Re-Encounter

I take a deep breath and look about my new sickbay. A feeling of deep satisfaction courses through me: this is what cutting-edge medical technology is all about! And, unlike at Medical, it will be used for living, breathing patients as well as research. I find myself smiling as I walk towards the viewscreen that fills one wall. I may as well test the stuff. This is as good a time as any to check the medical records of my most important patient: Jean-Luc Picard.

"Computer, show me the results of Captain Picard's most recent physical examination."

As the information begins to flash up on the screen, I am surprised by the feeling of discomfort that creeps up on me- almost as if I'm invading the privacy of the man I once called friend. Logic assures me of the absurdity of this discomfort; I am the Enterprise's Chief Medical Officer, and concerned with the welfare of the Captain above all. If he is not healthy, then all one thousand and fourteen men, women and children aboard this ship are in danger. I am simply doing my job.

I am so deep in the records that the unexpected voice makes me jump violently.

"Already at work, Doctor?"

I know the speaker before I turn. I could never forget, or mistake, that voice. I take a deep breath before looking at him for the first time in nearly ten years. Our eyes meet for a split second, and I know I need to break the silence that has fallen.

Deliberately, I keep my tone light. "Yes, I'm working on a subject that's very important to this mission, Captain."

As I instruct the computer to close the records, I am mildly amused by the expression on his face. He shifts uncomfortably in front of me, and a pang of pity goes through me. How long has it been, I wonder, since anyone dared to speak so informally to him? Amusement is followed by trepidation; have I presumed? I wait nervously for him to say something more.

Finally, he nods- a brief nod. "Welcome aboard, Doctor."

That's the second time he's used only my title, I think wistfully, remembering the man who, alone of all my friends, respected my desire to be known as 'Beverly' rather than the shorter 'Bev'. It's as if he doesn't want to be reminded of our prior acquaintance. He hasn't even said 'Dr Crusher'- just an impersonal 'Doctor.' Maybe he wants to forget who I am.

My fears return as I raise my eyes to his again. We exchange a long look. He looks older- he's lost even the little hair he had a decade ago. I'm actually glad to see that he hasn't followed the vain practise of many bald men, who try to grow what hair they have on back-and-sides and then brush it over the bald spot. He's gone bald with dignity, I tell myself flippantly- if only to settle the butterflies in my stomach.

What does he think of me, I wonder. Forty is not old, not these days, but the damned hairdresser messed up the hair dye. Instead of returning my hair to the glowing copper of my youth, it's now a red so dark it's virtually brunette. I hated the colour when I dyed it at age thirteen, and I hate it now. I wish I'd kept it at my now-natural red-gold. The darker shade bleaches my fair skin and adds years to my age. I wonder why I care.

He shifts again, and I realise I haven't replied to his welcome. Stiffly, I say, "Thank you, Captain."

There's another awkward pause, and then he says, "I thought I should talk to you personally about your assignment here." I can tell that he's trying to relax, be less formal, but it isn't working.

I nod at him, and he continues. "I want you to know that I protested against your being assigned to the Enterprise."

The confession leaves me mentally reeling and surprisingly hurt. I tell myself I'm being ridiculous. If the thought of serving with him worries me, it's only natural that the same should be true in reverse. Then again, maybe he wanted another doctor, and I welcome the thought. I'm more than confident in my professional abilities.

"You think me unqualified?" I ask, raising one eyebrow.

Picard looks acutely uncomfortable. In fact, with anyone else, I'd say he was blushing. He replies almost too quickly. "Hardly. Your service record shows you're just the CMO I want."

Professional fortification gone, I avert my gaze. "Then you must object to me personally." I'm relieved that my voice is even, no trace of hurt evident.

The hazel eyes I'd almost forgotten soften infinitesimally. "I'm trying to be considerate of your feelings, Dr Crusher," he says. How like him, I think. "For you to serve with a commanding officer who would continually remind you of such a personal tragedy-"

His words hit a little too close to home, too close to my own worries and reservations. "If I had any objections to serving with you, I wouldn't have requested this assignment," I snap.

His eyes flicker. "You requested this posting?" He stares at me for a moment, and then turns.

I can't believe that he's going to leave it at that. But then, I hadn't exactly made an effort either, I think. I force myself to speak to him again.

"Captain."

He pauses and turns to look at me again. His face is unreadable.

I swallow and continue, praying that voice holds steady. I do not want to break down in front of this man. "My feelings about my husband's death will have no effect on the way I serve you, this vessel, or this mission."

Another flicker in his eyes tells me that he heard, and understood, the slight emphasis I placed on the word 'you.' He nods, and then hesitantly extends his hand.

"In that case, welcome aboard, Doctor. I'm pleased to have you here." The genuine- if tentative- warmth in the last words makes me tremble inside. For the second time in several minutes, I fear the loss of my composure. I allow only the briefest, most perfunctory of handshakes.

Our eyes meet again, and suddenly I want to be alone. I make myself smile. "Thank you," I say. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to return to my duties."

He opens his mouth as if to say more, and closes it again, realising that the conversation has come to a close. He nods again- a curt, restrained but awkward movement that tells me there is more he would like to say- but won't. Once again, he turns and moves towards the doors to sickbay. Just before he can trip the sensors to open them, he looks back at me.

"Welcome aboard," he says again.

I say nothing and watch him as he goes.

Will we ever be comfortable with each other again?