Chapter 9

When Beverly awoke Jean-Luc had already gotten up. What time was it? She sat up in bed and looked down at her rumpled uniform. It had been late afternoon when they had fallen asleep together in his quarters. She wasn't even sure if she was supposed to be on shift. "Computer, what time is it?" she asked groggily.

"1800 hours," replied the computer blandly. It was dinner time.

Beverly shrugged and yawned as she sat up and looked around the Captain's bedroom. Sparse would be a more than accurate description of his room. Aside from several books stacked neatly on a night table, the room held only a few personal effects. She wondered how he would respond to the introduction of some flowers. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and then shook her head, puzzled by her own idea. Then she caught the scent of something wonderful. She rubbed her eyes, and pulled on her boots, now awake because of the delicious smell of food. She walked out of the cramped room.

The Captain was standing near a small dining table that was nearly spilling over with food. Breakfast foods to be exact. He smiled looking completely invigorated. He took her hand and kissed her affectionately before pulling out a chair for her to sit down.

"I hope you don't mind, I cooked you breakfast." He grinned widely. "I thought that since we've missed a number of breakfasts together lately I should make it up to you. Even if it is time for dinner," he added.

She sat down slowly, somewhat stunned by both the gesture and his newly cheerful disposition. Just hours ago he had looked so ill. "You cooked?" She looked up at him questioningly.

He nodded and began serving her. "Well...not everything—most of it I replicated. But I did make you some crepes the old fashioned way," he said sounding rather pleased with himself as he sat down across from her.

"Jean-Luc Picard cooking breakfast...you never said you could cook," she said with more amusement than accusation.

"Beverly," he said with a charming smile. "Perhaps you don't quite know everything about me." He poured coffee into her cup, keeping his gaze fixed upon hers.

"Well..." She admitted, returning his smile. "Maybe I don't. But I have to say I could grow to like this side of you, Jean Luc. I really could."

He smiled back at her and then proceeded to eat without further comment for the next ten minutes, as though he hadn't eaten in days. Periodically he paused only to ask her if she would like more to eat, before returning to his feast.

By his third helping she had grown thoroughly suspicious. By his fourth, she was concerned. "You've got quite the appetite. What's gotten into you?"

He looked at her with his cheeks bulging, and slowed his frenzied chewing. He shrugged. "I don't know," he said, his eyes widening as though he were confused. He put his fork down. "I'm just…famished." He wiped his chin with a cloth napkin. "I apologize for my manners, Beverly."

"It's alright, Jean-Luc. It's just that when we lay down for a nap just a few hours ago, you were so- well you were in a great deal of pain." She leaned forward her hands clasped on the table top. "And now… you look terrific and you just ate more in one sitting than two Klingons." He said nothing, but dropped his napkin on his plate. He stared down at the table, and she could tell he was trying to think the whole thing through. She wanted him to know that she would help him think it through; she would help him to figure out what was wrong. She didn't want him to be afraid to allow her to help him. She paused. "Will said when Data arrived to pick up the artifact you had a moment where you didn't seem yourself. Do you know what he meant by that?"

"Nonsense," he said, sounding embarrassed. He stood up from the table abruptly and began clearing dishes. "Will Riker can be the biggest mother hen when it comes to my safety, you know that, Beverly. He's overreacting, that's all. I've had this blasted headache, and perhaps I appeared fatigued."

She stood up and watched him as he gathered the dishes into his arms, balancing too many at once. "And how's the headache now?" she asked him carefully as he walked to the waste receptacle.

He turned back around and smiled at her. "Gone…I feel absolutely wonderful, Beverly. I can't even tell you…."

"Try," she suggested with an encouraging smile. "Try to tell me. I'm listening, Jean-Luc."

His smile wavered. "I feel fine," he said. He turned back around as though he had forgotten something, and that is when she saw it. Instinctively concerned, she walked toward him, and he turned back around to face her.

"Jean-Luc, turn around for me again. There's something on the back of your neck…are you hurt?"

He frowned. "Of course not," he said, but when she continued to stare resolutely at him, he finally acquiesced, turning back around. She sucked in an alarmed breath. There was an ugly looking vertical wound on his neck, partially healed. It disappeared beneath his collar, and she immediately began to lift the back of his uniform.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, sounding rather annoyed. "I told you, I'm fine."

"You don't feel that then?" she said, trying to keep her voice calm as she rolled up his uniform in the back.

"No," he said. "Just a slight itching."

She delicately touched along the edge of the coagulating gash that ran from his neck, into his shoulder blade and down the length of his back to the right of his spine. "Jean-Luc, you're injured. It's healing—but what on earth happened to you?"

He turned back around and looked at her as though she were crazy. His voice was low as if trying to reason with her. "Beverly, need I remind you that I've hardly been out of your sight today. You touched me there earlier when we were together and there was certainly nothing wrong with my back then. This afternoon I fell asleep. Surely you don't think something happened to me while I was sleeping! You were right there with me, after all."

She put her arms around his waist. "Jean-Luc…I don't know what to think. But this is bizarre. Let me clean it and start a derma repair at least," she said. He nodded slightly, but something about his expression when he looked at her unsettled her. She patted him on the chest and then kissed him lightly on the lips. She remembered she had left her med kit in the bedroom. "Wait here," she said quietly, and gave him another kiss before leaving the room.

When she returned just moments later, he had gone.

Mae squeezed Guinan's hand. "Doctor Green is the only black doctor in three counties, and a good one too. So you real lucky, let me tell you," the woman told her again.

"Black?" Guinan asked.

Willie suddenly broke out into laughter. "I'll say she's delirious, she forgot she was black. It's okay if you forget for a minute, they will remind you, honey."

Guinan blinked, not having a clue what he was talking about. "Look," she said tiredly. "I am very grateful you saved me from those criminals, but I am just trying to find a place. It's called Moʼȯhta-voʼhonáaeva."

Willie got up and walked over to where Guinan lay resting. "Say what? Mo-ho…?" He stared at her. "Wait a minute, Mae. Go and get Granny."

Mae sighed. "Why you always think Granny can translate anything sounds just a little bit Indian? Don't wake the children," she added with a warning. But Willie had already disappeared into the only other room in the house. A few moments later he re-emerged arm in arm with a stooped figure with tan skin and very white hair. He sat the old woman down next to Guinan's bedside. The doctor stood looking skeptical.

"This is my Granny," Willie said, placing a steadying hand on the woman's shoulder. "Say the word again," he prompted.

Guinan said hello to the woman, who smiled widely in response, but her eyes did not focus on any one point. Willie said "Granny can't see a thing, but her hearing is real sharp," he reassured her and then nodded again for Guinan to speak.

"Moʼȯhta-voʼhonáaeva," said Guinan. The woman's smile faded into her wrinkled face, and she grew contemplative.

Willie seemed anxious and he rubbed his grandmother's shoulders expectantly. Finally she spoke. "When I was a child I spent some time on a reservation as my daddy was a Blackfoot Indian got caught up some mess and landed on the reservation. Cold as all get out up there and there was a whole mess of different Indian folk up there. We near starved up on that reservation. My daddy played cards with a Cheyenne fella…yep that's Cheyenne alright," said Granny. She fell silent a few more moments, deep in thought.

"Moʼȯhta-voʼhonáaeva…Black…h…Black Hills, that's right," she said breaking into a smile again. "That's the place the whites call the Black Hills," she said, sounding satisfied that she had been able to assist.

Willie stood up straight and looked at the doctor who shook his head.

"The Black Hills are too far up north and in the middle of nowhere for any colored person to reach from here—safely that is. There is a gold rush in that land right now and it's likely to be full of thieves, murderers and worse looking for their share of glory," said Doctor Green.

"Hmph," said Willie. "You lookin' for gold?" he said fixing Guinan with a suspicious look.

"What about cousin Billie?" Mae asked. "He's a porter. He'd know how to get her up there by train," she said. "Take a while though."

Guinan frowned. "What's a train?"