A Prior Engagement

The only scene anyone wants from the new Picard Series.

Suggested reading music: watch?v=jemgIOAjGDw

Jean-Luc Picard was tired. He had managed to avoid burning the midnight oil for the past five years. The presence of those within Starfleet who believed the life of an Ambassador to be a quiet fade into retirement had never served as one. They had certainly never served as an ambassador to the Romulans as a representative for the Vulcans. And they had most definitely not met Picard.

Still, most of his days since his promotion had been pleasantly full of routine and predictability; at least in terms of scheduling that is. But those days weren't this past week. The last 72 hours had held a tense summit, little willingness from the Romulans to meet on Earth, and even less willingness from some of the Starfleet Ambassadors to hide their disdain for their Romulus-born counterparts. Jean-Luc had had his work cut out for him. It was a powder-keg of emotion, which soon became a gridlock, which led to a slight smile turning up one corner of his mouth; for gridlocks, were, after all, Picard's specialty. He did his best work in the moments where it seemed all was lost, where the emotion couldn't possibly run higher. The participants sat with bated breath as the older man from Starfleet wove a net of communication and compromise. It was evident to anyone in the room that this man was born to lead. That this gentle, unassuming man was an asset to the federation - and to the Romulans.

There would still be work to do in the coming days, but first, there would be a 48 hour recess. And that would kick off with a reception for all the summit guests. He received handshake after handshake as he rose from the conference table at the front of the auditorium. So many, in fact, it took him 15 minutes before he managed to slip his jacket on and collect his padd and documents from where he'd sat much of the day. Glancing around the room, he made for the door, eyes down. He was almost there when a hand gently touched his shoulder. "Ambassador, that was splendid work today, as always." Admiral Janeway smiled. "Shall I save you a seat at the breakfast reception?" Picard tugged on his jacket and pursed his lips, "Um, thank you Admiral, but no, my apologies to our guests, but I have a prior engagement." Janeway seemed a bit befuddled, but nodded in understanding. "An 8 am meeting eh Jean-Luc? Well, do try and get some rest before we're back at the talks in a few days." "Of course Admiral." He nodded his respects and left down the long corridor outside the chamber. Janeway couldn't be certain, but it almost looked like he'd hopped a little on his way out.

When Jean-Luc finally stood at the entryway to the home he'd lived in since accepting the Ambassadorship 10 years ago, his exhaustion was firmly settling into his bones. Still, as he stepped forward, the door recognizing him and granting him entrance, his pulse sped up ever so slightly. The house was dark and full of early morning silence. He sat on the bench inside the door and wearily pulled off his boots and removed his jacket. Quietly, he padded to the washroom, splashing cool water on his face, and drying it with a soft cloth. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he grimaced at the deep set lines around his mouth, and the age spots which had been appearing for at least the last decade, but which somehow, in this early morning light, seemed more noticeable. He sighed. He used to be able to stay up all night without much thought. Oh, sure, he would pay for it in the following days, but these days, it seemed the bank was almost empty, and he wasn't sure where the reserves would come from.

Seeing it was only 7, he slipped his feet into his slippers and turned off the light in the washroom. He walked down the hallway leading to his sun room, then continued through on to the kitchen. He noticed a soft light emanating and wondered if a light had been accidentally left on. Opening the door, he entered.

And then there is that feeling again. Suddenly and completely. That quickening of his pulse. But then again, this is no real surprise to Jean-Luc. The woman standing with her back to him, making coffee, and slowly swaying to a song only she seems able to hear, had had that effect on him since the day he'd met her.

The floor creaks underfoot and she startles, spinning around. "Captain-" She smirks, "you're early." She turns back to the old-fashioned French press on the counter and he smiles at her teasing. He's been an Ambassador for the better part of a decade and still, whenever she wants to get a rise out of him, settles on 'Captain.'

"Computer, start music program, Picard Dixon Hill 54." She instructs as a melody slowly fills the cozy kitchen. He lets the old-fashioned piano, cello, and drums wash over him.

"I hope croissants are alright. I have never for the life of me been able to figure out your preferences Jean-Luc," she teases, winking at him as she begins to set the small table in the corner. He steps closer to her, reaching around her waist to draw her closer. "You know exactly what I prefer," he whispers as he begins to sway the two of them back and forth to the music. His right hand toys with the silk tie on her robe as she playfully swats it away.

"Captain-" she giggles.

"You really are insufferable, do you know that Doctor?"

"Of course I know. And that's Mrs. Picard to you."

"Well then, Mrs. Picard, then perhaps I should confess that I love how insufferable you are."

She leans closer and whispers in his ear, as if holding a secret, "That's why you married me, isn't it?"

He laughs and places his hands on either side of her face, taking it in. He sees how some of her own lines match his. They've gotten older, it's true. The ache in his bones reminds him of that truth. Of course, in alignment with her lifelong penchant for defying and exceeding expectations, his wife is still absolutely stunning as she dances with him.

Jean-Luc had imagined her this way, his wife of years, for far too long before it had become reality.

"You look as good as the day I met you, do you know that?" He asks her. "Better, even."

She laughs, "Jean-Luc, be serious."

He lowers his mouth to meet hers, kissing her gently, but fully and intimately.

"I am."

A timer beep shakes him from his reverie. The croissants are baked and she pulls away to take them out of the oven. She reaches for breakfast plates, but he wraps his arms around her from behind, turning her to face him.

"Breakfast can wait." He whispers.

"But-"

"You don't have lectures to teach today and I have 48 hours." He reminds her of their coinciding time off. They'd planned this for weeks, but still, it was easy for her to forget she didn't need to rush off after breakfast.

"Jean-Luc, so impatient this morning. You're quite the teenager today." She laughs, arching one eyebrow and pulling him closer.

"With you, Beverly- always."