oOo
"Well, it's official," Picard announced.
"What is?" Crusher turned away from her newest project--an attempt at a pair of sandals--and glanced inquisitively at the captain. They were sitting near the edge of a small, isolated clearing they'd discovered near their campsite, one that gave an almost uninterrupted view of the rarely seen sky and allowed them to move around without being whipped by underbrush. Although no paths led to the clearing, it was accessible by their "tree-branch highway," which made it the safest place to come to ground. The snakes, they'd discovered, were still following the paths to the water, although sporadically, but still made no attempts to force their way through the underbrush or to create new paths. That, plus the fact that their observed speed on land was considerably less than that of their speed in the water, made this an ideal place to spend time when they needed to feel the ground beneath their feet.
"We've been here exactly eight weeks." Picard stepped away from the small tree he'd been studying. A portion of its trunk was neatly covered with small notches he'd scratched there with one of their painstakingly created stone knives. The notches indicated the length of their enforced stay on the world Picard had wryly christened "Paradise." Crusher craned her neck to peer over Picard's shoulder as she studied the notches.
"Eight weeks. Fifty-six days," she said musingly. She dropped the sandal--it wasn't turning out all that well--and gave him her full attention. "Now what?"
"A very good question, Beverly," Picard murmured. "A very good question, indeed." He glanced skyward. "I still can't believe Q's allowed things to drag on this long."
Crusher shrugged. "Maybe he hasn't got what he wants yet," she threw over her shoulder as she turned to retrieve the sandal. Perhaps there was still hope for it; after all, anything would have to be better than her rapidly disintegrating boots. She hadn't enjoyed walking around barefoot since she was a teenager. "I'm sure he doesn't intend for us to stay here until we're as rotted as our clothes." With those words, she retrieved her working materials and abruptly headed for the trees. "I think I'll go back to camp. I need something to eat."
Picard stared after her, then shook his head slightly. Beverly had been acting very mysterious for the past week or so; he occasionally caught her looking at him with a speculative gleam in her eyes, turning away without explanation when he raised a questioning eyebrow. He didn't like it; was it possible that this place was finally getting to his CMO?
It was certainly beginning to get to him. Robinson Crusoe had always been one of his favorite books; now, he doubted if he'd ever pick it up again. Not that, not Swiss Family Robinson, not even Shakespeare's play "The Tempest." Nothing having to do with being stranded.
Q had definitely gone too far this time. It was obvious to Picard that they were nowhere near where the Enterprise had been; Q had probably placed his two captives on the opposite end of the galaxy. It still seemed rather uncharacteristically drawn-out for one of his "games," but then, Picard could hardly judge the alien's behavior. Become weary of it, yes; hate it, want to change it, but never judge or even understand it.
Something wet plopped onto the captain's head. Frowning at the interruption to his thoughts, Picard automatically looked up. Plop! Another fat raindrop caught him in the eye. While he'd been brooding, storm clouds--something unseen in the skies until now--had moved in. "Wonderful," Picard muttered, turning and heading for the shelter of the trees. "Just wonderful." As if they didn't have enough to worry about.
oOo
Those two drops of rain turned out to be the signal for the start of what the two castaways could only assume to be the rainy season. They were followed by more drops, and more, until a virtual torrent streamed down almost constantly, seemingly unimpeded by the thick foliage.
After a day spent frantically working on a better roofing system for the two tree-houses, there was nothing for them to do. Especially since the snakes chose that time to come back out of the water and spend the bulk of their time slithering around the trails with no discernable pattern or timetable. Which made descending to the ground for anything but brief periods of time impossible.
Which in turn left them with nothing to do but talk to each other.
oOo
"I must have lost 15 pounds," Crusher commented on their fourth evening of enforced stay in the tree-houses. They were in Picard's this afternoon, lingering in each other's company after an early supper. Long summer days or not, the rain brought the night that much earlier, and it was almost impossible to keep a fire going in the pervasive dampness. The doctor glanced down at her hips with a slight grin. "Too bad Dee isn't here; she's been complaining that aerobics weren't helping her lose enough."
"Perhaps," Picard replied absently, his gaze trained on an unseen point in the distance, "she should stop rewarding herself for a good workout by having a hot-fudge sundae in Ten-Forward."
Crusher giggled behind one hand. "I wouldn't dare try and take her chocolate away from her; I'm not that brave."
"I don't believe it would be my place to say anything to her; it would have to be you," Picard countered with a lazy grin, sliding his eyes over to meet hers. He was perched on the edge of the platform, just under the shelter of his newly extended roof. "After all, you're not only her aerobics partner, you're her friend."
Crusher shook her head violently and shivered in mock fear, leaning her back more firmly against the trunk of the tree. "No way. Not in a million years. Not even if that were the only thing that would get Q to send us home--"
Oops. She'd done it now. Picard's eyes narrowed and he turned away from her sharply. Mentioning Q was the surest way to put the captain in a bad temper, especially during this period of enforced inactivity. Not that she was so awfully fond of the alien herself, but she had certain knowledge that Picard did not to make her reconsider what Q was up to.
She still wasn't certain how to act on that knowledge, nearly three weeks after the revealing document had made its appearance--and disappearance. Or if she even should act on that knowledge. Somehow, she didn't think Jean-Luc would be too thrilled to discover that Q had "borrowed" his personal journal and left it for her to read. Conveniently open to a spot that was guaranteed to attract the doctor's attention. Nor would he be too thrilled to discover that she'd taken a bit longer to put temptation aside than he might feel was appropriate. She hadn't had the courage to tell him anything about the incident, not even that the book had appeared--which at least showed that Q was still somewhere around, still paying some slight attention to them, that he hadn't simply abandoned them here to rot. Crusher was ashamed of her cowardice, of the fact that she had that certainty while Picard did not. He seemed to feel that Q had, indeed, abandoned them, when she knew perfectly well that he hadn't, and it just wasn't fair to the captain to leave him in the dark a minute longer.
And not just about evidence of Q's continued interest in them, she decided as she studied his brooding profile. No, she owed it to Jean-Luc to tell the truth. Perhaps it would be better to have things out in the open; since they were both feeling the same feelings, it might do them a lot of good to talk about those feelings. At first, her reaction had been that he should be the one to initiate any sort of relationship, since he seemed to be the one who'd first discovered that his feelings toward her had changed. That had been good for the first week, until she admitted that she was merely trying to avoid the issue. Then she'd told herself that it wasn't the right time or place for such a discussion, that enforced isolation--Q enforced--on an alien world wasn't the right situation for important emotional revelations, but she was honest enough to admit that was just more procrastination. After all, what better time, what better place, would they find? They were alone, there was no one to interrupt them, and they would no doubt have plenty of time to thrash things out to their mutual satisfaction.
She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it abruptly as something else occurred to her, something she hadn't considered until now. What if the journal wasn't really Picard's? What if Q had made up the volume, hoping she would do exactly what she was contemplating doing? Or worse, what if the book were legitimate, but the entries she had read were not? That would be Q's style; she knew he didn't like her, and of course the feeling was mutual. What if he wanted her to embarrass herself by revealing things to Jean-Luc that would do nothing but destroy their friendship? After all, he'd never really indicated such feelings to her in the past; all the evidence she had to go on was the book Q left for her to read and her own, subjective hopes.
She rose to her feet abruptly, unable to deal with her troubled thoughts a moment longer. Not with the object of those thoughts sitting right across from her, oblivious to her internal turmoil. Such thoughts required privacy, and a night's sleep to put them in perspective. More procrastination, but necessary, she decided. Very necessary. One way or another, she would speak to him in the morning. "Good night, Jean-Luc," she said, then turned and headed for her own sleeping area. She heard his startled, "Good night," as she plunged into the rain, moving a little faster than was probably safe on the slippery branches.
Crusher reached for a branch with one hand, letting go with the other a fraction of a second sooner than she should have. Her foot chose that moment to skid on an unseen patch of fallen leaves, and she lost her balance with a dismayed yelp.
Picard sprang to his feet at the sound of Beverly's incoherent yell, moving swiftly across the interwoven branches of his floor to the side leading to the doctor's shelter. He peered over the edge, calling her name urgently.
"Jean-Luc!"
He looked down, feeling his heart lurch as he saw Crusher's fingers desperately clutching the edge of the broad, almost flat branch they used as a footpath. She'd barely caught herself. "Hold on, Beverly!" he called down, cautiously lowering himself and grasping the guide branch firmly with one hand. It would do neither of them any good if he fell as well. "I'm coming!"
"My fingers are slipping," she said, her voice conversational but edged with the slightest tint of urgency. "And there aren't any branches near enough for my feet to reach."
"Just hold on," Picard urged, speeding his steps but maintaining a firm grip on the guide branch. He reached a spot near her fingers, then carefully lowered himself to one knee, gripping the branches tightly with one hand and leaning the other near his foot. "I'm going to grab your wrist," he said, enunciating each word clearly and speaking over the non-stop pattering of the heavy rain. "When I do, swing your other hand over to mine. I'll pull you up."
"Right," came the strained reply. It had the sound of a word escaping from between clenched teeth.
Picard silently cursed the rain and darkness once again as he rechecked his grasp. Once he felt secure, he leaned over and carefully reached for her wrist. He caught a handful of wet synthwool, tried for a better grip, then yelled as he started to lose his balance. His knee came down painfully on the doctor's fingers as he struggled to right himself. Crusher's wrist slid out of his grasp, and he heard her screech as her fingers contracted in automatic reaction to the pain, loosening their desperate grasp on the branch. The fingers of her other hand slid away from the wet branch with frightening speed, then disappeared from view as she fell.
"BEVERLY!" Picard hurried to swing himself down to the ground after her. He heard her crashing through the lower branches, then an ominous "thud" as she hit the ground. She hadn't made a sound since that first scream, and he sped down the tree in desperate fear. They weren't that high up, but with no medical facilities available to them--and only the most rudimentary knowledge of this planet's medicinal herbs and plants--any injury could be fatal. The branch extended over one of the paths; what if there were a snake down there? She could have hit her head on another branch and gotten a concussion, she could have broken a limb, she could even have snapped her neck...
With those gruesome thoughts for company, Picard finally arrived on the ground--thankfully free of snakes--and hurried toward the doctor's unmoving body. Bits of leaves and twigs rained down around him, disturbed by the speed of his passage, mixing with the rain to cling to his clothing and skin. He ignored them, concentrating on Beverly and forming half-remembered prayers from his childhood as he cautiously neared her. She was lying in the middle of the path, arms outstretched and decorated with the same litter of leaves and twigs that covered him. In the fading daylight, he could just see that she was breathing. He closed his eyes in relief, then opened them as he knelt gently by her side. He strained to see if there was any blood. "Beverly?" Picard said, barely breathing, his hand reaching to touch her cheek.
Her eyes flew open at the sound of his voice and met his. Their gazes remained locked until the doctor unexpectedly began to laugh. It was weak laughter, she was terribly out of breath, but it was laughter nonetheless. Startled, Picard pulled back, then frowned as she struggled to move, his hand moving from her cheek to her shoulders, his fingers pressing her back against the ground in concern. "Are you all right? Shouldn't you wait a little before moving?"
Crusher nodded weakly, waving him away as she rolled over onto her side. "I'll be all right; I'm just winded. And I'll have a hell of a bruise collection in the morning, not to mention a headache. But I'm fine," she reassured him, pulling herself to a sitting position as he pulled back a little and rested on his heels. "I haven't fallen out of a tree like that since I was ten, and when I saw you, you looked exactly the same way my cousin Samma's father did." Another small burst of laughter as her fingers moved to pluck the larger pieces of debris from her hair. "It just struck me as funny all of a sudden; nervous reaction, I guess. Sorry."
She didn't look at all apologetic, Picard noted with a feeling of outrage, but that wasn't important at the moment. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked. Concussion was definitely still a worry, especially considering her reaction to what could have been a fatal fall.
"I'm the doctor; shouldn't I know when I'm all right?" she snapped, suddenly irritated at his concern, and irritated at herself for being irritated. It wasn't his fault he'd reminded her of her uncle. "I didn't black out, and I didn't hit my head hard enough for concussion; the branches broke my fall. I'm fine." She struggled to her feet, glaring down at him as she backed up a few steps. "I was just a little careless."
"Well, perhaps you would do better to be a little less careless in the future, Doctor," Picard snapped back. He was fuming now, the shock of her fall finally wearing off and reaction setting in. Fear had become concern, then relief, and now anger was surfacing. "You were lucky you didn't hurt yourself worse. We don't have any medical facilities here, you know." He returned her glare with one of his own. "We have to depend on each other to survive until the Enterprise locates us." Without thinking, he added: "It's our duty."
It was the wrong thing to say. Her back stiffened and her eyes narrowed, his words seeming to prove the theory that had originally sent her fleeing his presence. Q had deliberately misled her with the journal, damn him, had wanted her to betray her feelings to someone who obviously didn't return them. She lashed out at Picard, dimly realizing that it wasn't his fault she'd allowed her desires to get ahead of her intellect, but too upset to care. "Is that all you were worried about?" Crusher's fingers dug into the palms of her hands as her hurt feelings overpowered her better judgement. "Just the natural concern of a captain for someone under his command? Someone who'd been stupid enough to get herself in trouble?"
Picard stared at her, completely taken aback by the intensity of her emotions. At the unexpected intensity of her emotions. "Why are you acting so belligerent?" he demanded, sounding more than a little belligerent himself. Not to mention frustrated, irritated and just plain mad. He had risen to his feet and stood with his hands on hips, glaring at the doctor from the opposite side of the narrow path, rain dripping down his face and off his chin. He'd just about had it, with Q and this whole situation, and Crusher's behavior wasn't helping at all.
"Because I love you, dammit!" Crusher shouted back, angrily shaking the rain from her own face, suddenly not caring if this was what Q wanted. She was tired of trying to second-guess the alien, tired of fighting her own emotions; it was as if the fall had knocked some sense into her head even as it had knocked the wind from her lungs.
Picard opened his mouth to make some other comment, and it remained open in shock as Crusher's words came pouring forth. Unstoppable.
"I love you, and that scares me more than any stupid little scenario Q could ever cook up, more than giant snakes or being stranded or even falling out of a tree. Because loving you means taking the chance of losing you, and it would be hard enough to lose you as a friend, much less as...something more." She closed her mouth and swallowed, hard, as the words finally stopped, seemingly of their own accord. She stared at Picard, as shocked by those words as he was; she hadn't intended to say any of them. Now, it was all out in the open. For better or for worse, the words had been spoken, the emotions acknowledged.
Without conscious thought, the doctor found herself suddenly much closer to the captain, whose mouth had finally snapped shut; had he moved, or had she? She wouldn't have been able to answer, not to save her own life. It wasn't important. All that mattered was that they now stood close enough to touch, staring into each other's eyes, Jean-Luc gauging the depth of emotion behind what she'd just revealed to him, Beverly gauging his reaction to that revelation.
Finally, Picard spoke. "I've never heard sweeter words," he said softly, "spoken in such anger. Can you forgive me for being a stubborn old fool, mon amour?" He reached up to gently touch her cheek. "I was so busy trying not to play Q's game that I completely ignored my own feelings." A pause. "He read my private journal and saw what I did not want to see, not until he forced me to realize what I'd been trying to tell myself. That my feelings for you had changed from friendship to...something more. Something much more."
Crusher tried a tentative smile as she murmured protestingly: "You're not so old. And I was trying just as hard not to let Q pull my strings." Another smile, this one not quite as wobbly. "So where does that leave us?"
Her answer was a slow smile as Picard cupped her face in his hands and stepped closer, softly placing his lips against hers. Her arms snaked around his neck, their bodies moving closer as the kiss deepened.
Neither of them noticed the hum of the transporter beam as it bore them triumphantly away.