Jean-Luc Picard stood at the dining table in his quarters, starting sightlessly down at the empty plates and untouched place settings, feeling more torn than he'd ever felt before in his life.

His CMO, Dr. Beverly Crusher, had just lost a patient.

The Enterprise had been summoned to the Targas cluster, where Professor Kalied and his team of researchers from Luna University were setting up a massive receptor array to detect putative subspace transmissions coming from the Delta Quadrant. Unfortunately one of the power generators had malfunctioned, causing an explosion that ripped a hole in one end of the array. The two technicians working in the area had lost their lives instantly, while two of the scientists had been left in critical condition. Dr. T'luvan was currently in stasis but expected to recover.

Dr. Vuldor hadn't been so lucky.

It was hardly the first time one of Beverly's patients had died, and was sadly but certainly not going to be the last, but as her long-time CO Jean-Luc was keenly aware of how hard she took each and every loss…

Her report had arrived at his terminal at shortly after 1700: a terse statement that her patient, Dr. Vuldor of the Kalied Expedition, had died of wounds sustained in the explosion that had disabled the receptor array. Beverly had been in surgery with him for more than ten hours, according to Alyssa Ogawa.

Nurse Ogawa had been his secret informant for years, quietly keeping him abreast of reactions in sickbay whenever a patient died. Some deaths were always harder on the medical personnel than others, and it was important that the ship's captain be aware of the needs of any of his crew for the services of Counselor Troi, or even for a sympathetic word from himself.

It was an unspoken agreement between he and Alyssa that she also quietly kept him abreast of Beverly's reactions.

So once he learned that Beverly had left sickbay without a word immediately after calling time of death and submitting her report, he could deduce from nearly eight years of past experience that she'd most likely gone directly to her quarters to shower and change out of her uniform before heading to the holodeck. That was where she was now. According to the ship's computer she had been there for nearly three hours.

It was there that she tried to work through her frustration and grief by dancing, she'd once told him when he'd summoned sufficient courage to ask.

Working through her frustration and grief alone, Jean-Luc thought as he reached out to touch an empty wine glass. Despite the fact that for several weeks now she'd had a lover, a partner, one who fervently wished that she would rely on him to share the bad times with her as well as the good.

But they were as well-matched in that way as in so many others – both adept at hiding their suffering and soldiering on alone.

Jean-Luc sighed. The longer he considered it, the more convinced he felt that he should go to her. The thought of her rejecting his offer of comfort hurt far less than the thought that she might suffer needlessly even for a moment if he failed to proffer it.

And yet…at the same time he was keenly, painfully aware that her private ritual of grieving was not his to share. By not coming to him, or asking that he accompany her, she had not yet invited him to share it. He wholeheartedly hoped that one day she would.

But until then, was it fair to search her out and intrude on her grief just to ease his own distress? Or would she feel it was an intrusion?

He sighed again heavily and shook his head. No, he must not invade her privacy. She knew where he was – she would come to him if she wanted his comfort.

And if she didn't, it should change nothing between them. Her life was her own. The fact they were lovers now didn't make that any less true.

But he hoped more than anything that she would come.

His head rose as the door behind him hissed open.

Turning, he saw her framed in the doorway, wearing a loose, free-flowing sundress, a workout towel wrapped around her neck and her hair pulled back in an untidy ponytail.

Jean-Luc's heart lifted at once to see her there. Rather than returning to her quarters she had come to him, after all. He offered her a gentle smile as she slowly entered the room. Dropping the towel she came straight towards him, and as she approached he could see the haunted look in her eyes, and the brush of freckles across her cheeks standing out starkly against the paleness of her skin.

She glanced down, her steps faltering as she caught sight of the empty plates and glasses on the table beside him.

"Beverly?" he queried, his voice soft. Yes, they had missed dinner by hours, but that was the furthest thing from his mind now. All that mattered was that she was here.

The corners of her lips lifted in the outlines of a faint, fragile smile that tore his heart in two. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice low and raw. "It's just that I've been alone for so long…"

Suppressing a groan of bone-deep sadness at the thought – and at the thought that she should be apologizing for it – he took a step forward and silently extended his arms.

She leaned in and let him draw her to him, his arms sliding up and around her shoulders. He felt her tremble slightly and then relax against his frame. After a moment her arms wrapped around his waist. He heard her breathe out a small sigh and slid a soothing hand up along the back of her neck and into her hair, pressing her nearer, content just to hold her all night if necessary.

Throughout his entire life he'd never met anyone stronger than Beverly Howard Crusher. But as strong as she was, there were times when everyone just needed someone to hold them.

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