Picard took his little shuttle down and docked it, took his swing pack and walked on the crunchy snow up towards the cabin. It was a brisk walk but it felt good to breathe in the fresh mountain air. It felt different.
The Enterprise was taking on a routine survey several systems over - close enough that his shuttle could get him back in a day, but far enough that he felt like he was truly on leave.
The crew had been very, very curious as to why he was going on leave. His first officer dared to ask, and he simply said that he was meeting a friend. The first officer had smiled knowingly, then changed the subject. Picard wondered fleetingly how many bets were on the identity of his "friend." No matter.
He had the cabin for two weeks. He hadn't asked how long she planned on staying with him. He trusted that they would have enough time to just...be. There was so much he wanted to tell her - about the parallel universe, about the other Beverly, about his love for her, about his hopefulness that while after Kesprytt it wasn't the right time, perhaps now was the right time to see if they could move their deep friendship to something else.
The walk from her shuttle to the cabin was brisk, and she was thankful that all she had brought with her was a small swingpack. But she regretted not bringing a coat. As she watched her breath form puffs of condensation in the air, she absently wondered if there was a replicator. Surely there was a replicator within the cabin. Just because the cabin looked rustic and charming didn't mean that it didn't have modern amenities. After all, she and Jean-Luc had had their share of rustic experiences, including (but not limited to) huddling on the bottom on a cave, keeping her distracted from her injuries, lying beside each other at Kesprytt, trying not to listen to the other's thoughts, and ducking their ways through Cardassian catacombs.
With a final huff, she reached the cabin, knocked on the door, then went in. It was an older door model, with a handle, and she had to push against it with her weight to enter. Inside was warm, warmer than what the fireplace would provide on its own, she noted absently. She was surrounded by inviting, rustic wooden beams and shelving with interesting rocks and natural sculptures all around. Three small, inviting couches were in the center of the room, arranged around a plush floor covering that begged for bare feet, and what had to be another room around the corner. She stepped inside, pushed the door closed behind her, and bent to put her carryall on the floor beside the door - and he came around the corner with a towel in hand, wearing a dark shirt and pants and a nervous but hopeful expression. She froze awkwardly, half-bent, at the sight of him.
He came up to her slowly, almost tentatively. She straightened up from putting her swingpack down, and stood there by the door, carefully looking at him, then sucked in a breath and reminded herself to breathe.
She was nervous. Horribly nervous. Stomach-churning, sweaty palm nervous. She hadn't been nervous when she left the Pasteur, she managed her anxiety on board the shuttle, but now she thought she might begin to shake. They had maintained this intense, deep friendship for so long, and now they were going to upset the balance, and what if it didn't work? What if this wasn't what he wanted? What if she realized that she didn't want him in this way?
He stopped directly in front of her. They had always had a lax definition of personal space, and this was a prime example. He was so close that she could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and suddenly she was stifling hot in her light jacket.
"Beverly," he said quietly, carefully, and she searched his gaze, and yes, she observed that he was happy to see her. A weight lifted off of her shoulders; she didn't know exactly what he was thinking, but there was something there - this was more than simply being polite, being friends.
On an impulse, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his cheek, inhaled. He smelled the same - the same as his counterpart, the same as he always had, all of these years, because she knew him and had known him for so long. She lingered for a few seconds, just drinking in the warmth of him, and she felt and heard him slowly exhale.
Reluctantly, she drew back a bit and found him staring intently at her, utterly focused, and then he leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed at the contact. It was a focused, yet leisurely kiss, and she felt herself relax, tension flowing out of her.
Finally, after a long moment, she pulled back and slowly opened her eyes. He was looking at her again and there was no veil, no mask, no persona covering his expression. Yes, there was most certainly love in his gaze.
"Hello," she whispered, feeling as though her greeting was the beginning of a new season.
"I'm glad you came." he murmured.