The Challenge - if you choose to accept
Beverly comes across a book in Jean-Luc's ready-room or his quarters and flicks through it only to discover something that she feels isn't possible. It is up to Jean-Luc to show her that it can be done. Or it can be Jean-Luc who does the finding and Beverly does the explaining.
Now the book can be of anything. It can be completely innocent as baby lambs or as steamy as hot apple pie.
Dr. Beverly Crusher entered the Captain's quarters as she did almost every morning; her mind on the day's duties ahead, and her stomach on the freshly replicated coffee and croissants.
Hearing the door to his quarters open and close, Jean-Luc Picard called from the bedroom area, "Sorry, Doctor. I am running a bit behind. I will be out shortly."
Slightly amused to have caught the ever-punctual Picard running late, Beverly took her usual seat at the table and admired the breakfast laid before her. Her stomach rumbled in appreciation of the flaky croissants, and she couldn't resist a tiny taste of the fragrant raspberry jam nestled beside the creamed butter.
Absently licking her perfectly manicured finger, her gaze travelled across the table and came to rest on a book partially hidden by a napkin. Curious, she pulled the napkin aside to get a better look at the cover. It was one of Jean-Luc's ancient leather volumes; so time worn that she couldn't decipher the title.
Betting on 'the Bard,' she picked it up and began gently flipping through the thin pages. A satisfied smile crossed her face as the type setting revealed the familiar words of Shakespeare's sonnets.
Curiosity sated, and her hunger making urgent demands, she delicately fingered the last few pages of the book. As she moved to close it, a small piece of paper slipped out and landed on her breakfast plate.
"Damn," Beverly muttered under her breath as worry over damaging one of Jean-Luc's precious treasures temporarily overrode her increasing appetite. She ran through several apologies in her head as she gingerly reached for the sheet in front of her.
Relief, quickly followed by stunned disbelief, flooded through her when she realized the paper was not a part of the book, but rather something that had been inserted between the pages.
"No," she whispered. "It can't be possible."
Mind reeling, Beverly pushed herself away from the table and fled.
Jean-Luc Picard, dressed in a spotlessly fresh uniform and looking every inch the starship captain, strode into the living area of his quarters in time to catch a glimpse of rapidly retreating red hair through the already closing door.
Wandering over to grab a coffee while puzzling the unexplained departure of his friend, he noticed the small sheet of paper still lying on the unused plate.
"Damn," he swore. All further thoughts of breakfast gone, he grabbed the paper and headed out the door towards the bridge.
***
The senior officers gathered in the observation lounge for the morning briefing. The first few moments were filled with friendly banter as those from various areas of the ship arrived and took their seats.
Dr. Crusher, the last to arrive, quietly slipped into her usual seat without once glancing at the captain seated to her right. She remained extremely focused on Data as he explained the upcoming nebula charting mission. Data, noticing her rapt attention while delivering his briefing, decided that Dr. Crusher must have a passion for stellar cartography and decided he would approach her about it later.
Captain Picard brought the meeting to a close. "Thank you, Mr. Data," he said as he nodded in Data's direction. "Now, if there are no further questions, I suggest we get back to work."
As the officers stood and prepared to exit, Captain Picard remained in his seat, staring out the viewport. "Doctor, if I may have a word?" he said quietly, without turning around.
Mentally shrugging off the sudden tension that lanced through the room, the rest of the crew filed out, leaving the captain and his CMO alone in the lounge.
The pair sat silently; Beverly silently fuming, and Jean-Luc silently composing his thoughts. Finally, Jean-Luc broke the stillness by placing the paper on the table between them.
Taking a deep breath, he began. "Beverly, I know how this must look to you..."
"Do you?" she interrupted, eyes blazing. "Just how do you think it looks to me, finding the last note I ever wrote to Jack in your book?"
"Beverly, it's not how it seems," he tried again.
"That's good, Jean-Luc," she cut in, barely controlling her hurt and fury, "because I cannot even begin to explain how incredibly disturbing and wrong this seems."
He bowed his head, realizing there really was no 'good' way to explain this.
Beverly spoke again before he finished marshalling his thoughts.
"How the hell did you get that?" she fluttered her hand over the paper, almost afraid to touch it again. "And what the hell have you been doing with it all these years?"
He hung his head in defeat. Shoulders rounded, eyes downcast, Jean-Luc Picard was the spitting image of a man burdened with deep sorrow.
"He gave it to me." It came out as a whisper, barely audible above the thrum of the ship underfoot.
Beverly was speechless. She could see in his eyes, and in the way he was holding himself, that Jean-Luc was telling the truth. Her anger fled in the wake of the anguish she saw in his hazel eyes.
Slumping back in her chair, she sighed, "Tell me. Tell me what happened."
His fingers toyed with the edges of the paper as he spoke; his eyes never leaving the gleaming surface of the table.
"He loved these little notes," his voice barely above a whisper. "He'd never known anyone to use paper and pen, and he felt very special that you took the time to send him such things.
"He… Jack always looked for them in every package you sent. I remember him shaking out a sweater once… determined that the paper was stuck somewhere inside. He nearly shook the thing to pieces trying to find your note. It wasn't until he looked at the drawing Wes had sent that he saw your note clipped to the back."
Picard smiled at the memory; then continued, "At first Jack didn't know what to do with your notes. He knew they were special, but he didn't really understand why." He gave a small chuckle, "I guess that's why he brought the first ones to me. He figured an old dinosaur like me, with a love of the printed page, would be able to help him understand their more subtle meaning."
Beverly stirred at his words, "My Nana used to say that words on a page are a window into a person's soul."
Jean-Luc nodded. "I wanted him to see their importance, not only to him, but to you, so I encouraged him to start writing notes back."
Beverly smiled, "His first few notes were pretty awful. I don't know what happened, but I'm certainly glad he got better."
Jean-Luc risked a glance at her as he spoke, "I'm glad too. It was painful to be the sounding board for his poetic exploits. I eventually surrendered and offered to loan him some of my poetry books."
Beverly smiled, tears in her eyes.
"'Just until I get my feet under me, Johnny,' was what he always said when he came to find a new poem for you."
Picard's glance returned to the paper in his hands. "This note, your last note, arrived at our last stop before what was supposed to be a simple charting mission."
"He came to see me, note in hand, that night. We talked for hours. He always wanted to talk about you and Wes after receiving a care package." Jean-Luc sighed, "It was as if he was trying to keep you real in his mind."
His voice broke, "He loved you two so much."
Beverly reached a slender hand out to brush his as he smoothed a crease out of the paper. By now her tears were falling freely, tracing silent tracks down the smooth skin of her cheeks.
Taking a steadying breath, Jean-Luc continued, "We talked far too long that night, and Jack never got around to choosing a poem for his reply. He grabbed my copy of Shakespeare's sonnets, stuffed it inside, and told me he'd choose a sonnet after he returned from the away mission."
Jean-Luc's fingers sought hers, grasping them like a lifeline. "Then he was… gone."
Turning to face her, tears streaming down his own cheeks, he whispered, "One minute he was there, and the next he was… gone – from all of us." Jean-Luc shuddered, "The time immediately following Jack's death was a blur. I remember informing you, informing Starfleet, packing up his belongings, and filing endless reports."
"I buried myself in those reports. Anything to avoid thinking about the friend I lost and the family I destroyed."
"Jean-Luc, you didn't destroy anything," Beverly choked. "It wasn't your fault."
"Damn it, Beverly!" he cried. "I was his commanding officer! I should have found a way to protect him, save him, anything to keep him alive!"
Picard was trying desperately to remain in control of his voice, "And during this time, I completely forgot about the note in my book. I packed everything of his I could find – I wanted you and Wes to have every last item, as if those things could somehow replace the life that had been stolen."
Sniffling herself, Beverly tenderly took the note from under Jean-Luc's hands.
"It was some years later that I discovered the note again," he sighed. "You and I hadn't talked since the funeral, and I didn't know how you would react to receiving such a personal memento after so long."
"The last thing I wanted was to cause you further pain, and I couldn't bring myself to get rid of the note. It was the one tangible thing of my time with Jack I had left."
Picard looked so heartbroken as he spoke, "I know I shouldn't have had it in the first place, and the gods know I never should have kept it, but Beverly," his gaze was plaintive as he finished, "I didn't know what to do with it."
"I couldn't display it, I couldn't destroy it, and I sure as hell couldn't come up to you out of the blue and say, 'Here's the last love letter you ever wrote to your dead husband,' so I took the coward's way out. I put it back in the book where Jack had placed it, and it's been there ever since."
"Oh, Jean-Luc," Beverly pulled him close and cradled him in her arms. "I am so sorry."
The two sat, silently holding one another, gazing out the viewport. Rather than seeing the blur of the stars, they were each seeing their life with Jack, and reliving how his death had changed them both.
After a time, Beverly stirred, "Jean-Luc?"
"Mmmm?" his baritone rumbled against her chest.
"I want," she sighed. "I want you to keep the note."
A pair of puzzled hazel eyes met hers, "Beverly?"
Beverly nodded, a half smile on her lips, "You gave me everything of his. I never knew… I guess I always assumed you kept something for yourself when you sent Jack's stuff back to me."
"You were hurting too, and yet you sacrificed your own needs. You were entitled to a memento, Jean-Luc. Jack was your best friend. You deserved something to remember him by."
"Beverly," he began. "I cannot keep this. I've held it, improperly, for too long as it is."
Beverly sighed, "Well, if you won't accept it, will you at least allow me to keep it where Jack left it?"
Mutely Picard nodded.
Standing and stretching her lithe frame, Beverly replied, "Good. Let's go put this back where it belongs and get some lunch." Her eyes twinkled mischievously, "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."
Chuckling, Jean-Luc rose and followed the most remarkable woman he had ever met back to his quarters.