago, they had this rare blend of Ethiopian espresso. Well, alright who knows where it's really from, in fact, technically the coffee I purchased is long gone. But, this here, I programmed it into the replicator and it's almost identical."

Beverly followed him in and sat down, smiling to herself as he continued rambling on about the history of coffee on Darleme'i'el. It was so comforting to listen to his voice—he was so much himself.

"I'm sorry, I'm boring you," he stopped his dissertation to fill her cup with the steaming coffee.

"Oh no, I was just thinking—it's nice to see you. I missed you," she knew her smile was warm, but she felt sad suddenly.

"I—well—I missed you too. Of course I was here with Anij, but I should have invited you before now. It's been a few weeks since we had breakfast," he poured cream carefully into his cup.

Three, she thought.

"Yes, well, I should have invited myself. I guess I wasn't very friendly, no I know I wasn't. I'm sorry Jean-Luc, I'm not sure what came over me," she reached for the sugar and took a cube, then stirred her coffee thoughtfully.

"Well, what's done is done. And here we are, back to our routine," he smiled, before sipping his drink slowly.

"Yes," she said lifting her own cup to her lips. But instead of drinking she set it back down. She could feel a tightness in her chest, taking over her. They were so normal together, so controlled. So—polite. She felt restricted and unnatural. This wasn't going to work. "No," she said finally.

"Beg pardon?"

"No, I don't want this—this routine. Jean-Luc, I've known you for thirty-two years, but I don't remember the last time we really talked." They were both silent for a few moments.

"I do," Picard replied quietly, fingering his cup, "we were on Kesprytt." Beverly's hand but automatically to touch the back of her neck, but stopped herself.

"I remember talking to you about a lot of things, how much I cared for you. Still care, in point of fact. Don't let a spontaneous visit from an alien brunette fool you, although I did appreciate the time I was able to spend with Anij. She's a very wise woman."

"Oh yes, very wise indeed," Beverly snorted as she took a drink from her cup.

"And how was I to know you had changed your mind about the two of us—after, what, thirteen years. Beverly, that's not fair," he looked unhappy, which exasperated her.

"Did I know I'd changed my mind? Not until today, or—" she broke away from his gaze to stare at her hands. "I don't know how to change who we are together. I don't know how to talk to you—how to tell you things. You just, always seem so far away. I can't help being jealous of people you spend time with—I feel like that's all I have of you. The few morning hours where nothing matters but a meal we've never had before." She smiled a sad smile—fingering the fabric of the sofa, "I like our routine, you know. I thought we'd go on, oh…forever I guess."

Picard got up from his chair to sit next to her—arm cradling her shoulder, "We're getting old Beverly. And sometimes I wonder if I haven't been out in space too long—working so hard. Just driven—by work—to work. Never taking a moment to breathe, to reflect. To set aside anything for comfort. Do you want me to be really honest?" he paused until she nodded.

"When I was taken into the Nexxus—I had a whole life there; a wife—family. Things I didn't make time for—that I pretended I didn't need or care about. The woman, the wife that I had there. She was beautiful and kind…I—I don't really remember her. She was—" he waived his hand in the air, "nothing—a figment of my imagination. But sometimes, when I fall asleep, I find myself back there. And for some reason she's always you," he brushed his hand against her cheek.

"I didn't know," resting her head in the crook of his shoulder.

"Didn't you?" he asked. "How many times have we tried without really trying. Been afraid to grasp a hold of anything real?" he wrapped his arms around her to hold her close, to breathe in the hair that always smelled of apples. She tilted her head up so that her nose brushed his and then he kissed her. Or she kissed him.

It was an amazing feeling, to finally have the thing he'd always wanted. To hold her without feeling any guilt or shame for the past. To kiss her and taste sweetness that was better than any wine no matter how rare. But, no, he realized, this was the rarest.

It was night when Beverly woke—she tried to lie still, listening to the sound of Jean-Luc breathing in her ear. His skin was warm against hers, but it made her shiver. She wished she could go back again—let him love her the way he'd always wanted to. She felt like they'd wasted time—trying so hard to reach perfection. To never set a foot wrong. She realized now that her own fears had sterilized her experiences. All she had wanted was safety. Having never fully gotten over Jack's death—it was hard, even now, to take the risk of jumping.

"Beverly," Jean-Luc sighed and raised himself up on one arm, "what time is it?"

"The time is o-two-hundred earth standard," the computer chimed.

"It's two o'clock in the morning," she said, smiling in the dark. "You can go back to sleep," she let her hand trail over the arm that rested over her.

"But you're awake," he squeezed her hand in his, "is anything wrong?"

"Oh, I was just thinking. Wondering if all the choices I'd made were the right ones."

"I'd say not."

"Well, thank you for that vote of confidence," she elbowed him in the ribs.

"Ouch!" he chuckled, "I only speak from my own experience. I think most of the decisions I've made were the wrong ones, but I've done my best. I think bringing you here was a good one."

She turned to face him, closing her eyes, as he kissed her goodnight.