To the crowd I was crying out and
In your place there was a thousand other faces

Risa.

The so-called "pleasure planet".

Any other time, you'd marvel at its beauty, at the hospitality of its native people. But now, - now all you can think about is her.

She'd fled your quarters, her mind swimming with violent confusion. She'd hurried down halls, almost at a run, red-blonde hair streaked with white blowing easily back over her shoulders in windless air. You'd thought she'd head for her quarters, that a few hours would pass and amends would be made, but you'd been wrong; she'd headed for the transporter room, and within moments, she'd been gone.

You'd rushed after her when her consciousness had slipped away, disappearing from the edge of your own. There'd been a sudden emptiness in your mind, where her thoughts had been only seconds before, and your heart had plummeted in realization as your head had snapped round, your gaze settling on the view of Risa, spinning in calm serenity beyond your viewport below.

You'd followed her through the ship, beamed down onto the surface after her, but the streets were full, crowded with locals, Enterprise crew, tourists from across the quadrants. She'd been long since swallowed by the masses, her tall, slim body and long, agile limbs allowing her fit in perfectly with the natives.

You search the crowds for her face, for a flash of her red-blonde hair. There's a surging waterfall of emotions crashing down over your senses. Some many people, so many emotions, it's so hard to discern where you end and they begin. There's nothing unique about the emotions surrounding you, nothing different about the experiences of the people here now, and the people you'd been surrounded by here on Risa oh so many years ago.

You set out into the crowds, let them sweep you up in their ebb and flow. You wander the city, reaching out with your thoughts as you search through thousands upon thousands of consciousnesses to find her. Hours pass by and miles upon miles are covered beneath tired feet without success, and you grow weary. A weight presses down upon your shoulders as you sink down to the floor on the edge of the forest, your legs folded beneath you as you stare back out at the city, at the streets you've just wandered through.

Sweat soaks your body, sticking black curls to your forehead and the back of your neck as a form-fitting t-shirt a a little bit too big clings to the curve of your spine. Dark stains colour the shirt, turning royal blue into a deep shade of navy along the slope of your back, around the v-shaped neckline, and beneath your arms and the swell of your breasts.

You push your curls back from your face, your shoulders slumping as your eyes flutter closed for a moment, and you're alone in your darkness as your chin dips down to hover just above your chest.

"Where are you, Beverly?"

(A/N: I originally posted this over on Tumblr, and the lyrics at the beginning of this piece are from No Light, No Light by Florence + the Machine)