The sky was blue, and the purple clouds of twilight shone with heartbreaking clarity tonight. He had walked this path before, many times in fact. For him, atop this tiny hill was a place he had thought of as his second home. Things would be different now, that he knew. He found, to his surprise, that this sentiment pained him almost as much as the loss of his dear friend did. It was easy to understand, though, he told himself. After all, it is not the loss that we truly mourn; it is the changes that await us in its wake.

She didn't know yet. He felt he owed her, owed them, something more than the traditional subspace beacon, so he had taken a shuttlecraft back to Sector 001. He had to tell her in person. The final member of their foursome had joined him. Walker had made the trip for moral support, but this journey was his alone. One of the more grizzly aspects of being a Starfleet Captain. He had lost others before, but never a friend. He worried that his relationship with Jack may have clouded his judgment of how to break the news to Beverly.

His stomach tensed as he thought of her. Suddenly, this face-to-face encounter seemed like a terrible mistake. Perhaps it was not his friendship with Jack that had clouded his judgment at all. He felt sick at his own thoughts. The feelings he had for his best friend's wife had always been inappropriate, but now they seemed grotesque. His face burned with a pang that was beyond guilt, it was as though he were desecrating his friend's memory.

He froze, the wooden door having appeared before him all too soon. She would be there, on the other side. He came as close to panic as Jean Luc Picard ever did. He realized, fully, for the first time, that his words would hurt her, and, moreover, he would be forced to stand and bear witness to her pain. He wished now that he had proceeded in the standard way, detaching himself rather that being a friend.

He had no choice now, however.

He raised his hand and rapped on the door. "Just a moment," he heard her sing out from within. He swallowed, wiping the beads of perspiration from his brow.

"Jean Luc, what a pleasant surprise," she exclaimed, a vision of simple loveliness. "Jack didn't tell me the two of you were expecting shore leave anytime soon. Look at me, answering the door in these disgusting old rags," she shook her head as though she were forlorn, but the smile etched upon her lovely features gave her away.

"Beverly," he started. He licked his lips, which had suddenly gone dry, and tried again. "Beverly."

She stared into his eyes, and he saw something click. Her cheerful exuberance was gone, replaced by a crazed worry that was a mixture of panic and pain.

"Jean Luc, please, no. It can't be…" her voice trailed off, choked away by tears.

"I'm so sorry," he said, handing her the PADD on which the details of her husband's death were described. Her fingers brushed his as she took it from him, and her wanted nothing more than to hold her, to comfort her.

Slowly, he reached up to wipe the tears from her eyes. As he did, she startled and drew back. "Thank you, Captain," she said in a hollow, dead sort of voice.

She started to shut the door, but he caught it as it swung toward him. He didn't know why he had done such a thing, but something inside of him told him it was the right thing to do.

"Beverly," he said, grabbing her wrist. The two of them had been close since their first meeting. He wasn't going to lose her now. "Please," he said, "don't shut me out. You don't have to be in pain alone. Please, let me help you."

She looked at him slowly, as though seeing what was really inside for the first tie. Somehow, she trusted him beyond rhyme or reason. As though he were someone different than the man she remembered him being. As though he had once meant a very great deal to her, and she was just now remembering. She was hurting, but she was able to look through her pain and see his. It took her no more than a moment to decide. "Okay," she whispered, her voice trying not to crack.

She didn't want to admit she need him, but she did. She had always prided herself on being independent and strong, but, without Jack, she didn't know how she would go on. And how to tell Wesley, who was old enough to understand and hurt, but not old enough to fully comprehend. But, she wondered to herself was anyone ever able to fully comprehend that they would never again be together with someone they loved?

Walker stuck his head through the door. "Okay, Jean Luc?"

Picard nodded. He wasn't okay, but his friend knew that. He just wanted to know if he was holding on.

"Beverly," said Keel, "I am so very sorry. We loved him too. Either one of us would have taken his place. He was a hero, in every sense of the word. Jack was a good man. I know you'll never forget that, but make sure his son knows, too." Beverly bit her lip and nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak. She hugged Walker tightly. He squeezed her shoulder, turned away and walked out.

Picard replicated two cups of tea and sat down beside her on the couch. For a long time, he said nothing, and he simply held her, stroking her hair and wiping away her tears. Wesley, her five-year-old son was away at a friend's house, and she had seen no need to call him home. "Let him have one more happy night," she had said. "No point in changing his life prematurely."

"He wanted to be like you, Jean Luc," she said, deep in the night. Picard startled slightly. He hadn't slept in days, yet somehow he had found the comfort to sitting here cradling her in his arms. She continued, "You were everything he aspired to, everything he wanted to be. His friendship with you was something he treasured beyond anything else." She was quiet again for a moment. "He always wanted to tell you. I always told him that, when you looked back on the times you spent together, I was certain you would know."

Picard was flabbergasted. He had never known. He had been so busy wishing he could be more like Jack Crusher he had never considered that Jack would want to be like him. Jack Crusher was successful, bright, funny, happy, and loved. Picard was successful and lonely. How often had he wished to be loved the way Jack Crusher was. To think that Jack had wanted to be like him. He almost smiled. Sometimes it seemed as though relationships were built on nothing but irony.

"I wish we could all be more like Jack," Picard told her softly.

For the rest of the night, they didn't speak again. He never once let her go, and she never stopped holding on.