Snow Falling Softly VI
Beverly Crusher felt the flush work its way from the tips of her toes through the roots of her hair. Her friend knew, had figured it out that quickly. She ignored the empath beside her, coming to grips with her own thoughts and feelings on the matter. Dread crept throughout her body, following the warm path of the blushing with tendrils of a chilling cold. Before her, she watched as her youngest walked hand in hand with her father, blissfully unaware of her relationship to the man. And the man, Beverly knew there was no telling how long he'd remain unaware, either through his own deductions or by Deanna's information.
"How did you know?" Beverly breathed.
The counselor took a moment to hook her arm through Beverly's in a gesture of reassurance. "I figured it out once I knew what I was looking for."
The doctor briefly closed her eyes. "What if I deny it?"
Troi looked significantly at Crusher, then moved her gaze to the people walking in front of them, Andrew and Allie walking together, going over the events of the tournament, the captain and Gracie talking away. From behind, their features weren't as apparent. For that, Beverly was grateful, so that they didn't serve to reinforced Deanna's conclusions. It was then, walking in the whispering snowfall beside her best friend, with her three children walking in front of them, and the man she still loved at the head of the crowd, that Beverly allowed herself to think in the forefront of her mind the idea she'd held manacled to the back. I could resign from Starfleet.
A solution as simple as choosing a bagel for her morning meal over a croissant. Her grandmother's death had left an opening in the small community for a healer. She had a home awaiting her, three children, all of whom she could "adopt" making no one the wiser. In front of her, she imagined Jean-Luc's form disappearing. He'd be gone, out of her life. She couldn't imagine he'd go quietly, quite the opposite, really. Kicking and screaming, except it would be the Picard type of kicking and screaming. A seriousness with such gravity that you felt compelled to listen, felt guilty at even causing that seriousness. Like a big giant's hand of the pressure he felt dropped on your own shoulders, and it was all you could do to keep your knees from buckling. When she imagined the captain disappearing, Gracie's arm had fallen to her side, her body not as spire-like as before. The little girl would lose him, too. Beverly would take him away from them, excising him from their lives before he could spread his roots and become more firmly a part of them.
Of course, he already was. Allie and her seriousness, the absolute devotion to which she gave to her pursuits, the child who would fall to logic rather than flights of fancy and story telling. Beverly could continue Allie's interest in riding to her grandfather, but shackled alongside her idea of resignation had been the acknowledgment that Allie had also gotten that interest from her father. Then so-serious Allie would have the brief moments of delight at poking fun at her brother or sister, disguised at first in her stolid manner. And once that manner was broken, Allie would revel in being at ease with those who knew her best. She devoted all she had to her study of veterinary medicine, wanting to become a vet as quickly as she could, knowing it was exactly what she was meant to do. Nothing would deter her from her goal. So much like Jean-Luc had been in his determinate to become a starship captain.
Then enigmatic Andrew. On the surface, he seemed more like Beverly than his twin sister. His wit was sharp and frighteningly accurate. A natural storyteller, Nana had on so many occasions told Beverly the tales he'd make up for his younger sister, or the tales he'd tell his twin sister to get out of a jam. But the stories kept his true self hidden, more under lock and key than his serious sister. He told no one of his own dreams, instead changing the subject with such a wild tale that he'd have those who'd asked him in stitches, making them forget that they'd tried to get closer to him. He'd inherited genes from the Howards, long legs making him taller than his father already. Where Wesley had taken so long to fill out from being the all arms and legs teenager, Andrew's physique had developed quickly, wrapped in lean muscle like his father's. Yet Andrew wasn't imposing to those who knew him, those whom he let inside his walls. The boy was his little sister's hero. Gentle, incredibly gentle, as Beverly had been privy to at Nana's funeral. She realized why Andrew kept so many people at arm's length--like his father, he sought to protective his sensitive nature. And little Gracie, so disarming and filled with kindness, was safe to both of them.
Gracie. She could get anyone to talk with her. The moment she began to speak, people were instantly at ease. Unlike her fiery elder siblings, she could create a sense of peace among a group of people. Beverly was continually amazed at how quickly people trusted her. Even her attempts at whispering reflected her openness. Nothing needed to be a secret because she believed no one would hurt another. Simple for her, because she never even entertained the thought of deliberately causing another being pain. Nana had told her a story of one of Allie's horses being injured. The horse's intestines had twisted inside its abdomen and the horse was in excruciating pain before the vet could arrive and fix him. Gracie had gone out to the barn with her sister, only four at the time. As Allie separated herself from her horse's pain by becoming distinctly technical about it, Gracie had gone and placed her hand on the horse's head, just below the ear. She spoke softly to it, calmed it during the time it took for the vet to arrive. Once the vet arrived, the little girl had gone snuffling into the house, tears leaving streaks in the dirt caked on her face. Felisa had automatically folded the child into her arms, and the four year old let out the pain she'd felt from the horse.
A bark jerked Beverly out of her thoughts. They'd arrived at the small house, Gracie had opened the door, letting the excited Conal outside to greet his humans. Picard reacted with much more calm than the counselor, taking the large dog, a dog big enough to be a small pony, in stride.
The doctor realized that her friend hadn't said a word since Beverly's last question. As if the verbal observation had been enough for now. Certainly enough, Crusher figured, to send her own thoughts up into a tiny storm. Perhaps the storm had been Deanna's goal. Inside, the group separated, the adults heading for the kitchen while Allie and Andrew put away their fencing gear, Gracie trying to cajole the two into letting her see their medals. Without asking the others, Beverly put a pot of water on to boil. Nana had a replicator for days when she was in a hurry, but the doctor found something comforting in pouring water into the old teapot, giving her hands something constructive to do, however momentary.
When the three had entered the kitchen, door swinging behind them, the captain's demeanor had changed. From the lighthearted expression he'd had during his conversation with Gracie, to the concerned seriousness that Beverly had done her best to avoid. The statement he said first surprised the doctor, so different than his facial expression. "Your cousin," he said, "The little one. She is enchanting."
For a moment, fear trickled past her throat, threatening to take hold. Had his expression changed because he suspected Gracie's true parentage? Beverly's hand trembled slightly as she placed the tea bags down on the granite countertop.
"That she is," Deanna said, settling down into a chair across from Picard. "If I didn't know better, Captain, I'd think you were getting more comfortable around children."
He gave a slight smile. "Perhaps it has to do with seven years of commanding a ship with so many of them on it. Or," he said, sliding a glance towards the doctor, "It's only those children related to our ship's doctor with whom I feel comfortable."
Cold dread began to wrap around her neck. He couldn't know. She looked over at Deanna, but the counselor's serene visage revealed nothing.
"Howards are always enchanting, Captain," Beverly said, her light tone hiding the depth of emotion she felt.
"It seems that red hair does run in your family," he said. "It seems nearly all Howards have some sort of red. Except Allie, for the moment."
She did have an answer for that. "Oh, there's a child in every generation with hair as dark as hers," she said. "My ancestor, the first we can trace back to in Scotland in the seventeenth century, her oldest daughter had hair just the color of Allie's. And Nana has many photographs, somewhere around here, of other ancestors of ours. Many, many redheads, and every generation or so, there's one Howard with nearly black hair." In fact, it hadn't been Allie's hair that worried her when it came to the children's parentage being revealed. Instead, it was Andrew's. She'd hoped it would darken a bit as he got older, turning a darker auburn like Gracie's, but it hadn't. When Beverly had seen photographs of Jean-Luc's nephew Rene, seen the boy's sandy colored hair, she had remembered the captain telling her what happened to so many Picards. As children, they were towheads much of the time, then as they got older, half had their hair darken to chestnut, while half stayed fair haired. Andrew's, unfortunately, had not darkened into auburn. Thankfully, it had also not darkened to chestnut, what Beverly most feared. Instead, it stayed the same, and at least in the winter, it carried enough red that he'd be taken as purely Howard.
"With those big blue eyes," Deanna said, "She looks almost like those elves in old Earth stories my father used to tell me or read to me from picture books when I was a child."
Beverly nodded. "Sometimes, the older folks around here would refer to her as one of the fairy people."
Picard's brow furrowed. "I thought the fairy people were tales from Ireland," he said.
"Yes," Beverly answered, "But remember, some of the population of Scotland came over from Ireland long before it became Scotland. The stories traveled with the people."
"Oh yes, that's right," he said. "So how did your cousins end up in your grandmother's care? Are Howards just cursed to have their parents die while they are young?"
A curse flew into the doctor's thoughts, though not the type of curse the captain had referred to. She couldn't decipher whether the captain asked the questions with the goal of exposing who these children were to him, or whether it was his natural curiosity. The teapot whistled its piercing readiness and Beverly jumped. "Tea?" she asked her friends. They nodded. She handed them mugs and readied herself for another question from Picard, renewing what he had asked only moments before.
Then a shout came from the living room. "I'll die before I say uncle!" Andrew's strong voice. The adults abandoned their tea and made their way into the front room.
On the floor, Allie had pinned Andrew in what looked like a nearly impossible physical position, also looking particularly painful. The grimace on Andrew's face confirmed Beverly's supposition of pain. "I won't say it," he continued.
"Yes, you will," Allie said. "Or you can stay like this forever."
"Forever it is."
Gracie rolled her eyes, opened the front door, and called for Conal. The gray dog bounded inside and started barking at the two combatants on the floor. At first they tried to ignore him, but he walked up to them, growling, nudging with his head, pushing with his paws, barking in their ears, licking their faces. Finally, the two separated before the dog made them deaf. Conal sat between them, tail wagging.
"Nana said that Conal was a blessing," Gracie said. "He's the only one that could make them stop fighting."
Beverly looked at Allie. The girl sighed. "It's true. When we were just eight, Nana came home to Andrew having me pinned and me shouting that I'd die before I said uncle. She insists she had a hell of a time trying to separate us, and once we were separated, keeping us from trying to kill each other again."
Conal barked. Allie glared at him.
Inwards, Beverly ached. Her grandmother hadn't told her that story, hadn't mentioned the two having such a rivalry, or being so stubborn that they refused to give in to the other. Not that it surprised her, considering their parents. Yet she should have known that story of their early childhood, their current story of Andrew's peacekeeper of a dog.
"A dog like Conal could come in handy during negotiations, then," Picard said.
Allie laughed, a bell like sound that Beverly had missed. She nearly let out a sigh of relief, it seemed the excitement had caused Picard to forget his previous line of questioning. Then came the captain's next comment. "Since you all showed me such a good competition and brought me into your home, I thought I'd extend the invitation for you to take a tour of the Enterprise."
Beverly tried to influence their decision in her head. Say no. Say no, say no, say no.
Of course, being who they were, they immediately said yes.
Deanna shot Beverly another one of her looks. Crusher figured that in the past twenty-four hours, she'd been on receiving end of enough of those particular looks to earn a lifetime free pass of having to answer any probing questions. Because Deanna didn't believe in those types of passes, Beverly ignored her friend. Idly, she wondered if she ignored Troi long enough, that the counselor herself would need counseling by the complex she must be developing.
In answer, the doctor felt another look burning into the back of her head. At this rate, her neck would bear some serious charred marks.
"I have to go feed and tend to the horses first," Allie said. "Then I'll be ready to go."
"You have horses?" Jean-Luc asked, perking up like a small child.
"Yes," Allie replied. "Right now we've got four."
"Would it be too much trouble to take a ride before going up to the ship?" the captain asked.
"Not at all," Allie said. "I haven't gone in a few days, so I'd love to go."
Gracie jumped up. "Can I go too?"
"I didn't know you knew how to ride," Beverly said.
"I learned last year," Gracie answered, then looked over at her sister.
"Sure," Allie said, getting up. "Go change while I change." She turned to the captain. "What about you?"
"I'll beam up to the ship and do the same. I'll also get my saddle."
"You have your own saddle?" Andrew asked, a smirk pulling on the edges of his face.
The captain drew himself up into his very serious posture, prepared to give the answer that the Enterprise crew had heard several times.
Deanna supplied it before the captain could. "Of course he does. Every serious rider has their own saddle. It's common knowledge."
Andrew raised an eyebrow at the counselor, trying to gauge if she was really serious about her answer, then grinned. "Of course it is," he said, matching his seriousness to the counselor's.
Beverly's eyes widened every so slightly. It was that tone of voice that she'd just heard from Andrew, a tone she heard so many times on the ship under Picard's command, whenever the captain sought to communicate the utmost dignity. The doctor glanced sidelong at Deanna and saw recognition on the counselor's face.
As for the captain, his face didn't betray if he'd recognized the voice or not. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he said, then beamed up to the ship. Gracie and Allie had already gone upstairs to change.
"You aren't going?" Deanna asked Andrew.
Andrew shook his head. "Not much of a riding fan. I mean, I can ride, but there's other things I'd rather do."
"I completely understand," Deanna replied.
Twenty minutes later, the trio of riders had trooped off to the barn and made their way into the woods on horseback. At first, Beverly felt relief run off the fear that had taken hold inside her. With the captain gone, his recent tack on questioning went with him. Then Deanna spoke up again. "Did you want in any help in sorting through all the boxes?" she asked. "I'm interested in seeing all those old photographs and recollections of your family's history," she said to Beverly.
The counselor. Beverly cursed under her breath. She hadn't cursed this much since exam time in medical school.
"I heard that," Andrew said.
"How about you and your super sensitive ears take a trip down into our cellar and bring up a couple of Nana's boxes."
Andrew blanched. "Beverly, there's spiders down there."
She gave him a sweet smile. "I know."
His brow crinkled in annoyance, then he turned and went down the old stairs, muttering obscenities about his cousin the entire way down. Beverly sat in one of the armchairs, then noticed the fire hadn't been lit. She got back up, retrieved some logs from the stand near the fireplace.
"That wasn't very nice," Deanna observed.
"Serves him right for having hearing like that," Beverly said, setting the logs next to her on the granite stones that were in front of the fireplace. Then she reached over and pulled kindling from another bin and arranged it.
"That look he gave you, just before he went downstairs," Deanna said.
Beverly cut her off before the counselor could say it aloud. "I know."
Deanna continued anyway. "It's the same look I've seen the captain give you when you've annoyed him. I know he's given others that same look. It's the way his forehead crinkles, and there's this wrinkle of...honestly, it's got to be pure annoyance, right above the bridge of his nose."
Finished with the kindling, the doctor reached for the logs beside her and began stacking him. Building up a tiny wall. The bark felt rough underneath the pads of her fingers, as rough as Jean-Luc's voice had been saying good bye to her after dinner, the one they'd shared after their experience on Kesprytt.
"Perhaps we should be afraid." Her own words cutting her nearly as deeply as it had him. She knew he interpreted her reply as afraid of a relationship between the two of them, a real relationship that carried into the every day, one of care and comfort, love and respect, arguments and apologies. That wasn't what she feared, in fact, she wanted that relationship with nearly the entirety of her heart. Except a relationship like that, one she wished for and he apparently did as well, would require full honesty.
And she couldn't be. It had been hard enough on the planet, with those mind links, to keep from even a passing thought about the three children on Caldos. Dreaming of her grandmother's vegetable soup had been damn close enough. Yet that night, with the fire crackling before them, hearing his thoughts, then the question had run out of her mouth, giving caution the finger on its way out. "Why didn't you ever tell me you were in love with me?"
It wasn't as if she hadn't known. She'd always been fairly certain of it. Had he ever told her exactly what he felt, exactly what she felt from him right then, she knew she would've told him. But by then, it was too late, and she couldn't tell him. So she'd gone along with the facade they both presented of being friends, only friends, that nothing had happened between them in the past, and nothing would happen between them in the future. Nothing.
She groped around for a match.
"You must be their guardian now," Deanna said.
Beverly nodded, finding the box of matches.
"What are you going to do? This fear from you that I keep sensing, you couldn't survive it every day on the Enterprise."
The doctor struck a match, tossed it into the paper below the kindling. The infant fire began to eat away at the paper, crawling closer to the kindling. I'll resign, she thought, saying nothing aloud.
"Do they know?" Deanna asked.
Beverly struck another match, threw it in. The fire took hold of the kindling. Of course they don't, they'd be as angry as Jean-Luc would be, learning that I had deceived them all.
"They don't," Deanna said.
The fire licked at the logs, at the tiny wall Beverly had built minutes before.
"Have you ever told him how you feel?" the counselor asked.
And the fire roared to life, sending smoke up the chimney, throwing heat into the living room. Beverly stared into it, the dancing flames reflected in her pupils. "I can't," she said. "And you know it." She bit her lip. Damn her friend, damn all of them.
"I don't think he'd be as angry as you must imagine. He's a very perceptive man, he's going to start putting two and two together. I already wonder if he has, even subconsciously. Asking you those questions earlier."
So he did suspect, in the most basic, hidden areas of his brain. Areas able to pick up small details and start assembling a puzzle he hadn't realize was a puzzle. She lit another match and flicked it in, despite the already healthy fire blazing away. Yet the hottest flames of the fire before her wouldn't be able to rid her of the chill that sprinted up her spine. He'd be able to find more pieces, as he was probably doing so in that moment, riding with Allie and Gracie. More bits awaited him, when they'd go to the Enterprise. When the three children interacted with the crew, saw him on a day to day basis. Gracie would continue to push for them to get together. Aloud, she said, "He can't know."
"I don't know how much longer you'll be able to keep this to yourself," Deanna said, speaking so quietly that the pop of a sap pocket nearly washed away her words.
The gentleness of the tone made it no less poignant. She could keep the secret much longer if she resigned. Let go of everything on the Enterprise, everything to do with Starfleet, with traveling across the galaxy. Let go to all of those things that had become her life and hold on to the life she could have here, on Caldos.
Heavy footsteps plodded up the stairs from the cellar. Andrew nudged open the door with his shoulder and dropped two boxes soundly onto the floor. "I think these are them," he said, dusting off his arms and rubbing his hand through his hair. "And I don't think any spiders tagged along." The boy slid the two boxes over to the wide area in front of the hearth. The three of them began sorting through them, pulling out old photographs, piles of paper, drawings, letters, journals.
Beverly had a stack of photographs in her hand, studying them one by one before setting them aside. Then she came across on photograph she nearly dropped. Nana must have taken it before she left Delos IV with Gracie. How could her grandmother have done this? Beverly had been incredibly conscientious in making sure none of the many photographs Felisa took had been with any of the children in their infancy. Pictures like that could lead people down the path of supposition that Deanna had already taken and arrived at the revealing end. It felt almost like a betrayal, looking at this intimate photo of Beverly and Gracie. They had fallen asleep on the biobed, the infant Gracie in Beverly's arms. Faces relaxed in respite, they mirrored one another, practically proving that they were in fact mother and daughter, and not cousins.
"What's that picture?" Andrew asked. "You've been staring at it for ages. It must be a good one."
Beverly's eyes widened. How long has she been looking at it? "Oh, just an old shot," she said.
"Can I see it?" he asked.
"No, no, it's embarrassing," Beverly said, panic causing her grip on the photograph to tighten, nearly wrinkling the paper.
Andrew grinned wickedly. "All the more reason to see it," he said. "Come on, you've seen plenty of embarrassing photos of me."
"That's only because all photographs of you are embarrassing," Beverly replied.
Andrew's hand went above his heart in mock pain. "That stings, Beverly," he said. "The pain! How will I ever recover?"
"The condition is terminal," the doctor said, pocketing the photograph. "And incurable. I'm afraid you're entirely out of luck."
"Some doctor you are," he said, going back to rummaging through the box in front of him.
The back door clattered open. The three got up to see Allie walking back inside, taking off her jacket. "Where are the other two?" Beverly asked.
"Little people walk really slow," Allie replied. "They're outside in the yard." She put her jacket on a hook and went over to the replicator. Leaving Deanna and Andrew in the living room, Beverly stepped out the back door, hugging her arms around her for warmth. She saw the captain and Gracie standing in the middle of the yard. They faced away from her, towards the forest, but looking up. They didn't notice Beverly's presence.
"Is every snowflake really different?" Gracie asked.
"Yes," the captain answered.
"How come?"
"You see," he said, Beverly hearing the tone he took when gearing up for a story. "A man in the sky once created the first snowflake. When he saw what he had made, he realized its beauty, as did all the others around him. Now, he knew he had to make more, because he had been given the task of creating snow, all starting with that one snowflake. But he couldn't bear to diminish the beauty of that first snowflake by making any others just like it. So he made another, different, but equally as beautiful. And so he continued, all the snowflakes beautiful but unique." His hand brushed the top of Gracie's head. The girl had taken her hat off, something she did as soon as she was out of sight of grownups that made her wear it in the first place. "I've heard that little girls are all made that same way. Each on different, but equally as pretty."
"Captain," Gracie said, accusing. "You're in love with all the girls!"
"I am not," he said, indignant.
"You said they're all pretty!"
"No. I said all little girls are pretty. Like you."
"Do you think Beverly is pretty?" Gracie asked.
The doctor held her breath.
"No," said Picard, giving no explanation.
A comment like he would give to her whenever he was trying to get a rise out of her. All because when she asked questions and knew the answer, he liked to give her a good shock before admitting the truth. The tactic worked nearly every time. Beverly held her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud as Gracie turned on the captain, hands on her hips. "Why not?"
Humor tinged his voice as he turned to face the girl, placing his hands on his hips to mirror Gracie's posture. Crusher's sides shook in silent laughter, tears in her eyes. Picard spoke. "Because she is not a little girl." He paused, and when he spoke next, his tone had gotten rough. "And she is beautiful."
"You should tell her," Gracie said, then ran into the house, not noticing the doctor leaning against the wall of the house, hands now in her pockets, trying to get warm.
The captain saw her. "I think I just did," he said, the words dropping between them, heavier than the snow, yet soundless on the ground. He didn't move from his spot in the yard.
She wanted to go to him. Wanted to go to him, recklessly fall into his arms, tell him thank you, tell him she loved him. Then she felt the side of the photograph as it brushed against her fingers, made its way into her palm, crushed when her hand went into a fist of frustration. Beverly turned and went inside, leaving the captain standing in the middle of the backyard, gray clouds above, white snow below, and every heated word he wanted to say caught in his throat.