Nothing could have prepared him for the reality of the planet's oppressive humidity, certainly not the limited information he'd found in the Federation's databases on the Da'al system. The light from the planet's sun was also much brighter than he was used to, certainly much brighter than the brightness of the sun he was used to in France. Da'al, also known by its planetary designation Merangue IV, was an M class planet dominated by landscapes of deep greens and blues. It was located in the Borderlands and noted for the multicoloured rings clearly visible from the planet's surface.

First contact with the Federation had taken place in 2300. Previously, the remoteness from the Federation and the proximity of the planet, and eventually its colonies, to Klingon space had meant that, while the planet was known to the Federation, no formal introduction had ever been made, nor ties established. The Da'al themselves were a nonviolent, warp-capable species which valued neutrality and seemed to eschew the forging of alliances and so the Federation's attempts to establish relations with the planet and its people had been largely rebuffed.

The planet was not affiliated with Starfleet, but that did not mean that there were currently no diplomatic ties between the two, simply that the Da'al, situated as they were between Klingon and Romulan space, clung fiercely to their independent status.

Worf's contact had needed to disappear for a while and hadn't wanted the information he'd gathered sent over any type of communications channel until they knew what they were dealing with. The source had transmitted an address for a secure locker to Worf. There Picard would be able to pick up the dossier compiled on the woman who might be Beverly. Jean-Luc was secure in the knowledge that Worf had been as discreet as possible, but it had also left him with very little to go on until he could retrieve the PAAD.

At the moment, Picard was seated in a park across from the only medical complex in the city of Tecra, a provincial city in the southern hemisphere of the planet Da'al, and much smaller than the planet's capital city of Vdam. Worf's source had provided only one other piece of information, that Beverly was currently located at a hospital in the city of Tecra. Whether she was employed there or had been admitted as a patient after the shuttle crash, Jean-Luc could only guess. He didn't even know when, exactly, the shuttle crash had occurred.

So, upon learning that the information he needed in order to discover if this unknown woman really was Beverly was inaccessible until the following day, he had queried his shuttle's computer, requesting information on all of the city's hospitals and medical facilities. When he'd discovered that the city was only large enough to warrant a single hospital, he'd wasted no time in beaming down to the specified coordinates.

He now found himself sweltering in the heat and humidity, and second guessing his decision to wait across the street from the personnel entrance to the medical building, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, then to follow her until he could get a moment alone so that they could talk, hopefully without an audience.

The more he thought about it, the more ludicrous this hastily improvised "plan" really was. Negativity creeping into his thoughts once again, as they had done so easily in the past six years, he wondered why he was even there. No doubt this would turn out to be a wild goose chase.

He decided that he would at least wait until he was armed with the source's information before taking any further action and pushed himself up from the bench situated underneath a shady tree, where he'd taken refuge from the bright midday sun.

A flash of red caught his eye just before he turned to make his way back to the rented room he'd taken upon his arrival at Da'al this morning. His breath caught in his throat. He hadn't really allowed himself to believe that he'd find her. Even when Worf had brought him the intel outlining a possible sighting by some shady source in an obscure part of the Beta quadrant, he hadn't *really* believed he would ever lay eyes on her again, and yet… here she was.

—-

Six Months Previously…

Riker had come to see him not long after his resignation. At Deanna's prompting to check that he wasn't withering away amongst the vines, or simply to drop in and offer a sympathetic ear on his own impetus, he would never know. He *did* know that it wasn't prudent, not a wise career move for Riker to be seen as fraternizing with him. From what he remembered of that brief meeting, he'd been taciturn, churlish, morose even, not at all the gracious host his friend and former colleague deserved after having gone out of his way to call on him.

After several minutes of Picard feigning interest in photos of Riker's five-year-old son, and giving monotone answers to his well-meaning questions, Riker had sighed deeply from his position in a wingback armchair in the salon.

"We all miss her Jean-Luc." He hadn't needed to ask for clarification as to whom exactly he was referring. He'd glanced briefly at Riker, then down at his interlaced fingers, the digits starting to gnarl slightly with age, already stained from working in the fields in an attempt to exert himself to exhaustion and thus earn a dreamless, nightmare free sleep.

He had been, so far, unsuccessful. But Jean-Luc Picard would always stick with it until the bitter end. That was one of the myriad of reasons why he was here in LaBarre, alone and lonely instead of living a quiet life of retirement with the woman he loved at his side.

To the bitter end. The bitter end it seemed had been a threatened resignation quickly accepted and then forced on him after he'd overestimated his importance to the institution he'd sacrificed everything to and for, only to be repaid in disillusionment and betrayal.

"Jean-Luc... why did she cut everyone off? Me, Deanna, Geordi. There had to be a reason…". Picard didn't answer.

"Worf is still keeping an ear out, then…?" Riker tried again. Picard's only response was to nod in his direction. He didn't want to discuss Beverly, not now, maybe not ever.

"We all miss her Jean-Luc…" he reiterated. "Perhaps it's time someone finds out where she is… brings her home…"

He'd languished another six months at the château, directionless, lacking motivation for anything beyond the simplest and most mundane of tasks. The longer he dwelt there, in this resigned stupor, the more difficult it became to imagine a way forward, that his life wouldn't inevitably come to an end here where he was born, as bitter as his father before him.

He refused to think about his conversation with Riker. He'd looked for Beverly, sent out feelers to contacts across two quadrants sporadically over the last almost six years. *You didn't really look for her though did you, Jean-Luc…? * It was obvious that she did not wish to be found and his pride would not allow him to search for her more aggressively and then what, beg her to return to him?

No, he told himself, she was certainly better off wherever she had ended up. This, his life now, was his punishment for taking her for granted, for being arrogant enough to believe that, no matter what he did, she would always be there ready to forgive him, to take him back.

When the call came from Worf he was just coming back into the house, shucking off his boots and tossing his hat aside. His clothing was stained and malodorous, the garments more befitting a day labourer than the former Captain of the flagship of the Federation. He stumbled slightly on a loosened slate tile in the flooring, mentally reminding himself yet again to either repair it or have one of the workers in to do it before he fell and humiliated himself.

He reached the console and pressed the button to answer the call warily. No one, with the exception of journalists, contacted him these days, and he found himself immediately regretting that he'd answered at all. When the face of his former First Officer filled the screen, he was, for a moment, completely taken aback and it took several seconds before he had the wherewithal to voice a greeting.

"Mr. Worf?"

"Admiral. You are looking…". Worf, it seemed, had actually gotten a good look at him and was now clearly uncomfortable. Picard could see the struggle between his former Number One's innate, sometimes brutal honesty and his adoption of the human custom of ignoring the glaringly obvious so as to put someone at ease and not cause offense. Picard decided to rescue him.

"It is good to see you, Mr. Worf. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?" Worf's posture visibly relaxed now that the conversation had turned to his intended purpose.

Picard sincerely had no idea the reason for Worf's call. They hadn't really been in contact since even before Picard had resigned six months previously. Before his resignation, Picard had heard rumblings and whispers of Worf's involvement in political maneuvering of all sorts, despite his official position as captain of the Enterprise E. What he could want now, with a disgraced former admiral, was not at all clear.

"I have a potential sighting, Sir." Picard continued to stare at the screen, clueless, and realised he most probably looked like a doddering old fool to the Klingon on the other end of the call.

"A sighting…"

"Dr. Crusher, Sir." He could only gape at Worf's image on the screen, and only the thought that he now surely looked like a doddering old man forced him to attempt a response.

"How… Where…"

"I recently received word from a source that someone of her description has been spotted on the outskirts of a planet in the Beta quadrant… I do not want to get your hopes up, Admiral… The woman in question was involved in a shuttle crash. The name provided does not match Dr. Crusher, nor any of the potential aliases you suggested I monitor, or I would obviously have found her by now." Worf sounded disgruntled by the fact that the doctor had proved such elusive prey.

"I do not have much more than a vague report from a source that I have used in the past, that I trust. I was not provided any physical evidence to share with you. All that was related to me, was that the unknown woman's shuttle crashed here, on this planet." Worf entered a command on the console in front of him and his face was replaced by a star chart on Picard's view screen.

"It is called Da'al." Picard nodded vaguely at the mention of the name. "It is just outside of the R'ongovia Protectorate, near Klingon space. This planet is far out on the edge of well… almost everything, Sir. On the other side of the Briar Patch… Deep into the Beta quadrant, towards the Delta quadrant." Worf's visage returned to his screen, and he looked at his former commanding officer knowingly. How in the hell could Beverly have made it that deep into the Beta quadrant. More importantly, why?

"But we cannot be certain…"

"No, Sir." Worf was shaking his head at him. "As you know, it is as if she disappeared when she left the Enterprise. She might well have had help…".

Beverly hadn't needed any help, he thought bitterly. When the woman was motivated enough, no obstacle was too great to overcome. Fleeing the breakdown of their relationship, fleeing *him* and remaining off the radar would have provided no challenge for her whatsoever.

After he'd signed off with Worf, promising to let the Captain know if he should need any further assistance, he moved to the computer console in his study and quickly called up any information he could find on Da'al.

—-

Present Day…

Unwilling to allow her out of his sight for a second, he took great pains to keep out of view until he was certain that he could ensure she would remain long enough to hear what he had to say. He watched her walk down the steps of the hospital and cross the street, her customary stride easily eating up the distance. Her hair was much longer than it had been when he'd seen her last, at least halfway down her back. It was twisted neatly into a braid that swung slightly as she walked.

She was wearing some type of uniform, a light blue colour, just slightly lighter than her eyes he imagined. He was, in his current position, too far away for an accurate comparison, but he'd spent the equivalent of weeks of his life looking at and dreaming of Beverly's eyes, so he was fairly confident in this somewhat fanciful observation.

She was obviously coming to sit at one of the tables in the small park. Perhaps the park was even there for that very purpose. He'd seen several others, all sporting the same uniform, coming and going from the park in the past hour.

She had a small satchel in one hand and a PADD in the other. It was clear now that she *was* making her way to one of the tables, gracefully navigating the path, moving around a couple who had stopped to talk and sidestepping a woman who was obviously communicating with someone via a communications device, all while reviewing whatever information was on the PADD. It was all so very Beverly that he felt the emotion gathering in his gut, threatening to rise up and overwhelm him.

He'd honestly thought he'd never see her again, he realised. He'd imagined the last time he ever saw her would forever be the last time he would look at her face, the last time he would hear her voice, the last time he would ever touch her. The relief he felt now was enough to bring him to his knees and he began moving towards her without thinking, his only thought that the last time not be the *last* time.

As she sat down at the table she looked up and her eyes tangled with his. He didn't know what he was expecting… shock, anger, resignation… He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't the look he saw on her face now. Those beautiful blue eyes that had, in the past, alternately expressed anger, sadness, joy, love, and passion now held absolutely no expression whatsoever. Her gaze, in fact, was completely lacking in recognition, her eyes only looking at him curiously.

"Beverly?"

"I'm sorry, can I help you?" When he didn't respond, she tried again. "Do you need assistance?" He shook his head at her in disbelief. Either she was putting on the performance of a lifetime, or she had no idea whatsoever who he was.