Beverly Crusher had always given incredible Halloween parties, starting way back in high school when she was still Beverly Howard. From then until her posting on the Enterprise, she'd only missed two years: the year she'd gone into labor an unexpected three weeks early with Wesley, and the year Jack died. In fact, it had been a Halloween party that helped, in part, to bring her out of her misery at losing her husband. Her best friend from medical school, Malina Kurtis, had talked her into having one. "Jack wouldn't want to see you moping around," she'd argued. "You've already missed one Halloween, and if you don't organize a party this year, I'll have to. And you know I'm hopeless at these things."
The last part was an out-and-out lie-Malina was the least hopeless person Beverly had ever met-but the young doctor allowed herself to be persuaded by her Polynesian friend's peculiar brand of logic and surprised herself by actually having a good time. Malina insisted on her attendance in costume, although Beverly argued with her half-heartedly, saying that the hostess didn't need a costume. Malina had won, of course-she generally did-but Beverly had the last laugh; she wore a Vulcan full-mourning outfit, complete with deep green veil and voluminous robes colored with all the swirled-together golds and reds and browns of the desert. Malina, who'd lazily opted for some traditional costume from home, had been furious at first, but had quickly recovered her usual good humor when she realized that Beverly was truly enjoying herself-and that the costume was a joke at her expense.
After that party, although she still ached from the loss of Jack Crusher, Beverly found it a little easier to get through the nights.
Every year after that, up until her arrival on the Enterprise, Crusher had given her Halloween parties. Once aboard the flagship of Starfleet, she hadn't felt comfortable, somehow, in continuing the tradition. The ship-and Jean-Luc Picard, old friend of the family or not-seemed much too dignified for that sort of thing. Then, of course, she left, and her year at Starfleet Medical had been far too hectic for her to even organize her home life, much less parties.
Now, she was back. And she was far more comfortable on the Enterprise now, after five years, comfortable with herself and with her position and her shipmates. Even Picard seemed more relaxed now. But the tradition had been disrupted, and it didn't occur to her, as the unchanging "September" of deep space came to an end, that her once-favorite holiday was fast approaching. All she was thinking, as she sat staring moodily out of the observation window in Ten-Forward, was that it had been over a month since she'd heard from Wesley.
A shadow fell across the table. Crusher looked up, irritated at being disturbed, then turned her frown into a welcoming smile as she saw Deanna Troi looking down at her. "May I join you?" the ship's counselor asked. Crusher nodded.
"You don't look very happy today," Troi said carefully. The black mood she'd sensed in her friend the minute she entered the lounge had abated somewhat at her appearance, but Crusher still seemed almost depressed.
The first response to her comment was a heavy sigh. Troi waited patiently. Crusher finally turned her eyes from the window to those of her friend. "I don't know why I feel so down," she confessed. "I guess it's because Wes hasn't sent a message in a while. I know he's working hard to make up for his lost year, but he's been able to send at least a small 'hi-how-are-you' once every two weeks or so. It's been over a month since he even sent one of those, and at least six months since I've actually seen him." She grinned sheepishly. "I know it's a silly thing to get moody over."
Troi shook her head in disagreement, her dark eyes serious. "No it isn't. He's your son, he's very far away, and he's growing up. It isn't just that you haven't heard from him recently; it's those other factors as well."
Crusher nodded slowly. "I guess you're right," she agreed, then added, in a tone of intense frustration: "I just wish I could stop worrying about...things."
Troi blinked, but showed no other outward sign that Crusher's emotions had subtly altered since the beginning of the conversation. She was, Troi sensed, no longer speaking only about her son; the emotions the empath was sensing now spoke more of regret and loss than worry. Intriguing though the empathic information was, however, Troi knew she would have to file it away for discussion with the doctor at a later date; for now, as her father used to say, she had bigger fish to fry. She therefore replied to the statement and not to the emotions behind it as she told the CMO, "You're a mother; you're supposed to worry. It's probably something simple; perhaps he's met someone." She leaned her chin on her hand and looked at the other woman intently. "What you need," Troi added before Crusher could respond to that less-than-reassuring idea, "is something to distract you."
Crusher assumed the identical position and expression. "What would you suggest, Counselor Troi?" she asked, with just a hint of laughter to mar the imitation.
"A party," was the unhesitating response.
"A party," Crusher repeated doubtfully.
Troi nodded firmly. "A party. I've heard that you used to give fantastic Halloween parties."
Crusher leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms suspiciously. "Who told you that?"
Troi smiled. "An old friend of yours whom I happened to speak to recently."
Crusher frowned. "Who?"
"Someone who wanted to surprise you," a familiar voice said from behind the doctor's head. She'd been so intent on Troi, she hadn't noticed the other person's approach. "I was in the neighborhood, so I decided to drop by-" was all Dr. Malina Kurtis, exopsychiatrist, was able to get out before being engulfed in a bear hug by Beverly Crusher, who had whirled around and risen in one motion at the other woman's first word.
"Malina!" Crusher stepped back, her hands still on the other woman's shoulders, and looked her up and down as if to confirm her reality. "I don't believe this! What are you doing here?" Her voice was filled with delight.
Malina shrugged. "Visiting, like I said. Allen is doing research in this sector for the next six months. When I found out the Enterprise was here as well, doing that fun charting-type stuff you guys love so much, I called Jean-Luc, he hooked me up with Deanna, and the rest, as they say, is history!" She sat down with a flourish and looked triumphantly back up at her former room-mate. "I've been given visitor status for the next month, since you'll be here for at least that long." She turned serious. "I couldn't give up the chance to see you; do you realize this is the first time our paths have actually intersected in almost eight years?"
Crusher slowly sat in her abandoned seat. "My God, Malina; has it really been that long?"
Malina nodded vigorously. "You betcha, Rusty. Do you feel old yet?" She leaned forward confidentially. "I actually found a gray hair the other day."
Crusher looked startled. "I thought your family didn't get gray!"
"We don't," Malina said seriously. Then her face broke into an infectious grin. "The gray was on Allen!" She and Crusher were both still laughing when Deanna Troi slipped quietly from her seat and headed for the door. The other women were so absorbed in their conversation that they didn't notice. The ship's counselor smiled to herself as she threaded her way through the maze of people cluttering the lounge. She didn't feel left out; after all, her sole purpose today in approaching her friend had been to set up Malina's arrival. Beverly's spirits had lifted considerably at the sight of the Polynesian woman, her joy at the unexpected reunion completely submerging her worries about Wesley and whatever else it was that had been bothering her. Later, when the visit was over, Troi would speak to her friend. If she still needed to.
But she couldn't help wondering about it as she left Ten-Forward and started down the corridor. Nothing had happened recently to explain the doctor's sudden downswing in mood; no patients had been lost in Sickbay, no one had been killed or severely injured on an Away Team Mission, Crusher had received no bad news from her family; even Wesley's little "escapade" at Starfleet Academy was no longer an issue. As Crusher had said, he was buckling down and seriously attempting to make up his lost year as quickly as possible; she and the doctor had spoken about it right after the event and in several counseling sessions in the immediate months that followed it. Crusher had seemed, in Troi's professional opinion, to be handling the situation quite well. Not that buried feelings couldn't resurface, of course, but Troi knew that wasn't what she was sensing. No, something else had happened to bring on Crusher's recent depression.
"Good morning, Counselor."
Troi started; she'd been so lost in thought, she hadn't heard the Captain come up behind her until he spoke. "Good morning, Captain," she replied, half-smiling in embarrassment at her reaction. "I didn't hear you."
He smiled back in acknowledgement, then nodded as he veered off into a side corridor. Toward Stellar Sciences. Troi's smile faded as she remembered that the Captain had been spending rather a lot of time with the new Chief of Stellar Sciences, Lt. Commander Netta Darrin. More time than could be accounted for by mere professional interest. And by Troi's reckoning, the captain's interest in Lt. Commander Darrin roughly coincided with the beginning of Crusher's depression. "Coincidence," Troi murmured to herself, but her voice lacked conviction. That was carrying the long arm of coincidence a bit too far. Crusher's feelings toward Captain Picard had always been a mixture of defensiveness, friendship, occasional irritation, admiration, and maybe something more, something harder to pinpoint; what if Troi had totally misread the situation? Something else to keep in the back of her mind, she decided as she reached the turbolift. She would just have to quietly monitor the situation.
Malina was absolutely shocked that her friend had been so remiss in her party-giving responsibilities. "Not even one?" she asked incredulously as the ship's CMO walked her to her cabin. "Not even a little one?" Malina pinched two fingers extremely close together to demonstrate.
Crusher shook her head. "Not even a little one," she replied, mimicking her friend's gesture. "I've been busy." It sounded weak; Malina would never buy it.
She didn't. "Uh-uh, Rusty; no good. And don't try to tell me Jean-Luc wouldn't sanction it, either; whenever he was on Earth, he used to come to those things regularly."
Crusher felt a blush creep over her face; she'd actually considered using that argument. Once again, she should have known. After all, Malina had known the captain of the Enterprise even longer than Beverly, having met him as an exchange-student in high school, when she'd still been Malina Kalomi. Jean-Luc Picard had taken the shy young girl under his wing, helped her to learn French-actually learn it, not just depend on a universal translator to help her get by-and introduced her to her future husband, Allen Kurtis, another exchange student from Germany. Something Picard had once lightly referred to as one of the biggest mistakes he'd ever made. "The dance of relationships is a complex weave, always changing and evolving," was one of Nana Howard's favorite sayings, and it haunted her now. Why, Crusher thought as an image of Netta Darrin and her strained arm danced through her mind, couldn't things just stay the same?
"Hello! Earth—er, I mean, space—to Beverly!" Malina looked concerned. "You okay?"
Crusher nodded. "Sorry," she apologized, resuming the walk. "I was just...thinking."
"About what?" Malina asked curiously. "What kind of thought could actually bring you to a dead stop-not to mention that blush I still see?"
"I was just thinking," Crusher said deliberately, "how disappointed Jean-Luc must have been when you fell head-over-heels for Allen." Misdirection, pure and simple, but close enough to the truth for Malina to believe it-and be distracted by it.
It was Malina's turn to blush as they reached the guest quarters. "No fair!" she protested, only half-jokingly. "He acted like an older brother all the time, always so protective and supportive, making sure I met people and didn't just mope around being homesick. How was I supposed to know how he felt?" She followed Crusher through the door and surveyed the luxurious cabin with a happy grin. "Now this is what I call living!"
"Well, I think he's managed to get over it," Crusher replied to her friend's question with only a small trace of irony. "After all, it's been how many years?"
"Polynesians don't count that high," came Malina's prompt response as she allowed a bland, sleepy expression to come over her face. "We try to avoid big numbers. Too complicated for us simple fishing people."
"Yeah right," Crusher muttered. The two women took one look at each other and burst into uncontrollable laughter, each flopping onto a chair when their knees gave out.
"Seriously, Mal," Crusher continued when her breath returned, "How are you doing? Is Allen feeling any better?" He'd been fighting a rare-and so far, incurable-form of leukemia for the past ten years. Every time it went into remission, everyone's hopes were raised. But it always came back, each time a little worse than the last. The prognosis was not good, but there was always hope for a cure; Malina and Allen, Beverly and all their friends, too, continued to cling to that hope.
The hope of a cure was a large part of the reason Crusher had accepted her one-year post at Starfleet Medical. A promising line of research being followed there had lured her away from the Enterprise-and Wesley-but it had fallen through, a complete and utter failure, after only six months. Six months after that, when word came that Katherine Pulaski had decided she wanted a planetside posting, Crusher had requested a transfer back to the ship that she now thought of as "home", reasoning that she could finish her own line of research there as well as anywhere else. And, of course, be close to Wesley once again, at least until he finally made it into Starfleet Academy. Yes, she'd had very logical reasons for returning to the ship, and very carefully kept herself from thinking about any other reasons she might have-or any other person she might have missed more than she would have believed possible.
"He's been doing all right, Rusty," Malina was replying to Crusher's question. "We're keeping our fingers crossed." A shadow crossed her face. "But we know it's a losing battle; we've long since resigned ourselves to that." She shook her head, as if to clear away the fears Beverly knew she must have, and her friend felt a twinge of guilt. Her worries for Wesley's well-being seemed trivial compared to what she knew the other woman was facing.
"Well," Crusher said, deliberately lightening the tone of the conversation, "have you figured out what our next contest should be? After all, it's been a while."
Malina's eyes lit up at that question as she nodded. "Hair," she replied succinctly.
Crusher's eyebrow rose. She and Malina had decided, while they were still in medical school, to have a contest to see whose hair would grow the longest before the end of the semester. There were only two rules established: they would wear wigs so that the results would be a complete surprise to everyone, and they were not to tell anyone. "Not even anyone you're sleeping with," Malina had said solemnly. Jean-Luc Picard would never have recognized the mischievous prankster the shy young Polynesian girl had grown into, Crusher remembered thinking as she agreed to the terms.
Aside from those two terms and the agreement that it had to be their own, natural hair, no extenders or grafts, there were no rules. Crusher used every fast-grow shampoo and conditioner she could find, and she knew darn well that Malina was doing the same thing, and was probably bribing her ancestors into helping her to boot. For all that she was a modern product of the 24th century, she was still an islander, whose family still held with many of the ancient traditions. They stopped short of tossing sacrifices into volcanoes to appease Pele, but kept other beliefs, including a reverence for the wisdom of their ancestors.
That, Crusher had always contended, was what had given Malina the edge. At the end of the year, when the wigs had been removed before the astonished eyes of Allen Kurtis and Beverly's highly embarrassed pre-Jack Crusher boyfriend, Malina's hair was a good two inches longer than her friend's red tresses.
From then on, at least once a year they held their contests. The second one-while Allen and Malina were having problems and had briefly split up-it had been who could get the most dates with the most men. Malina won that one by default; Jack Crusher had been the first man Beverly dated-and the last. Another time it had been something to do with tribbles. Now, Malina was suggesting hair again.
"We've already done hair," Crusher objected while these thoughts flashed quickly through her mind.
Malina shrugged. "So? That was how many years ago?"
Crusher rolled her eyes. "Starfleet women don't count that far back," she muttered, then returned her gaze to a grinning Malina. "You still haven't said why you want to do hair again-or is it something different?" she asked with sudden suspicion. "I hate to tell you this, but I am not shaving my head!"
Malina shuddered and put a protective hand to her own glossy black tresses. "No, even I wouldn't go that far. But I do have an ulterior motive," she confessed.
Crusher nodded sagely. "I knew it. Out with it."
Malina looked slightly guilty as she explained. "I just thought that if we made it a contest, then I'll be able to fight the urge to cut it."
Crusher stared at her friend in confusion as Malina hurried to explain. "See, I always say I'm going to let it get long again"-her hair was the same length as Beverly's, coming just to her shoulders-"but then I keep getting impatient and chopping it. It's driving Allen crazy; he wishes I hadn't cut it in the first place. Why," she interrupted herself, "do men like long hair on women so much?"
Crusher shrugged, grinning in spite of herself. "It's one of those mysteries that seem destined never to be solved. So," she added, returning to the subject at hand, "what you're saying is that you want me to be your conscience?"
Malina nodded. "That's about it. What do you say?"
"I'll do it. But we'll have to arrange to be in the same place at the same time in a year. Can you manage it?"
Malina nodded once again, eagerly this time. "You betcha, Rusty. I don't think the wigs are really necessary this time around, but I think the other rules should stand: no extenders, and no telling anyone, not even someone you're sleeping with." She paused. "You've kept that part of it for our other little contests, haven't you?"
Crusher rolled her eyes as she rose to her feet and walked to the dresser. "I have never told anyone, not even someone I was sleeping with-" Oops. That was what Malina had been waiting for; she pounced on that statement like a cat on a mouse.
"So you admit it!" she crowed. "You finally did sleep with someone!"
"So what if I did?" Crusher countered defensively. It was no good denying anything; Malina would never believe her now. "I'm a grown woman, with no strings attached-"
"You've never mentioned anyone in your letters, and the last time I talked to you face to face, you were still being faithful to Jack's memory," Malina interrupted, her dark eyes serious for a change. "I'm just glad you finally broke down and admitted that you're still a living, breathing grown woman with no strings attached, that's all." The mischief returned to her expression as she moved to stand behind her friend, peering critically over Crusher's shoulder at their respective hair lengths. "Who was it? Jean-Luc?"
"No," came the quick reply-a little sharper than Beverly had intended. She looked into the reflection of Malina's startled eyes, then turned away. "There were a couple of men, but both affairs have been over for a while. Neither of them was Captain Picard." She walked away from the mirror to fidget restlessly with the computer controls set into the top of the nightstand.
"Captain?" Malina repeated softly. "So formal, Rusty. Why?"
"Because he's my commanding officer," came the equally soft reply. "Because there's nothing going on, and there never will be." Was that a trace of regret in her voice? In spite of the finality ringing through the words, Malina was certain she heard the longing as well. "Besides, he's seeing someone right now." It was a warning; Crusher knew her friend, and knew that Malina would understand the warning. It was not a subject to be discussed; not now, maybe not ever.
Malina pursed her lips and studied Crusher's back. "Of course," she replied, her voice placating. It was a good thing Crusher couldn't see her face at that moment; the calculating smile that passed quickly across her lips would have sent the Enterprise's CMO fleeing in terror. However, she didn't see it, and Malina was confident of her ability to put the decision she'd just reached into motion. Jean-Luc was "seeing someone" right now, was he? Well, things changed, and Malina Leilani Kalomi Kurtis had never been one to let anything stand in her way.
"Now, about that party-" she began, deliberately changing the subject to one more congenial to Beverly-and one which was crucial to her new plans...
A/N: This is another old story I decided to dust off and upload. More Picard/Crusher fluff and plenty of references to make it clear when the story is set. I hope my OC isn't too annoying; I wrote this back in 1994 and my writing certainly wasn't as polished as I hope it is now. More chapters will follow as I review them for an egregious errors or wince-inducing dialoge.
