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1000 Ships

Eight

"You can bury the past, but it's a mausoleum, with the ghost of a fist that won't let us be."

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Riker arrived that evening with Picard in tow. The affair was indeed grand, strictly white tie. Both Will and Jean-Luc were dashing in the old- fashioned suits, Picard having recently grown a trim goatee that added to the very dapper nature of the ensemble.

Troi had personally seen to it that Beverly pull out all the stops for the occasion, supervising the selection of her dress, hair and makeup. The dark woman's tastes ran further toward the risqué than Crusher's, and the compromise between them had ended in a stunningly striking look for Crusher. Even Beverly had to admit she looked good.

When the respective pairs arrived, the evening had already commenced and the dance floor was filling rapidly. Will parted with the Captain, intent on finding Beverly. He and Deanna had choreographed the entrance carefully, and Riker smiled in satisfaction as he led Crusher onto the dance floor. Deanna and Picard were already there.

Careful to keep her back to Picard, Will led Crusher toward to his bride and the unwitting Admiral. Subtly, he bumped into Troi. "Deanna! Excuse me, Beverly." He leaned in and kissed her cheek before whisking his wife away.

Beverly and Jean-Luc turned to each other. It was a dirty trick, and both Crusher and Picard were put off to find themselves in the other's arms. Both were too proud however, to simply march off and make a spectacle of it. They continued to dance, silently staring at each other. Both held resentment in their expressions and both prayed for the song to end quickly.

Riker had already seen to that, however. He'd worked his charm on the band leader and gotten the guarantee that the bridge would be extended for several lengthy solos. He and Deanna waltzed by their recalcitrant victims occasionally, she shaking her head in the negative back to Will as they passed. For all their machinations, the mission was not going well. It was time for plan B.

Ever the gentleman, Picard cleared his throat and broke the uneasy silence. "How's Andrew?" A gentleman yes, but a man nonetheless – and one in pain.

Crusher 'accidentally' stepped on his foot before replying sharply. "Fine I'm sure." Her tone dripped disdain. "We've divorced."

Picard's brow shot up and he opened his mouth to speak when a large man tapped him on the shoulder. Picard turned, glad to be rid of this burden. His opinion changed however, when he saw who he would be giving Beverly over to. Angry as he was, he did not wish this on her. One look back at the Doctor's horrified and pleading expression sealed the deal.

The man was an ambassador from a strategic colony the Federation was courting for membership. He was the size of an overweight Klingon, with none of the muscle. He was pale and doughy, and looked to be quite inebriated. At least he smelled that way.

Picard gave him a disarming smile. "I'm sorry sir, but we were just catching up. Perhaps another time."

The man grunted in disapproval. "No. I want to dance. Now. It would be rude to refuse me, Admiral."

Picard kept his smile and, using his most diplomatic tone, pressed on. "Please don't consider it a refusal sir, simply a request." He turned back to a now very pale Crusher, hoping to indicate an end to the conversation.

The man laid a hand on Picard's shoulder and pulled him around to face him. Picard cast a disapproving look down at the beefy hand. Thirty years ago he would have already thrown a punch. But this was hardly the place or time.

"Request denied. Step aside, *Admiral.*" The man leered at Beverly.

Picard turned back to Crusher. Distressed as she was, he was not about to start a diplomatic incident. She'd have to get herself out of this one. "I'm sorry Doctor. It's been lovely. Perhaps another time."

Beverly gave him a look that would have melted glass. "Yes another time. I'll be counting the minutes."

Picard cast a glance backward as the large man engulfed Crusher's elegant frame. 'Good luck with that one, Doctor.' He made his way over to the bar, where he met up with Will Riker. The young Captain gave Picard a smile and a querulous glance. "What was that all about?"

"It seems Doctor Crusher has had the unfortunate luck of attracting a most unwelcome suitor." Picard fought to keep the chuckle from his voice. The man's hands had a habit of roaming, and Beverly was squirming to avoid them. As amusing as it was to watch, on a deeper level it still offended Picard, and he struggled against a very basic instinct to tell the insensitive, unattractive man exactly where he could get off.

Will took a drink and turned back to Picard. "Looks like she's about to make her move."

They watched as Crusher feigned a pain in her leg. The man attempted to help her, but she waved him off, limping toward one of the balconies. Still oblivious, the drunken Ambassador took the opportunity to move his hand licentiously over Beverly's back as she stumbled forward. That was the wrong move.

They were nearly to the balcony now, and out of eyesight of anyone who wasn't paying attention. Beverly pulled herself to full height. The show was about to begin. Mouth and brow moving animatedly, it was only a moment before she slapped the large man across the face.

Will and Jean-Luc exchanged glasses before quickly finishing their drinks and rushing across the room. Pushing through agitated couples on the dance floor, Picard arrived first, just as the burly man raised a menacing hand toward Crusher, who seemed unaffected by the threat.

Jean-Luc caught the offending arm in mid-air. His tone was low, menacing, and all business. "That would not be a good idea, Ambassador." Picard had not wanted to start an incident – but he had no qualms about finishing one.

Will arrived on the scene and stood tall behind his former Captain. Neither was near the size of the Ambassador, but all the same he and Picard presented an intimidating picture. Will piped up, his voice flippant. "Any trouble here, Admiral?"

"I think not, Captain. The Ambassador here was just on his way home." As he spoke his eyes never left the big man's. Picard still held his arm in an iron grip.

The man knew when he was beaten, and reluctantly lowered his arm, which Picard released. The now humbled Ambassador slunk out through a far door, not looking back.

"All's well that ends well, I suppose." Riker beamed at his two hapless friends. "I wonder where Deanna's gotten off to. If you'll excuse me." He nodded to each and hastily departed, a grin splitting his features from ear to ear.

Beverly and Jean-Luc gazed at each other for a moment before descending into a fit of laughter. "Are you quite all right, Doctor?"

"Yes, I'm fine." She splayed a delicate hand across her chest as her laughter became fits of giggles.

"I assume the injury was just for show – or can I get you a chair?" Picard moved to rest a hand on her upper arm, offering any needed support. His eyes were merry, but they both froze as his hand touched her skin, a charge moving through them simultaneously. Their eyes met, and the air crackled between them.

Both recognized that for just a moment they had recaptured what they thought had been so irrevocably lost.

Picard was the first to break what had become an intense silence. "It's a lovely evening, Doctor. Would you join me for a stroll?" He looked out onto the balcony and the warm spring evening.

Crusher followed his gaze. It was a beautiful night, one that almost begged you to wander through a lush garden or beside a lazy river. She nodded her assent. "Yes, that would be nice." It was all she said, but her eyes indicated there was much more behind it.

Again from across the room, they were unaware of Riker and Troi's intense surveillance. This time when Deanna met Will's eyes, there was a glimmer of hope.

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They walked in silence for a while. The hotel abutted the Seine, and they strolled quietly, entranced by the lights reflecting off the river. They moved in unison, but carefully avoiding the other. Neither was sure they were ready to let go of the anger they held, but both knew that if it were going to ever happen, this was the right moment. The pressure of that knowledge kept either from speaking.

When they did, it was all at once, each speaking over the other.

"Jean-Luc – "

"Beverly – "

"Please, go ahead – "

"I'm sorry – "

Jean-Luc stopped and faced the Doctor. They both laughed nervously. Beverly smiled ruefully.

"Perhaps we should draw straws." His eyes sparkled with humor. He knew he had been so angry with this woman. But in the glow of the half-full moon and the subtle illumination of streetlight playing off the river, gently lighting her delicate features, he could not for the life of him remember why.

He gazed at her for a moment, appreciating the ivory of her skin, framed by a flame of red; the spark of her deep blue eyes as they twinkled in the moonlight. They were so full of life, humor, and depth. They were so full of her – and of her knowledge of him. There was no one in the galaxy that understood him as well as she.

He began again to speak. "I'm truly to sorry to hear about Andrew." It was not a total fabrication. He knew that it must have been painful for her, and that troubled him.

Beverly tilted her head as she regarded him. It was a bit of a surprise to find that she did not even need to speak with him to feel content. Being in his presence added to all her senses, added to her experience of life. What had gone wrong? Why could they not just get it together? First Jack, then the guilt over his death. Then duty, then, what? Her fear? A small grin pulled the corner of her mouth as she laughed at her own foolishness.

He smiled back, curious. He had attempted to distract himself for years – with his ship, with other women, for the love of God even with alcohol. He knew then that she could reject him for time immortal and he would never fall out of love with her. If it were to be his burden, he would carry it to the grave. But just now, as he looked into her eyes, he thought perhaps he may not have to.

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