There was screaming all around her as she ran through the streets of the town. The ash from the explosion rained down from above, coating her hair, her skin, and her lungs. Her chest burned as she gasped for enough breath to continue. As the sky darkened and her vision grew dim, the bodies of her parents seemed to become all the more clear in her mind's eye. She'd been reading in her bedroom when the disaster struck. By the time the screaming began, the house had already partially collapsed, killing her mother and father instantly. She'd bent down to where her mother lay pinned beneath a heavy wooden beam, instinctively placing a hand on her chest- and recoiling in horror at the absence of life she felt.

And so she ran.

Beverly awoke with a start, grasping for the bed sheets which she'd thrown off sometime during the night. She was panting heavily, and covered in sweat. She'd had the dream again.

Arveda.

Squeezing her eyes against the lingering images, she reminded herself that she wasn't on Arveda anymore and she hadn't been for over 35 years. Taking a deep breath, she shook her head and chose to open her eyes up to the present day before her.

Her grandmother's funeral.

It was the day of her grandmother's funeral.

She'd spent the last few nights at Nana's house, rather than on the enterprise. She found a certain comfort in her old bed, a closeness to her family she hadn't felt in such a long time. The old fashionedness of the way they'd lived on Caldos made her smile; and also deeply unsettled her. As much as she'd loved-and still did love- her grandmother, they were wildly different women. Felisa Howard had been all smoke and water, faith and mysticism, while Beverly was fire and earth, logic and science.

And it didn't help that the house was causing her to dream of Arveda for the first time in decades. She thought she'd put that behind her. Despite the fact that she remembered little from the disaster, for years afterwards she'd experience vague nightmares full of screaming and hunger. Nana had been the one to comfort her in the middle of the night when she had been awoken by such memories - or rather a lack thereof. Her grandmother had gently explained to her that sometimes, memories are so painful that our soul chooses to seal them off inside our minds, to protect us from the pain. And that had been the case for Beverly for all those years. So, why were the dreams returning now? And why did she have a feeling of dread that they would get worse; and that she would start remembering.

As she wrapped herself in a robe and smoothed the quilt on her bed, she paused at her childhood bookshelf. There were medical textbooks, works of literature, herbal reference guides, and the odd book here or here concerning The Old Ways. Chuckling to herself at her grandmother's superstitions, she tilted her head and pulled one off the shelf, opening the cover. Inside was an inscription, "My Dear Little One, If you're ever ready, this will guide you; as will I."

Beverly slammed the book down on the desk and wiped the tears from her face. She had little interest in brewing remedies according to the lunar cycles of Earth. She had science, damn it, although little good it was doing her now.

Her breath hitching in her throat she picked the book back up, returning it to it's place beside her med school texts. This wasn't about a book. It was about her grandmother and the fact she'd never see her again. Never share a cup of tea with her. Never see her light up over subspace as she received updates on Wesley.

Heading down the wooden staircase to the kitchen, she methodically began making a pot of tea. Rummaging around the many jars, she began to add a little of this and a little of that. Motherwort to strengthen the heart, hawthorn and rose to assist with grief. She smiled, almost hearing her grandmother's voice, pleased she hadn't forgotten everything she'd learned.

"Herbs are scientifically backed forms of remedy and medicine, Nana, not superstition." She replied aloud to the voice in her head.

Once the water was boiled, she slowly poured a controlled stream over the antique strainer holding the dried plants. She leaned over the steam rising, taking it deep into her lungs. She made a mental note to add this recipe to the ship's replicator, although it wouldn't be the same. It never was the same without the process of selecting and grinding the herbs, feeling them in her hands. Tea was more than a beverage. It was a ritual; her grandmother had taught her that.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts, startling her and causing her to jump. Tying her robe closed and taking her mug of tea along, she made for the door, opening it.

Not sure who she was expecting, but decidedly not having expected him, she simply stared.

"Jean-Luc?"

"I, uh, know today is going to be rather difficult." He said as he held up a paper bag.

If eyebrows could ask questions, then hers very much did, because he explained. "I thought you might like some company for breakfast. I brought croissants from the bakery in the town square."

She smiled weakly, stepped aside, and gestured for him to enter.

"Ah, you've a fire going, that's nice." He noticed.

Beverly tilted her head a bit, glancing at the fireplace to indeed find a blazing fire in the hearth. "Yes, I- suppose-"

"It really is a lovely home. I'm sure you have many happy memories here." He continued, not seeming to catch the murmerings under her breath.

"Um, yes, yes I do." She smiled, taking the bag from him and placing them on the small wooden table in the corner of the main living area. "Tea?"

"Yes, please."

She returned to the kitchen, preparing him a breakfast tea that she knew he would approve of. Glancing over her shoulder at him as he looked at pictures on a wall, she turned back to the tea thoughtfully. Her hand reached for a bottle of clove and orange extract, and added a few drops.

"I added a little something extra to help with your feeling decidedly un-grounded this morning Jean-Luc."

He accepted the mug from her, their fingers briefly making contact. If he hadn't seen her eyes widen slightly, he'd have thought he'd imagined the slight shock her felt as their skin touched.

"Being in a perfectly controlled environment, one forgets of things such as static electricity all too quickly." He smiled.

"Yes." She swallowed a lump in her throat.

Jean-Luc set his tea down, then took her own, placing it beside his on the table. He took her hands in his and squeezed gently. "How are you really Beverly? I know-

"I'm fine," she interrupted. She huffed at her own denial, pulled away from him and sat down in a wooden chair. "Of course I'm not fine."

Picard, glad he'd taken the entire day off, sank into a chair beside her, covering her shaking hands with his own. "I know, Beverly. I know."

Her eyes lifted from the table to his eyes; and she began to weep.

Chapter 2 already in the works, but please review! Wishes? Thoughts?