July 4
"Don't let Ma tell you differently," Gy informed Jean-Luc as the two stood on the back patio of Pat's house, a weather-worn kettle grill open and an aluminum chimney standing on the exposed grill. "It's not the Fourth of July without barbecue – and it ain't barbecue if a man doesn't cook it. Women don't do it right. Oh, they're fine with everything in the kitchen - but out here? This is man work," he announced. "Always has been, since the days when we all lived in caves. Barbecuing is primal; it's in our genes.
"Now the secret to a good barbecue is real hardwood charcoal," he continued as emptied a bag of black lumps into the metal chimney. "Never use those processed preformed chunks," he instructed Picard as he set the bag down, then reached into the chimney and rearranged the coals into a symmetric pyramid. "And none of that charcoal lighter stuff, either. You want to cook food in gasoline? Not on my barbecue," he continued. "Just use one of these starter chimneys, a wadded piece of paper, and..."
He stopped, realized something was missing, and began to pat down his pockets. "Where the hell did I put them?" he muttered.
The screen door swung open and Sandra strode out onto the patio, slapped the box of matches onto the picnic table and chuckled. "You left these on the kitchen table, Og," Sandra said, then grinned at Picard. "Yes, it's a man's job - providing the women remembered to get the grill, the charcoal, the meat and the newspaper - and the matches."
Gy pulled a match from the box, struck it, placed it against the crumpled newspaper, watched it catch fire - then gave a shriek of fear and leaped toward Sandra. "Fire! Og scared!" he announced in his best caveman fashion.
Rolling her eyes, she patted his arm tolerantly. "Relax, Og. Fire good."
"Fire good?" Gy repeated.
"Yes, Og; fire good. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go butcher the mastodon," she chuckled, then re-entered the house.
Gy thrust out his chest and pounded it. "Og cook!" he said - then gave a cough as a plume of smoke from the fire enveloped him.
Picard smiled at the interplay between the two, then moved closer to the young man. "I thought Corrine would be here today," he said quietly. "I saw the car out front."
"We were supposed to go out last night," Gy replied, sobering. "I had Fred drop me off – but then Cor didn't answer the door – and when I called her, she didn't answer the phone. Maybe she decided to go visit relatives or something; maybe she's just hiding. I know she's pissed at me because I found out about her losing her job - though why she's mad at me about it, I don't know."
"And the car?" Picard asked.
"Obviously she wasn't using it – and I wasn't about to walk back from her house, so I took it. Don't worry – I left her a message that I had it," he added with a grin – then shook his head. "Then again, I wouldn't put it past her to call the cops and report it stolen. Fortunately, I have the title – but it would be a pain. Not that she isn't above making life hell for me 'cause she's mad. Women," he added plaintively.
Picard raised his brow in tacit agreement - though, he had to admit, his relationship with Beverly seemed to have few, if any, of the hallmarks of a more traditional relationship.
Not that they didn't disagree about things: they did - and sometimes the disagreements were animated and vociferous. But they were never personal, Picard reminded himself - and they were always made from a position of mutual respect - respect that existed even when they didn't always understand the other person's reasons.
He blew out a sigh, still perplexed over the outcome of their latest 'discussion'.
It had been, to him, a simple enough proposition: they should get married. After all, they loved each other – and Beverly was going to have their child.
So when he had proposed to her at the church, he had thought there would be only one answer.
And there had been – but it wasn't the one he had expected.
Beverly had said, "No."
He shook his head, still stunned.
"I love you Jean-Luc," she had said – first there, and then again, that afternoon, and the next and every day since. "I just don't see the need for a piece of paper. I love you, I will always love you, and I intend to spend as much of my life with you as you will permit," she had said. "Getting married will change none of that."
He had tried every persuasion, every argument he could think of to change her mind – but still the answer remained the same.
No.
Women, he thought, give a disconsolate and frustrated sigh.
Gy looked up at the sound, concerned. "Everything okay in John and Beverly land?" he asked.
"What? Oh, yes," Picard replied quickly. "Just agreeing with your summation: 'women'."
Gy grinned. "Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em."
"Something like that," Picard agreed.
"So, you do any grilling in your days in the Navy - or is that frowned upon on those big boats?" Gy asked.
"We weren't in the Navy, Gy," Picard replied, "but no, we didn't do any grilling when we were shipboard. However, my father used to cook outside once in a while. In the fall," he added, "after the last of the grapes had been harvested. We'd trim back the vines, and after they had dried out, he'd use them as fuel for cooking game or fish," he reminisced, then hastily added, "but not very often. Cooking was my mother's forte, not my father's," he explained.
"Vines?"
Picard raised a brow, instantly wary that he had said too much. After all, he thought sternly, my personal life was my own and...
And what? he interrupted himself abruptly.
And some Starfleet psychologist is going to judge my ability command as having been negatively affected by having a dispassionate father and a doting mother? he asked himself. Some ensign is going to pity me because I came from a dysfunctional family?
As if they even cared, he realized – then allowed himself a hearty chuckle as realization slowly dawned on him.
My God, what an ego I have! Robert was right: I am an arrogant ass!
And what a fool.
Still chuckling, he faced a very surprised Gy. "My father was a vintner," he informed him calmly.
"No shit!" Gy replied, surprised. "Bet that was fun when you were growing up - you know, having wine and all that," he added.
"When it's readily available, it loses some of the allure," Picard replied drily, "and growing up with good wine can spoil ones appreciation of lesser vintages," he added.
"Oo-wee," Gy whistled, " 'Lesser vintages'. You're a real oeonophile, I gather," he said, then grinned. "Didn't think I knew a big word like that, did ja? Well, not to disappoint, but tonight's selection is a delightful one, insouciant without being pretentious, with hints of caramel and citrus - and a decent head. Hey, Sandra, can you bring us a couple of Sam Adams?" he shouted through the open back door.
"Get them yourself, Gy," Pat shouted back. "Sandra's not here to wait on you!"
"No," Gy replied under his breath, "she's here to wait on you!" He let out a long breath, then met Picard's gaze. "Sorry, but Ma's got her running ragged today."
Picard nodded his understanding. "I thought Pat was doing well," he said. "She looked quite well when we saw her at the funeral…"
"She's looking fucking great!" Gy exclaimed, "and doing even better. She's lost like twenty pounds, Ralph's got her running with him every day, she's taken up tennis... her doctor is happy, she's happy, Ralph's happy..."
"So why is Sandra helping her so much?" Picard interrupted.
"It's the whole renovation thing. I thought that when she realized she didn't have to redo the house just to get around, she'd give up on the idea – but noooooo," he sighed. "When she hired Sandra away from O'Brien's it was to help Beverly at the shop – but now she's got Sandra helping with fabric samples and paint chips... I just try to stay out of her way. Maybe permanently," he added quietly.
"Gy," Picard replied in surprise. "Is something wrong?"
"No - but... Things with Cor aren't working out - no surprise there – you must have seen that from the first day you met her," he said. "But I started to realize that it's not going to work with any girl - if I have to take her back to my mother's house! I mean... I live with my mother, for crying out loud," he said. "The only things missing are the Star Wars and Green Lantern posters on my bedroom walls!"
Picard raised a brow, completely bewildered by the words. "Umm, uh…."
Oblivious to Picard's confusion, Gy sighed - then confessed, "I'm thinking about moving out, looking for a place of my own."
Picard stiffened, then drew a long steadying breath. "Gy, if you'd like us to move out of the school..."
"What?" Gy interrupted, then instantly understood. "Oh, fuck no, John. That's not what I meant. You and Bev are all settled in up there - and to be honest, taking a girl back to your do-jahng is only slightly less geeky than taking her to your mom's. No, I'm looking for a place - a house - of my own. The market's flooded with houses that are available - and between what you're doing at the school and the two new contracts we got, I'm going to be able to afford to get something decent. Not great - but I'm a good carpenter, and I can fix it up the way I want. Hey! Come see what I've been working on!" he added with sudden enthusiasm.
He led Picard to a large storage shed at the back of the property; unlocking it, he opened the large doors, revealing a small workshop, filled with the scent of sawdust and wood stain. At the center of the room stood a large object, covered with a stained dropcloth. Taking one side of the cloth, Gy pulled it back, revealing a large wood dresser.
"What do you think?" he asked.
Picard drew in his breath as he stared at the dresser that filled the middle of the space. Though still unfinished there was no mistaking the exquisite craftsmanship in the piece, from the careful matching of the wood patterns in the panels, to the intricate carving on the legs and drawer panels.
"Beautiful work, Gy," Picard said softly, touching the elaborate carvings that adorned the front of the long drawers.
"Hand carved," Gy said proudly. "Been working on the drawers all spring. I've always like to do cabinetry and inlaid work - but there's no money in doing it for others. They can't pay you for the time and materials. You know what they say: Do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life. Well, that's a load of crap. I love woodworking - but it doesn't pay the bills. So I go to work every day - and I do this for myself.
"I have to admit, though, that I wasn't real sure about the flowers and all - thought it might be a little too feminine - but I really like how the leaves curl around. It'll look better when it's stained and polished, of course... But it looks good, doesn't it?" he said.
"Beautiful," Picard agreed. "It reminds me of some of the pieces we had at home," he added, running a finger over one of the more intricate sprays. "They were handed down from generation to generation…"
"That's how it should be," Gy said. "When a piece is well made, it should last for several lifetimes. I have to admit it's not an original design – I lifted some of the drawings from a piece I saw in a book of classic pieces – but I've added a few touches of my own.
"Once I'm done with this one, I'm going to make a matching tallboy - and eventually a four poster bed to go with it. I want to do a dining room table too, but that means making chairs and that's going to take time. That or I'll have very small dinner parties," he added with a smile. "I don't suppose woodworking is another one of those hidden talents of yours," he added hopefully.
"Sadly, no," Picard confessed. "But then, I wouldn't have put martial arts or running a business on my resumé before I met you, so I suppose anything is possible," he continued.
"Ah, martial arts you can learn - but woodworking?" Gy sighed. "You'd know. You know when something's your passion."
Picard nodded - then risked a glance out the open doors and into the brilliant blue of the sky.
I do love you, Beverly, he thought to himself, but…
I miss being out there. I miss the stars. I miss space, he thought to himself.
"John?"
Startled by Gy's voice, Picard stirred himself back to the present. "My apologies," he murmured.
"Hey, no prob," he said – then let his voice drop. "I think I understand now. You were a pilot, weren't you?" he asked knowingly.
Picard's brow rose – then he smiled and shook his head. "No. Not really," he demurred.
Looking puzzled, Gy watched as Picard glanced up at the sky once more – then felt a wave of cold understanding wash over him.
"Holy shit," he whispered. "You're one of them, aren't you? You and Beverly both!"
"One of whom?" Picard echoed.
"An astronaut," Gy managed. "You guys are astronauts!"
"Hardly," Picard scoffed.
"No, not one of the NASA astronauts," Gy said. "One of the other astronauts. The military ones."
"Military astronauts?" Picard replied.
"Come on, John; you don't have to play coy with me," Gy said knowingly. "Everyone knows NASA used to be the playground for the military – but when everything went public, the military didn't just quit the space race – they went their own way. No one knows about it officially – but unofficially, everyone knows they're up there, getting ready for the first mission to Mars or colonizing the moon, or whatever the fuck they're planning. And you and Bev – you've been up there, haven't you?
"I mean, fuck, here I am thinking you're black ops or something like that – I couldn't quite figure it out - but when I saw you look up there, it all came together! Holy shit, John, you've been out there!" he said.
"Gy," Picard said patiently.
"Yeah, yeah, I know you can't say anything," Gy said, waving off any denials, "but… man," he sighed – then added, "Don't worry – I won't say anything. No one would believe me anyway," he added. "Fucking awesome. I mean… it is, isn't it? Awesome?"
Picard studied the young man for a moment – then glanced back at the sky. "Yes," he said softly. "It is."
But there were other things that were just as awesome, just as marvelous – and so much closer.
As the last rays of sun faded behind the house, Beverly eased herself against Jean-Luc's shoulder as the two reclined on the chaise lounge on the patio, silently encouraging him to wrap his arm around her – a request he quickly obeyed.
"Cold?"
"No. I just like having your arm around me," she said.
"Good. I like having it around you as well," he agreed, then kissed the top of her head. "Are you sure Pat doesn't want help with dessert?"
"No," Beverly replied. "She said she missed getting to cook for a crowd now that she's not at the shop every day. Though she was talking about coming back every now and then – keeping her hand in."
"Oh?"
Beverly smiled back at him. "She's planning to come back in the new year so that I can have some time to recuperate after having Junior. This is a different world, Jean-Luc; childbirth is a relatively safe event – but there's no way to speed recovery here. Realistically, I can be back to work in a few weeks – but Pat is talking about my taking two months. And having gone back to school less than two weeks after having Wesley – and missing him every second I was gone – I'm seriously thinking of taking her up on the offer."
Picard nodded, imagining what it would be like to have a child in their lives and in their home: every habit and routine they had established would be disrupted; the sanity of their lives would erupt into chaos and confusion – and love.
He smiled to himself – then kissed the top of Beverly head.
"It's a lovely idea, Beverly – but can we afford it?" he asked her solemnly.
Beverly blew out a long sigh. "We survived on what I brought in from the shop for a month, Jean-Luc. You bring in that much from the school – but we're going to have medical bills for delivering the baby – unless, of course, you'd rather do that at home," she added, glancing back at him again.
Picard blanched, not entirely sure if Beverly was joking or not.
Glancing at her in the growing darkness, he realized she was equally unsure.
"I…" he hesitated. "Is that something we should consider?" he asked uncertainly.
"To be honest, Jean-Luc, I don't know," she admitted. "Back home, it would be simple enough – giving birth on the Enterprise, whether in Sickbay or our quarters, a few days to recover – concepts like recuperation, money to pay for hospitals and doctors never occurred to me. Having Junior at home would be the easiest way to go about it – but that leaves problems like a birth certificate… I always thought that life in our ancestors' time was easier, not more difficult!" she sighed. "Money!" she sighed.
He nodded, understanding her concerns, and suspecting that there was even more involved in having a child – beyond the difficulties he had already envisioned – in this time.
But they would work it out, he added softly.
He kissed the top of her head, and she sighed in contentment, leaning back against him once again.
Beverly had just gotten comfortable in her lover's arms when she heard the sound of the back door opening. Knowing Jean-Luc's dislikes of open displays of affection, she started to rise from the chair to allow some distance between them, but he tightened his arms, pulling her against his chest.
"Jean-Luc," she said softly, "Pat's coming."
"Mm-hmm," he agreed.
"I should get up," she explained.
"All right," he sighed, releasing her from his arms. She rose from the chaise, followed by Picard a moment later – and was stunned as he reached for her hand.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, astounded.
"Holding your hand."
"But Pat…"
He faced her, smiling. "Beverly, Pat knows you're pregnant. I think she's aware that we do far more than just hold hands," he murmured.
She gaped at him, then turned her attention to Pat, who was setting bowls and spoons on the small table. "Can I help you with that, Pat?" she asked.
The woman looked at the two then chuckled. "No. Sandra's cutting up the pie and the ice cream is softening on the counter – and I think you have your hands full," she laughed. "But if you two can tear your hands off each other, you could go let Gy and Ralph know that dessert is on the way. They're up in my room, pulling the screens out of the window."
Picard's brow creased at the remark. "Pulling the screens out? May I ask why?"
"Oh, that's right!" Pat exclaimed. "I've gotten so used to having you two here that I forgot this is your first Fourth here! We pull out the screens because of the fireworks," she added.
Beverly looked at Picard then back at Pat. "The fireworks?"
"Uh-huh. They shoot them off over by the high school," she explained, "but it's always so damned crowded that you can't park there, and even when you can, if you don't get there early in the day, it's hard to find a good place to sit – and sitting in the hot sun all day long is not how I want to spend my Fourth. No, a good barbecue at home is how I like to spend my day – there's some leftovers in the kitchen if you're still hungry," she added hastily. "And then, after it gets dark, we'll go sit on the roof and watch the fireworks form here! This house has a perfect vantage – from upstairs you can see right over the river valley toward the school. Can't see the school of course, but the view of the fireworks is perfect. Now go get those two men and let's have some apple pie."
Obediently, Beverly started to move toward the door, releasing Picard's hand as she did so – but he quickly caught it, then followed her into the house, ignoring the perplexed look on her face.
Halfway up the stairs, she stopped, and turned to face him – and was quickly enveloped in his arms.
"All right. Who are you, and what have you done with Jean-Luc Picard?" she asked, half in jest - and half quite soberly.
He released her from his grasp, then leaned back against the banister as he studied the woman before him. "Ah, Jean-Luc Picard. Jean-Luc Picard, captain of the Enterprise, was a lonely old man who was obsessed by his image, his career, and how others thought of him. History will record that he was lost in a tragic shuttle accident. Of greater tragedy was the fact that the only woman he loved, his friend and CMO, Beverly Crusher, was lost with him.
"His friends mourned their loss: they grieved for them both – but mourned all the more for the fact that their friends had died just as they were beginning to realize the depths of their feelings, but never availed themselves of the opportunity to act upon them. They grieved for them, for all that was lost – and for all that never was."
He reached for her hand and took it in his. "That Jean-Luc was lost, Beverly; perhaps this one can be, if not a better man, at least a wiser one." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it gently. "This Jean-Luc," he said softly, "loves you – and he doesn't care who knows it."
Ten minutes later, the six were gathered around the table once more, devouring slices of the warm pie, the cold vanilla ice cream slowly melting over the crisp crust and tender apple slices.
"Delicious, Pat," Ralph murmured. "You are a master in the kitchen, my dear."
"Thank you, dear," she replied.
The doctor reached for his beer bottle, and raised it in salute. "To Pat, baker extrordinaire!" he toasted.
The others reached for their drinks, touched them together and echoed the sentiment, then took a celebratory swallow of their beverages.
"Well, since we're toasting, let me make one of my own: to old friends," she said, looking at Ralph, "to dear friends," she added, turning to Jean-Luc and Beverly, "and to new friends," she concluded, turning to Sandra. "May our days together be long and happy."
Another round of glass touching followed.
Sensing that a few words were appropriate, Jean-Luc spoke. "To Pat and Gy, our saviors, our benefactors – and our friends. Thank you," he said.
"Any time!" Gy chuckled, clinking his beer bottle against Sandra's enthusiastically. "Best decision I ever made was to leave that damned party early!"
Sandra looked at him, perplexed – and Gy grinned. "I'll tell you the whole story some day. Your turn, Sandra," he added.
Taken aback, she hesitated, then managed, "I'm not good at this – but it's been a crappy year – two crappy years," she amended, "and then Cave Johnson here walks into my bar, gets stupid drunk and everything changes. So… to Portal Two," she toasted.
Beverly gave Picard a questioning look, but raised her lemonade glass with everyone else. "Portal Two?" she mouthed.
"I'll explain later," he replied.
As she set down her glass, Beverly realized that the others had turned to look at her. "Oh, my turn," she said. "Let me see…" she glanced at Picard, then raised her glass. "To July 13," she said quietly.
Gy interrupted. "July 13? What the hell is July 13?"
Beverly smiled. "It's John's birthday - but more importantly, it's the day John and I are getting married."
Picard's jaw dropped – then he rose to his feet, pulled Beverly to him and kissed her soundly as Pat gave a whoop of joy. "It's about damned time!" she cheered.
"Congratulations!" Ralph offered.
"That's wonderful!" Sandra interjected
"Married?" Gy managed, trying not to choke on the mouthful of beer. "Married?"
"Married," Picard said breaking away, a wide grin splitting his face. "Married."
"But…" Gy spluttered.
Pat lay a calming hand on her son's arm. "Married, Gy."
Beverly smiled at her soon-to-be husband – then looked at Gy. "Married," she confirmed, then placed a protective hand on her belly. "You don't want your assistant instructor going around fathering children out of wedlock, do you?" she teased. "How would that look for the school?"
Gy's expression went from astonishment to one of shock. "Children? You're… you're…"
"Pregnant," Sandra said calmly.
He turned to her, still stunned. "But… how?"
Sandra chuckled, patting his hand soothingly, murmuring, "Don't worry, Og, I'll explain it to you."
Pat smiled – then suddenly frowned. "July 13! That's only nine days away. Damn it! Bev, Sandra, come with me – we've got to get started! There's so much to do."
Beverly found herself being pulled away by the other women, leaving Picard to face the two men.
"John!" Ralph chuckled. "You dog, you!"
"Pregnant? Married?" Gy repeated – then stared at his friend for a long moment. "You're sure?"
Picard chuckled at the expression on Gy's face. "I'm sure. It's as you said, Gy: you know when something's your passion. Sometimes you just don't act on it as you should.
"I've loved Beverly for years. I've just been too damned arrogant and self-absorbed to realize how much she meant to me – and that's one mistake that I don't want to continue to make," he added.
Gy studied the man for a moment – then looked to Ralph. "You know what this means, don't you?"
The two men looked at Picard.
"Bachelor party."