Paramount: "Along with Wal-Mart and Fox, we own everything in the Western world." Their house, my architecture.
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"I'm not your land of Canaan, oh sweetheart, waiting for you under the sun. I'm lonely tonite, I'm missing you now, I'm wanting your love, and you're giving it out. I'm lonely tonite."
Indigo Girls – Land of Canaan – Strange Fire – www.indigogirls.com
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Up from Canaan
One
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Beverly Crusher sat in her darkened quarters, silently pondering the surface of the glass tabletop. She ran her fingertips slowly and repetitively over the muted reflection of starlight. Shadow played over her fine features. Her tears had long ago dried – she felt little like crying, little like doing anything. Not that she hadn't cried – she'd cried, shouted, vomited, slept, read, run, danced, worked, gotten drunk, binged, purged, done anything and everything anyone can do to forget reality for a minute or a day. Finally there had been nothing left to do, and nothing she had done had changed the horror of her life.
She could not cry, though she wanted to. There was simply nothing left inside of her to excise. Her soul was bone dry. Where at one time there had been purpose, love, devotion, hope, now there was simply despair. It was a hateful thing to have in her heart. Her Nana had practiced an ancient form of Christianity during Beverly's childhood, and had a small needlepoint over her bed. It was quaint in its old-fashioned frame, a saying that Crusher had reflected on so many times in her life. "Joy cometh in the morning." She snickered hatefully. Never again would morning bring her joy. If only she never saw another sunrise.
She would eternally loathe the morning, for that had been their time. First it had simply been breakfasts, intimate but unremarkable affairs that had helped both of them clear their thoughts and prepare for the day. When they had become lovers they'd continued to enjoy breakfasts, but had often moved them to the bedroom. It was hard enough to wake alone now. But to wake alone and then endure something so offensive as breakfast? Something so bile-inducing as coffee and croissants? The thought of facing the dawn alone for years to come was overwhelming. If she'd still had the tears, Beverly would have started crying anew.
Instead, she rose and walked carefully through the dim cabin. She stripped off her labcoat, remnant of another shift completed in a rote manner with Beverly pretending to do nothing but go through the motions. Yesterday she'd packed up the remains of her belongings, crates of which were now scattered about on the floor. Much had been packed so many months ago when she and Picard had moved into quarters together. He'd sent someone for his possessions earlier this week, leaving all hers stranded on shelves, in drawers and on tabletops. Pathetic had been the only word to describe it. All the pictures of them together had been left, driving his point home. He'd completely cut her out of his existence, their lives and any memory of it.
Well, he had moved on, and so would she eventually, one day at a time, just as she had with Jack. Of course then Wesley had been there with her. He was inspiration, love, salvation, purpose and comfort all in one little bundle of energy. Now she'd have to find all that within herself. She wondered if it was all there somewhere inside. Time would tell. Today, though, on to Caldos and a small practice there. She'd been quite clear with Starfleet. No one had really fought her request for reassignment, not even Nacheyev. In fact, they'd even willingly granted the month of leave she'd requested. She would retain her commission, doing research for them as assigned. Perhaps in a few years she would move off to the Vulcan Institute, or a carefully chosen deep space assignment. But she would not venture anywhere near headquarters, space stations, or major cities in the Federation. If she never saw Jean-Luc Picard again, she would die a happy woman. That was an overstatement – she would not die a happy woman. She could not, in fact, believe the word happy would again accurately describe her – ever.
She stood helplessly in the middle of the living area. Beams of starlight filtered through, falling on her slim form and the small piles of packing crates. She turned in a circle, trying to find some small thing to do. Finding nothing, she simply sank to the floor. She sat on her knees for a moment, still glancing around. Finally she reclined against a crate and stared out of the windows, her mind vacant. She remained there, semi- conscious, into the early morning. She would leave the Enterprise at 0800. Beverly thought about getting up and going to bed – but what good would it do? She would not sleep there or anywhere, so the hard floor and crate were as good a place as any for her sorry ass.
She thought about taking another sedative, but they were starting to affect her during duty hours. She would just wait until she was too exhausted to remain conscious. She closed her eyes and wished for sleep that would not come. Instead, the memories came again, washing over her unbidden. She had tried, and she simply could not stop them. So she helplessly gave in, reliving a past that would always haunt her future.
xxxxx
She ran her long delicate fingers through the short-cropped silver hair at the base of Jean-Luc Picard's neck. He stood over his desk rigidly, doing his best to concentrate on the data padd he held and to ignore the bewitching woman who was currently plying him with her most beguiling ministrations. Damn if she didn't absolutely enjoy seducing this man. His reluctance only fueled her resolve and desire, and she began tenderly kissing his neck, running her other hand firmly over the coarse uniform fabric on his chest.
"Jean-Luc." Her tone was low, teasing, urging him to give in and pay attention to her.
"Beverly." His response was stern, but the word caught in his throat as he forced it out of his mouth.
She knew this was her battle to win, and she intensified her efforts. Her mouth traveled up his neck and to his jaw, never leaving his skin, which was rough with stubble grown in from the day. She leaned the weight of her body against him until he finally fell back into the desk. Now that she had cornered her prey, she moved in for the kill. She lifted her hand from his chest and indelicately swept aside the arm that held the offending padd, which clattered to the floor.
"Beverly!" His reprimand was again forceful, but he had not used her title – which meant she was still in business. She pushed her whole body against his and threaded her arms under his shoulders, planting her palms on the desktop and pinning herself against his torso. He leaned back enough to cover her hands with his own. His resolve lay crumbled on the ready room floor as she reached up and moved her hands up his back under his tunic, then drew her nails slowly down. "Beverly." This time there was no authority in his tone, only pleading. Whether it was for reprieve or continuance he did not know nor care. For now she was kissing him fully, her mouth moving against his, hot and demanding.
Beverly Crusher's heart beat wildly as she celebrated her victory. She and Jean-Luc had been involved for less than a month, and not once during that time had they been able to make love. She was practically dying with anticipation. To add insult to injury, Picard had spent almost the entire last week cooped up in his ready room compiling endless, and what he assured her were "very critical" reports for Starfleet.
Her Howard libido would have none of it, and she'd entered his sanctuary that afternoon with only one goal in mind. He had not noticed her entry, only glanced at her in irritation as she'd given the orders to secure the doors. Irritation was now the farthest thing from his mind.
He'd known he was in trouble the minute he'd looked up from his padd and seen her walk across the room. He did not have much experience with the subject, but enough to know that hers was the natural walk of a striptease queen. And when she wanted to, the sway of her hips could mesmerize a Vulcan. And this afternoon she had most definitely wanted to.
He was jolted back to the present as she moved abruptly to pull his shirt over his head. At some point she had unzipped the front of her own uniform, and Picard's hands had mindlessly found their own way to the soft and creamy skin of her abdomen.
"Beverly we can't." A brief lucidity had returned to him when their lips had broken contact. He struggled to hold on to it, trying to remember where and who he was.
"Oh, but my dear Captain, we most certainly can. Do you know how long I've wanted to make love to you – right... here.... on.... this... desk?" Jean Luc Picard moaned in pure agony and ecstasy at her revelation, and the things she was doing to his chest with her mouth. He had entertained similar thoughts for years. He only prayed that the engineers who had designed the furniture had, by some miracle, made it strong enough to hold up to what was about to take place. Not that even a structural defect would discourage him now. He half suspected they could crash right into the deck below and he would quickly forget it if she continued with what she was doing to him at that very moment. Juvenile as it was, he could not believe he was about to have a go of it with his Chief Medical Officer in his ready room. There weren't even enough ways to describe how out of protocol it was – or how he couldn't care less.
This is what she had reduced him to, and this is what he had been afraid of all the years leading up to it. He had loved and lusted after Beverly Crusher half his life, and there was no bridling his passion now that she was in his arms.
"Beverly." Jean Luc's breathing was now labored as he choked out the untamed physician's name. "Please."
For her part, Beverly was completely lost in Jean-Luc. She could care less where they were – only that she had been without Picard for days. Perhaps in an hour she would be thinking clearly. But she'd spent the whole morning distracted and unable to work. There was only one solution, and she was not leaving this room until she had what she came for. Enough pre-amble. It was time to get serious.
She strutted to the end of the desk and hopped up to the top. Jean-Luc followed, and began kissing her deeply without delay. The pair were prepared to begin in earnest when Crusher's communicator beeped. Jean-Luc pulled away, but she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him back. He hesitated until she reached up and stripped the comm. off, tossing it across the room. "I'm indisposed."
A few seconds later her badge chirped again. "Sickbay to Doctor Crusher, you're needed immediately. Lieutenant Anderson has gone into labor and is having severe complications." Allyssa Powell's voice invaded the ready room.
"I'll show you severe complications," muttered the enraged doctor. She spoke toward the couch, where the metal trinket had landed. "I'll be there shortly. Crusher out." Her tone was angry and abrupt. Powell recognized it immediately and did not respond, knowing her boss would not appreciate anything she might add.
Beverly looked at Picard with unbridled lust in her eyes. His own gaze was clouded. "Duty calls, Doctor." He cleared his throat in an attempt to control his breathing.
Crusher leaned into him as he backed away from the table, clearing room for her to stand. She kept moving forward as he did so, backing him into the wall near the fish tank. She did not move, did not speak, simply held her body against his and locked gazes. Picard felt certain the top of his head was going to explode.
"As soon as that baby is delivered, I'm coming for you, Picard." She placed her index finger at the hollow of his throat and traced a line down his chest with the tip of her nail.
He did not move until she had departed the room, hips swaying and lab coat slung over her shoulder. He remained leaning against the wall for another few minutes, trying desperately to regain some semblance of control and devise a plan for how in the world he was going to spend the next 12, 24, 36, or however many damn hours it would take to coax the blasted child from the womb. He was not hopeful there was anything on the ship or in the universe that could take his mind off how insanely in love he was with the woman who just walked out the door.
xxxxx
Beverly was unsure where the last few hours had gone, but she was startled back to the present by her door chime. She shook her head and stood wearily. "Yes." It was not an invitation or a denial – just an acknowledgement of presence."Beverly. The Hermes is here. Are you ready to go?" Will Riker stood at the door, concern written all over his face. It was not hard to read. Even if he didn't have the worst poker face on the ship, she would have spotted it anyway. It was the same expression she'd seen on the faces of everyone who'd spoken to her in the last month. It was becoming loathsome. Of all the things she hated about this situation, pity rated high on the list.
"Ready as I'll ever be Will." Without explanation she walked into her darkened bedroom. Will resisted the temptation to peer around the corner. In a moment, she returned with a standard issue duffel slung over her shoulder.
"I've arranged for the rest to be shipped to Caldos on a private cargo. It's supposed to meet you at Starbase 56 when you arrive next week. Mind sitting on it until then?" Beverly waved a weary hand at it and turned to walk out before Will had even responded.
"It's fine Beverly. I'll make sure it's taken care of." Will trotted to catch up with the indifferent physician. "Beverly." He caught her shoulder. "We'll miss you. I'll miss you." His light blue eyes were focused on her own. They held a silent plea for her forgiveness, and a cry for her to open up to him.
Crusher knew the sense of guilt the rest of the senior staff felt. She didn't actually blame any of them for what happened, or for staying on the ship, but their emotions were understandable. Picard had put them all in an awkward spot. Will Riker was like a brother to Beverly Crusher, and he'd stood by helplessly watching as the man he considered a second father had callously ripped her still beating heart from her chest. Guilt, anger, and shock – they all accurately described his feelings, and those of the rest of the staff. Worf himself had grudgingly admitted that the Captain's actions had been, "without honor."
The medical crew had done little to hide their outrage at the situation. Alyssa Powell was not the only one who'd requested a transfer. It was beneath Selar to be angry, but Vulcans were quite capable of showing contempt. Doctor Chaderjian had also put in a transfer slip, and Ensign Stewart. They'd all wanted to go with Beverly, but assisting her on Caldos was the equivalent of career suicide – and she cared for each of them too much to allow it. Still, Alyssa had maneuvered her way to a nearby posting, and her husband would follow next year. Beverly couldn't say she wasn't flattered by the woman's loyalty. It seemed something that had recently run in short supply around the shining jewel of the Federation fleet.
"Beverly." Will's hand was still warm on her shoulder. She'd drifted off.
"Oh. Yes Will?" She looked at him, her eyes distracted and focused somewhere on the bulkhead above his right ear.
"I was saying how I can't bear the thought of you leaving like this." He'd squared up to her, resting both hands on her shoulders, trying to get her to focus on him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her meet and hold anyone's eyes. It froze his heart to see this once indomitably proud woman reduced to her current raw state. It hurt too much for her to make even such a brief connection with another living being. It was no way to live.
"Would you ask me to stay, Will?" Her question was quiet, and its simple logic undeniable.
"No. No, I understand why you're leaving. I mean, I think I'd do the same. But I'm just trying to tell you...." He could think of nothing adequate to say. He ran a hand roughly through his thick beard. She did not respond, only gave him a disaffected gaze.
He pulled her abruptly into his arms. Whether he was trying to comfort her or himself was impossible to say. "I'm sorry Beverly."
She stood stiffly and allowed him to hold her momentarily before pulling back and readjusting the bag she held. "We're all sorry Will. It doesn't change anything." She turned and continued to the lift. It were as if he'd never even spoken.
Her interactions with other friends that had been by her cabin to wish her well, to say goodbye, had been similar. All had found her in darkened quarters, and all had left with the sense that they hadn't really spoken with Beverly Crusher. It was the emotional equivalent of talking to a holodeck character. You went through the motions, but it wasn't real – there was no human connection.
Deanna had said she was still in shock. That eventually Beverly would come back to them – but warned that the process would be long, perhaps years. They would have to be patient with their friend, and persistent. She would try to isolate herself, and no matter how angry she became, they could not let her. Each of the senior staff had scheduled a week of leave for the following months, their destinations conveniently taking them near Caldos. Alyssa had promised to journey there monthly and report. It was half vigil and half covert surveillance.
Beverly knew of all this and had simply disregarded it. Frankly, she didn't care. Alone every minute or surrounded by hundreds, the ache did not subside. She little thought a change of scenery would change her feelings. But it made them all feel better, and she supposed it was fine if that's what they needed.
The Doctor and the brawny, brooding first officer arrived at transport three. Oddly, Guinan was there to meet them.
Crusher gave her a prim smile of acknowledgement before breezing by and stepping up to the transport padd.
"Commander Riker," Guinan favored them with a steady glance. "Could I have a minute with Beverly?"
Will looked to Crusher, who shrugged. She wasn't in a hurry. She'd be away from this hellhole and its Captain soon enough. Will nodded at the duty tech, who punched a couple buttons on the panel and walked out behind Riker.
The two women regarded each other. Beverly wore an expression of indifference, and Guinan one of insistent and gentle curiosity.
"You're leaving?" It was not a statement.
Beverly sighed. She did not have the patience for Guinan's obtuse manner of questioning. "Yes."
"Can I ask why?" As always the dark woman was calm, her tone even and neutral.
To Beverly it seemed cruel. "I little think I need to explain myself." Her eyes sparked. Emotionally she was drained, and it would take a lot to fire her temper, but this was intolerable.
"I thought we'd already had a talk about giving up." Guinan smiled. Beverly had always been a fighter – sometimes she just needed some encouragement. Like when Doctor Reyga, the Ferengi scientist had been murdered. It hadn't taken much coaxing – the redhead had a mind of her own and a lot of courage.
Beverly clasped her hands at her stomach and wrung them loosely. She'd stopped crying, but that cathartic release had been replaced with a delicate balance of emotion. Crusher was fragile, and she was hoping to make it to the Hermes still coherent enough to settle into her quarters before collapsing into a ball of raw nerves and grief.
"I'm not giving up, Guinan. I'm leaving a situation that has become absurd in its level of misery. Now, if you'll please excuse me." Crusher tried her best to indicate her half of the conversation was over.
Guinan smiled and walked toward the platform. She stepped up next to Beverly and took her hand. "I'm not blaming you, Beverly. I'm just asking you not to give up on him."
Crusher laughed in her face. "You're not blaming me." She laughed again and shook her head. "Don't give up.....on him......" She shook her head more violently. "Dammit," she hadn't made it. Her resolve broke and tears began coursing down her face. "How can you even..." She looked up at Guinan, a pleading desperation in her eyes. "Why did you come here? How can you say that to me?" Her tears continued, but she stood upright and squared her shoulders. "Please leave. Now." She spoke slowly and hissed each word.
Guinan's eyes never left Beverly's. She took the Doctor's hand in both of hers and pressed a small object into her palm. "You're not ready now. But you can make this right, Beverly. Let me know when it's time." With that the bartender retreated in a swirl of purple robes and left Beverly standing, stupidly staring at her clenched fist. What the hell was that about?
Riker and the tech returned. "Get me out of here." Beverly choked back her sobs and disappeared in a sea of blue particles.
Will stood a moment longer, his jaw clenching, before turning and stalking out the door.