Author's Note: I'm trying for a chapter a day, I swear! It's gotten more complicated than I thought it would, so it'll take longer to resolve (meaning more story, but longer for the Actual End). I mean, I could rush it, but then there'd be pitchforks and a mob. Although, a mob could be fun...

Snow Falling Softly XI

Captain Jean-Luc Picard stared at the fire, more stunned than if Beverly Crusher had told him she was really a figment of his imagination and that for the past fifteen years, he had been locked away in a Starfleet mental health facility. The anger that had overwhelmed him merely minutes before had been shunted away by a profound sense of loss. Perhaps his assessment wasn't far off at all, that the Beverly he'd known for the past seventeen years was a hologram, a fake. At the same time, he knew it was untrue. The captain had had too many arguments with Beverly over the needs of people and their well-being to believe that she had hidden the children out of spite. But even without a malicious intent, it hurt not a whit less. He went back over the events of the previous day, meeting each of the children, trying figure out how he hadn't realized what stood right before him.

Certainly, he had noticed the resemblance between Beverly and the three children. But he'd shrugged it off as a familial resemblance, supposing that Howard genes ran strong, completely disregarding that Wesley looked much like his father despite his mother being a Howard. Picard's fingers traced the edges of the book in his hands, seeking some touch with reality. How could he not have seen it? The day before, when little Gracie had boldly stuck her hand out to shake his. He'd noticed the red hair, the lines of her face, but how had he failed to take note of her eyes? So very similar to the eyes that greeted him every morning when he shaved. Instead, he'd reflected on the girl's similiarities to Beverly, imagining that Beverly must've been much the same as a small child. The impertinence, the intelligence, that ability to say whatever she wanted to say and damn the consequences because it needed to be said. Such a pleasure to be around. There had been that moment that afternoon, telling the girl about snowflakes, when he imagined he could be telling a daughter of his own the same thing. And when she had asked him about Beverly, he wished in that moment, that the girl would be their child, one that could only exist if they'd had the courage to be together.

Wishes had very interesting ways of granting themselves. Not just one child, but three. It was so obvious now, he couldn't even comprehend not knowing. Andrew, the same eyes as his sister. The same color and shape, the lines of the boy's face, down to the dimple in his chin that Picard's mother teased him about when he was a boy. Andrew's voice, the baritone.Yet he'd taken note of Beverly in the boy. The reddish hair, the long legs, fair skin. All that he could deny, but nothing could deny what he saw in the boy's eyes when he looked at the stars. After all, he knew that he still got the same look in his, even after all his years in Starfleet.

And Allie. The hair had taken him by surprise, with the other two being so fair. Her skin so much like Beverly's, the eyes strikingly blue. But the shape of her face reminded him of his mother, her views on staying close to the land like his father and brother. Then like he'd done with her brother and sister, he'd seen only Beverly. The beauty, the impish nature, completely unknowing she would get young men tied up in knots over her. He knew she must give those boys hell. I don't envy her father, he thought. It hit him. I'm her father. He was her father, and he hadn't gotten to intimidate a single one of those suitors.

Because of Beverly, he'd missed out on sixteen years of the twins' lives. Their first words, first steps, first day of school. He hadn't been the one to introduce them to fencing or riding, though his children apparently found themselves naturally drawn to those sports. Not helped them deal with bullies, tell them happy birthday, tell them stories, watch them grow taller each year. Even those moments they'd told him last night, Andrew capsizing the sailboat on his sister, Allie pushing the boy out and giving him a concussion, he hadn't had the chance to scold them while trying to keep a straight face. They had never met their uncle, their aunt, their cousin Rene. Didn't even carry his family name.

The captain told himself he couldn't place the blame entirely on Beverly. If he had stayed that first night, after Jack died. Stayed and talked to her, instead of running away from his ship and staying away from her for the next ten years, he could have been a part of their lives. He realized that she, too, had missed all those moments. She had Wesley, though. She had seen all of those things with her son and Picard had missed them all with his own. Anger pulsed through him again, then faded as quickly as it appeared, sadness settling into the ashes.

"Didn't you ever wish that you had kids of your own?" Wesley had asked him that on a shuttlecraft, years ago, on the way to Starbase 315.

"Wishing for a thing does not make it so." Apparently, he'd been wrong. It did, and yet it didn't. In his wishes, it had been a traditional path towards children. Marrying, considering, planning, then having children. In all those wishes, the woman he married had been Beverly, the children had been their children. Now there were children, but Beverly remained across a chasm he wasn't sure he could ever cross. Hours ago, he had been willing to risk his career, his life, not to lose her. All that had changed. The revelation she'd given him had pierced so deeply, found the gap in his armor so easily, he wasn't sure if he could allow himself to be vulnerable to her again.

In front of him, the fire sputtered. As he had lost himself in thought, the fire had dwindled, leaving only a small flame on the end of a log and the hot embers below. The captain glanced around the living room, found the poker resting in a stand beside the fireplace. Standing, he pushed the embers and ashes to expose the hottest ones, then added a few logs, watching the fire until it became strong again. Then he stayed there, remembering that night, when he had tucked the then five year old Wesley into bed, and knowing that was the first time he'd ever wished to be a father. Before, fatherhood had never crossed his mind in any positive manner. That night, for just that moment, it jumped to the forefront of his mind, to be buried until his experience of being Kamin.

Anger reached through his hands, into his fingers, squeezed the iron poker as if he could bend it to his will. He had tucked children he had never truly had into bed while he was Kamin. He had even tucked the son of his dead best friend into bed. But he had never done so for his own children. Now it was too late for two of them, they'd never stand for it. One of them, though, she was still small enough. And if he accepted his role, could put aside any anger involved with the children, he could be a part of their lives from then on.

Picard's gaze travelled to the window, assessing the storm raging outside. The first thing he would do would be to bring them home.

Assured of his decision, he walked down the hall, into the kitchen. At first, Beverly didn't hear him come in as she cut up various vegetables on the counter. Vegetable soup. "My grandmother used to make it, with beans and peas and carrots..." Picard forced the memory out of his mind, focused on the present, the Beverly in front of him. He saw the droop in her shoulders, the look of defeat. The skin around her eyes bore the puffy red evidence of crying. Guilt clouded over him. He had been the cause of her crying, he was the cause of her defeat. Yet he couldn't bring himself to reach out to her, tell her he loved her, it would work out. He wasn't certain that it would, not with the hot pit of anger writhing inside him, still stronger than any other emotion he had. Gracie was over at the pantry, calling out names of spices and asking if they were the right ones. It was she who noticed the captain in the doorway.

"Are you going to help?" she asked him.

At the question, Beverly stopped cutting the carrot and turned to face him, her face neutral.

The look in her eyes whittled away some of the anger, sadness growing to fill its place. "Not with this," he said.

"Then how are you planning to help?" the doctor asked, putting down the chef's knife.

In the back of his mind, Picard thanked whatever deities there were that she had done so. "I'm going to go find them."

Her hands went to her hips. "Absolutely not." Then she quickly told Gracie to go watch the fire in the living room since no one was in there. The little girl left the room quickly, as if she knew the argument was coming.

"This isn't up for discussion," he said, finding his boots in the corner. His saddle was in the barn, as was the last lonely horse.

"I think it is," Beverly said. "Because if you go after them, there will be four people stuck out in that storm instead of three, not three people being rescued. You yourself said that they wouldn't need rescuing."

He jammed his foot into the boot. "I have to do this."

"Jean-Luc."

His boots on, his coat and everything else he needed within reach, he brought himself to look up at her. "Beverly." Everything even, neutral. Keeping the tone.

She broke it. "Please," she said and he heard her breaking.

The captain closed his eyes. "I have to do this." When he opened them, the doctor hadn't moved.

"I realize that I might have lost you as my friend and I accept that," she said, her voice shaking. "But what I cannot accept is the storm taking every person I love from me by taking their lives."

He couldn't deal with this right now. Except emotions never picked the best times to be dealt with. More often, the worst times became the worst times because emotions decided to come out and play. Picard's emotions decided to betray him. "What are you saying?" he asked. In his stomach, he felt the wrestling match, as his reason and sadness were trying to subjugate the anger. But none of those emotions where what made him ask the question.

The doctor spoke slowly in an attempt to keep her voice from shaking. "What I'm saying is that three of my children are trapped out in that storm and they could very well die. If you go out after them, you could die as easily as they might, and I would lose everyone I love, except for my youngest child."

An echo in his head. Why didn't you ever tell me you were in love with me? Stupidly, he realized that nothing could defeat the anger aside from love, but he couldn't bring himself to risk it, because the anger could keep him safe. To love was to be vulnerable. It seemed his subconscious was having a field day of sorts, because he asked the question aloud, the same question she had asked him on Kesprytt. "Why didn't you ever tell me your were in love with me?"

The answer was swift. "Because I thought you'd hate me."

Of everything he'd felt in the past hours, hate wasn't one of them. Hate wasn't an emotion he could fathom associating with Beverly, no matter how angry he was. "I could never hate you," he said.

"And them."

A solid weight dropped onto his shoulders, holding him to the chair. "You thought I would hate them? What would make you think that?" That she could even think he'd hate his own children made adding loathing to the mix inside him.

"I don't know, exactly. I was afraid. Afraid that out of guilt or anger or both, you would hate me, and them by proxy, because I never told you. Because I kept running away from you. After we were on Kesprytt, I wanted to tell you. But by then, it was too late, I was in too deep. Telling you would mean telling you everything and I didn't dare."

"Because you thought I would hate you." It wasn't a question. "That I would hate them."

"In part. Also because I knew children were never a part of your life plan. I couldn't risk it."

"They weren't," he said, glancing outside.

She said nothing.

He looked back to her. "Then seventeen years ago, I tucked your son into bed. For the first time in my life, I considered children of my own." Beverly's face revealed nothing as he continued. "I know I haven't told you much about my time as Kamin. But he had two children. As Kamin, I told the mother of those children that I'd always thought I didn't need them to make my life complete. But after they were born, I couldn't imagine life without them." Picard watched her closely as he walked over to stand in front of her. "Since then, there's been an empty part of my life, because I knew what I was missing." He willed himself not to touch her. "And when I dreamed of the path I hadn't taken, it was you whom I had married, and you who was the mother of my children."

She closed her eyes, hugged her arms around herself.

"Any of that, I don't know anymore." He reached for her shoulder, making her open her eyes. "But what I do know is that Wesley is out there, that my son and daughter are out there, and that the three of them are innocent of anything that happens between us. And I have to go find them and bring them home."

He saw her twitch, resisting the urge to hug him, the same urge he felt to wrap her up in his arms, and tell her it would be okay. He couldn't. He couldn't allow himself to do that until he knew that the woman before him wasn't a stranger. That the woman in front of him wouldn't hurt him.

Beverly nodded, waved a hand as if saying goodbye, and left the kitchen. With a last look down the hallway, Picard shrugged on his coat, found hat and gloves, and headed for the stables. The blowing snow obscured the house from his view by the time he was halfway across the yard.

As Allie drew back for another jab at the cadet on the ground below her, she felt someone grab the back of her jacket and pull her away. She knew the feel of her brother's pull, he'd broken up many a fight between her and an obnoxious boy when they were kids. Andrew's intervention brought her back to her senses. Now wasn't the time to beat the hell out of Wesley for being an ass. She could do that in the comfort of her own home, once they got there. Or she could even try to be diplomatic and figure out what the hell was wrong with the guy, because it was completely unlike him to act as he had. "Thanks," she said to her brother.

He nodded. "No problem." Then he tackled the cadet slowly rising from the ground.

"Hey!" Allie shouted. She'd be damned if her brother got in on the fight after dragging her away from it. "What the hell?"

The two boys wrestled on the ground, each one seeking the upper hand. Allie saw that the two of them were fairly well matched. Andrew was taller and more muscled, but Wesley had better training. As they rolled around, Allie searched the cave for something to help her separate them and came up empty handed. A dark form bolted into the cave from the wall of blinding snow. Allie gave a yelp of surprise, then froze. Relief warmed her when she heard the bark, knowing it was Conal. The large dog, matted with snow, bounded over to where the boys fought and barked more insistently. The dog snapped and growled and pawed, finally getting the two to separate.

Andrew and Wesley sat on the floor of the cave, glaring at each other, breathing hard, faces red from exertion. When either of them even leaned slightly towards the other, Conal growled at them, letting them know that he wouldn't allow any more fighting.

"We should conserve our energy," Wesley said. "There's no telling how long we could be stuck here."

"Good idea," Allie said without a trace of sarcasm. Wesley gave her an odd look, but said nothing. She pointed to his blackening eye. "That, by the way, felt good."

He glared.

"And if you decide you'd like to talk about this whole situation like a civilized person, it might even be worth it," she said.

"I don't know if he's capable of being a civilized person anymore," Andrew said.

The cadet turned his glare on Andrew.

"Shut up, Andrew," Allie said, causing her brother to glare at her. She sighed. A glare party. She turned back to Wesley, sliding down to sit on the ground across from both of the boys. "Can you at least tell me how you figured this out?"

"So you believe me?" Wesley asked.

"Yes."

The cadet looked at Andrew. "What about you?"

"Leave me alone," replied Andrew.

"Do you believe me?"

"I said, leave me alone," Andrew repeated.

Wesley walked over and stood over him. "I asked you a question," he said, ignoring Conal's warning growl.

"And I gave you an answer," Andrew said, not looking up at him.

"I didn't like that answer, so I'd like another one," Wesley's voice took on an unnatural menace.

Andrew finally looked at him. "Let me show you what you can do with your other answer," he said, exploded off the floor and slammed Wesley up against the wall of the cave. The cadet managed to drop the taller boy to the floor, Andrew scraping his cheek against a rock on the way down. Wesley's flashlight clattered onto the ground.

"Knock this shit off!" Allie yelled at them, nearly drowned out by Conal's barking. "You can fight for alpha male once we're back home!"

Conal got them apart. Each of them sat on opposites sides of the cave, wiping blood from their faces.

"It's not my home," Wesley said.

Allie rolled her eyes. "You know what I meant."

Wesley studied the mouth of the cave from his spot on the ground. The storm showed no sign of abating. He sighed. "I wanted to know what would happen to you guys, since Nana died. To see if you'd end up staying with my mom, if there was really no other family."

Allie had the question ready, but it was Andrew who asked first, his voice soft. "What did you find?"

If Wesley had been surprised by Andrew asking the question, he gave no sign of it. "I looked for this supposed twin of our grandfather. Only he didn't exist, except for in false records on Caldos. Everything got so confusing. I mean, none of what I was digging up made any sense. So I traced all the birth records on Caldos, found yours. Found sealed documents that were your real birth records. And there it was, simple as that."

Allie thought she saw hurt in Wesley's eyes, the hurt that must be what the anger was covering for. "And?"

Wesley dropped his head between his knees. "You were conceived the night before my father was buried."

There wasn't a thing Allie could think of to reply to that statement. The storm gave its howl, the snow hissing across the rocks outside. Andrew stayed put, laying on his back and staring up at the cave's ceiling.

"Anyway. Mom left me with my grandparents, came here to Caldos, had you guys, then left."

"Went back to you," Andrew said. "Always back to you. We only got to see her once a year, twice if we were lucky. You saw her every day, she got to watch you grow up."

"It's not like we could've been a family," Wesley said.

"Why not?" Allie asked. "Why the hell not?"

The cadet raised his head, looked at her. "Do you really think that Mom will bring you on the ship? Besides, she already resigned. She resigned so she could stay with you and keep you away from Captain Picard."

Allie frowned. "So she did resign."

"You knew about it?" Wesley asked.

She nodded. "I talked to her about it, last night. I told her that we could come aboard ship with her, there wasn't any point in her resigning. That it..." she trailed off.

"It wasn't what?"

Allie looked at Wes. "I told her it wasn't fair. That she shouldn't have to give up her life for us, her career, because it wasn't like she asked to have to take care of us."

"She should have in the first place," Andrew muttered.

Allie ignored him.

Wesley didn't. "She shouldn't have had you in the first place."

Allie couldn't ignore that. Turning to Wesley, she said very slowly, enunciating each word, "Stop being an ass."

"I'm not," he said, looking at her.

She lifted her eyebrow at him.

The cadet stared.

"What?" she asked. Her cousin--brother--had never looked at her like that before.

"Mom does that," he said.

"Does what?"

He pointed to his eyebrow. "That thing you did, with your eyebrow. I said something that was blatantly untrue, and you didn't say a word, just raised your damn eyebrow. Mom does that. All the time. Bugs the hell out of me."

"That's probably why she does it," Allie told him.

He gave her a slight smile, the first hint of humor he'd shown since he'd arrived at the colony.

Allie decided that her two brothers were taking enough of a hard line with everything that she could afford to think things through. She didn't think that if she had been given the same situation, if she would've done anything differently. Beverly had taken a great deal of care in making sure they were provided for, that they kept in touch, that she and Wesley were important parts of their lives. And the past few days, she'd been a huge help in adjusting to Nana's death. There were so many good things that Beverly had done, Allie had a hard time throwing away their entire relationship because of one bad thing. And Allie wasn't even sure it was entirely bad. "Is Captain Picard really a bad guy?" Allie asked Wesley. "We visited the ship last night, he had dinner with us. He seemed a decent fellow."

"He is," Wesley said, then nothing more.

"You didn't tell us about Gracie," Andrew said, changing the subject.

Wesley shrugged. "It happened the first year we were on the Enterprise. I don't know when. Mom transferred to head up Starfleet Medical. All I could find is Gracie's birth certificate. She was born on Delos IV, but her father is the same as yours."

Andrew sat up suddenly. "Delos IV?"

"Yeah," Wesley said.

"That's where I had the operation on my ears," he said. "Dr. Quaice did the operation." The boy stood up suddenly, started pacing, kicking rocks. "It hurt so much. Someone would whisper and I'd feel like screaming, but if I screamed, I'd feel like I was being split from the inside." He picked up a rock and hurled it into the deeper black depths of the cave. "And she wasn't there for that."

"She was back on the Enterprise," Wesley said.

Andrew turned. "Exactly. Back on the Enterprise. Back with you."

"Where she belonged," said the cadet.

Andrew took a step towards him, eyes narrowing. Then he turned around, snatched up the fallen flashlight, and stalked into the cave. Conal started to follow, but Andrew stopped him with a command of "stay." The dog stayed.

"Are you going to go after him?" Wesley asked.

"He'll come back when he's good and ready," Allie replied.

Wesley put his head between his knees again. "Good for him."

"What's she like?"

"Who?" Wesley asked.

"Mom." Allie hid a smile when Wesley looked at her sharply.

"You already know her," he said.

Allie wished that were true. She only knew the doctor as her cousin, not as her mother. The operation on Delos IV that Andrew had remembered, Allie remembered it too. Recalled how worried Beverly had been, how gentle she was with both of them, but at the same time, teased Allie with her wit. Maybe she did know her. Maybe this whole act of secrecy to keep her and her brother and sister a secret was the only thing they hadn't known about her, that everything else was genuine, as if to make up for the secret. Once you knew her, you knew her.

Conal let out a loud bark and raced for the mouth of the cave. Allie squinted as she looked towards where the dog had gone. "Is it just me or is the storm dying down?"

"It's just you," Wesley said, standing up next to her.

"You could be a bit more positive," she said.

"I failed that course at the Academy," he replied.

She glared at him.

Conal barked again and padded back inside. The horses stirred. "I think I heard someone," Allie said.

"I think you're being too positive," said the cadet, who still followed her as she walked towards the mouth of the cave.

A shadow fell across the opening. Then Allie saw him, it was the captain. "I heard there might be some young people here who need some help," he said.

"Oh, them," Allie said, before she even realized the remark existed in her mind. "They're in the next cave over." She spoke like that whenever she felt safe, saying whatever came to mind. When she'd heard the captain's voice, she'd felt that way, knew they'd be okay.

Picard smiled as he strode into the cave. That smile--like her brother's. How had she not noticed it before? Then he frowned and asked, "Where's Andrew?"

Allie swore.

"He went somewhere back into the cave," Wesley said.

As if they had already agreed to it, neither of them mentioned knowing the truth about the captain and Beverly.

"I'm right here," Andrew said, stepping out of the last shadow. "I started walking back when I heard Conal."

Allie realized that Andrew hadn't been in on their unmentioned agreement not to mention anything. His face gave it away, the way he studied Picard, kept a certain distance between them. The day before, he hadn't kept that distance, hadn't been giving Picard that look. Allie knew how Andrew felt, it was like meeting a new man. Yesterday, he'd been Captain Picard, friend of their cousin. Today he was Jean-Luc Picard, their father.

Picard's look changed as well, his eyes meeting Andrew's, studying him in the same manner. Then he nodded. "You know," the captain said.

The horses stamped behind them. "Yes," Andrew replied. "We should go home." Nothing else was said as they gathered themselves, mounted the horses, and trotted out of the cave and back into the storm.