The Delta-class shuttle Valencia banked slightly on final approach before setting down smoothly in the misty clearing behind the Troi-Riker homestead on Nepenthe. At the helm, Beverly Crusher shut down the nav controls, retrieved her bags, and stepped outside into a cool, overcast morning that felt—utterly refreshing, actually.

She made it halfway to the house before the welcome committee met her, and she dropped her bags as Will Riker wrapped her in a bear hug. "Hey there," he greeted her.

A tremendous sense of relief filled her, but she had to tease him first. "It hasn't even been two weeks, Will. Did you miss me that much?"

"Of course." Riker grinned. "You know, I didn't realize before, but I should have you join all my planetary defense armadas."

Beverly laughed. "You only say that because you want me to stay behind and do the real work after you go off on escort duty." Her attention was pulled to one side. "Kestra, how did you grow so much? As tall as your mom now?"

Kestra nodded, happy but clearly embarrassed as Beverly hugged her and ruffled her already-tousled hair. "Almost," she said, straightening up for confirmation.

"Either that or I'm shrinking." Deanna chuckled and embraced her friend warmly. "My turn. Oh, it's so good to see you again."

"Thanks. I'm glad to be here."

Smiling, Deanna pulled back and studied her, wondering at the true toll of the events of the past weeks. What she said was true, and yet—even after a presumably quiet trip here, Beverly looked weary, and Deanna could feel her hidden emotional strain. It was counterintuitive—Deanna knew the doctor wouldn't have to think twice about saving the life of a sworn enemy, yet in some ways that would probably be easier than what she'd just done for the man who used to be her closest friend. Instead of contentedness, the emotion Deanna sensed most strongly was grief. Though, knowing Beverly, she would never admit to it—if she could even identify it herself.

Beverly shook her head at the sudden shadow crossing Deanna's face. "I'm good," she assured her, squeezing her hands. "Really." The mist began to fall more heavily as drops of rain, and she glanced up and brushed the water from her forehead.

Deanna let go of her momentary disquiet and smiled again, as Will grabbed Beverly's small cases and gestured them all towards the house. "Wonderful. Come on inside and let's get you settled."

#-#-#-#

The holocall request came in via subspace and, unlike most days, Riker realized he might not actually be free to take it. He tapped the wall panel to check. "Kestra?"

The holoroom door slid open in front of him and his grinning daughter emerged. "Hi, Dad."

Riker pointed a questioning finger at the door. "The room's open?"

"Yes, we're all finished for now," Beverly answered for her, shrugging out of a blue lab coat as she followed Kestra out and tapped to end the prior program.

"It was so great—"

"Tell your dad later," Beverly instructed, shooing Kestra along and exchanging a smile with Riker. "Right. I'll just be out in the garden with Deanna." She waved cheerfully as she slipped by him in the hallway, leaving Riker to check the room settings.

Though their home was rustic in its fixtures and styling, it was far from unsophisticated, with state-of-the-art shielding, modest defensive capabilities, fully-integrated computer technology throughout—and, added on at one corner of the floorplan, a personal holoroom. Not as advanced as those on a starship, of course, it nevertheless allowed for holocalls and other, more satisfyingly immersive experiences. During Beverly's visits, it was frequently programmed to recreate science labs for cell biology lessons and even holographic dissections with her eager niece. Beverly had originally worried the latter weren't necessarily suitable activities, but to his and Deanna's amusement, Kestra couldn't get enough of them. And Beverly enjoyed teaching just as much, the more so because her own son had always been less interested in medical science than engineering. No actual beings, living or dead, were harmed in the process, so he and Deanna were happy enough to allow it. Today's subject, he'd been told, had been Klingon anatomy, as Beverly had planned to go over the eight-chambered heart and unusual lungs.

As the door slid shut behind him now, though, the black-and-yellow grid faded to be replaced not by a lab, but by an elegant, stone-walled great room full of framed art and sundry antique decor. Riker took a few steps forward, looking around to see sheer curtains fluttering in a breeze from open French doors, with rows of grapevines visible beyond. Jean-Luc Picard—or rather his hologram, as Riker conversely appeared to Picard on the latter's ship—stood behind a polished glass-topped desk, pouring a drink from the service at his credenza. "Hello, Will," Picard greeted him warmly, turning and gesturing him to sit.

"Jean-Luc." With a smile, Riker settled across from him. "This is your study?"

"Yes, it turns out when an old man hires a ship for a dangerous, reckless mission, the onboard amenities thoughtfully include re-creation of the comforts of home." Picard shrugged and took a sip of his bourbon. "I admit it helped. La Sirena has rather—spare furnishings aside from these."

"Very nice. So you're on your way back to Earth?"

"Yes, although I was hoping I might be able to stop by again to see you all—under less fraught circumstances than my last visit."

"Of course. The Tal Shiar aren't welcome here. You always are." Riker's eyes crinkled as he sat back comfortably in his chair. They hadn't had a chance to speak since the confrontation at Ghulion IV. "It's good to see you looking so well, my friend."

Picard lifted his glass in appreciation. "I understand you had a hand in that."

"A very small one." Riker dipped his chin.

"Well, I thank you. Sincerely. I confess that I didn't expect to see you again after having said goodbye at Coppelius."

But you never would have said so, would you? Oh, my friend. Riker's smile turned a bit regretful as he thought back on the past weeks, on all that had led them to this point. He was happy, indeed, they were here—but that meant certain things could now be said that perhaps couldn't have been before. "Lucky for you, I think none of your old friends were willing to let you go quite yet. We care about you too much." He hesitated, then leaned forward. "Even Beverly. You know, you should have told all of us how serious it was...but especially her."

Picard smiled ruefully and dropped his gaze to the glass in his hand. Trust Will to cut straight to the quick. "It isn't the kind of news one immediately desires to transmit around the quadrant," he said at last. "To be honest, when Moritz told me, I didn't want to believe it. And at the time, I didn't think..."

"No, you didn't." Riker tilted his head with some compassion. He had delivered some tough truths the last time they'd visited. He decided now that he wasn't quite through. "I understand it was upsetting. But what if you hadn't ended up here from the Artifact? Jean-Luc, we wanted to help. And Beverly, too—I don't care how long it's been, when she heard you were in trouble, she didn't hesitate. She was willing to join the fleet, of course. But she came for you. Frankly, I'm not sure I would have done the same in her shoes."

Picard raised his eyebrows. He'd gotten rather used to being rebuked of late, and knew he deserved some fair share of it. It still upset him to hear the vehemence of this sentiment from Will. Pressing his lips together, he held his peace.

"You inspire a tremendous amount of loyalty, Jean-Luc. You know Deanna and I are here for you. But you also hurt someone who is family to us, and—"

"Yes." Picard finally looked up, a sudden sharpness to his gaze and tone that took the other aback. "Yes, for God's sake, I realize that, Will, and I regret it. It's why I'd like to come now."

Surprised and somewhat chastened, Riker swallowed the remainder of his words, raising a hand in apology. "I'm sorry. It isn't fair for me to assume you haven't thought about all of this yourself."

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "No, it's all right. It isn't pleasant to reflect on one's own shortcomings, still less to hear about them from friends," he admitted. "But you may rest assured that I have."

"Understood." Riker sat back, considering. "Does Beverly know you want to talk to her?"

"Yes. We, ah—only spoke the once, after the procedure, and not again before she left Coppelius." He was silent for a moment, a muscle working in his jaw. "Perhaps she thought it was only out of obligation on my part, after what happened, that I would reach out. But that isn't why. When I heard she was with you and Deanna, I...well, I'd like to try again."

Riker shook his head, sympathetic now as certain pieces started falling into place. Even without Deanna's empathy, he could tell Beverly hadn't been as happy as she outwardly seemed since her arrival; she was unusually reticent, and it was as if she'd put up personal deflector shields around anything relating to Jean-Luc. To be sure, it wasn't as though she, or he for that matter, had ever been particularly forthcoming about the other; they had always been intensely private. But that it made it all the more unsettling to see the distress they were both in now.

Much as he wanted to help, though, he felt the same instinctive protectiveness he always had when it came to Beverly. "Jean-Luc, it's not my place to answer for her. As I said, you're always welcome here, but I won't go against her wishes."

"Nor would I ask you to." Picard took a breath, looked steadily at the younger man. "But Will, I am asking, as a friend, if you would—intercede, at least to make the request."

The earnest entreaty gave him pause and Riker looked away, staring out at the vineyards and thinking again about the painful divide between his friends, the old photograph on the dresser. After a moment he turned back to meet Picard's gaze. "All right," he said finally. "I'll ask."

#-#-#-#

"You know," mused Deanna Troi thoughtfully, "I could probably count on one hand the number of times I had pizza in my entire life before we moved here." She settled back in her chair and took a sip of wine, the light from the short pillar candles at the center of the table glinting off her glass.

Across the corner of the long wooden dining table, her daughter carefully lifted another slice high over the serving plate until the thin strands of mozzarella finally broke. "I know, we never really used to have it on the Titan. Now we have it every week."

"Hmm. What do you think, Kestra—too much?" The counselor pretended to consider.

Will shot an amused look at Beverly, who was clearly stifling a laugh at his expense. "Hey, you get a house with a wood fire pizza oven, you use the pizza oven," he protested. "I don't recall any complaints before now, ladies."

"Well, I think it's good. And my first officer would love it," Beverly offered. Tonight's vegetable toppings had been taken directly from the garden outside, and were impressively flavorful compared to her usual replicated fare. "Next time we're all in the system I'll have her visit, maybe you'll find a more appreciative audience."

"Unless Dad burns the tomatoes," Kestra told her confidentially.

Now she did laugh. "Oh no, does that happen often?"

"When Soji was here. We managed to save most of it, though."

"Oh, good." The doctor's smile faded as she saw an odd expression cross Will's face. "What is it, Will?"

I guess this is as good a segue as any. Riker took a breath, exchanging a quick look with Deanna, who nodded fractionally. "Ah—speaking of, Jean-Luc called this afternoon. He's heading back to Earth and asked if he could come here for a short visit on the way."

"Wait, Captain Picard is coming back again? With Soji?" Kestra asked eagerly.

"Admiral," he corrected. "And no, Soji decided to stay on Ghulion IV for now and continue her work with the xBs until a long-term plan is developed. But I'm sure she'll be happy to see you again another time."

"So when's he coming?"

Now Riker hesitated a moment, glancing from his daughter back to Beverly, whose face had fallen into a mask of perfect neutrality. "It would be tomorrow."

"Of course, we wouldn't say it's all right unless you're comfortable with it," Deanna told her gently. "But we did want to consider it."

"Whoa." The stunned comment came from Kestra, who was staring at Beverly in fascination. "Wow. You really don't want to see him."

"Kestra!" Deanna was vaguely mortified. "You know it's not polite to use your empathy like that. Apologize right now."

"Sorry, Aunt Beverly," she muttered, not sounding it in the least.

No playing poker in this house. Beverly smiled ruefully at her niece, giving up the pretense of indifference. "It's all right." She glanced at Will. "He knows I'm here?"

He nodded, and Beverly tried to read into his expression—but Will was an even more expert player than she ordinarily was. Whoever had set this up, Will was trying not to influence her decision, which she supposed was considerate of him, at least. She sighed, trying to push through her reflexive initial reaction—regardless of her own feelings, it would be churlish to stop her friends from seeing each other, and especially Kestra. "Really, it's fine if he wants to visit. Of course you should see him, especially after everything that just happened."

Will looked at her intently. "Are you sure, Beverly?"

"We're both mature, rational adults, Will. It will be fine." She raised an eyebrow at him. "As long as you don't intend to kick me out of the guest room."

He let out a breath, relieved. "Only the finest accommodations for our esteemed captain," he assured her, holding out one hand with a flourish. Then he smiled. "Plus, you booked the room first."

Beverly rolled her eyes and pushed up from the table to tidy up, collecting utensils on her plate and reaching carefully around the candles for Deanna's as well. "Good, it's settled then."

"Thanks. I'll go call him back," Will said. "Come on, Kestra. You can say hello too—if you're on good behavior."

"I will be." Kestra followed him out of the dining room, but not without one more curious look back at her aunt.

"Beverly, I'm sorry," Deanna apologized again, standing to help gather the glasses and carry them back to the kitchen. "My mother visited recently...that's never a good influence for verbal discretion, as you know."

She understood that all too well. "If Lwaxana was coming at the same time as Jean-Luc, I might have to take my shuttle and skip out early," she admitted, stacking a few more plates before heading to the kitchen behind Deanna.

"And I might have to join you." They shared an amused look. "Anyhow, I don't mean to put you on the spot..."

"...you just think I should talk to Jean-Luc again." Face tightening, Beverly set the plates down on the counter, belatedly confirming from Deanna's nod her suspicion that the impending visit was almost certainly more to see her than the Rikers. I've been set up, haven't I? It almost didn't even matter by whom. "Deanna…"

Moving to the replicator, Deanna ordered a decaf coffee and herbal tea, then turned to offer the latter to Beverly. Mutely, Beverly accepted the mug and joined her at the kitchen table, but pointedly set it aside. Deanna sighed. Sometimes having a best friend who was almost entirely her opposite in terms of emotional openness was a challenge. But while this likely wasn't going to be easy...it was also overdue. "Will didn't want to pressure you at all so he didn't say anything. But you didn't speak to Jean-Luc before you left," she pointed out gently. "And I think that may not have been enough for you to feel a sense of peace."

A tight smile. "Is that a professional assessment?"

"Maybe." Deanna leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "Beverly, what happened on Coppelius? You did a selfless thing. A good thing. And you aren't happy."

"I'm fine. I've been very happy to be here." Until now, she added in silent reproach, still stinging from what felt—irrationally, she knew—like betrayal.

"I know you are, and we're thrilled to have you. But that's not what I mean."

The doctor shook her head, squeezed her thumb and forefinger together. Of course she knew Deanna was only trying to help, and if she was honest she had to admit her own strategy of stubbornly avoiding the entire subject was failing miserably at resolving things as she'd hoped. It still didn't make it any easier to talk, though, mostly because stubborn avoidance was actually quite effective at keeping her from analyzing her own feelings.

Especially where Jean-Luc was concerned.

She blew out a breath in frustration. "You tell me, then. Because I'm at a loss."

"What happened?" Deanna repeated patiently.

"He asked if he could see me again." A short laugh escaped her as she pulled the tea mug towards her and began to fiddle with it absently. It was such a ridiculously simple answer; why was it so hard to put into words? "That's it. I was intending to walk away and finally, finally let everything go after so long, and then he asked to see me again."

Now they were getting somewhere, Deanna thought, with relief that she was careful not to show. "What did you say?"

"I didn't say no," she said bitterly, staring into the mug.

"Is that what you wanted to say?"

Beverly shook her head again. "I didn't know. I don't know. But it doesn't make any sense to me that I can't just let it go—let him go. It's been so many years..."

"No," the empath corrected her gently, "it's been less than two weeks." Beverly looked up at her, evidently startled by the notion, and Deanna smiled kindly. Oh, Beverly, can't you see? "It wouldn't be fair to either one of you to simply go your separate ways and pretend nothing has happened."

She was silent. Part of her wanted to flee back to her shuttle immediately and test the viability of the pretend nothing happened theory; a few new missions behind her and surely she could put all of this out of her mind? But the other part could admit that it had never quite worked in all these years so far, and wouldn't now, either. If she wanted to find that elusive sense of peace...she was going to have to talk to Jean-Luc again.

She just didn't know how.

Deanna reached out to place a hand on her friend's arm. "Beverly, if you don't know what to say tomorrow," she suggested quietly, "then maybe just listen."