Beverly Crusher stood in her quarters in only her underwear, arms folded, eyeballing the multitude of dresses strewn across her bed. She let out a troubled sigh. The last time she went through her closet... never mind, she couldn't even remember the last time she had the time off to do something that tedious. She was aware that she had a habit of overworking herself. If she wasn't in sick bay, she was either on an away mission or fulfilling her duties as a naturally socially inclined human being; having breakfast with Jean-Luc, attending a Mok'bara class led by Worf, teaching Data to appreciate the intricacies of dance, playing poker with Riker and the others – just to name a few. Most days, by the time the doctor reached her quarters she'd promptly flop on the bed and enter a deep sleep, only to be woken up by her alarm signifying that another hours-long shift was in store for the day ahead. Somehow, although she was surrounded by colleagues and close comrades, ever since Wesley had left for Starfleet Academy, she couldn't help but feel lonely. An abrupt end to sixteen years of a very close mother-son bond left Beverly with a void that she worried would not ever be filled again. She felt this with nearly the same severity that she did when Jack died...
Oh, for goodness' sake, she thought, blinking back the tears that had begun to gather at the corners of her eyes, Wesley is not dead! Just focus.
Dresses. One light blue, one dark. Three black. One salmon pink, one shimmery gold, one a deep wine-colored red, one ivory, one olive green, and one purple monstrosity that Jean-Luc picked out for her a little more than a year ago on Beltane III. That man had such an eye for beautiful things - how in the world did he think that had any business on her body? Nevertheless, it was a kind gesture and of course she appreciated it greatly. She knew plenty well that he wouldn't have done that for any other woman on the ship. Beverly chuckled, thinking she'd probably wear it sometime just to please him. Regardless, that dress was definitely not the one she'd be wearing to the evening's festivities.
The ginger turned her attention to the mask lying on her dining table. Her date for the evening, Data, had admittedly done a marvelous job with its construction. Riker had assigned him to the task of creating personalized masks for all staff invited to the event: higher ranking officers and their optional plus-ones.
Think of it as a way to flex your creative muscles, Data.
I do not know of any muscles for that, Commander. Unless you are referring to the frontal cortex in humans, which does not appl-
It's a figure of speech, Data. Just have fun with it!
She picked it up, admiring its design; a hands-free black cat eye shape just long enough to cover the bridge of the nose, embellished with intricate golden swirls throughout and black faux feathers at the upper corners. It shimmered an almost greenish hue when in the light.
"That's it!" Beverly smiled at the simple moment of enlightenment as she bent to sift through the dresses until she caught sight of one that she had always admired, but nothing more. She told herself that she never found the right occasion to wear it - that it was too pretty, too elegant. The rock at the pit of her stomach suggested otherwise. She slipped into a lacier pair of underwear, something less ordinary than the simple briefs that she had worn under her uniform just so it would feel special… personal. As she slid the dress on, fastening the zipper that reached all but halfway up her back, she turned to look at herself in the mirror.
The dress was sleeveless, a forest green sheath so dark that it was almost black. The fabric was softer than any earthly silk or satin - form-fitting but not so tight that there wasn't room to breathe; it gathered slightly right above the hips before giving way to the flowing floor-length skirt. The front was cut low and the back was cut even lower, and there was a slit that ran halfway up her right thigh, revealing much of her pale skin. She sighed, knowing that she'd have to go braless for the dress to work. It's not that she didn't enjoy going without a brassiere, it was more that she disliked the sensation of being unsupported, especially around a crew that mainly consisted of either men, or women who were a good five or ten years younger than her at least. As a doctor, she was trained to look at things from an analytical perspective; she knew that the confidence that was meant to be built during her formative years had been spoiled by unkind peers, therefore she turned to dance and intense study as coping mechanisms. Even with a fit body and a healthy mind as a result, it was simply her human nature that made her more inclined to be stern on her appearance. Once upon a time, Jack had been the one that made her feel beautiful. Nearly eleven years later and aging at a pace that felt twice as fast, she found herself uncomfortable in her own skin no matter how many times she received the occasional compliment from her female staff or caught male crew members – most notably Jean-Luc – staring.
Without warning, the computerized bell to her door sounded.
"Come," she said instinctively, momentarily dismissing the mess on her bed and floor.
The door slid open, revealing none other than her smartly dressed android friend.
Beverly had agreed to go to the ball with Data, despite the preexisting chemistry between Jean-Luc and herself. As feelings between them had subsided, they silently, mutually agreed that it was better not to test things and risk stirring up any suppressed emotions. She wouldn't necessarily have minded, but she knew how uncomfortable the captain felt embarking on a relationship with her, even all these years after Jack's death. She also wouldn't call one night out a 'relationship', but Jean-Luc probably suspected that one dance might lead to another, and by the end of the night something more. He may or may not have been correct in that assumption. Either way, Data had also mustered up the courage – if there was such a thing in androids – to ask her first. It was, 'traditional for a man to ask a woman in a situation such as this one,' he had said. She suspected he also wanted to put his dance lessons with her to the test.
Data stepped in, but in a moment was taken aback.
"Doctor, I apologize if I am incorrect, but I thought you had said that you would be ready to leave at fifteen minutes to the hour," he glanced toward the chaos on the bed, "It seems you are still in the midst of picking out an appropriate garment."
Beverly raised her brows, looking at the clock near her bed. She sighed, "Yes, Data, you'd be correct on both accounts. I suppose I overestimated how much time I had between my shift and my other commitments," she took a step back from the mirror, turning around to reveal the front of the dress to him.
"What do you think, Data? Is it too much?" She smoothed her hands down the front of the dress and then through her hair before looking back up at him.
"No, Doctor-"
"You can call me Beverly tonight, Data. We're off duty."
"Ah. No, Beverly, I would not say it is 'too much' considering the event that we are attending. A masquerade ball often requires more extravagant attire. Might I add that you look wonderful," he commented, with a smile that was almost human.
"Thank you, Data," Beverly smiled back at him before heading toward the bathroom to do her hair. "You don't look too bad, yourself. I almost didn't recognize you under that mask."
"If I am not mistaken, that is the point of a masquerade."
Beverly chuckled, sticking a pin in her hair. "Yes, Data, I suppose you're right."
A few moments of silence passed before Data feigned clearing his throat and piped up again, "Beverly, might I suggest you move swiftly. The ball begins at twenty-hundred hours and it is currently nineteen hours and fifty-two minutes."
"Data, I'm moving as fast as I can manage! I don't want to look like a train wreck when we arrive. I'll be done soon," she reassured him, smiling over her shoulder, "If worse comes to worst, we'll be fashionably late."
"I see. Would you like me to put away the garments on the floor?"
"No, Data," she replied, "I'll do that when I get back. Why don't you sit down for a few minutes?"
Sure enough, by the time they had left the doctor's quarters it was already twenty hours, six minutes. Regardless of that and her original reluctance to wear the dreaded green dress, she did feel somewhat pleased with her abilities to beautify herself in such a short amount of time. She'd converted her simplistic daily makeup to something more relevant and thrown on a dark red lip, a pair of sensible black heels that wouldn't trip her up while dancing, and to top it all off went with a gold necklace and bracelet set accompanied by gold studs for earrings. She'd even remembered the matching green elbow-length gloves that came with the dress when she bought it years ago.
"Are you ready, Beverly?"
"As ready as I'll ever be, Data," and with that the pair stepped through the door to the holodeck. Beverly could barely believe her eyes. That said, every time she stepped into the holodeck she could barely believe her eyes. The fact that a computer could generate such elaborate believable scenery was astonishing in every sense of the word. This time, it was set to project a large, dimly lit ballroom with black tile flooring and high ceilings, completed with ginormous glass chandeliers. At the front of the venue was a stage set with four holographic instrumentalists dressed in twentieth century clothing: two violinists, one violist, one cellist. They were playing a romantic-era Vivaldi piece that she recognized but couldn't name.
Soon after their entry, they were greeted by Geordie and his date – a girl from engineering that he'd been talking about for a while. Data was thoughtful enough to modify Geordie's mask so that it would fit around his visor without any trouble. If it weren't for that and the familiar inflections of his voice, she might not have even figured it to be Geordie in the first place - the magic of dim lighting and good costuming on Data's part.
"Data? Is that you under there?"
"It is. Good evening, Geordie."
"You really did a nice job with the masks. I could barely recognize you!"
"So I have been told," Data mused before introducing his partner, "Beverly, as I am sure you can tell, this is Geordie and his date for the evening, Jessica."
Beverly opened her arms for a hug and Geordie complied, Jessica following suit.
"Wow, Doctor. You clean up nice."
Beverly blushed under her mask. "Oh hush, Geordie," she waved a hand in resistance, "you look amazing. And you too, Jessica. I'll see you on the dance floor."
The two circulated around the room, greeting people as they went, complimenting Worf on developing such a reasonable guest list, Jean-Luc on the magnificent setting (to which he replied with a gruff, "Thank you, Beverly… You look lovely.") and of course William Riker for coming up with such a grand solution to all of the stress that had been weighing the crew down.
"Hello, Will. Where's Deanna?" Beverly asked, excited to see her friend all dressed up for the evening. She knew Deanna would be proud of her ensemble, especially considering all of the positive comments she was receiving.
"Oh, she's somewhere in here. My guess is she's floating around, reveling in other people's joy. This is a happy night for her. I knew it would be," he smiled with the charm of every man in the room combined. Though he and the counselor had been separated for some time, it still satisfied Will to see Deanna cheerful. Beverly knew very well how the feelings of an entire crew could get to her friend after a while; they often spoke about it while visiting with each other.
"Would you like something to drink, Beverly?" Data asked after a moment.
"Oh yes, Data. Champagne would be wonderful."
He swiftly returned with a glass of pseudo-champagne from the makeshift bar that Guinan was manning at the back corner of the hall. Though it was composed of a chemical variant, synthehol still had some warming effects, which Beverly was more than happy to experience. Data asked to be excused so that he could speak with Geordie for a while before the dance started, to which the doctor nodded. Riker was quick to dismiss himself, too, eager to talk to some of the crewmembers he didn't usually get a chance to.
Beverly leaned against a column off to the side, more comfortable now that she had a glass of champagne in hand. She scanned the room for familiar faces – well, bodies. Will, Geordie, Worf, Jean-Luc, two people who she thought for sure were Miles O'Brien and his partner Keiko, her best nurse Alyssa…
Deanna Troi. Beverly nearly dropped her glass. She was angelic. Of course, she expected nothing less from her gorgeous best friend. Somehow, she always exuded effortless grace. Perhaps it was her natural womanly demeanor, a physical trait that blended so fluently with her radiant compassion. Not to mention the easygoing confidence that made up for her short stature. She wore a royal blue floor-length dress, velvet from what Beverly could see. Her mask was the exact same shade, spruced up with white decals, which she had accentuated with a string of white pearls and a matching pair of heels. It seemed like Deanna had an outfit for every occasion. The entire ensemble was completely pulled together by the one characteristic that had tipped the ginger off in the first place: that incredible dark hair. It cascaded down her back, bouncing as she laughed with crewmates and friends. Beverly had always wanted hair like that – in fact, she had tried to dye hers once, unfortunately with disastrous results. She often found herself in awe of Deanna, though she couldn't quite call the feeling envy, or even a general attraction. It was more like…
"Desire?" A familiar voice gave the doctor such a start that she nearly dropped her glass – again.
"Excuse me?" Beverly turned quickly, resulting in a few drops of champagne escaping her glass and landing on her dress, which she hurriedly patted away. She looked up to see none other than Guinan leaning on the same column to her right. Beverly let out a sigh of relief, "Oh, hi there, Guinan. I'm sorry, you startled me. What were you saying?"
"Do you desire a different drink, Doctor? You haven't taken a sip of your champagne since Data brought it to you," the wise woman pointed out with a calming smile.
"No, this will do just fine, thank you."
"Are you sure?" She lowered her voice and nudged the doctor, "I'm no empath, but I'm sort of feeling you're enjoying watching the crowd more than your champagne. What's got you all worked up, Doc?"
"Oh, nothing. I'm just lost in thought, is all. Aren't you supposed to be manning the bar?"
"I'm just taking a break. Don't worry - your date's got it covered," she turned to the back of the room and Beverly looked past her to see the android inspecting a corkscrew. "You know, your thoughts can be a dangerous place to get lost in."
"I know, I know. I'm just feeling a bit uneasy all of a sudden. Is there a place I can sit down?"
"Sure, your good friend Jean-Luc is sitting just beyond that column across from us. Why don't you go say hello?"
"I'd prefer not to if that's alright, Guinan. I've already said hello."
"And nothing more?" the bartender looked at her inquisitively, raising the spot above her right eye where a brow would be if she were human. Or maybe she just shaves them off? Beverly could never really tell with Guinan. Nobody could. "I thought you two were close?"
"We are!" She paused briefly before continuing with, "well, we are, and we aren't. It's been tough recently. I think we're both getting a little lonely, to be honest. All I know is that I don't want to be in a relationship with him and he doesn't want to be in one with me. It would… complicate things. On top of that, I'm not sure I even want a man in my life right now," Beverly took a sip from her champagne glass in an effort to slow her thoughts.
"What about a woman?"