They'll only have forty-eight hours. No, that's not true. Actually, it'll be thirty-six or less. Deanna's known that for days, sensing the obvious from Captain Picard. Pelleus V is a planet that has long been on his list to revisit. He hasn't been there since his days on the Stargazer and won't want to waste any more time at Starbase 74 than necessary. Captain Picard's excitement to see, first-hand, how the colony he helped settle so many years ago has progressed, is nearly too much for the man to contain.
Yet, she's almost asked him twice to reconsider what he hasn't even spoken aloud.
Thirty-six hours or less, might not be enough time.
Deanna would never do that, though. She'd never open her mouth to be the voice of opposition over such a thing. After all, as counselor, her first duty is to her captain and feeling such happiness from him is rare; she welcomes it openly, putting aside her own agenda. An agenda that someone else truly seems to be in control of.
While her devotion to Captain Picard is unquestionable in every way, Deanna is accustomed to shutting out whatever she chooses when it comes to the rest of the crew—unless they've got an appointment. Too many minds, too many voices; all in some form of chaos. Frankly, Deanna doesn't understand how it would be possible to live as fully human, and feels blessed that she'll never have to find out. There's no way she'd ever be able to handle it, therefore, protecting herself from emotional upheaval, is second nature to her. She's been doing it for as long as she can remember.
Yet, an exception has been found in the most unlikely of people: Beverly Crusher, the ship's Chief Medical Officer.
The time they spent together in the beginning wasn't lengthy by any means. There were staff meetings. Times when they had to confer with one another about a patient or the general effects of a mission on the crew at large. Weekly training sessions Deanna attended under the tutelage of the doctor in order to sharpen her skills when it came to assisting in a medical emergency. All professional topics in a professional atmosphere. Nothing out of the normal. Nothing that Deanna would have to avoid if she wished to remain sane.
But that didn't last.
Without meaning to, Deanna found herself a willing participant in conversations—that's what she called them, anyway—with Beverly in the corridor. Where a simple nod would have been sufficient before, they stood there for who knows how long, talking about anything. Soon, those conversations moved from the corridor and into Ten Forward, then the arboretum, anywhere… always late at night and in places that gradually afforded them an even greater deal of privacy than the last.
Being around Beverly was so easy; her emotions, always so ordered, almost absent of chaos. And Deanna never felt pressured to say more than she could or felt comfortable with. Beverly waited for her to find the words with nothing but tenderness and a kind of friendly affection she was most definitely not used to experiencing.
Deanna foolishly believed she was managing their friendship and this newfound openness within herself, perfectly.
Now, today, standing in the middle of her quarters, trying to figure out what to pack, Deanna is ready to admit she not only mismanaged the openness and her friendship with the doctor, but there was never something quite that simple going on in the first place.
"Oh, who am I kidding?" Deanna says to herself, though she can barely hear for the music, surprised someone hasn't banged on her door already. For the past thirty minutes, she's been testing the limits of just how delicate and beautiful Chopin's Nocturnes really are. This test is enough to cause the walls to vibrate and it still isn't loud enough.
She missed it…
Deanna knows that now. She completely missed the fact that she was falling in love. Slowly, with each minute, she fell more in love with Beverly and she missed it! How does someone not notice falling in love? How can you experience such a thing and be so filled with "If I don't get to spend some time with her today, I might die..." and still get to call yourself a Betazoid? Even by half!
Every time they were together the truth must have just gone right over the top of this stupid bun Deanna's been sporting—but would really like to change and probably will in the next two seconds because all this thinking is driving her crazy. She's about to tear her hair out. All the fault of the Computer since it refuses to turn Deanna's music selection up any further. Who decided there should be a limit to that kind of thing, anyway?
And why does it suddenly feel like her head is full of a series of broken and run-on sentences being spoken by a hundred different voices all at once?
Alright, take a breath… There's no need to be so angry.
With a heavy sigh, Deanna takes a breath and doesn't tear her hair out. She takes it down instead, brushing it thoroughly. Really, she's been ready for a change and this way, in the future, it will take her a lot less time to get ready for staff meetings and appointments and all those wonderful moments between her and Beverly that don't happen anymore because Beverly is currently being stupid.
Okay, seriously. Take a breath… Beverly's not stupid; she's scared. You know that.
Deanna takes another deep breath and finishes brushing out her hair. She really doesn't have the ability to think about what sort of hairstyle she'll end up with—something besides the bun and absolutely no jewels stuck all over the place—and settles for tying it back and just leaving it be. So long as it's out of her face, it's within regulation; she'll give it some real thought later. Right this second, all she can think about is how Beverly, for the past few weeks, has mysteriously been "too busy" for her—yet she's still managing to take up all of Deanna's headspace, isn't she? Headspace that is obviously in short supply.
It doesn't help a bit that Beverly's mysteriously got time for her again. She's asked Deanna to spend the next two days with her on the starbase. Yes, Beverly Crusher, the woman that's been "too busy" for her friend, is suddenly busy no longer. Imagine that.
Busy! Of all the lies I've ever been told!
Clearly, this is something Deanna still can't let go of and it's the cause of a never-ending debate: Kill her, kiss her or both? But at least she understands now. At least she gets it. She's not missing anything anymore—about herself or Beverly for that matter.
When the invitation came, it would have been so easy to launch into the doctor—because she'd made up her mind to never call her Beverly to her face again—about how much it hurt to have been pushed aside so suddenly and with no explanation. The fight she could have started and ended never came out of her mouth. In fact, Deanna barely said two words, only able to nod in agreement to everything Beverly said: Something about Wesley's camping trip and a starbase and sharing a room. Even while her comprehension level might have briefly been at an all-time low, and she was unable to speak, Deanna had never been happier or felt such relief. Beverly had time for her again…
But then Deanna realized something: Beverly might have time for her again, but she did not seem particularly happy about it. There was such anxiety; it seemed to roll off her in waves. And the way Beverly spoke, it was like she was giving a speech by memory and more than ready to get away from her.
It reminded Deanna of the last night they'd spent time together: in of all places—Sensor Maintenance.
Nobody ever went in there unless, obviously, something needed maintaining and almost all of the time that could be done from a control panel on the Bridge. They'd been once before, but this time Deanna'd found a way to carry a blanket and two chocolate sundaes through half the ship without attracting attention.
So there they were, in Sensor Maintenance sitting on a blanket eating ice cream and talking, talking, talking when, midway through, Beverly wasn't hungry anymore. And she had the strangest look on her face; her hands went into the pockets of her ever present lab coat, never to reappear. Not long after that—she made up some excuse to go and practically ran out of there, leaving Deanna with no explanation and no more taste for chocolate sundaes. She hasn't had one since.
But at the time, Deanna had been too dumb to realize—
"What the devil is going on here!?"
The voice, shouting to be heard over the music, scares a half-hearted scream out of Deanna. There are only two people on this ship that could override the lock on the door. Lieutenant Tasha Yar and Captain Picard. Tasha wouldn't dare unless there was some kind of true emergency, but the captain would, so with a sigh and a shout of her own, Deanna turns the music off.
"Computer, music off!"
There is complete silence for exactly five seconds.
The captain comes fully into the room. He's got small box in his hands and even though he's obviously angry, she can't help but smile. As promised, he has come through for her.
Like it weighs a hundred pounds and as if he's completely outdone, Captain Picard sets the box on the table and gets on with the speech Deanna knows is coming. Like a child being scolded, she obediently stands at attention—which is rare in itself—knowing the whole time he doesn't mean a word of it.
"I never dreamed," he says, putting both of his hands over his ears for a moment, "the hull of this ship could be torn open by Chopin's Nocturnes. Of all the music selections… Blowing us to pieces. Inside a Starbase. Using Chopin's Nocturnes?"
"It won't happen again, Captain."
"I'd rather you crash the thing if you're determined to kill us."
"I'd never do that, Captain."
"Which is why I'd never let you take the helm." He cuts her off. "I've seen your academy records. Unsatisfactory if I may say so, Counselor."
"Yes, Captain. Unsatisfactory." At this point she can barely hold it together because that part is actually true. She can't so much as pilot a shuttlecraft without micro-fractures appearing throughout the hull in only a few minutes' time. Beyond assisting in medical emergencies, Deanna Troi isn't suited for much else aboard a starship; becoming a full-fledged bridge officer is definitely not in her future.
Finally, inhaling and exhaling deeply through his nose and with a sharp tug of his uniform, Captain Picard gives her as much of a smile as he will allow himself. "Enough with the 'Yes, Captain.'" He waves a hand in the negative. "I have had enough. We're pressed for time here, but it is with regret. Even if it is under these circumstances, I'll gladly fool myself into thinking I'm on shore leave."
Realizing that the music 'lesson' is over, Deanna motions for him to sit down; he is tired—deservedly so—but there is more. She can sense he is here with a purpose other than the little box on her table. Something tells her she'll wish the scolding had continued on for a bit longer because this is about her. In fact, it's about Beverly, too. And that can't be good. He isn't supposed to know. No one is. There's just no way anyone could have guessed and what if…
"Your head is spinning, Deanna."
"What?" Deanna looks up in surprise. As often happens, when her mind is hyper-focused in self-analysis, she tends to stare at an inanimate object for far too long, unblinking, tipping off someone that knows her well enough—like he does. "I was just… thinking."
"I know." He says dryly. "Which is why I finished your lamp early. You're going to the Vulcan meditation…something or other on the starbase, aren't you?"
"I am. It's—it's today, actually. Later this afternoon." Deanna shakes her head slowly, trying to get herself under control. Perhaps, this conversation won't be as bad as she thinks. And even if it is, it will be a good indicator of not only the captain's reaction, but possibly the rest of the crew. Not that she really cares one way or other.
Beverly is more important to her than other people's opinions. Even her own mother's, which is saying something since Deanna's spent most of her life trying to keep things as peaceful as possible between them. Besides, it's actually Lwaxana's job—other than being a Federation Ambassador—to produce the shock factor. Not Deanna's. But she's willing to risk it. Right now, she's willing to risk anything to figure out how far Beverly intends to take this.
Without her realizing it Captain Picard has pushed the box toward her. "Well, open it," he says, impatiently. "You didn't steal "The Sacred Chalice of Rixx" for nothing, did you?"
No, no she hadn't. And yes, she really did steal it. Of course, her mother hasn't missed it yet and Deanna is betting that she wouldn't for quite some time. Lwaxana might use the idea of the Chalice to show off her importance, but in reality it's just an old clay pot she keeps in the back of a closet.
Deanna, however, has a much better use in mind.
On her last visit to Betazed, she took the Chalice for the expressed purpose of turning it into a meditation lamp in a traditional Vulcan style. There was just one problem; she had no idea how to do it.
Lucky for her the captain is not just a captain, but an archeologist in what little to no spare time he is afforded, and often interested in restoring rare artifacts. Who better to clean up that old clay pot and turn it into something Deanna desperately needs: a focal point; a tool; a physical representation of her emotions—the flame, and the control she seeks within the lamp itself.
Deep down, Deanna knows if she is ever going to get over her phobia of feeling the intensity of so many people, gaining control over her own feelings through meditation is her only option. And it will have to be a more intricate form of meditation than any she ever learned on Betazed. Among her people, it's a common part of life, but for a Vulcan, meditation is life.
Opening the box, she is astounded. Indeed, her captain has outdone himself. The lid of the clay pot has been transformed to allow for the flame and the refilling of oil. The outside is adorned with not only Vulcan script, but also in an ancient form of Betazoid. As Deanna turns the lamp around in her hands, she recognizes both languages with ease, having studied them for many years.
Ironically, the passages are about strength, emotional awareness, and acceptance of self.
There are hundreds of phrases, small lessons that could have been written here in both languages, but he chose the things she needs the most.
"Captain," Deanna can't keep the single tear from slipping away when she sees the tender look on his face, "I didn't expect this."
"And I did not expect you to need it so much, Counselor."
Before Deanna can reply with anything meaningful, the captain stands, and with another tug on his uniform, he makes his way to the door…then he stops.
She stands quickly, as if he's called her name, but he hasn't. The captain never has to. Deanna always knows when she is needed and while still holding the lamp, she looks him in the eye, and finally understands what this visit is really about: Deanna is about to gain a lot more than the simple yet meaningful lamp she holds so carefully.
"Beverly is not the person she once was," he says matter-of-factly. "None of us are… And we will continue to change. But there is one constant in Beverly." For a moment he pauses and Deanna can feel his next words before they are spoken. "Beverly will not leave you, Deanna. Don't hold back from her. If this is what you both want…don't hold back. Listen to her heart. Tell her how you feel."
Deanna can rightfully say that this sort of thing is completely foreign to hear from Captain Picard. But then again, none of what he's told her has come from her captain. No, he is not her captain today, which is why he can bring himself to launch into such a personal speech. And he knows what he's just become…The sentiment is clearly felt.
Today, he's her father, giving her all the advice and reassurance that was sorely lacking a split second ago.
It's what's been bothering Deanna all along—that maybe she's misread this whole thing. Maybe she's wrong. And then what would happen if she opened her mind and heart… For nothing? That's what it had felt like with Will. Several years…and then nothing. Gone. For a title. A promotion. A career path she never would have gotten in the way of in the first place.
Beverly would never do that to her; their connection is already so deep.
With a final nod, he leaves and Deanna is overcome by the sense that this will work. No matter how many hours they will or will not have together on the starbase, she will make this work.
All she has to do is open her mind and trust.
To Be Continued