[The Enterprise]

"Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travail tired;
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body's work's expired.
For then my thoughts, from far where I abide,
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see.
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents thy shadow to my sightless view,
Which, like a jewel hung in ghastly night,
Makes black night beauteous, and her old face new.
Lo thus by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for myself, no quiet find."

Jean-Luc Picard closed the book from which he had been reading out loud and put it away as roughly as he could. This means that he gently pushed it aside, being the bibliophile that he was, and left the rough part of "roughly" to his frown.

"Rubbish!" he exclaimed.

Now, he didn't think that Mr. Shakespeare's sonnet was rubbish, no, but why on Earth had he chosen to read that one? Out of 154 sonnets, why was that particular poem refusing to leave him alone ever since after breakfast that morning? He couldn't remember how the verse went, whether it was "presents thy sightless shadow to my view" or "presents thy shadow to my sightless view", which was innocent enough! But then he'd read it, and it made him angry with himself.

What he needed was something technical and objective to read, something that would require his whole attention. And so he tried to read the reports that had come in later in the day. Sensors were operating at 85% efficiency. Tests were still being conducted on the warp coils. Communication had been reestablished throughout the ship and so on. Somehow, those were not as engrossing as they should have been.

The captain put down his PADD and stared out the window. He could see Earth, since the Enterprise was orbiting it. He could not, however, see the American continent.

That restlessness he was feeling, which made it difficult for him to concentrate, wasn't infrequent. But it was usually brought upon by work-related worries, such as... imminent destruction or... the Borg invasion. He didn't fuss like that for personal reasons, not often, not really. Personal matters worried him, of course, but they didn't keep him from functioning. On the contrary, they made him immerse himself (even more) in his job. The important thing to be considered was that Jean-Luc Picard did not, or rather was not supposed to fidget about a missed appointment!

It made no sense. Something was terribly wrong with him.

It would have been easier, he thought, if Will and Deanna were still aboard the ship. That was the problem, he reasoned, even more fervently: he was overreacting because he was under a lot of stress due to all the changes that were taking place!

A sound from his intercom interrupted his train of thought. It was an incoming transmission, and he smiled when he saw that it was from Deanna Troi. It was as if she'd sensed it, which he didn't think she could.

"Deanna, how lovely to hear from you. I'm surprised you're still within communication range."

"Captain, Will and I wanted to know how everything was, you know, with the Enterprise... after all the reassignments... We wanted to call before we left Earth."

She made a point out of emphasizing the word "all".

"With the Enterprise? You mean with me!" he said, with mock indignation.

"Well, now that you mention it, I have been concerned for you on that matter, yes."

"I'm fine, Deanna. It's just that..." he sighed. "It takes a little while getting used to not having Data around, and you, and Will."

"What about Beverly?" she asked bluntly.

If she hadn't been trained, the counselor would have missed the slight impatience in his tone.

"What about her?"

"Don't you find it difficult to be away from her as well?"

"Of course I do, Counselor, she's my closest friend!"

At that moment, Deanna correctly assessed that his sudden use of her title and the defensive attitude he'd assumed meant that she had hit the spot.

"I know that, Captain," she said, smiling. "You know, Will and I have always been best friends as well."

Picard chose to ignore the insinuation, and so Counselor Troi continued.

"Captain, it doesn't take an empath to realize that you're upset."

And that was the truth. Deanna knew about Beverly. She had known from the moment the doctor had come aboard for the first time. She was an empath, how could she not have known? Every time she was with Beverly, she sensed what people felt when they watched her go, and that included the captain. She knew about every young ensign who'd had a crush on Beverly (and there had been many). She knew about the Zalkon, about the thief who posed as a historian from the future and about Odan.

And she knew about Kesprytt III.

Captain Picard's emotions towards the doctor, especially after the Kesprytt incident, were so overwhelming that she sometimes had trouble shutting them out. She sensed guilt, most of the time, and confusion, but also more pleasant feelings. She remembered how surprised she was when she found out the captain was not the cold and distant man he appeared to be. What she got from him on certain occasions, when she was able to see the two of them together, made her realize that he was, indeed, a romantic. He brooded and longed and suffered, but he didn't show it. Will had laughed when she'd told him about this romantic streak. He'd said that Captain Picard was the most practical man he knew. "Of course he is", she'd replied, "he's had years of practice". As a matter of fact, Deanna thought, while talking to the captain over the intercom, that's what he's doing right now, by failing to mention Beverly. He's decided that he isn't going to be affected by her departure and he's acting as if he hasn't been. It was like pretending that Beverly didn't exist, and Deanna knew better than to reprimand him for his efforts. After all, different people had different coping mechanisms.

"Captain..." she continued, gently. "Why don't you call her?"

"Oh, you think I haven't done that?" he exhaled. "You see, Deanna, ever since she left, we've been communicating. It was a means for maintaining our custom of having breakfast together, at least while the ship remained in orbit. A week ago, she started to be late for our calls, claiming she had overslept due to her late hours at work. At first, I thought she was upset with me, with my continued, even if veiled refusal to join her for dinner."

"Why did you object?" she asked, as impersonally as she could.

"There's a very large difference between morning meals and dinners which involve drinking and dancing, the latter not being exactly safe."

"Oh, so you were afraid of food poisoning, then?" she smiled.

"Deanna...!"

"I'm sorry, Captain! I'm sorry. Go on."

"Well... Today she didn't call at all. And when I decided to check to see if everything was all right, I was greeted on the viewscreen by Ensign Leavitt!"

By then, the impatience in his tone of voice would have been obvious to nearly anyone.

"Who's Ensign Leavitt?" she asked, calmly.

"That's what I asked her. She's one of Beverly's students, who has her permission to use her office to take some measurements of an ongoing research they're conducting. You see, Counselor, Doctor Crusher took the day off. And when did you ever know Doctor Crusher to do that? She didn't say anything about a day off to me!"

He's still using our titles, Deanna thought with amusement, but she kept it off her tone.

"Why does that trouble you, Captain? Do you think she was engaged elsewhere and didn't know how to talk to you about it?"

"No, Deanna," he replied, somewhat resigned. "What worries me is not the fact that she's probably found someone else with whom she prefers to spend her free time. But something's wrong. We've been apart before." He was silent for a few seconds and when he talked again, his tone was softer. "Did you know that I never once told her how much I missed her when she left for Starfleet Medical for the first time?" He sighed. "She has been... engaged elsewhere, as you put it, and so have I. But what really worries me is the fact that I can't pretend that everything is fine and carry on, like I always have. What really worries me is this dreadful notion I have that, this time, I won't be able to passively let the situation run its course."

And about time too! Deanna thought.

Once he had decided that he would do something, he was faced with yet another decision: what exactly was it that he intended to do? For starters, he thought he'd at least be honest with her, this time, and tell her the truth: that he missed her terribly. Deanna was right: there was no point in pretending he didn't miss Beverly. When had he not missed her? Even during all the years they had served on the same ship, they'd had so little free time together that he often caught himself missing her. He longed to talk to her. Sometimes, he found himself thinking of her during quiet night-shifts, with a yearning that didn't become the situation, given that she had been, then, just a few decks away. And he didn't just miss talking to her. He also missed looking at her, which was a whole different admission that he was not entirely sure he was ready to make, even if to himself.

After all, he hadn't managed to keep his hands off her all those years by openly admitting to himself that he liked to look at her. That he liked to be watchful of her... "The most common lie is that which one lies to himself". Picard didn't like it, but Mr. Nietzsche was right. He did lie to himself, in hope that it would help him fool her. As long as she thought he wasn't interested in pursuing a relationship, she wouldn't do anything that would make it impossible for him to refrain from speaking and from touching. And as difficult as it had been, he had always withdrawn, even if not promptly enough to prevent his witnessing the hurt look she gave him whenever he kept his distance. He couldn't bear it, to see how confused she looked, probably wondering how he managed to grow cold and distant after so many years of friendship. But he told himself that he did it for her, because she didn't want to change what they had between them. She had said so herself after Kesprytt.

That was but half-true, and therefore a half-lie: he also did it for himself. He didn't feel exactly worthy of being happy with his former best friend's wife, not when he'd wanted her so much while they were still married, not when he'd been responsible for Jack's death.

And yet he did love her, and couldn't help to do so, perhaps even more deeply than Jack had.