Two hours later and Beverly wished she'd never agreed to this farce, or that she'd at least put up some sort of resistance. Peter was well into his third glass of champagne and, while not inebriated, his tongue had been loosened and she felt as if she'd been caught up in a machination not of her own making.
As soon as they'd arrived Peter had deftly slipped her wrap from her shoulders and tossed it in the direction of her chair, completely ignoring her look of indignation and panic. Moments later she'd seen Troi's eyes narrow as they zeroed in on their clasped hands. She'd thought about pulling her hand from his but realised she'd be making things worse. She loved Peter, but he was impetuous and single minded and she'd been the unfortunate collateral damage of his schemes in the past. Sometimes, however, it was better to simply go along and attempt damage control in his wake.
They moved from group to group exchanging small talk, all the while strategically keeping a distance from Jean-Luc and simultaneously keeping him in full view. She quickly became sick to death of self-congratulatory remarks and the rehashing of the devastation they'd witnessed on the ground. She felt abnormally weepy and emotional and all she could think about was the fact that he was leaving tomorrow, Jean-Luc was really leaving tomorrow, and she didn't know how she was supposed to cope with that.
Peter leaned in closer and whispered, "Smile, darling. We've got an audience." He tipped her chin up and frowned down at the tears swimming in her eyes. He bent his head and gently captured her lips.
She bent her head, murmuring "Peter…. I don't think…"
"Don't think. Let me do the thinking for both of us."
"I'm sorry. I don't know what's the matter with me. Normally…." She swallowed hard. "Normally I can compartmentalise…." She wrapped her fingers around his where they cupped her jaw.
"That's the problem, Beverly," he replied gruffly. "You've spent too many years worrying about what others think and denying your emotions, pretending that everything's fine…. Is it any wonder that you've hit an emotional wall?" He ran his thumb lightly over her bottom lip and she nipped it with her teeth in an attempt to lighten the intense melancholy surrounding them. He chuckled softly and dropped a kiss on her lips. "There's my girl. Beverly, there's nothing wrong with you tonight that a good dose of face saving won't fix. Trust me."
From the other side of the room Picard watched the body language between his CMO and the disaster expert they'd been sent here to assist. The shock he'd felt when they'd arrived and he'd discovered that Beverly had known the man she'd been working closely with on the planet all her life… His lips thinned as McArthur cupped Beverly's face pulling her towards him and he turned abruptly towards his companion for tonight's event.
Deanna had been at his side throughout the talks and so it was only natural that she accompany him this evening. Not that he'd have asked Beverly to act as his escort as he'd normally have done. Things were so broken between them since the Ba'ku incident, that he was despairing of ever being able to find the comfort and familiarity of their friendship again.
As Will joined their little group, Picard caught just a flash of Beverly moving through the lounge, trailing slightly behind McArthur, her fingers threaded through his, and he quickly averted his eyes. He'd already made the rounds, spoken to all of the key players from both the negotiation table and the teams that had been on the ground attempting to restore facilities and systems to the planet's hot spots.
All of the players that was, except Peter McArthur. He'd limited contact with the man, and as a result Beverly, since they'd arrived in orbit above Alcase two weeks ago. He shifted uncomfortably and Deanna gave him a searching look. No doubt some of his hostility towards the DART representative had made it through his emotional shields as he'd watched the man drooling all over Beverly.
—--
After hours of circulating and making small talk, Beverly was exhausted. Normally she was in her element at events like this, playing the part of the sophisticated and engaging dinner companion of the Captain. But even that had started to wear thin over the past 3 years when it became clear that in public, even at an unofficial event, Jean-Luc was unwilling to at least make a nod to the fact that they were more than simply fellow officers. Even amongst his peers at functions hosted at headquarters, he'd treated her as a colleague. A much valued colleague, but a colleague all the same.
Given the significance of this evening, the eve of his departure, she simply wished to escape to her quarters but she felt trapped because, as Peter had pointed out, she always did what was expected, no matter the personal cost. Five hours after their arrival, despite her desire to slip out as soon as acceptable, she'd somehow managed to get corralled into a post-function conversation in an otherwise empty 10-Forward.
Riker had managed to procure some actual alcohol from God only knew where, and the senior staff along with Peter were relaxing and swapping war stories. She glanced at Jean-Luc from under lowered lashes and thought that he too might also be here out of duty and under duress. His features were impassive but she could sense an air of tired resignation in him.
"So," Riker asked, "What exactly is DART?"
Unsurprisingly, it was Data who answered, "DART stands for Disaster Assistance Response Team, Commander. Today it is a civilian group, but it was originally formed on Earth by the government of Canada in the aftermath of the inadequate response to the 1994 Rwandan Genocide.
Its motto is "Defence, Diplomacy and Development" and it currently employs a variety of specialists including but not limited to engineers, urban planners, psychologists and negotiators from a large sampling of the Federation's member planets. DART has sent first responders to provide assistance after natural disasters as well as-"
"Thank you, Data." Will hid his grin behind his glass and sent Peter a playful look. "So, Mac, you never thought about putting your skills to work for the Federation, for Starfleet?"
"Nooooo," he responded just a bit too emphatically for Beverly's liking and she placed a hand over his on the table and gave it a light squeeze. She was desperately looking for some way to signal her desire to go. She could just leave without him, but Peter had had just a bit too much to drink and she shuddered at the thought of what he might say to Jean-Luc if she left him on his own.
"Well, that sounded emphatic," Riker chuckled.
"I guess you could say that," Peter responded. He shifted his eyes over to Beverly's before he continued. "I've had first hand experience of Federation disaster response… or rather lack of it."
Beverly could sense Deanna's interest peak on the opposite side of the table. Beverly rarely mentioned Arvada and the Counselor only knew of the doctor's personal connection to the planet because of the incident report included in the mandatory psychological evaluation that had accompanied her application to the Academy.
Much to Beverly's dismay that entry and the follow up notes continued to follow her around to this day, sometimes prompting unwelcomed questions by therapists and counselors eager either to pick her brain or heal her trauma. The thought of either made her simultaneously shudder in revulsion and want to rage in protest. When they'd first met on the D, Deanna had graciously accepted Beverly's refusal of her early attempts to tease out and examine that very old hurt.
"Really?" Will asked incredulously. Out of the corner of her eye Beverly had also seen Jean-Luc's eyes narrow at the insolent tone.
"Yes, really. I believe even the Academy textbooks cite the refusal of the Federation to send immediate assistance to the survivors of the invasion of Arvada III as an example of what not to do as a response to a catastrophic mass casualty event."
"I believe that that situation was complicated by regional politics," Jean-Luc retorted.
"Regional politics…" Peter chuckled darkly and Beverly felt the hair stand up on the back of her neck. This was skirting close to a line she never ever came near, let alone crossed. "That, Captain, sounds like a Starfleet response." Peter had managed to make Jean-Luc's title sound like an insult and Beverly's breath caught in her throat.
"Well, we are Starfleet officers, Mr. McArthur." Even to Beverly's ears Jean-Luc's tone sounded arrogant and inflexible, unwilling to entertain any opposition, and suddenly she felt her anxiety rise. Her eyes clashed with Deanna's and she saw the concern written there. Peter opened his mouth to respond but Will got there first. The First Officer cut him off loudly in an attempt to move the conversation back onto less acrimonious ground.
"So Peter, you and Beverly, you've known each other almost all your lives. What was she like as a child?" He shot Peter a charismatic grin that indicated that he was anticipating some wild childhood escapades he could needle the Doctor with in the future.
Peter's eyes met and held Beverly's now pleading gaze. "Charming, enchanting… fey…. And gorgeous… an utterly captivatingly gorgeous child… unfortunately," he murmured.
"What do you…" but Deanna had reached out and grabbed Will's arm. The tension at the table was almost palpable. Picard, seeing the slight trembling in Beverly's hands, shifted forward in his seat, eyes scanning her for other signs of distress.
"The Despor executed all of the men of Arvada immediately," he recounted without inflection, his eyes never leaving Beverly's. "The women and children…. Well, we could only wish that we'd died. They were…. merciless." Rising abruptly from her seat, Beverly hovered beside her chair uncertainly, her discomfort and agitation evident. Finally she pulled her eyes from Peter's and, ignoring everyone else at the table, strode purposefully toward the doors to 10-Forward, fists clenched at her sides. Deanna began to rise.
"Let her go, Counsellor." Peter sighed regretfully. "She needs a few minutes. Besides, it's my fault. I'll see to her. I shouldn't have stirred…"
"You protected her…" Deanna whispered at him, unable to stop herself. Her skin had taken on a very pale translucent quality, her dark eyes haunted. She slowly sank back into her seat, her horrified gaze never leaving his, and suddenly she knew, knew, why Beverly never talked about her childhood before going to live with her Nana on Caldos.
"They passed the children around regardless of gender..." His slight smile was meant to be self deprecating but looked more painful than playful. "I was a very pretty little boy. Most were willing to accept me in exchange… I couldn't, however, spare her every time." He threw a look loaded with disdain in Picard's direction before adding, "But what are the lives of a few children worth when compared to regional politics?"
The absolute silence around the table was deafening as he scraped back his chair. He saw the Captain's stunned and stricken expression and realised just how badly he'd blundered. These people had no idea who Beverly really was and he'd just exposed her deepest darkest secret to them all. Damn. Without a word to mitigate the bomb he'd just dropped, he strode away from the table, making for the exit.
As Picard approached Beverly's door five minutes later, he clearly heard Beverly's raised voice. "Why did you do that?!?" Shocked at the fury in her voice, he immediately reached for the keypad on the wall. He was just entering his override when he heard her speak again in a tone he'd never heard her use, he'd never before heard her scream. "You had no right, Peter!! No right!" The last word caught on a sob and, as her cabin doors slid open, he caught sight of her agitated hands flailing against the other man's chest.
"I know, Bevy. Hush…. I'm sorry…" He hauled Beverly against his body and Picard could hear the sound of her sobbing and ragged breaths muffled against the fabric of his shirt. Pulling his eyes away from the sight of Beverly's trembling body crushed against the other man, her face hidden against his chest, Picard raised his eyes and found McArthur staring back at him.
Mac silently shook his head at the Captain, steely blue eyes holding grey. His meaning was clear. Picard's fingers clenched into fists as he tried to reign in a surprisingly shocking burst of jealousy and temper. He had no right to pull Beverly away from the other man and insist he leave. No right at all and yet….
He watched as McArthur gently manoeuvred Beverly into her bedroom. The pair disappeared into the darkened room and the door snicked shut. Unable to believe what had just happened, he stood motionless for a full minute. Finally, casting one last long look at Beverly's bedroom door, he exited her quarters.