Picard took the subspace call at his desk, feeling drained from his visit with Deanna and Will Riker. They had been speaking most of the afternoon, as he answered every horrified, disbelieving question they had. He'd fully expected to have disgust and anger directed at him, as there was little reason he didn't deserve it, after all; but Will, he understood, was angry not so much with him as at the impossible situation he'd been forced into, at what had happened to both of them. And Deanna, tears streaming quietly down her face much of the time, had been more compassionate than he had any right to imagine, talking him through everything in the same patient, professional manner that she'd always taken with him. Her sympathy was difficult to countenance, as he felt regret for hurting the two of them; but he had to admit there was a certain relief—as Deanna no doubt intended for there to be—in finally saying the ugly truth aloud. Taking a break now from the long discussion, the couple had gone into the kitchen to have some time alone together and find something for Deanna to eat, while he closed up the curtains in the parlor for the evening, turned up the lights, and collected his own thoughts… He noted the unusual transmit coordinates on his computer screen but opened the channel.
"Captain Picard?"
"This is Picard, yes. If you're trying to reach Captain Riker—"
"No, sir, I did mean to call you. Dr. Julian Bashir, of Starbase Deep Space Nine. I believe we've met before."
Picard inclined his head in affirmation, vaguely remembering the younger man from his days on the Enterprise-D. "What may I do for you?"
"Yes, sir. Yesterday a ship arrived here at the station carrying fugitive Cardassian prisoners. Though he had some misgivings, Captain Sisko allowed them to dock for now. We've been processing them here in the infirmary as required."
Picard shifted uncomfortably. "Doctor, I have been out of Starfleet for some time. I'm afraid I can't see how this situation is something that would affect me."
Bashir regarded him with serious brown eyes for a moment before answering, "Sir, one of the prisoners...was Beverly Crusher."
Beverly?
The blood drained from his face. He heard Deanna inhale in surprise as she returned to the living room and felt his reaction. "You are quite certain?" he managed at last.
"Quite," the doctor affirmed, sympathetically, Picard thought through his shock. "I had believed she had died some time ago, of course, but apparently we were all wrong. The only person she wanted to contact was you, sir. If at all possible, she'd like you to come here."
"Here," he repeated. "To Deep Space Nine. I—" He shook his head, having no idea how, exactly, he was going to manage personal transportation to the edge of Federation space on a moment's notice, but the details were practically irrelevant—he would do anything, commandeer a starship if he had to, if it could bring him to Beverly. "Yes, yes of course I will. How—how is she?"
"At the moment, not well," Bashir said honestly. "But I am confident she will make a full recovery. It's good that she arrived when she did."
Not well—
"What happened to her?" He was gripping the edge of his seat so tightly his knuckles were white. He glanced up, briefly met Will Riker's stunned, intense gaze as the captain came up beside Deanna and they listened anxiously.
"My understanding is that she has been working as a doctor in one of the military prisons. And despite our current alliance...well, I'm sure I don't have to tell you, sir, that Cardassian prisons are not exactly ideal for one's health. Even when one is a doctor. I don't believe she was—harmed," he said delicately, and the tightness in Picard's chest lessened slightly as the worst fears, at least, were alleviated. "But she is severely undernourished and also suffering the long-term effects of illnesses contracted during this time. I can treat everything, sir," the doctor hastened to assure him again. "But it's going to take some time."
Nodding wordlessly, Picard felt a brief flash of white-hot anger stab through him as he fully comprehended the meaning of what he was hearing. Another lie—it had been another lie—and like a damned fool he'd been deceived by Madred again, and she had paid the price. How long had it been? How long had she been left alone—how could he not have known?
But she'd survived. She would recover.
And somehow, she wanted to see him—
"In the meantime, she was sensitive to the possibility that her appearance could cause some trouble diplomatically. She is adamant that she doesn't want the circumstances of her death to be dredged up and questioned, so she asked me to keep her identity quiet here on the station for now, and only contact you."
"And you're honoring her request," he said numbly. God help him—Beverly was protecting him. After everything that had happened, she was protecting him. Picard rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to deal with all the revelations coming at him at once.
"Yes, of course. Dr. Crusher was—is—one of the best doctors I've known, sir." Bashir almost smiled. "It's the least I can do."
He hesitated, working up his nerve, and finally asked, since the doctor hadn't offered, "Can I see her?" Please.
Bashir paused and frowned. "Well, I have her under sedation during treatment for now. In my professional opinion, it would be best for her recovery to wait until you arrive."
"I understand," he said, a catch in his voice. "Please tell her I'll be there as soon as possible. And Dr. Bashir...thank you."
"Not at all, sir." The young physician signed off, and the screen went dark.
Sitting back in his chair, stunned, Picard ran a hand over his bald head. He looked up to Deanna Riker and stumbled over his words. After all she'd been through today… "Counselor, are you all right—do you need anything?"
"No, sir, I'm fine." Hands clasped over her belly as she leaned against Will, she laughed a little and then wiped at her eyes. "Although I had thought I had done enough crying for one day. This is wonderful news."
He must be in shock—he was at a loss to do anything other than nod once, as he sifted through the disbelief, the anger, the joy at the simple fact he had never even imagined could be possible: Beverly was alive. Beverly was alive—but how would he see her? "I haven't tried to travel offworld since I came home," he murmured, feeling strangely helpless.
Exchanging a look with his wife, Will Riker straightened up and cleared his throat. "You know," he advised gravely, but with just a hint of good humor in his eyes, "sometimes there are certain advantages to knowing a captain of the Enterprise."
Picard smiled, tried to reply, found instead that he was fighting back tears. He dropped his head into his hands, staring down at the wooden desktop, finally inundated by a surge of the emotions he'd so carefully contained since the day all of this had begun, so long ago.
Watching him quietly, Deanna pushed away from Will and circled the desk to wrap her arms around his shoulders. "It's all right, sir. You couldn't have known. It's all right," she repeated softly, and as he nodded slowly and stood to accept her embrace he was grateful, in a way he couldn't have imagined even hours earlier, that his old friends had come to find him, after all.
After a few long moments he took a deep, steadying breath, drew himself up and looked up at his former first officer. "I should be very glad for the assistance of a captain of the Enterprise," he said. "Thank you, Will."
Riker's voice was firm. "We'll bring her home, Jean-Luc."
