The sudden darkness was unexpected and Beverly stumbled in surprise, blinking because she couldn't see a thing. The gravity shifted to the side, then it released and she counted to herself as she floated in the air, desperately grabbing towards where she thought the edge of the biobed was, counting to herself- two, three, four, five, this is not good -and then the gravity reengaged and she slammed to the ground in the darkness, landing squarely on her side and arm. Instant agony arced through her. Snapped my arm in two. Damn it.
The lights came back on with a hum and she looked around, saw the staff all sprawled on the floor but mainly intact. And then the calls started coming in. Breaks, injuries, all over the ship and people were being beamed in and carried in. A nurse helped her up onto the closest bed and began treating her in the middle of Sickbay. She gritted her teeth as she watched her crew manage the incoming patients.
And then a call came from the bridge. "Picard to Crusher."
"Here..." She answered with a gasp as the nurse treated her arm.
"You received the report?"
"Yes." The report was highly classified - there had been intersections with other universes on other fleet vessels. It was unclear as to whether these intersections had the potential to disrupt timelines or whether they were rifts that would simply cause some confusion. Nevertheless, they were under orders to keep any intersection as confidential as possible, limiting exposure.
"We are beaming over...guests. They shouldn't pose a danger, but they may be…somewhat of a shock."
"Understood. Send them over." The numbness finally set in and for that she was thankful.
And in the corner she saw a familiar shimmer, and three people in torn, stained uniforms - Data, Deanna and Jean-Luc. Deanna was on the floor, lying between the man and the android. And Beverly watched as two nurses went over to begin treatment.
Data spoke without looking up, cradling Deanna's head, stabilizing her neck. "She fell. Strong probability of a concussion." Data and the nurses moved Deanna to a bed. Beverly watched the activity from her own bed. Nothing horribly dangerous, a routine minor concussion, easily treated. As the nurses worked, Beverly met Picard's gaze from across the Sickbay.
And his eyes were rimmed in red as he looked at her with a hopelessly lost expression.
"Captain?" Her question was involuntary.
He swallowed. "Beverly - Doctor."
She thought at first that he was concerned about Deanna. "Deanna will be just fine, Jean-Luc, don't worry," she reassured him, and she wondered absently about the nature of his relationship with Deanna, but then she looked more closely. He was gazing at her like a starving man stares at a plate of food, a lovelorn man looking for the other half of his soul, she glanced down at a glint of metal, saw a ring on his finger (a ring?) and...she knew.
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Beverly worked, appreciating the efficiency of her staff and thankful that it was too busy for her to dwell on...other matters. The mirror Picard had left reluctantly with Data, and she noticed that he looked...gaunt. Thinner, older? No, just...worn.
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Eighteen hours later, she stumbled into her quarters, spent. Patients were stabilized, the mirror crew was being treated, and she was exhausted. Looking for a shower and sleep. She showered (real water after the sonic shower), pulled on a robe without bothering to put on any nightclothes, went for a glass of water. Stood in the middle of her quarters, drinking the cool water. And her door chimed.
"Come in." God, I should have asked who was there. Tightened the belt of her robe, almost too tired to care if too much skin peeked out. She watched as the captain entered.
No, not her captain - the mirror captain. He stopped as the doors shut behind them. He tried to speak, couldn't.
"Jean-Luc?" Apprehensive, but curious.
He swallowed, caught her gaze and with a rough voice responded. "My Beverly...was killed two months ago. I loved her…love her. I know that you are not my Beverly...but I needed to see you one last time before...going home. Is...is that all right?" He reached out a hand from across the room, then let it drop to his side.
My Beverly. Oh. They had been...together, in this other universe. She walked across the room to him, stood nose to nose. In her bare feet she was shorter, stared up into his face. His eyes were...tired, lines etched more deeply into his skin, mouth held tightly shut.
Without thinking, she raised a hand, slid it against his face and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment, a blissful look on his face, then he opened his eyes and gazed at her. "Just...let me look at you," he pleaded with a whisper. She nodded.
His communicator chirped. "Data to Picard." He twitched.
"Here."
"We must depart in fifteen minutes."
"Understood. Out."
They stood together in the darkened room. She broke the silence. "You have to go," she whispered. I sound mournful...
"I wish that you could come with me. But that...wouldn't be kind to you, because you are not her." He was speaking to himself as much as to her.
"No, I'm not." She searched his gaze, decided. And leaned forward and kissed him. Impulsive, but how can I not?
He tasted...smoky, as if his uniform had picked up the smoke from wherever he had come from, dark, hungry, sweet. He gripped her neck and her waist, pulling her against him, devouring her, consuming her, and it was like they had kissed for years, years, they fit together so well and she found herself whimpering at the intensity, surprised at her own hunger, needing this, needing more, how right this felt-
He pulled back with a muffled groan, pressed his lips against the side of her mouth, slid his other hand down so that they both gripped her waist, breathed in her scent. "Thank you," he whispered brokenly against her skin. And stepped back, tugged down the front of his stained uniform.
She pressed her fingers against her lips, swollen from his kisses, in shock at the emotions running through her soul. Her eyes fluttered open and she drew in a skittering breath, overwhelmed at her need, the physical response he had evoked so quickly.
He stepped forward again, gripped her waist, intently held her gaze, whispered fiercely to her in the darkness, face centimeters from hers. "Beverly, don't wait until it's too late. He loves you, you know. He told me so. Go to him. Now. He needs you and...you need him." And he abruptly turned away and nearly ran out the door, leaving her alone, tense, aroused, intrigued, anxious.
The smell of smoke and sandalwood lingered in the room as she stood in the starlight, thinking. And then she went towards the bedroom, shrugging off her robe.
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She stood in front of Jean-Luc's door, fidgeting, picking at her navy blue skirt. Tapping her foot in anxiety, then deliberately stilling her toes. The doors opened to reveal Jean-Luc tying a robe around his waist, looking a bit bleary eyed but still happy to see her, greeting her with a smile.
"Beverly. I suppose I fell asleep at my desk. It's been a long day. How are you?" Stepped back from the door and let her in.
She followed him. "Did you and the...other talk?"
And his face closed, revealing just a hint of anxiety.
"We did."
"Did he tell you about...his Beverly?"
Picard nodded, waited.
"He came to me," she said quietly, and watched as a flash of jealousy crossed his face. "To say goodbye. And told us not to wait any longer."
Jean-Luc's chin raised slightly and she detected a flash of something - hopefulness? - in his eyes. And before she could stop herself, she crossed the room and kissed him.