Note from the author: Thanks for the reviews, folks. It's good to know people are enjoying reading this. And for those of you who keep commenting about resolution, I have to keep myself from saying, "Resolution? You mean I have to resolve this mess?"
Snow Falling Softly X
Beverly Crusher waited for Captain Picard to disappear in that all too familiar shimmer of blue Federation transporter beam. But he didn't. They both frowned at finding themselves still looking at one another despite having severed their bonds of friendship and relationship, despite being so shaken they couldn't have given you their first names if you had asked them.
"Picard to Enterprise. What's going on?" Last names, reflexive roles they could remember and act out.
Will Riker's voice replied. "I'm sorry, Captain. The storm system that's taken over most of the colony as a result of the weather modification problems has created magnetic shifts in the atmosphere making it impossible for transporters to be used safely."
"What about a shuttle?"
"I wouldn't advise that, sir, unless it were an emergency. The atmosphere would be one hell of a bumpy ride and could tear a shuttle apart."
"Understood. How long until we're able to fix the net?"
"Geordi and Data are working on it, but can't even give me an estimate other than 'we're looking at hours here'. I'll contact you as soon as I have news, Captain. Riker out."
The captain gave Beverly a slight smile, trying to ease the discomfort. "I'm sure you'd mind if I stayed, but it looks as if I have no choice."
The words came out as a reflex. "You're always welcome in my home." Inside her head, she cursed. It should be over now. It was supposed to be over now. Done with. Except it continued, not abating, mirroring the atmosphere above them.
"I didn't realize," he said.
She raised her eyebrows. "Didn't you?" And just like that, within scant moments, they had gone from the relative safety of goodbye and so long to treading on treacherous ground.
Beverly saw it, in his eyes, unspoken. Why haven't you ever told me that you're in love with me?
She closed her eyes, unwilling to answer the silent question, then opened them. Motioning towards the fire, she said, "Warm yourself up. I can't believe you came out here not wearing any winter clothing. What kind of a starship captain are you?"
That small smile again. "One who is ill-prepared for planetary weather when on a mission of getting back his best friend."
"Replicator's in the kitchen. Make yourself some tea, find a book in the library. I need to check in on someone upstairs," she answered, unwilling to play the game they played so often, so easily. Then she left him, walked up the old stairs to find her daughter.
Upstairs was quiet. Wondering if the girl was asleep, Beverly walked to Gracie's door, pushed it in a bit. Beverly found her laying on her bed, Conal's head resting on her chest, just under her chin. "Is it okay if I come in?" she said.
"Yeah," came the girl's reply. Very much awake.
The doctor sat close to Gracie's feet, put her hand on her forehead. "How are you feeling?" she asked.
"I'm okay," Gracie said.
Beverly raised her eyebrow. "Really?"
Gracie bit her lip again. "No." And the tears that Beverly had wanted to let go fell from her daughter's gray eyes. The little girl reached out and Beverly gathered her in her arms and held her, comforted her, protected her. "Why did Wesley say those things?" she asked, yet Beverly knew it was a question the girl didn't expect the answer to. "Did he know the dream I had last night? Was he trying to get me to tell?"
"What dream was that?" Beverly asked into her daughter's hair.
"You'll laugh," Gracie said.
"I will not. I promise."
"I dreamed last night that I was happy. I dreamed that you were my mother, that the captain was my papa, and we were all together. Wesley must have known, and he knows how silly it is of me, to dream things like that. A fairy tale, something that never happens in real life, only in the stories that Andrew tells me."
No it isn't silly. It's no fairy tale. It's exactly what the truth is. Your mother is holding you right now and your papa is downstairs next to the fire. And outside it's snowing.
Snowing. The wind had picked up, whistling under the eaves of the house. Her other three children were out there in the storm and she had no way of getting them back. All the technology at her disposal, an entire starship in orbit, and she was at nature's mercy. Her grandmother's words came to her, the ones she had read the night before--that the day she believed in signs would be the day her family would come together. It was all she had left now, to believe in the portents that Nana had stuck by so fervently. It would be hours before the storm would die down and that was the positive end of the estimate. Jean-Luc would be here for all that time; Wesley, Andrew and Allie at the mercy of the storm. Wesley was trained in survival, Allie and Andrew knew the forests of Caldos, they could find shelter and keep themselves alive. But it didn't stop her from being concerned. Worried. In no way was she concerned in terms of Andrew's definition of concern. She was a mother, her children were in danger, there was nothing she could do to help, and therefore, she worried.
Beverly made a decision. As Gracie cried herself out, the girl's eyes drooped, fluttered shut. The doctor picked her up, drew back the covers, tucked her daughter into bed. As she did, she whispered to her that her dream was true, that she was her mother, and her papa was the Starfleet captain downstairs, only he didn't know he was a father and Beverly would have to tell him.
She kissed Gracie gently on the forehead, bade Conal to watch over her as she slept. Then the doctor slipped downstairs, cursing her grandmother all the way down, because she was going to tell Jean-Luc who he really was.
Allie kept her head close to her horse as the snow raced at them, blinding them. "We need to find shelter," she said, shouting over the wind. Snow blew into her mouth and she coughed.
"I said that ten minutes ago," Wesley said.
"Aren't you just the know-it-all," Andrew said.
"Shut up," said Allie, not acknowledging her cousin's point, which had been entirely accurate and she'd ignored out of spite. "I used to go explore around this area when I was younger, there's got to be a cave close to us. Follow me." All of them keeping their heads low, they managed to locate the caves. The first three weren't big enough to shelter the horses and they kept plodding along against the ever increasing wind. The last one they managed to find yawned at them, a hill settling into sleep. "Here!" Allie yelled.
The group dismounted, led the horses into the cave, then tethered a rope to a sturdy tree outside and tied the horses up with enough leeway to keep themselves warm inside the cave. As they made their way further inside, Wesley pulled a flashlight out of his pocket to light the way.
"Prepared cadet," Andrew said.
Wesley ignored him.
They continued a bit deeper, seeking a spot deep enough so that they could talk without shouting, yet shallow enough to keep tabs on the horses. Another few steps caused a disruption in the fauna of the cave and Allie found herself hitting the dirt floor and shrieking as bats grazed their heads.
"Just bats," Andrew said.
"Just spiders," she mouthed to him, glaring. Allie shivered in spite of the relative warmth of the cave. The darkness beyond them seemed to slither in, trying to take them into its maw.
Andrew shrugged. "Here's as good a place as any," he said.
"I suppose," Wesley said.
"And I suppose," Andrew said, facing him, "You have a better idea."
Suddenly, the cave felt much more cold. All day, Allie could tell first that something was bothering the hell out of Wesley. Her cousin was normally an easy going guy, someone she really liked to be around. But that day, for the first time in her life, she'd wanted reach out, grab him by the balls, and twist until he asked for mercy. Then she noticed that her brother was equally as bothered, another oddity. Andrew, for the most part, was unflappable by anyone except his twin sister. The two boys together seemed ready to jump into a fistfight at the slightest provocation. So of course, they continued to provoke one another, each trying to get the other to throw the first punch.
"I didn't say that," Wesley told Andrew. "I just think I should be the one in charge."
"Because you're a Starfleet cadet? Because you're the oldest? What?"
"No. Because I'm the one with the most experience in survival around here." Wesley's tone had started to rise, and not because the storm outside had gotten any louder.
"And we're the ones who have lived here all our lives," Andrew replied. "Allie's the one who knew where the caves were. You don't have any right to tell us what to do any more than we do you."
"Yes I do," Wesley said.
"What the hell does that mean?" Andrew asked, moving closer.
"Nothing."
Then Andrew as face to face with him. "The hell with nothing. You said that right before you tried to tear my little sister's feelings to pieces, so I know it has to be something."
Wesley grinned. "How about you? Did anyone ever tell you about your parents?"
"Go to hell."
"Haven't you wondered what they looked like? Have you even seen pictures of them?"
Andrew said nothing. Stared at him, eyes hard.
"Have you ever dreamed about them, wished they were still alive?" Wesley's tone had shifted to being entirely mocking. "Wondered why no one ever told you stories about them, why you don't have any pictures?"
Allie couldn't take it anymore. "What the hell is your problem?" she asked.
"Your parents are still alive," Wesley told her.
"Bullshit," Andrew said. "You're just trying to hurt us and I can't for the life of me figure out what we've done to you."
"You were born," came the cadet's reply. "You were born, that's what. Because your mother is my mother." He laughed. "But that's not the best part. Because you see, you father isn't the same as mine. Oh, no. I wouldn't hate you for that." And he stopped.
Allie realized that he was toying with them, he was going to make them ask, make them ask for the answer he knew would hurt them. Her mind ran over everything, about the role Beverly had always had in their lives, how close they'd been to her, nearly as close as they had been to Nana, how much they both looked like her. They always figured it was genes, that they all looked like Howards. She glanced over at her brother, saw the same look in his eyes as he came to the same conclusion she had. Wesley most likely wasn't lying.
Wesley caught them looking at each other. "Go ahead, I know you want to," he said. "Ask me. Ask me who your father is."
And Allie realized, she didn't need to ask. She knew. Everything fell into place, aside from when and how, but the truth made so much sense that she couldn't fathom not having known it. It was the captain. She swore under her breath. It was why Beverly had been so tense and panicky and upset lately, why she wouldn't talk about the captain, why she kept pushing him away. Why Allie had felt so at ease with the man, that something about him was familiar, and now she knew. When she looked at him, she saw the same eyes she saw every day when she looked at her brother, at her younger sister. They had the captain's eyes.
She slid another look at her brother, saw him fighting the urge to ask, not wanting to give in to Wesley. His jaw worked and she could see who his parents were, as sure as if someone had handed her DNA evidence. The way his jaw was cut, the way he carried himself, even that damn dimple in his chin. She also knew how much he admired the captain, way before he'd ever met the man. Once Wesley told him, the older boy would be sure to crush Andrew's feelings and grind them underneath his wet boot. She saw Andrew make his decision, begin to open his mouth. "No, don't," she said. "Don't give in."
Wesley turned to her. "Figured it out, didn't you?" he asked, not waiting for an answer. "I wonder how long it will take our brother to figure it out for himself."
Allie knew that Andrew wouldn't be able to stand being the only one not knowing. Her brother asked in a voice that Allie knew sounded nearly exactly like the captain's. "Who is my father?" he asked, intensity picking up, projecting into his words.
The cadet brought his face inches from Andrew's. "Don't you know?" he said. "It's Captain Picard." And he laughed.
Andrew's face went white, his chest stopped moving, everything about him froze. The boy worked through the same thought sequence his sister had just followed, came to the same conclusion, realized that Wesley was absolutely right. And hated him for it, hated him for knowing when he didn't, for hating him for being something he couldn't help.
"How does it feel?" Wesley asked.
Andrew said nothing, though the question had been directed at him.
"I asked you how it felt, how it feels to be the bastard child of a great starship captain," Wesley asked again, a smug smile plastered on his face, making him into a grim visage of a jack-in-the-box.
Then Allie realized that her brother had been rendered speechless not from anger, but from pain. She swore under her breath again. Wesley had gotten past Andrew's defenses, ones that Andrew kept carefully crafted so that people wouldn't take advantage of how truly sensitive he was, and try to rip him apart. As Wesley was so creatively proceeding to do in front of her.
She shouted at Wesley, walked over to him, and punched that smug look right off his face.
Jean-Luc didn't turn as Beverly came down the stairs. The doctor had gone down the stairs as she had as a child, trying to sneak into the living room much too early on Christmas morning. Or as a teen, trying to sneak back upstairs after being out too late. The third step down creaked when you stepped on it in the center. Taking no chances, Beverly skipped the step altogether. The construction of the front room of the house didn't help much at all in any of her sneaking endeavors. The entire face of the stairway was exposed to the front room, the other side up against the far wall. Crusher stopped her descent and leaned up against the wall in question, taking a moment to think of exactly how she would say what she had decided to say.
The freedom the entire idea offered felt like true freedom, unlike the other kind, what had been a facade. Yes, she would have to endure anger, fear, sadness. But she experienced all of those already and what she thought of in her own head were three headed monsters of what the real reactions could be.
Or the real reactions could be six headed monsters for all she knew. She studied Jean-Luc as he relaxed in front of the fire, unopened book in his hand. He'd found the library. The firelight reflected off the crown of his head, emphasized the sculptured lines of his face. She frowned. How could she have denied this man as many times as she had? How could anyone? But she had. And now she would face each one of those denials, a confession long time in coming. The penance would be none of the old ones, from the old ways, simple and painless. No, penance would be harder than confession, forgiveness a faint light waiting at the end of the pilgrimage.
Beverly finished her journey down the stairs without subterfuge. Picard turned away from the fire and towards her. "I spoke with Will while you were upstairs. He reports that it will be at least ten hours before the repairs can be completed. Their current theory is some sort of metaphasic life form has infiltrated the system."
"Metaphasic? Sounds like another word Geordi or Data have coined to describe a phenomenon they've never encountered."
"I believe that's precisely how the word came about," he said, giving her a slight smile.
She nodded, returning the same smile, nothing remotely cheerful behind it. "Gracie is the only one upstairs," she said, knowing that Picard had assumed all of the children were up there.
Frowning, he got up from the armchair. "Where are the others? They aren't out in this storm, are they?"
"They went riding earlier. Before you arrived." She paused. "Wesley is here. Andrew and Allie, they went out with him."
"You let them go out in this?"
Anger rushed into her face at his judgmental tone. "First off, it wasn't storming when they left, only a snow shower. Second, you know as well as I do that trying to stop them from doing something they are absolutely determined to do does nothing to actually sway them."
He gave her a curious look. "No, I wouldn't know that as well as you do."
Yes, you do. Their parents, you and I, are the exact same way. For so long, The doctor had thought of the truthful answer and had to think of a cover answer that she nearly gave him another lie. Then the cover story already weaving itself in her mind fell apart, threads disintegrating, dropping those swords as they went, the clanging echoing only in her mind. She recognized the clanging as her heartbeat, picking up the pace as it readied for what was coming. "Yes, you do," she said. "Their--."
A bark came from behind her. Damn.
Conal stood up and walked to her, just under her hand, ignorant of his awful timing. Then the large gray dog paced, whining again. Beverly followed him down the hallway and into the kitchen where his nails clacked on the floor. He went to the door and barked. Looked at her, pawed at the door, barked again. As Conal had trained his humans as well as they trained him, the doctor obediently opened the door and let Conal outside so he could relieve himself. Except instead of doing that, the dog gave one last bark and raced into the forest, leaving only pawprints behind him, already being covered by the deepening snow. "The hell?" she said. Poking her head out the door, she shouted for the dog to return. The only reply was the fury of the storm, the wind driving hard flakes of snow into her eyes. A word popped into her head to describe the conditions outside. Blizzard.
Her children were out there. The doctor stayed, the door wide open, searching the white curtain of snow. The snow that made its way inside, the cold that crept past her and into the large kitchen, making her hands lose feeling. She stood there, one hand left on the door, the other bracing against the doorframe, as if her vigil could bring them back, trudging through the snow, healthy. Alive.
A strong, warm hand moved the one of hers that held the door, gently guided her away from the cold and shut the door, denying the storm entry into the house. "Taking the full brunt of the elements isn't going to bring them back," Picard said.
The doctor remained in front of the door, looking out the frosty windows, unmoving.
"They'll have found shelter," he said. "Wesley is trained for this sort of thing now. And I'm sure Andrew and Allie know their way around. They'll be fine."
She turned on him. "How can you be so positive?" How dare he, when she could lose all of them save one, the smallest one sleeping upstairs, blissfully unaware of the events unfolding around her.
He studied her. "The important thing is to think positively and not to give up hope."
Too bad he doesn't know I gave up hope a long time ago. Not a single civil word came to her mind regarding his advice. Consciously, she knew that her subconscious wanted to chase him away. It recognized the situation developing, them falling into the roles they rarely allowed themselves to be. With each other, offering support and comfort, building walls around them instead of between them. She couldn't stonewall him now. Not with what she had to tell him.
So she left him in the kitchen and went back into the front room, taking the iron poker from its stand beside the fireplace, stabbing it into the fire, watching the sparks fly with satisfaction. The doctor knew she couldn't begin to tell him unless she had both her temper and subconscious under control. The task was already a hard one, one that would hammer on them both. Her being angry and raising her voice, or throwing in barbs to drive him away, would only serve to make things worse--and it was already going to be bad enough. She resisted the urge to jab the hot poker into her stomach, as if it could eat away the cold that settled there. Her own mind and body, trying to keep her from what she had decided, everything waiting at the tip of her tongue.
And her children, at the mercy of the storm.
She dropped the poker into its stand, then dropped her body heavily on the couch behind her, curling into a corner. Staring into the fire, she remembered. It was snowing when Jack died. That damn snow could take Wesley, the last thing she had of Jack. Then it would take Andrew and Allie, the two borne out of love in the aftermath of the man's death. All of them, hypothermia lulling them into a warm sleep, and as they slept, the cold stealing that warmth, draining it from them, leaving them frozen in the forest. Distantly, she felt a quilt being draped over her. Her eyes remained unfocused. She knew who was there, trying to comfort her. Jean-Luc.
"It was snowing when Jack died," she murmured.
The hands that held the quilt hung in midair. "What?" Picard asked, voice as soft as the worn blanket in his hands.
She felt the memory drifting onto them both as the wind blew snowdrifts into hills outside. Each of them had two memories, one a memory they both held together, another each held separate. Picard recalling the final moments of Jack's life, Beverly another moment in front of this same fireplace. The moment when Beverly had confessed to Nana what had happened and her grandmother had given no absolution. Between them, through the familiar gauze of memory, the fire burned away.
His hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said.
"No," she said.
"I shouldn't have," he continued. "I should have left you alone, let you sleep. But seeing you there, it hit me that Jack wouldn't be there to take care of you, to help you when you fell, as you had done so many times for him. You were alone and it was my fault. And I went to you, and apologized, and then I should have left."
"Don't do this to yourself," she said, looking not at him, but at the fire. Don't do this to me.
"Is this what sits between us?" he asked. "That I took advantage of you?"
Beverly couldn't allow him to bear any guilt, not when it was hers alone. "Jean-Luc, I'm not a woman to be taken advantage of. If I hadn't been a willing party, I believe you would have found yourself with a black eye."
The remark didn't bring even a rueful smile to his face. The moment had gained too much intensity, had nearly gained its own life. "Then what is it? Did we betray him?"
"No." Eyes on the flames, couldn't look at him. The anger had dissipated, her subconscious had gone quiet.
His hand moved from her shoulder and up to her cheek as he shifted closer. "This person you've been over the past few days, she isn't the Beverly I know. While I realize you were close to your grandmother, I doubt that her dying would change you this much."
She said nothing. Picard turned her head towards his for her. And now she saw his eyes, saw everything behind them, his concern, his comfort, his love. Sensing what was coming, her body trembled.
"What's wrong?" he asked. "What's really wrong?"
The last barrier had been burned away and the words floated out between them, almost tangible, finding their place in the light of the fire. As she spoke, her fingers played with the quilt, her eyes remained focused on her fidgeting. "You left something behind that night, after you'd gone."
He nodded. "Yes, I know. I left you a note saying goodbye."
She shook her head. "Not the note. I didn't know until two months later that I was pregnant." The doctor managed a quick glance upward, moving only her eyes, saw his face had gone as pale as the snow.
"How..."
Eyes back down on her fingers, she explained to him that she and Jack had been planning on trying for another child, that she had stopped the birth control regimen. "I couldn't terminate," she said. "So I had them. A boy and a girl. Twins."
"Andrew and Allie," he rasped.
"They're yours. And mine." Unable to stop now, she continued, wanting everything out before he could react. "I had them, left them on Caldos with Nana. I never saw them often enough--."
"I never saw them," he whispered.
Beverly ignored it, she had to, if she was to finish. "I couldn't tell you, because I knew you already felt guilty over what had happened, and if you were to continue to be the Starfleet captain, you had to pack that guilt up in a strong box and leave it there. Telling you about Andrew and Allie would break open that box and I was sure there would never be one strong enough after that." She took a breath. "Nana and I managed to create records to make it look like the twins were Nana's grandchildren, not her great-grandchildren. Everything was settled...until I came aboard the Enterprise. When Tasha died."
"Gracie," he said.
"Yes. But by then, it had been so long since the twins were born, I knew I couldn't tell you about her, because then I would have to tell you what happened that night. And the time in between, it was too long, and you would've been hurt all over again. So Nana took in another child." Her own voice dropped to a whisper. "I pretended nothing had happened. When Nana died, I became their guardian, as I should have been in the first place. Then I realized, I couldn't bring them on the Enterprise, I couldn't bring them anywhere near Starfleet again, because someone would figure it out. Deanna already has. So I resigned."
It was done. Beverly looked up at him, now wanting to see how he had taken it, but his gray eyes were vacant. After a few moments, he got up and moved to an armchair, vacant eyes on the fire. Beside her, where he'd been sitting, was a cold mass of air. Unable to stay in the same room, she left him as she'd found him when she'd come down the stairs. Keeping the quilt around her, she went into the kitchen, angry at herself, angry at him for not reacting. Shouting would have been better, yelling, cursing, even his intense anger, the most frightening of his moods. Anything except the cold ignorance he gave her. She shut her eyes, but the image of his vacant look stayed before her. Of all the reactions, this was the one she hadn't imaged. That he wouldn't love her, that he wouldn't hate her, but he would ignore her. At least with hate, there was still an attachment, an acknowledgment of her existence. To him right now, she was nothing.
It made her feel very small.
"What's wrong?" A child's voice.
Beverly looked up, out of the quilt. At Gracie's gray eyes, showing the concern and love she'd seen in Jean-Luc's eyes, minutes now having become an eternity ago. The doctor bit her lip. The little girl crawled into her lap, put her arms around her. "It's okay," she said. "You can cry." Beverly wrapped the quilt around the two of them and let the tears fall.