As soon as the call had ended, Beverly—ignoring for now her new assignment and concomitant mixed feelings—gave a quick, tense look to Will, and was down the hallway and up the stairs in moments. She pushed open the door to Thad's old room and turned up the lights to half illumination, to find Deanna clutching a small black book to her chest, tears streaming down her face. "Oh, Deanna," she murmured, pulling her best friend into her arms. "I'm so sorry."

Deanna let out a sob as she hugged her back, unable to control the overwhelming surge of sadness. Over the course of her career she'd counseled countless others, including her own mother, through the difficult stages of the grieving process, patiently and surely helping them to work through the anger and incomprehension, to survive the heartache, to find hope after despair. She knew, intellectually, this was normal: ever-increasing stretches of calm, peace, acceptance, broken at unpredictable intervals by staggering rushes of emotion. But knowing it, seeing it, did nothing to lessen the pain of experiencing it.

After a minute she pulled back, raising one hand to wipe uselessly at her eyes. "It isn't fair," she whispered.

"I know."

"You could have helped him—if it wasn't for—" Deanna shook her head, squeezing the little book, the hand-written, meticulously-compiled fictional dictionary one of so many reminders, lovingly preserved around the room, of her gangly, creative, obsessively curious, affectionate son. It almost hurt to breathe. "It isn't fair."

Beverly's heart ached. No, it wasn't fair. She'd done everything she could at the time, but in spite of all of her, and her colleagues', best efforts to ameliorate the disease's effects, the theoretical cure they'd devised for Thad's illness had been impossible even to try because of the synth ban. In the wake of the horror of the Mars catastrophe, the sweeping ban had been imposed due to belief that the danger of the AIs was somehow inherent to their nature, but now it was clear the danger had really come from the Zhat Vash, hijacking the innocent beings to use them to destroy. It did make sense to revisit the ban now that the truth was known. It was only the timing that was so horribly cruel. And of course there would never be any acknowledgement of the collateral damage wrought by the overreach in the first place, would there? So sorry your son got sick during the years of the ban, Beverly thought bitterly. Just hard luck the timing wasn't better.

"Deanna, we did everything we could—you did everything you could," she reminded her quietly, squeezing her shoulder, trying to offer some solace. As if anything really could.

"I know." The empath took a deep breath and looked up at her friend with a bleak smile. "Beverly, if the ban is lifted now…you'll try again to find the cure? For anyone else who needs it?"

Beverly swallowed around the lump in her throat. How very like Deanna to still be thinking of others even in the midst of her own heartache. "Yes," she promised. "Of course I will. We have a whole team now. We'll find the answer."

Her firm, quiet conviction was reassuring, as always. Deanna nodded gratefully, drawing more deeply upon her mental calming exercises to find her center again. As her own emotions quieted, though, she realized that her friend's sense was radiating turmoil of its own, when it had been much calmer earlier in the evening. She frowned and dried her eyes with the back of her hand, almost glad for something new to focus on. "I didn't mean to leave in the middle of the call. What did the admiral want with you?"

"Nothing important." Beverly waved it off, not wanting to concern her, but relented when she saw Deanna really did want to know. "All right. She was calling to appoint Jean-Luc as ambassador to Coppelius…and I'm assigned to take him there. Tomorrow." She smiled wanly. "So it looks like I'll have to leave earlier than planned. I'm sorry."

Deanna's eyes widened, but before she could reply, a soft knock sounded and she looked to see her husband in the doorway, the worry clear in his sense. "Will," she said, moving to his arms and letting out a deep sigh.

Wanting to leave them in peace, Beverly caught Will's eye and said a quick goodnight to both of them before making a discreet exit from the room. Emotionally spent from the day, already imagining how good it would feel to sink onto the plush, quilted guest bed, she headed back down to the great room—

To find Jean-Luc waiting at the foot of the stairs, concern etched on the lines of his face. "Is Deanna all right?" he asked.

Beverly stopped abruptly and then sighed, glancing back up over her shoulder. "She will be. It's just a lot to take in."

Picard nodded regretfully. It was an understatement; he was still coming to terms himself with the events of the last weeks, still discerning how to cobble together, after so many years, all the pieces that had been broken after Mars. But as he knew from long, hard experience, some things could never entirely be made right again; and he grieved for his friends and their son. "So much damage was done. So much beyond even the death and destruction on Mars itself…"

Feeling the lump rise in her throat again, Beverly swallowed hard, looking away. It was strange, almost upsetting, somehow, to hear words of sympathy coming from Jean-Luc, when the two of them had never spoken of this before. But, she reminded herself, Jean-Luc had been there for Will and Deanna, in his own way at least, when Thad had passed, because he had stayed in touch with them...just not with her.

She pressed a palm against her thigh, trying to keep her composure. "I think I need some water."

Picard held out the glass he'd been holding unnoticed. "I thought you might."

She looked at him in surprise and he shrugged, smiled faintly. "Thanks," she managed, accepting the cup from him. The water was cold and refreshing, exactly what she needed to clear her head, and she closed her eyes briefly.

"A seat?" he murmured, brushing her arm just lightly, and she allowed him to lead her back to the couch, where she sank back against the cushions, the tension ebbing away thanks to his unexpectedly thoughtful gesture.

It was still a far sight removed, though, from the relaxed atmosphere they had gradually been finding earlier, before the evening had been upended. Beverly glanced over and saw Jean-Luc sitting up straight, staring down at the coffee table with a pensive expression, as if gauging his next words. No way forward but through, she told herself, and decided she might as well plunge ahead first. She took a breath. "So. Ambassador Picard, eh?"

Relieved at her breaking the ice, he turned, raised an eyebrow at her dryly. "So it would seem."

"Well, I can't think of anyone better suited," she said softly, and realized she meant it.

He was surprisingly moved at hearing the sentiment from her. "Thank you. Though it's quite clear the admiral disagrees."

"Oh, the admiral can stuff it, Jean-Luc. Look, I obviously don't know exactly what happened between you during the rescue mission, but I've known her as long as you have, and I have a fair idea. You did what you thought was right and she was sore about the politics of it." She shrugged and took another sip of ice water. "She needs to get over her grudge."

Picard smiled at the succinct assessment—one which, if he had to hazard a guess based on past experience, was likely as not influenced by Beverly's own clashes with the C-in-C over time. "Do you know, Beverly, it's been a very long time since anyone presumed me to be on the right side of a dispute."

Her cheeks flushed slightly. "I'd tell you if I thought you were wrong."

"Of course." It was precisely that knowledge that he found oddly comforting, a whisper of the way things used to be. Keep someone next to you who isn't scared of you, she'd told him in that last, fateful call, with infinitely wise counsel that had stayed with him, as it had led him directly to Raffi Musiker. But even dear, forthright, fearless Raffi, no matter the easy familiarity she'd assumed with him, had looked up to him as his first officer. And he had always kept a part of himself in reserve with her, as well, simply due to their positions. Had he ever fully appreciated the way in which Beverly, his confidante for so long, had been the one person in his life utterly unintimidated by him? And at the same time so driven by her care for him and so clear-sighted that she'd known exactly what he would need when he left the Enterprise—

Which, on a personal level, irrespective even of the mission, was her, even though he couldn't see it himself at the time.

No, he corrected himself silently. He knew perfectly well at the time; her absolute willingness to challenge him, always with that underlying affection, was part of why he had loved her. You knew, but you walked away anyway.

It was no use continuing to lament the past, of course, when he finally dared now to look toward the future. But the regret weighed heavily, as a cloak draped over his soul that was difficult to slough. If only… He cleared his throat, feeling tentative again. "Beverly, I know you're tired. I'll, ah—speak to Rios in the morning. We can leave whenever you'd like."

"All right." She hesitated for a long moment as the reality of the next few days set in with his words. "I really wasn't expecting this, Jean-Luc," she admitted at last, glancing up at him.

"Nor I." He offered a half-smile. "Though given we have no say in the matter…I can't say that I'm sorry it might allow us a bit more time to visit."

Beverly nodded, her cheeks warming again as she saw the softness in his gaze. I've missed you greatly, he'd said, and she knew it was true. So many years of barely seeing him, of trying to put him out of mind entirely, and it suddenly felt as though a temporal anomaly had collapsed the time into mere hours.

But of course it hadn't, had it? The time had passed, and forgiveness notwithstanding, she found herself caught between the hurt and distance of those years...and the gravitational pull she'd always felt when their eyes met like this.

She took a last swallow of ice water, tried to smile back. "I suppose so."

Reading her ambivalence, Picard shifted farther away from her on the couch and kept his tone light. "On the other hand, if we stayed here," he continued, "you wouldn't need to say anything at all, and I could simply let Kestra continue to regale me with the details of all of your most exciting missions."

"Ha." Beverly chuckled, relaxing in spite of herself as she thought back to dinner and the teen's eager recounting of stories in response to Jean-Luc's interested questions. "She did give you all the highlights, didn't she?"

"I was particularly impressed by the Vexalian harvest celebration incident."

"We really averted a diplomatic disaster on that one—" She stopped and turned at footsteps sounding on the stairs, rising in unison with Jean-Luc to see Deanna and Will descending from upstairs.

At Beverly's newly concerned look, Deanna, crossing to the sitting area, squeezed her hand and nodded reassurance. She was relieved to see, in turn, that despite the unexpected new change in circumstances, Beverly hadn't retreated into herself, as she sometimes tended to, but was forcing herself to stay engaged. The start of this healing between two of the people she cared about most was the realization of a hope Deanna had long had, and it had quietly thrilled her to see them talking together today, especially after they'd returned from the lake.

Turning to Picard, she spoke warmly. "Jean-Luc, I'm sorry I stepped away earlier."

Picard was appalled. "No, no, please. I understand." He glanced between the three of them and sighed. "You know that I didn't intend to impose—again—with my visit here, but I'm afraid I've done just that."

"You're our friend—not an imposition," Riker corrected him in a manner that brooked no argument. Then he smiled and conceded, "You just tend to bring galactic politics along with you when you travel."

Picard gave him a rueful look. "I never relished that part of the job, Will."

"No, you just happened to be very good at it."

"Perhaps so." It had been true, at least at one point in his life, he thought; he wondered if it truly could be again, when he was up against the old ghost of the rescue mission's failure and the daunting nature of what lay ahead. He glanced away and shook off the pointless doubt. "In any event, thank you both, very much, for all of your hospitality."

"Of course. The room upstairs is ready for you now, whenever you'd like," Riker told him, wrapping an arm around Deanna's shoulders and tucking his chin against her dark hair. "We'll see you in the morning. Good night."

"Good night." Picard looked back to Beverly as their hosts moved out of sight around the corner. There was a pause as their gazes held; as with this morning—seemingly ages ago now—it was hard to know exactly what to say, to do, and he hesitated.

But the hour was far too late, and Beverly was far too tired, to figure it all out now. Tomorrow—after she slept, after she had time to think, to process—then, maybe, she'd have some idea how to respond to the apparent facts that he wanted to give her a hug before going upstairs—

And that it might feel nice for that to happen.

"Good night, Jean-Luc," she said softly, turning away.