Epilogue

"Jean-Luc. I feel very overdressed."

Three days after their encounter with the temporal anomaly, the Enterprise was docked at Starbase 23 for repairs. Picard had authorized shore leave for the crew and, having finished most of his own reports and official duties, intended to take time off as well. Despite its amenities, however, the starbase offered no destinations he couldn't better recreate on the holodeck, so he'd decided to stay onboard ship and invite Beverly to join him for an outing here. Now she was facing him in the corridor, dubiously holding out her arms to display a slim-fitting tan parka, white knit scarf around her neck and matching hat in hand. Despite her protestations, though, the outfit was practical...not to mention quite flattering on her, besides.

"It's perfect," he assured her. "You may want to go ahead and put on the hat, though." He pulled his own black wool cap down over his ears.

"Hmm." Her skepticism did not abate as she tugged on her hat, flame-orange strands of hair curling out from underneath it. "You know, usually I prefer my holodeck destinations to be climate-controlled."

Picard tapped the wall panel to confirm settings and initiate the program. "What about the Orient Express?"

"The train is warm inside," Beverly shrugged, following him in from the ship's corridor. The heavy holodeck doors closed and vanished behind them, leaving them in the middle of a snowy grove, the forest floor dappled with bright patches where sunlight filtered through the tall firs. "Not like this," she added as she blew out a visible breath into the suddenly frigid air, rubbing gloved hands together and stamping her boots experimentally on the hard ground.

Picard smiled and turned to lead the way up the rocky path inclining ahead. He thought about pointing out that at least he'd allowed for sunshine and no wind, but let it be. "It's good for the constitution. Come on, it's not far."

The perfect stillness of the woods was interrupted only by the steady crunch of snow under their boots as they climbed. Eventually the path opened up to a level clearing against the hillside, with a small cottage just beside the edge of a steep slope. He stopped well short of the edge, knowing Beverly's fear of heights, but hoped she would still appreciate the view.

Beverly brushed against his arm as she came to a stop beside him. Her cheeks were rosy from the moderate exertion of hiking in the cold, her blue eyes strikingly clear in the sunlight as she looked out towards the valley. "Where are we?" she murmured, curious.

"Besançon, near where I grew up. I found this place abandoned as a youth and escaped here on occasion."

She took in the sleepy cityscape, medieval architecture outweighing modern, crowded rust-colored roofs outlined by narrow streets lightly dusted in white. The winter sun glinted off a river just visible at the bottom of their field of view, with an ancient bridge spanning the water and taller hills in the distance. "It's lovely. I've never been here."

He smiled ruefully, gazing out at the landscape and speaking almost to himself. "I haven't been myself in probably forty years. I don't think it's changed much in a thousand, though."

She was quiet for a moment. "Why now?"

Picard shook himself out of a momentary reverie and turned towards her—the only person he'd ever so much as thought to bring here with him, even if "here" was only a recreation from his memories. "It's quiet. Peaceful. I thought you might enjoy it."

Her gaze was steady, perceptive. "I do. But that doesn't answer the question." There was no real reproval in her voice, only a mild statement of fact.

He inclined his head in silent acknowledgement. He didn't mean to deflect, but he couldn't entirely explain it to himself either. By the time they'd met he had long since left this place behind, intending never to return. Yet there was a part of him that, even as he lived the untethered life of an explorer of deep space, had always stayed rooted in this provincial countryside. It seemed important, somehow, to share that, even if he didn't know why. Perhaps he had some notion that as much as he wanted Beverly to be part of his present, his future, he also wanted to share with her something of his past...

These nebulous thoughts had floated through his mind as he reflected on recent events...but at least in one specific regard, he could offer some kind of answer. "Something struck me, the other day, after this misadventure of Q's," he began. "The traveling through time—it was almost Dickensian, if you will, in its effect. And it occurred to me that it's December on Earth right now."

"Oh. I suppose I tend to lose track." Beverly took his proffered arm as he started towards the cottage. "So—you were just thinking of winter?"

He shook his head. "Well, specifically, it's Christmastime. The holiday was yesterday, so it's within the traditional twelve days right now. I know it's not something we have ever observed, and it's not as though I have halcyon memories of it. But seeing the date, I was suddenly reminded of this place, and the handful of times I would come here alone at this time of year." He hesitated, then turned the wrought iron doorknob and led them inside. "Of course I never did much with it at the time, but I thought I might try now…"

The half-timbered cottage wasn't nearly as old as the city had appeared to be, but the heavy wooden door and framing details made it feel of a piece with the old-fashioned milieu. In one corner of the single great room stood a fir tree, of modest height but splendidly decorated with white lights and shiny glass ornaments. A circular wool rug lay in between the tree and a cozy arrangement of couches. To their left, by the small kitchen in the corner, a sideboard was set with a platter of cheeses and charcuterie, along with choices of coffee and wine.

Beverly pulled off her hat and smoothed out the static from her hair with one hand. "Jean-Luc, this is wonderful. Mmm—is that brie?"

"Comté, Morbier. They're quite good." He shrugged out of his coat and helped her out of hers, placing them on hooks by the entryway. "I'm glad you like this. Hopefully it's warm enough here inside."

"It should be. The hike was worth it, though." A suggestive smile crossed her lips as she stepped slowly towards him, rubbing her hands on her upper arms to warm up. "And I suspect, if I do still feel cold, you might be able to help with that."

With no little effort, Picard kept a perfectly neutral expression on his face as he replied. "Of course. I can turn the heat settings up at any time."

Thrown off her game for a moment, Beverly recovered quickly and laughed. "Right."

"Did you have something else in mind, Doctor?" he murmured, leaning in closer.

"I did, in fact." She wrapped his scarf around one hand, hovered within centimeters of his lips for several tantalizing seconds...

And with a poker face at least the equal of his, drew back and said matter-of-factly, "We could ask the computer to add a fireplace."

It was his turn to chuckle. "Computer, add fireplace against the rear wall, with wood-burning fire, low intensity," he called, locking eyes with hers. As the pleasantly crackling flames materialized behind her, though, he shook his head. "Not quite enough," he decided, and kissed her.

Desire kindled with every delicious sensation of her body against his—the shock of her cold hands sliding under his sweater, the smoothness of her cheeks against the sandpaper of his, the goosebumps arising on her cool skin as he slipped his hands over the swell of her chest. With every touch the slow burn increased, suffusing him with a rising heat he could feel matched in her.

Beverly braced against the back of one couch, eliciting a groan from him as she pulled his hips hard towards her. With a gasp of her own she brought her lips to his ear. "This is...very nice."

He nodded, brushing a kiss against the side of her neck, feeling her involuntary shiver of anticipation. "Are you warmer now?"

"Mmm. That's a definite yes."

He was entranced by the play of light and shadows from the firelight against her hair. A wonder he hadn't thought of it sooner. "And you have no other plans for today?"

She shrugged in his arms, lapsing into her familiar teasing grin. "Well...I think I have plans with the cheese and wine over there."

Picard sighed in mock disappointment. "Beverly."

"All right, I suppose they can wait," she amended. Her arms tightened around him, and her voice turned serious again. "Jean-Luc...thank you for bringing me here."

"You're very welcome," he murmured. The novel feel of her palms against the small of his back, straying lower bit by bit, was incredible, but he forced himself to concentrate on forming words. "I wouldn't have asked anyone else."

Beverly studied his face for a moment, the question remaining unspoken this time, but he thought it was the same as before: why? Why here, why now? He knew his earlier explanation had probably been inadequate. But to a profoundly humbling degree she actually understood him better than anyone ever had, so maybe it had sufficed after all...

She glanced over at the tree and then rested her chin on his shoulder. "Christmas past," she mused thoughtfully.

He smiled against her hair, let his hands drift up underneath her shirt. "And present, and future." It was at once a suggestion—a hope—a promise.

"Yes. Yes, I think so," she agreed, bringing her lips to his again. "Merry Christmas, Jean-Luc."