Beverly looked around the Sickbay, taking it all in. The layout and surroundings were nearly identical to her Sickbay on the Pasteur. A bit more green in the decor, some additional plants in the corners which added a nice, comfortable addition to the sleek lines, a few cabinets rearranged, but otherwise nothing truly out of what she would call ordinary.

The nurse who treated her was brisk but kind, glancing up at her when he thought she wasn't looking. As she gradually relaxed (she wasn't in the brig anymore, she was safe, no one was going to take her now) she looked up again, searching-

"The captain left as soon as we began treating you," the nurse said, answering the unasked question. "I think it may be hard for him to be around you." The nurse looked up with a small smile and met Beverly's searching gaze. Her mouth was dry, and should she ask for more information? Or-

"They were married for a long time, from what I understand, for many years before she was killed a year ago. I don't know what he was like before she was gone, but I'm sure he hasn't been the same since. He's a good captain, of course, but he is quite reserved. There-" The nurse patted Beverly's shoulder, "-you're good to go. Get some food and some rest and you'll be fine. How are you going to get back home to your universe?"

Beverly got down from the table and smoothed her wrinkled uniform, shook her head. "I have no idea."

Picard left Sickbay as soon as the nurse began treating Beverly. He held himself under tight control until he entered the lift. As the doors closed, his hands began to tremble and he clenched his fists, forced himself to breathe slowly. He quietly redirected the lift to his quarters, rather than the bridge. He needed another moment before facing the crew, meeting the senior staff, talking with that damned counselor who had taken such a deep interest in exploring his grief in their monthly sessions. Picard still couldn't bear to talk about Beverly in public, other than very general statements. But in private settings the counselor always wanted to drag out his treasured memories, lay them out and examine them, ask him how he felt, how much it hurt. The man was so intrusive. And now this woman was on his ship, and he didn't know what to do, because it was like staring into the eyes of his wife.

Picard was utterly grateful that he met no one on the walk from the lift to his quarters. He entered and stood in the middle of the darkened room and began to heave, dry sobs coming from his chest and invading the silence. The pain of her loss was hard, so hard. Seeing this woman ripped open his wounds all over again. And she had been so stoic as she saw him come around that corner, but he could tell - she was exhausted, and she needed to eat a good meal and sip a cup of coffee and sit and rest in a chair and look across the table and smile at him-

He looked up to see the photo frame on the shelf in the corner and his heart broke again.

How cruel. How cruel that this anomaly would bring to him a woman that was a perfect mirror of the love of his life.

Beverly left Sickbay and started down the corridor - and stopped. I don't know where my quarters are on this ship. Oh hell. And she realized just how exhausted she was. She needed food, a shower and sleep. Just what the doctor ordered.

"Computer, where are my quarters?"

"Deck Eight."

She went to Deck Eight, followed the signage, and the doors opened for her - and she walked into the captain's quarters and saw him standing in the dark in the middle of the room, back to the door. Oh god…the computer sent me to my...her old quarters. He turned around then and she saw the tears on his face as his eyes widened in surprise.

She was horrified at her own intrusion, froze just inside the room, doors sliding shut behind her. "I'm…I'm so sorry, I'll leave-" and turned to go, not knowing where to go but knowing she couldn't stay there, her stomach clenching in horror at her invasion within his private space.

"No!" She flinched and froze, the strangled tone of his voice sending a chill down her back. "Don't leave, Beverly, please don't leave-" he said in a hoarse whisper, and she slowly turned around to be confronted with his pleading expression. He tentatively held out a hand towards her. "You should stay here. You must be exhausted."

She paused, then replied. "I am," she reluctantly admitted. "And hungry." Oh damn. That slipped out.

"Ah, please stay. Rest. I'm…on my way to the bridge. Get some rest and I'll be back soon with more information about how to get you home."

They stared at each other for a moment in the starlight, then she nodded. He walked past her, command persona back in place, and left his quarters, leaving her alone and confused.

Beverly was lightheaded now - the aftermath of no longer being trapped in a brig. She replicated a meal and forced herself to sit down at the table by the window as she ate gratefully. The stars streaked by and she wondered where they were headed but she was quite honestly too damn tired and dirty to care. Captivity was never fun.

She recycled her plate and looked around. His quarters looked familiar - like him. Same colors as on the previous Enterprise, books on the shelves, subdued art on the walls. And she saw on a shelf a frame, walked over, saw the picture. It was a wedding photo. She was smiling into the camera and his face was pressed against hers, glancing at the photographer. And they looked so happy. Content. Whole.

She blinked, tears coming to her eyes. This is what could have been? We are fools, fools in my universe. Fools...we were too scared to try and so I went to the Pasteur and he went to the Enterprise and he asked and I said yes but now I'm here and can't reach him...

She stumbled through her tears to where she guessed the bathroom was, stepped into the sonic shower, leaned against the wall, then changed the setting to hot water and felt her torn, wrinkled uniform become saturated. She stripped it off right there in the shower, hearing the fabric make a wet smack at her feet, tilted her face up into the spray and wept. Told herself that her tears were a delayed response to her fear, her confinement on that ship but she knew, deep down she knew that she was weeping at lost time with her Jean-Luc. At what could have been.

Finally, she found herself fighting the urge to slide down the wall and curl up on the floor under the hot spray. She turned off the water, grabbed the closest towel (it smells like him), wrapped it around herself, and stumbled into the bedroom.

She found his bed, curled up and was asleep instantly.