The fatal night finally arrived. Ten-Forward was ready, as was the main holodeck, Crusher having realized half-way into the preparations exactly why she hadn't felt comfortable giving this type of party on the ship in the past: there simply was no way to not invite someone without feelings being hurt. And there simply wasn't enough room in any one place for everyone to get together-especially all the civilians. A thousand people was a lot to entertain. So an early party on the main holodeck had been held for the children; once that was over, the deck had been reprogrammed for an adult party which would probably, at one point or another, include everyone on board. But the main party, the party Crusher was actually hostessing and not just organizing, was in Ten-Forward.
She found herself becoming more and more apprehensive as the day wore on; no matter how silly she told herself she was being. When she finally finished her shift and saw to the last of the last-minute preparations, there were slightly less than two hours to go before the party started. Thank God there weren't any medical emergencies, she thought as she neared her quarters. Her steps slowed as her apprehension abruptly doubled. Why? She asked herself. Why am I so nervous about this party? That's all it is-a little Halloween party, just like any other you've given in the past. And with Malina here to spice things up as an added incentive.
She smiled at the thought of her friend, but the smile quickly faded. Malina's frenetic actions on behalf of the party seemed a bit too frenetic. Not that Malina ever did anything by halves, but she seemed almost obsessive about this party, as if it had some special importance to her. Beverly hoped it wasn't a sign of some deeper disturbance, but she knew that Deanna had been keeping an unobtrusive emotional "eye" on Malina, and would have said something by now if there were some kind of problem.
The door to her own quarters was in front of her. Crusher sighed, then shrugged mentally. Maybe it was just reaction to Allen's death-with the party acting to distract her from that still-fresh sorrow. And maybe she, herself, was just being oversensitive, overreacting to the situation, as she'd been overreacting to a lot of things lately. With that uncomfortable thought, the doctor entered her quarters, stopping short at the sight of her main living area.
Malina had been there. Not uninvited; she'd received permission from her friend-as if she really needed it, Crusher had scoffed-to come and go as she needed, in order to get things ready for Crusher's unknown costume.
Unknown, that is, until now. Crusher finally stepped forward, gazing with a mixture of puzzlement and awe at the creation before her, all worries about her friend and her own problems momentarily forgotten at the dazzling sight that met her eyes.
It was a dress. No, it was a gown. A magnificent ballgown, with a skirt that had to be supported by-yes, that was definitely a set of hoops underneath. Beverly warily circled the dressmaker's dummy that was planted in the middle of her living area. The gown covering the old-fashioned device was made from a shimmery, metallic silver fabric and consisted of a tight, v-necked bodice and full, floor-length skirt. The puffy, off-the-shoulder sleeves came to mid-forearm and were as full in their own way as the skirt.
Once she was able to tear her eyes away from the gown, she noted the pair of matching slippers on the sofa, next to a silvery bundle of what looked like small, metallic leaves. Behind the table, her computer console was flashing quietly. Apparently Malina had left a message.
Crusher reached over to hit the "play back" button. Malina's smiling face came into view. "Hi! Surprised? I hope so! I know you're gonna need some help with that thing-especially the hair piece"-the Malina-image held up and jiggled the same bundle of "leaves" that was now residing on the divan-"and the hooks, so I asked Deanna to come over. I'm afraid I have a couple of things to do with my own costume." She flashed one of her trademark broad grins. "See you at the party!" The image flicked out of existence, and Crusher told the machine to shut itself off. Her eyes returned to the gown.
She recognized it now. A small smile played around her lips as she reached to unfasten her uniform. The King and I had always been one of her favorite musicals, and she had been fortunate enough to see a restored version of the original film, starring Yul Brynner and Deborah Kerr, when she was still in high school. The dress was an exact duplicate of the one worn in the famous dinner party and dancing sequence. Malina had really outdone herself this time.
Now, two hours later, Beverly Crusher found herself in Ten-Forward, playing hostess. Her hair was neatly tucked into its silver snood, her full skirt carefully arranged over the single layer of petticoats Malina had deemed necessary for authenticity. Troi's assistance in assembling the costume had proven invaluable, and it had the added advantage of allowing Crusher a sneak preview of her friend's costume. She looked absolutely stunning with her skin darkened to a deep tan, her hair colored a magnificent chestnut red and her eyes a luminous green. The pointed ears peeking out from behind her hair would put any Vulcan's to shame, and the costume itself-a red, gold-trimmed halter and a blue skirt with more gold hanging in fringes from the hips and hem-showed her figure to advantage. A figure Crusher had always somewhat envied, and one that Will Riker-who looked particularly dashing in what could only be a Captain Sinbad get-up-seemed to be spending a lot of time admiring tonight.
While Troi had immediately headed for the table of refreshments-Will Riker at her side-Crusher stood in a corner near the back, her normally sociable nature somewhat subdued, no doubt a result of her continued nervousness. After greeting people and making certain that everything was going smoothly, she'd retreated to her present vantage point, content to watch with a smile as the guests quite obviously enjoyed the party.
She could look at the costumes all night. Everyone had outdone themselves; a masquerade ball was something never before seen on the Enterprise, and the eagerness with which people had thrown themselves into the spirit of the evening was a constant source of amazement to her. People had been talking about what they would wear for weeks before the actual event. Now, the evening was here, and it was well worth the wait. Crusher could hardly wait to see Malina's costume; her anticipation had been the strongest of all.
Crusher's eyes roamed about the room, lighting on one person after another and lingering in fascinated admiration. There was Ensign Ro, in what had to be a native costume-the style was unmistakable-talking to Worf, who had taken a momentary break from stalking around in his 23rd century Klingon full battle dress. Which, as far as the doctor could tell, was as authentic as Ro's costume, right down to a mock-disrupter peace-bonded to one thigh. They appeared to be having a very animated discussion about something that involved a lot of arm waving and hand motions.
Crusher's eyes continued their appraisal of the costumes. If Data wasn't Peter Pan-right down to the pointed ears, less dramatic than Troi's and probably prosthetics leftover from his trip to the Romulan homeworld-she'd eat her tricorder. She smiled to herself as he walked by, deep in an earnest discussion with Ensign Pulver, somewhat relieved that he wasn't dressed as Sherlock Holmes. Or as Pinocchio or the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz, costumes he had discussed with herself and La Forge a few days ago. In Crusher's opinion, Data's Holmes persona was a tad annoying, and the others were too downbeat, to borrow one of her great-grandmother's favorite phrases. Although they expressed a legitimate aspect of Data's personality-his desire to be something he wasn't-she was glad La Forge had talked him into Peter Pan.
"It's perfect for you," he'd argued. "Face it Data; you don't ever have to grow old. Everything's always new and interesting to you. Just like Peter Pan, you never have to grow up," he'd added, somewhat wistfully. Data had seemed intrigued by the his friends arguments, and the result was the green tights, ragged-edged shorts and shirt, and small gold sword thrust through his belt. Very authentic.
Malina still hadn't shown up. Neither, Crusher noted with a start, had Captain Picard. Jean-Luc, she corrected herself, uncomfortably remembering Malina's long-ago comment to her about her overly formal use of the captain's title. This was, after all, a social occasion; it wasn't as if she never used his given name at all. But Malina had made her more conscious of the times when she did. Had made her more conscious of him in general, Crusher thought with a flash of self-directed annoyance. As if Kessprit and Netta Darrin hadn't done that enough...
Crusher pushed that thought away quickly, before it went any further. No matter what she called him or what had passed between them during their long history, Crusher found she was absolutely dying to see what costume Malina had persuaded Jean-Luc to wear.
In the meantime, there was La Forge, talking with Lt. Barclay. La Forge looked absolutely gorgeous-and slightly self-conscious-in a Superman costume. Barclay's costume puzzled the CMO for a moment; his hair, like Troi's, had been colored red, and bright red freckles had been spattered generously across his face. He wore an old-fashioned bowtie and had an even older-looking camera slung around his neck. Crusher puzzled over who he could possibly be, until Ensign Gomez from Engineering joined them. Her arrival put everything into place. Sonya wore an outfit that must have come from the same era as Barclay's-hers consisting of a pillbox hat, white gloves and a chic skirt and jacket ensemble-and she was clutching an equally-old-fashioned notebook and pencil in one hand. "Jimmy Olsen and Lois Lane," Crusher murmured in satisfaction. She grinned; those old comic books Jack used to read-and La Forge still read-had paid off for once. Trust La Forge to drag his crew into the joke; Malina would appreciate it.
That is, she'd appreciate it if she ever showed up. Where on Earth was she? And Jean-Luc, for that matter? Crusher finally came out of her corner, crossing the room anxiously. She stopped when she reached Dr. Selar, who was standing stiffly by the main view port, as if she were still debating whether or not she really wanted to be here-and surely that wasn't a Snow White costume she was wearing? Yes, it was. There was no mistaking that red bow in her hair, the golden skirt, the blue cape, the short puffed-and-slashed sleeves. She was the classic Disney version of the Grimm heroine, all right. Old 2-D holos were the inspiration for more than one costume here tonight.
Selar suffered through her commanding officer's appraisal of her costume stoically, fingering one edge of her skirt in what closely resembled a nervous gesture-something Crusher had certainly never seen the Vulcan doctor indulge in before. "An interesting custom, this 'Halloween costume party,'" Selar offered diffidently.
"Your costume is lovely," Crusher replied sincerely. "What made you decide on Snow White?" Her curiosity was as genuine as her compliment; she'd rather expected Selar to wear something traditional, as Ro and Worf had.
"My name," Selar said simply. Crusher raised an eyebrow, and her assistant clarified: "The literal translation of my name is 'The Whiteness of Snow'. I explained this to Nurse Ogawa six days ago, when we were discussing the origin of her name, and she suggested this costume for me. I felt," she added, "that it would not be inappropriate."
Crusher nodded her agreement. She and Selar continued to stand in companionable silence for a few more minutes, until Alyssa Ogawa-dressed as a mouse, complete with tail and ears-came over to drag the Vulcan doctor into an argument about the relative merits of physical vs. psychological healing methods that Crusher adamantly refused to take part in. "No work for me tonight," she said with a smile, heading for the bar as the other two joined the cluster of medical personnel involved in the discussion. She was beginning to get a little worried about Malina, who still hadn't arrived. And worried about Jean-Luc, but not for the same reasons. If he was late, it was likely to be nothing more serious than some last-minute duty to be performed-and, perhaps, a reluctance to attend a party that Malina had basically bullied him into attending in the first place.
She, on the other hand, had been so insistent on this party; what if she was thinking about last year? Crusher was excruciatingly aware of Allen's death, and the thought that Malina might be using this party to alleviate some of her pain drifted across her mind again. No matter how well a person took the death of someone they loved, the pain could overtake them unexpectedly. Crusher knew very well how that could be. Knew all too well, that losing someone you loved was a wound that never truly healed. She didn't think that she could bear to feel such pain again, and yet she knew it was a distinct possibility. Especially with Wesley set to graduate in less than two years. Facing the possibility that her son could be killed while on a mission was painful enough; no wonder she pushed Jean-Luc away at every turn. Losing him would hurt enough if he was just a friend; if she allowed herself to feel something more for him...
Crusher froze at the direction her thoughts had taken. Was that her problem? Was she so frightened of losing someone else she loved that she kept everyone at arm's distance, to avoid that kind of pain? It would certainly explain her reaction to Jean-Luc after Kessprit. She'd consciously and deliberately distanced herself from him and his emotions, telling herself it was simply the stress of the situation, but knowing in her heart that it was more than that. That it was because she was afraid of allowing him closer. It was a revelation to her, one she savored for a long minute before the sound of someone calling her name returned her to the present.
"Are you all right, doctor?" Guinan, who had posed the question, tilted her head inquisitively, concern clear in her deep brown eyes.
"I'm fine," Crusher murmured, managing a wan smile. "Have you seen Malina?" Guinan was the logical person to ask; she always seemed to know what was going on.
The other woman shook her head, tacitly acknowledging the doctor's desire not to explain her momentary distraction. "Not recently." She smiled. "But don't worry-she'll be here." She glanced at the door and smiled again. "In fact, if I'm not mistaken, here she comes now." She pointed with the magic wand Crusher had barely noticed, reaching up with her free hand to smoothly adjust the large golden crown that was now substituting for her usual large hat. Crusher nodded a distracted thanks and turned toward the door-but not before arching an eyebrow at the gauzy, pink, full-skirted ball gown she now noticed that the other woman was wearing. "Glinda?" she murmured in a tone of vague disbelief, then shook her head and turned toward the door. Guinan merely smiled enigmatically and turned to speak to someone else.
Crusher made a bee-line for the door, almost tripping over her own full skirt in her haste to see what Malina was wearing. She stopped short as the crowd eddied away, allowing her to achieve that goal.
The doctor found herself absolutely speechless. Malina had apparently been painted into a tight, jewel-bestudded white pantsuit. She had an elaborate platinum-blonde wig piled precariously on top of her head, an acoustic guitar slung over one shoulder, and a mole painted to the right of her mouth. Huge false eyelashes-balanced by the huge false bosom that now rode her chest-completed the ensemble. It was an altogether startling picture, and one Crusher couldn't even begin to fathom. "Who are you supposed to be?"
Malina turned towards her, a huge grin plastered across her face. "Wah, don't you-all recognize me, honey chile?" she asked, in a patently false southern accent. She teetered over to Crusher on a pair of stilted heels and fluttered the ridiculous eyelashes at her friend. "Cain't you-all tell who ah am?"
Crusher shook her head. "I haven't the faintest idea."
Malina frowned. "You never were a lover of classical country music," she said in her own voice.
"No, I never was," Crusher agreed. "Who the heck are you supposed to be?"
"Dolly Parton," Malina replied grandly, then turned as the door to Ten-Forward opened behind her. She grinned and glided off to one side. Crusher frowned at her-she still hadn't had a chance to ask Malina why she'd been late, although the gaudy costume would certainly account for a large chunk of the time. But her eyes slipped toward the door in an automatic gesture, and she found herself suddenly speechless as Jean-Luc Picard walked in.
How in heaven's name did Malina persuade him to walk around in bare feet? was her first thought. Her second was, and I thought Yul Brynner was sexy in that outfit! Because, as sure as the stars were in the heavens surrounding the ship, if she was Mrs. Anna Leon-Owens, then Jean-Luc Picard was the second title character of The King and I.
Beverly Crusher wasn't the only one to notice the captain's entrance. A hush fell over the room at the sight of Picard in full Siamese costume. He hadn't altered his coloring or his eyes with prosthetics, but there was no mistaking him. The aura of command that was habitual to the Enterprise's Captain suited the King of Siam as well.
Malina stepped behind Crusher and leaned forward to whisper in her friend's ear. "Just walk up to him and say hello; Dolly says go for it! Remember, Anna couldn't deal with the king romantically because he had other responsibilities-other wives, mainly, and way too many children. I think you're a much more giving person, Rusty; you could share him with his other wife-" she gestured to indicate the ship around them "-and his children." Now her gesture indicated the people crowding around them, the ones who had resumed their laughter and chatting. Will Riker walked up to greet the captain, along with Data, La Forge, and Deanna Troi, and his huge grin did not bode well for Picard's peace of mind.
Malina teetered off again before Crusher could comment on her intriguing words, but that didn't mean she wasn't thinking about them. The doctor's lips curved up in a smile, and she blinked away a few tears. Malina called her a giving person, when in truth the Polynesian woman was the most giving person Crusher knew. She had given every ounce of her love and determination to her husband; she had given Crusher back her life when it seemed that Jack's death was claiming two souls instead of one; and now here she was, trying to do it again. Not very subtle, the doctor decided, but that was typical of Malina. She assessed the situation, she decided on a course of action, and she took it. Extremely typical. She'd probably been planning this since her visit last year.
It all came together in that moment; all the doubts and fears fell by the wayside as Crusher took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and walked toward Picard. If nothing else, it was time to see if he were as well versed in classical musicals as she was. She was ready to confront the situation-the man, her fears for and of that man, and everything else.
It was finally time.
A/N: So this is the penultimate chapter of my little story. One chapter left. Wonder how it ends? (As if you didn't know...)