Disclaimer: The characters in this story are property of Paramount Pictures, etc. I just dust them off and play with them once in a while.

"Perhaps there is something to be said for not

getting what you want, but getting what you have.

After all, oftentimes, when you consider all of your

options and possible outcomes, you often realize

it's what you would have wanted in the first place."

-unknown

The sky was blue, and the purple clouds of twilight shone with heartbreaking clarity tonight. He had walked this path before, many times in fact. For him, atop this tiny hill was a place he had thought of as his second home. Things would be different now, that he knew. He found, to his surprise, that this sentiment pained him almost as much as the loss of his dear friend did. It was easy to understand, though, he told himself. After all, it is not the loss that we truly mourn; it is the changes that await us in its wake.

She didn't know yet. He felt he owed her, owed them, something more than the traditional subspace beacon, so he had taken a shuttlecraft back to Sector 001. He had to tell her in person. The final member of their foursome had joined him. Walker had made the trip for moral support, but this journey was his alone. It was one of the more grizzly aspects of being a Starfleet Captain. He had lost others before, but never a friend. He worried that his relationship with Jack may have clouded his judgment of how to break the news to Beverly.

His stomach tensed as he thought of her. Suddenly, this face-to-face encounter seemed like a terrible mistake. Perhaps it was not his friendship with Jack that had clouded his judgment at all. He felt sick at his own thoughts. The feelings he had for his best friend's wife had always been inappropriate, but now they seemed grotesque. His face burned with a pang that was beyond guilt, it was as though he were desecrating his friend's memory.

He froze, the wooden door having appeared before him all too soon. She would be there, on the other side. He came as close to panic as Jean Luc Picard ever did. He realized, fully, for the first time, that his words would hurt her, and, moreover, he would be forced to stand and bear witness to her pain. He wished now that he had proceeded in the standard way, detaching himself rather that being a friend.

He had no choice now, however.

He raised his hand and rapped on the door. "Just a moment," he heard her sing out from within. He swallowed, wiping the beads of perspiration from his brow.

"Jean Luc, what a pleasant surprise," she exclaimed, a vision of simple loveliness. "Jack didn't tell me the two of you were expecting shore leave anytime soon. Look at me, answering the door in these disgusting old rags," she shook her head as though she were forlorn, but the smile etched upon her lovely features gave her away.

"Beverly," he started. He licked his lips, which had suddenly gone dry, and tried again. "Beverly."

She stared into his eyes, and he saw something click. Her cheerful exuberance was gone, replaced by a crazed worry that was a mixture of panic and pain.

"Jean Luc, please, no. It can't be…" her voice trailed off, choked away by tears.

"I'm so sorry," he said, handing her the PADD on which the details of her husband's death were described. Her fingers brushed his as she took it from him, and her wanted nothing more than to hold her, to comfort her.

Slowly, he reached up to wipe the tears from her eyes. As he did, she startled and drew back. "Thank you, Captain," she said in a hollow, dead sort of voice.

She shut the door in his face.

His pain intensified.