Beaming down alone from La Sirena, Jean-Luc Picard was once again met by a tousled blonde girl with sharp blue eyes—albeit sans ceremonial face paint and weapons this time. On the whole, he supposed, it was better to be greeted without an arrow pointed at his chest. "Hello, Kestra."

"Hi." She turned and called into the house. "Mom—he's here!" She pursed her lips and studied him while they waited, then evidently decided any other conversational preambles were unnecessary. "So what was Soji's planet really like?"

Picard raised his eyebrows as Deanna and Will stepped out into the yard, the latter placing his hands on Kestra's shoulders and exchanging a wry smile of greeting with him. "Actually, it was different than we all expected," he said, relaxing.

Her eyes narrowed. "Lightning and storms?"

"No, surprisingly, we found none—the weather was sunny and agreeable. But there were the two red moons. We were quite indebted to you, indeed, for helping us to find it."

She looked pleased, and Deanna patted her hair with pride before reaching out to embrace him. "Oh, Jean-Luc," she said, her voice full of emotion. "When you left, I was afraid I was saying goodbye forever."

"I know, I know." He grasped her hands and looked at her earnestly. My conscience, he'd once called her, for her unerring ability to keep him grounded—and call him to account when he deserved it. As he certainly had the last time he'd seen her. "Deanna, I'm sorry I didn't tell you the extent of it. I am so very fortunate that you were looking out for me all the same."

"Always," she assured him. Then she glanced behind her, letting her hands slip from his, and his attention was drawn to the other figure who had emerged from the house. Dressed in a lightweight, sky blue top with tan slacks, she stood back slightly from the group, somewhat guarded in her posture. He paused as he faced her. A hug would be far too presumptuous; a handshake unbearably awkward. He smiled a bit ruefully, acknowledging the difficulty. "Beverly."

"Jean-Luc. Still feeling well, I hope?"

"Yes, perfectly. Thank you. And you?" She nodded, pulling a windblown strand of hair back from her face, and he found himself transfixed. "It's—good to see you."

"You, too." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes...but as he held her gaze, her expression softened, just a little, almost in spite of herself; and he felt the faintest stirring of hope. It was strange—before Coppelius, he hadn't imagined he would ever see her again.

Before Coppelius, he hadn't imagined how much he would have regretted it if that were so.

"So, um, this is kind of a lot of Starfleet captains in one place," Kestra observed, glancing around at the adults.

Amused, Picard cleared his throat and pulled his eyes from Beverly. "That may be, young lady, but regardless of any former or current ranks, I am fairly certain that your mother is in command around here."

Deanna chuckled and linked her arm through his, and he clasped her hand again. "Hmm...maybe certain people need reminding of that occasionally," she said, as Will raised his hands in a what, me? motion. "Please, come in, Jean-Luc."

Walking comfortably with Deanna up the porch steps, he noted that Beverly remained outside in the yard with Will, visibly relaxing as they began to talk. He felt a twinge, knowing that it was his own presence here imposing on her and causing her tension and unease. And yet, he reminded himself, she hadn't said no to seeing him, hadn't said no to him coming here. As a sign of hope, it admittedly wasn't much. Venturing out virtually alone into lawless space to protect Data's daughter from the Zhat Vash might seem to have been a less hopeless mission, in some ways, than figuring out how to heal the rift he'd caused with Beverly Crusher. But he was nevertheless determined to try.

She'd allowed him to come, and he was here. Perhaps it wasn't much—but it was a start.

One impossible thing at a time.

#-#-#-#

Lunch had been perfectly pleasant, as these things went, given a table full of expert diplomats all around; any of them could have, and had, negotiated far more delicate situations than simple strained friendship. Still, Beverly was acutely aware of Deanna and Will's studiously nonchalant observation—not to mention the potential for Kestra to make her too-honest comments, despite the likely stern warnings from her parents ahead of time. So in the quiet afternoon hours, she escaped to make her way through the woods down to the nearby lake alone. It was peaceful, a favorite spot for relaxation on her trips here; but more importantly at present, it was also isolated. She realized Jean-Luc would probably take it as an opportunity or invitation; if he did, at least they would be away from the scrutiny of others.

Reaching the water's edge, she crossed the narrow wooden ramp to the shaded bench on the dock, and waited. The hot, still air was broken by occasional breezes, the silence punctuated by the call of birds overhead and the rustling sounds of small mammals foraging and scurrying near the shore. After awhile, she became aware of his approach.

"May I join you?"

She glanced up at him and considered, nodded wordlessly, and he settled carefully beside her on the bench. Together they sat quietly, and he let his attention drift along the shoreline as she watched the tall grasses swaying in the shallows.

Time seemed to escape with the breeze; they had never visited a place exactly like this in the past, yet somehow it still seemed natural, familiar, to be next to him, as though the years hadn't passed and the bench were a couch in his old quarters on the Enterprise, a pair of audience seats at a shipboard concert, a cafe booth on shared shore leave. Although, she reflected with some melancholy, the closeness between them then had rarely contained so much distance.

Stirring, Picard rested his hands on his knees, took a careful breath. "I came here," he began, uncustomarily tentative, "to apologize to you. And, I suppose, if you might someday consider it, to ask your forgiveness."

Beverly turned and met his gaze, regarding him seriously for a long moment before answering softly, "All right."

"All right?"

"I forgive you," she said simply. At his puzzled silence, she gave a wan smile. "What? Did you expect me to argue the point? Lash out in anger?"

He'd certainly encountered his share of those kinds of responses over the past weeks. "Perhaps—I didn't know what to expect," he admitted.

"But that's the sad thing, isn't it?" she said. "That you don't feel sure enough to know how I'd respond. You wouldn't ever have felt that way, before."

"No," he conceded. "You're right, of course. Actually you have one of the most forgiving natures of anyone I've ever known."

She smiled regretfully and turned back to the water, feeling his eyes upon her. Another few moments passed. She felt the words building up in her throat and tried to force them down.

Don't say it. Don't say it.

"I loved you, Jean-Luc," she said quietly. "And the hell of it is, I think you knew that."

He swallowed. Didn't deny it.

"So I do appreciate you coming here to apologize, but what I'd just like to know," she continued, still perfectly calm, gaze still fixed out on shore, "is why." Why he'd left so abruptly, why he'd stopped communicating, why he'd never even tried to make things right until now. A promotion, a transfer, a daunting new mission—none of it had required him to excise her from his life. But he'd done so anyhow.

Picard looked away. On Vashti, Zani had told him that a promise was a prison. He didn't necessarily believe that, but even if it were so, they had never been bound here. He'd made no promises to Beverly, nor she to him. Why should it feel as though he'd broken a sacred trust nonetheless?

But he knew why, didn't he. Because a friendship such as theirs had been was a sacred thing, forged by a thousand natural heartaches and joys over decades into the strongest of bonds. That he had shattered this, out of—what? fear of greater commitment? fear of failure? fear that he somehow didn't deserve to ask for her commitment?—was unfathomable.

For all those he had wronged, for all the particular humbling experiences of the past month, this truth was the hardest to face. He'd done some good, hadn't he, even as he'd failed at many things in the past twenty years. In the end, in the wake of catastrophe, of cowed and frightened governments, he hadn't managed to save all of the hundreds of millions he'd hoped; but he'd saved as many lives as he could. On that grand, interstellar scale of things, he knew he'd done his best, and now finally, after Dahj, after Soji, after reconciling with Raffi, he could live with that.

But it was on the most intimate, personal of scales that his failure had been most profound: it had cost him, and wounded, the dearest friend he'd ever had.

No—more than that—

"I loved you, too," he said, his voice hoarse.

Her composure wavered, just a bit. "Then why?"

"All I can think is that I was afraid it wasn't—wouldn't be—enough. That if I was leaving, perhaps it was better for both of us to move on."

How does that even make sense, Jean-Luc? She shifted on the bench and looked at him now, too bewildered to actually be upset. "So you decided it would be better if we just never spoke again. Decided never even to ask what I thought—whether I would have left the Enterprise with you, or even have wanted to talk once in a while."

He knew it was deeply unsatisfying, but no matter how many times he'd replayed the moment in his mind, he couldn't find another answer. "It wasn't a conscious decision so much as simple cowardice," he murmured. "I didn't know what to say in that instant."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You were never a coward, Jean-Luc. Not in your entire life."

Would that were so. Picard forced himself not to look away from her as the bitter truth rose to his lips. "Only with you," he said. He hesitated, but she deserved no less than his absolute honesty now, however wretched it revealed him to be. "Only ever with you. More than anything else, Beverly, I regret that. Because my feelings hadn't changed, but I allowed that fear to govern me. And once the damage had been done...I didn't know how to fix it again. So I tried to forget."

Beverly crossed her arms and turned her face away, struggling to make sense of his words. This was her answer. All these years she'd wondered why—why that short, simple subspace call had somehow turned into the end—and now she knew. But she wasn't sure at all that it helped, as she'd always assumed that it would, because the overwhelming feeling sweeping over her was remorse.

What a damned, crying shame it all was. She'd stopped being truly upset a long time ago, because although she'd never imagined their friendship would end that way, never wanted it to end, she had moved on, had lived the next chapter of her life as fully as she knew how. He was the one who had ended things, on his terms, and yet it turned out he hadn't actually wanted this for himself—for them—at all, really, but doubled down on it anyway. And how unhappy had he been in consequence? Especially after Mars, when the rescue mission had collapsed and he'd retired home, all the more isolated for having deprived himself of their friendship. Yes, it was a shame—all these years, lost. Because with ordinary, all too human failing, he never knew how to begin to make amends.

She could—did—forgive that failing. She'd always known, maybe better than anyone else, that the great and legendary Jean-Luc Picard was only human like the rest of them. But if she'd thought the hurt had healed along with the bitterness so long ago—well, now she knew.

It hadn't.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"I am, too." She glanced back at him, his eyes dark as he shielded them from the brightness of the sun, a muscle moving in his jaw. "You said—you never knew how to fix this," she said quietly. "Until now?"

"Until now," he acknowledged, and then paused, studying her now in turn. "Beverly...why did you come to Coppelius?"

At the sudden change in focus, Beverly hugged her arms tighter to herself and shrugged. "Will requested my ship for the armada. Clancy assigned us to the mission."

"That isn't why."

"No." She shook her head, feeling the sting of the remorse as she forced a smile. "All right. I came because no matter what happened in the past, I still cared what happened to you. And I didn't want your condition to be the end. Not if I could help it."

Picard nodded slowly, humbled again by the magnitude of what she had done for him. He knew she wouldn't ever imagine that it placed him in any kind of debt, but he was grateful all the same. "But then you left again."

"Yes, and it was entirely selfish," she said. "Because I wanted to leave on my terms this time. So I would never have to wonder if there was anything more I could have done, or anything else I should have said."

"Not selfish," he countered in a murmur. "I'd never left you the option before, had I?"

With a quiet exhalation, she let her arms fall slowly back to her sides, grasped the edge of the bench. Cast a dry, sideways glance at him. "Well, much to my annoyance, Jean-Luc, it didn't work very well."

He gave a rueful half-smile. "Much to my relief." Tentatively, he placed his hand over hers, and she swallowed, curled her fingers to clasp his. "Beverly...I've missed you, greatly. I was foolish not to remember that before you came to me, but if you're willing to try, I'd—be very glad to start again."

Start again… Staring down at their hands, Beverly found her reflexive reaction was still to deny, to demur—it's been so long, too long—but she remembered Deanna's gentle admonition, and knew she had to think about the present, not the past. Had to think about the future—the one that might never have existed, before Coppelius, but now it could. Wasn't that what she'd wanted, hoped for, for years, in spite of all her wishing those desires away? And now he was here and there was time ahead of them: time she had given him, and he had seized.

A lot of things can happen in twenty-five years...

But it still wasn't simple. She studied his profile, at once sharp and familiar, and yet softened and marked by age; he watched her in return, waiting patiently. "I want to try," she admitted finally to him. To herself. "But I'm honestly not sure how. I'm leaving here in two days, Jean-Luc. I have no idea where you'll be. How—?"

His spirit lifted at her words, even as he tried to temper it with caution. He knew he'd have to earn back her trust over time. "There is subspace. Prior evidence to the contrary notwithstanding, I do remember how to use it."

She raised an eyebrow, amused. "Go on."

He hesitated and continued cautiously, turning more serious. "And perhaps…we could just start by visiting, while we're here? To my shame, Beverly, I don't know much at all about your command. What your crew is like, where you've been. I would very much like to know."

Tears stung her eyes and she hastily blinked them away. No, this wouldn't be simple at all, would it; right from the start, there could only be reminders of how much they had lost.

But his sincerity was evident, and she was astonished at how perfectly natural it felt to be with him, to talk to him, no matter how fiercely she'd thought, until yesterday, that she would have been happier never to see him again. "It's a lot to catch up on."

Picard lifted her hand, held it between both of his. "I know."

"You really want to know?"

"Yes. I always knew you'd be an excellent captain."

I learned from the best, she thought, and squeezed his hand. "Hmm. I am, actually."

"Although the true test, of course, is whether you let your first officer stop you from going on away missions."

She glanced at him sharply, saw the amused glint in his eye. "Usually. Unless I'm beaming down to save stubborn, recalcitrant old admirals from themselves."

Touché. He smiled, and she returned it. "Quite so. See, the mark of an excellent captain."

Beverly pulled her hand away gently and glanced around, rising gingerly from the bench. The air had stilled even further, the rising afternoon heat bringing a flush to her cheeks. She needed to stretch her legs, find some shade and a drink of water. "Would you like to walk back to the house?" she asked. When she'd come here, it had been with trepidation, but the tension had melted away now, and she found a strange, unexpected peace in his presence.

He nodded and rose with her, tugging down on his white linen shirt to straighten it, and then holding out a hand for her to precede him. The sunlight lit her hair with a coppery sheen as she crossed gracefully in front of him, and then she paused, resting one hand on the railing as she looked back at him appraisingly. He held her gaze for a moment, his heart warming as a tiny smile touched her lips before she turned back to start walking; and he followed her into the woods.