Path: moe.ksu.ksu.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!ub!acsu.buffalo.edu!ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu!v130qh57 From: v130qh57@ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu (sandra guzdek) Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: revised version, "Out in the Open" Message-ID: Date: 27 May 92 15:19:00 GMT Sender: nntp@acsu.buffalo.edu Organization: University at Buffalo Lines: 857 News-Software: VAX/VMS VNEWS 1.41 Nntp-Posting-Host: ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu this story was posted previously, oh, about two weeks ago. i got lots of nice comments, but also a lot of very helpful constructive criticism (thanks, aryk!!!!!). being the anal-retentive person that i am, i couldn't sleep until i had fixed what was wrong (although most of you would agree it was petty). so i hope you all like it. if you don't want to be bothered again, that's fair: hit "n" now. :) once again, all comments, good and bad, are greatly appreciated. sandra g. | "More coffee for me, boss.... ub illustration dept, buffalo ny | 'cause I'm not as messed up username: v130qh57@ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu | as I want to be..." | | -- "Hearing Aid", TMBG | Out In the Open by Sandra Guzdek May 1992 _______________________________________________________________________________ "I sense that you are feeling a great deal of guilt for what's happened to your son, that somehow you feel you are responsible." The words were quiet and soothing, like a warm blanket. The woman to whom they were addressed looked up with a tear-stained face, and nodded. "I had a strange feeling about sending him, I should have followed those instincts..." she managed between sobs. "It is impossible to know what the future will hold. Think of all the times it has been done with success." The counselor, a petite, dark-haired woman with onyx eyes, reached out and placed her hand on the grieving woman's arm. "I know this is very hard for you to bear, but you musn't let your grief put the blame where it doesn't belong." The woman covered her green eyes with her hands, and wiped the corners dry. "It just isn't right. He was only a child." She stood and tried eagerly to compose herself, shakily combing her hair back with long, thin fingers. "Deep down I know you're right. Maybe someday I'll believe it." She forced a smile and headed for the door. "Melanie." The woman turned at the door. "You know where I am if you need me." She nodded, touching the corner of her eye to halt another barrage of tears. "Thank you, Counselor. Thank you," she said, her voice husky with sorrow. The doors slid apart, and the tall, thin woman exited with a mask of bravery. As the doors closed, the counselor sat behind her desk and cradled her head in her hands, totally and thoroughly exhausted. She secretly hoped no-one else came her way, for right now she felt spent of consolation. ***EARLIER THAT DAY*** "Ready to beam down children's kindergarten field trip to the Grand Canyon on my mark," commanded Lieutenant Commander Geordi LaForge with a certain air of authority. He stood in Transporter Room Four, along with transporter operator Ensign Beryl McDowell. He smiled to the children warmly. "Now I know this is the first time transporting for many of you. Don't be scared. You'll get a fuzzy kind of weird feeling for a couple of seconds, and then --whammo!-- you'll be standing in front of one of the greatest natural sights on the planet." Some of the children snickered and giggled. Ensign McDowell said, "I've got all of them locked and ready for transport, sir." "And what about Ms. Casouk?" "She's waiting for the arrival of her class on the surface. She beamed down just before you got here to set up the picnic site." Geordi nodded. "All right, I guess she'll be wanting her class right about now. Engage." He smiled to them as they faded from sight. Almost instantly the ensign said, panic in her voice, "Sir, all of their signals are fading!" Her fingers deftly swept over the keypad in an effort to recover their locks. Geordi thought about the speech he had just given them all with a certain amount of regret. "Get those kids back now!" he said, trying not to let the terror invade his voice. "How did this happen?" The ensign shook her head, doing everything in her power to save them. "The locks just... went out. I can't explain without another level one diagnostic." She wiped her brow and continued her intricate fingerwork. Geordi ran around behind the console. The screen flashed, indicating some of the locks had been reestablished. On the transporter pad, glimmers appeared. Geordi breathed a sigh of relief; that is, until Ensign McDowell said to him in a hectic tone: "Sir, we only have *sixteen* locks!" He looked to her in shock. The class had been a class of twenty. She continued frantically as the children looked around themselves in confusion. They had landed every which way on the transporter pad. He raced over to lead them away. After two more minutes of trying, she announced sadly, "Sir, I've tried everything I can. I'm afraid they're... gone." Geordi looked to her; the ensign's eyes had begun to mist over. Geordi then looked over the dazed children, left with the horrible job of determining which of the youngsters hadn't made it back. With a wave of nausea, he realized one face was distinctly missing as his eyes darted over the small crowd. Kieran Petrochko. Mustering the will to speak, he commanded, "Ensign, inform the captain there's been an... accident." *** Amidst the sounds of wails and sobs in Sickbay, the medical team attended to the children who had made it back. The injuries were few; mostly, the children were scared out of their minds, crying relentlessly for their parents. The cheif medical officer had taken it upon herself to console the children until their families arrived. It was the least she could do, considering she was a mother herself; the thought of her own son suffering a similiar situation kept her motivated. The death of any child, anywhere, always rattled her, regardless of the fact that as a medical professional it was not supposed to. This visit to planet Earth was to be a shore leave for all crew aboard, but the sudden disaster had halted it for senior bridge officers while things went back to being normal. Those crewmembers already on shore, including some of the parents of the surviving children, had to remain on the surface until it was determined what exactly had occurred. That she was to see her own son again during this shore leave only made it harder to wait out the postponement. She found herself pacing the floor between the bunkers, finding little things to do to keep her mind occupied. Walking with her head down as she read another chart, she directly intersected the path of the ship's captain. He was distracted as well and did not see her approaching. "Doctor!" he said, surprised, as her charts nearly fell to the ground. Fortunately for her and her patients, he caught them. "Captain, I'm so sorry." She regained control of the charts, and tried earnestly to regain control of herself. He motioned that she should think nothing of it, and said with deepest sincerity, "Such a terrible tragedy. How are the children who returned? How are they feeling?" Unable to focus her concentration, she darted her eyes around him and managed to respond with, "Um, Deanna talked with them, explained what happened to their schoolmates. How it is extremely rare that it should happen. They're mostly just frightened. They still don't really understand what happened. They're physically all right. Nothing really wrong. Cuts and bruises from landing on the transporter pad. They want their mommies." Jean-Luc Picard smiled tenderly, putting aside for the moment the pain he felt for these children. How typical of her to try to bear the weight of the world on her own. "Beverly," he said gently. She still was restless. "I know I'm not making sense, but I can't think. Maybe I'm putting myself into the shoes of those mommies who don't have children coming back." They had been walking away from the noise and confusion; he touched her arm, halting their stride, and caught her gaze. "Beverly," he said in a consolatory tone, "Everything's taken care of down here. The children who are back are going to be fine. The children who are lost are by some terrible circumstance irretrievable, and unfortunately there's nothing we can do. What *is* in our control has been done, and done well. Your prescence has undoubtedly reassured them. However, your work here is complete, and I don't have to remind you that you have a very able staff. What you need is to get 'far from the madding crowd'." She knew he was right, and nodded her head. "Might I recommend a certain holodeck program until you're able to get down to see Wes? I've thrown in a few changes to 'The Outing' program that I think you would enjoy." She looked around herself again, still feeling a bit edgy and unsettled. "No, I think a hot bath will do wonders for me. Maybe followed by a glass of hot chocolate, and some sleep, hopefully." As the pair approached the turbolift, he smiled again, patting her shoulder. "That's the spirit. Now go on." She got in, and offered a small smile, holding her hand up to say "goodbye". The doors shut, and he turned away. _How unlike her to be so distracted in her work,_ he thought, glancing over the children, who'd begun to settle down somewhat. _Then again, understandable, given these terrible circumstances..._ Pulling down on the bottom of his jersey and clearing his throat, he decided to pay a visit to the suffering families to offer his condolences, out of duty... And out of personal need. It was discovered what caused the accident: a random flux of the dilithium crystals simutaneously paired with a structural weakness in the transporter coil caused an energy bubble to form that the scattered the children's patterns. After several hours of level one diagnostics and test- transporting non-living matter sucessfully in all of the transporter rooms, it was determined that everything was back in tip-top shape and general shore leave was once again granted. After holding a brief but tearful memorial service for those poor innocents who had perished, even Captain Jean-Luc Picard, well known as having a staunch dislike of shore leave, was looking forward to walking on terra firma, and getting away from it all. He had changed into a comfortable casual outfit and had packed a small bag of some food and a good book for a picnic under a broad elm somewhere, anywhere, when his communicator chirped. He rolled his eyes and grumbled uncharacteristically. "Ensign Kimball to Captain Picard." He slapped it with impatience. "Picard here. Is anything wrong?" "Sorry if I've disturbed you, sir, but Dr. Crusher's son is down here on the base and he would like permission to board the Enterprise." The captain was somewhat relieved. "Wesley? Of course he has permission." After a split-second of realization he queried, "Hasn't he contacted his mother?" "We've both tried, but have gotten no response from Dr. Crusher." Picard's relief was quickly replaced by a sense of foreboding. "Computer, locate Chief Medical Officer Beverly Crusher." The computer, in its most pleasant and monotone voice, replied, "Dr. Crusher is in her quarters." Picard turned on his heel for the doctor's quarters. "Ensign Kimball, tell Wesley Crusher to meet me in his mother's quarters. Picard out." It was probably nothing. She probably so sound asleep that she couldn't hear the alert, or perhaps her communicator was deactivated. For some reason, though, Jean-Luc was terribly worried. His pace was rapid, and his heart was pounding. Finally arriving at the door of Beverly Crusher's quarters, he began by pressing on the door chime. "Dr. Crusher, are you in there? Wesley's on his way up." No response. "Dr. Crusher, report!" he yelled. He had a sinking feeling that his instinct was right, that something was indeed amiss. "Beverly!" he said one last time, before deciding to enter the quarters. As the door slipped open, he saw all was as if she had just gotten in: her jacket strewn on the edge of her bed, a hairbrush out as if she'd just pulled it through her auburn hair, the corner of her bedsheet turned down as if she could hardly wait to rest her weary head. However, it had been nearly seven hours since he had parted with her at the turbolift, and by all rights, she should have been either sound asleep or readying for the rendezvous with her son that she had been so looking forward to. In a more subdued tone, he said, "Beverly, answer me, are you here?" A mixture of relief and alarm washed over him when he saw light eminating from beneath the door of the bathroom. He hastened to the door and called again for her. When there was no reply, he took it upon himself to enter. "If she's in there and showering, I'll be more than embarrassed," he muttered to himself, "but if I don't go in..." As the door opened, he was shocked to see the doctor sprawled upon her stomach on the floor of the bathroom, a trickle of now dried and crusted blood coming from a head wound. Her hair was tousled, and she was wrapped merely in a bathtowel, obviously having just come from the bath when the injury occurred. "Captain Picard to Sickbay. Medical emergency in Dr. Crusher's quarters; I need a medical team here at once!" He bent on his knees, looking at her, trying to see if she was still breathing. She was. He combed away the hair that covered her face -- her eyes were closed, but fluttering. Not knowing what else to do, he covered her with a robe, partially because he knew she was in shock, and partially because he knew she was modest. Sensing someone behind him, the captain turned to see young Wesley standing at the door of the bathroom, blanched with shock. "Mom?" The word escaped his lips in a dry whisper. William Riker, feeling much the same sadness and regret as the rest of the crew concerning the children, decided to embark on a sojourn to New Orleans, for he too knew, after the consolation and the tears at the memorial service for the four of them, that life must inevitably continue. He needed to get away for some form of quiet time to simply appreciate life, whether he just walked the lush streets of the old Garden District, or ended up in a nightclub to experience first hand the recent revival of jazz. The more he thought about it, the more he knew Deanna should come as well. This she would enjoy, and besides, he still owed her an authentic Cajun dinner from some past poker bet. The entire crew had been under such a great amount of stress in the past eighteen hours, but as she was the cushion for everyone's emotional free-falling, her own stress was undoubtedly intensified. _All the more reason for her to go,_ he thought. _I hear that warm New Orleans air can sometimes work miracles..._ He changed into less rigid attire and went to her door, ringing the chime. He heard her call out, "Who is it?" "Deanna, it's Will. I'm heading down to the surface, going to New Orleans. Want to come?" It seemed to take her an extraordinary amount of time to respond. Finally he heard her whispery reply: "No." He was surprised by this answer, although a part of him knew she may have made other plans. "Not even for dinner?" "No." He wrinkled his brow, concerned about the tone her voice had taken. She hadn't sounded at all like herself, even in those two one-word answers. "Can I at least come in?" Deanna's uniquely accented voice called back, "I'd rather you didn't." Behind the door, Deanna sat crosslegged on her bed. The room was dark save the aura of a small lamp; there was low, soft music humming in the air. She was brimming with sadness for those poor children who had perished, for their parents: no matter how hard she tried, she could not shut out the painful emotions eminating from them. She just didn't have the energy. _All this time being a counselor, is it supposed to weather me against the anguish?_ she thought. "I'd like some time alone," she concluded. "It's been a long day." Riker objected silently, but said to her, "I'll be on board for another hour if you need me, or if you change your mind." "I'll keep it in mind, Will, thank you." Will turned away from the door and decided to see if Geordi, Worf or Data had made plans. As he continued walking, he commented to himself how great it was that everything had returned to normal when he was passed quickly by a pair of medics in a hurry to get somewhere. As they turned down the fork in the corridor several meters ahead, he realized that that was the branch that led to the cheif medical officer's quarters. His curiosity and concern were piqued, and he detoured to see just what was happening. As Riker approached he saw the captain, whose pale and shaken visage belied his posture of strength, and an equally upset Wesley Crusher. He arrived just as one of the medics walked away from the pair of them, and the other commanded a transport to Sickbay from deep inside the quarters. "Captain, what's going on here? Is everything all right?" "It's mom," managed Wesley tenderly. Picard elaborated: "Dr. Crusher has been injured. They've just beamed her down to Sickbay. If you'd care to join us, we're on our way down there..." "Of course, sir. What happened?" The young cadet kept admirable pace with the long strides of the two senior officers; he remained silent as the three of them entered the turbolift for Sickbay. "I was worried when she didn't answer several hails, so I went down to make sure she was all right. I found her on the floor of her bath chamber. She may have been that way for several hours. Whether she slipped or passed out is unclear, but on the way down she hit her head and is presently unconscious, and luckily breathing on her own." Will could tell that this was affecting him more than he was letting on. "She *is* going to be all right, though," Wesley added. The captained acknowledged with a nod. "One of the medics told us that he is concerned she may experience some disorientation, and possibly some temporary memory loss. But, yes, she will be fine. Nothing that the Flansburgh/Linnell cyclical neurotreatment won't repair." The three of them got off of the turbolift, and Wesley sprinted ahead. Riker said to the captain, "But what about you? You look as if you've seen a ghost. And after what happened this morning..." "Confidentially, Number One," the captain began in a quieter tone, "it scared the living daylights out of me to find her on the floor like that. To find *any* of you like that would disturb me. But somehow I feel responsible." Riker flashed one of his famous grins. "She's the first one on this ship who would browbeat you for suggesting she can't take care of herself." Picard smiled. "Indeed, Number One. Indeed." Geordi LaForge, ship's chief engineer, turned away from the console for a moment to think. It had now been two days since the transporter fiasco, and the crew in engineering was just returning the main electrical system back to normal and on line. When the bubble formed, many other systems went down along with the transporter. With the backup, however, noone could even really tell there was a problem, and being so near the Earth, there had been no real cause for alarm. Now that everything had been put back in its proper order, Geordi finally had time to grieve. He had used the excuse of repair to avoid the memorial service for the children. There was a reality there that he found hard to face, for he had recently befriended one of the deceased children. The young girl had recently taken an interest in engineering, and had begun to look upon Geordi as a mentor. They had also spent a good deal of time together outside of the engineering section as well, he helping her with her studies, going fishing on the holodeck, even attending one of her "tea parties". He thought of her disgust at hooking a worm... and what were those dolls' names? Madeleine and Peter? He remembered swallowing the awful tasting "tea" and, smiling, telling her it was the finest he'd ever had. The arboretum; ah, those daffodils. How she loved their scent... Standing near Geordi was Lt.-Cmndr Data, who, upon perceiving an emotional state not unlike despair, inquired, "Geordi, are you feeling well?" Geordi mustered up a smile for his emotionless friend. "Sure, I'm fine. I'm just thinking about Kieran. Poor kid." "It is truly fortunate that a high percentage of them were saved against the odds, yet, I am disappointed we were not able to get them all. Is that what it means to bereave?" Data cocked his head like an inquisitive child. "I think you understand, but it is so much more. Like when Tasha died, like when any of us dies, you realize that you'll never laugh, cry, console or be consoled by this person again, and the sense of loss becomes almost overwhelming. Fortunately, time does heal all wounds." Data took a moment to process this information. "A long time." "Ah yes, Tasha. Every day I am reminded of her in some way." He took the seat next to Geordi, and continued, "May I recommend that you talk with Counselor Troi? I regret that I cannot fully reciprocate exactly what you are... feeling." Geordi sighed; he had hoped that a talk with the counselor wouldn't be necessary, but deep down he knew it would be the only way to confront the terrible fact that little Kieran was gone. He nodded to Data and tapped his communicator. "LaForge to Counselor Troi. Acknowledge." His page went unanswered, so he tried again, with the same results. He looked to Data, whose look of confusion was impeccably human. "I do not understand." "Maybe she went for her shore leave. Come to think of it, I haven't seen her around in a couple of days." "That would not explain why she is not responding. Even when not on board she would be expected to respond almost immediately." According to the computer, Deanna was still on board, in her quarters. For an android, Data seemed to eminate a great deal of concern. "The fact that the same set of instances occurred just days ago to Dr. Crusher is disturbing. I hope that Counselor Troi is not injured in some similiar way." Geordi stood and straightened his shirt. "Come on with me, Data. Let's go and solve this little mystery." Having forsaken a spot under a broad elm tree long ago for a less comfortable seat in a nearly empty Ten-Forward, Jean-Luc Picard sat reading Shakespeare with a glass of warmed milk in his hand, both to soothe his nerves. He just couldn't sleep, and for some reason he felt cramped in his quarters. Hearing someone call out his title, he looked up to see his second-in-command nearing the table. "Will, any news on Dr. Crusher?" "No, she's still unconscious, and unresponsive to the drug to bring her out of it." Will took the liberty of sitting across from him. "That worries me. She's been unconscious for far too long." "Absolutely." A passing attendant brought Riker a glass of synthehol, and he thanked her politely. "That isn't why I needed to speak with you, though. It would seem that Counselor Troi is... missing." Picard set the book aside. "What exactly do you mean by 'missing'?" "Noone can recall seeing her within the past 48 hours. LaForge needed her for grief counseling this evening. When he went to her quarters with Data, he discovered that her communicator had been left behind on a table in her room. Needless to say, she was nowhere to be found." "Intriguing. Do you think that she intentionally left it behind?" "Frankly sir, I spoke to her the night after the disaster. I think I may have been one of the last people to speak with her. She sounded terribly disturbed: sad, maybe even depressed. She said something about needing some time to herself." "While there's nothing wrong with wanting that, it *would* seem very peculiar for a senior officer to just... take leave without informing someone, least of all, the captain. And that she left behind her communicator implies that she does not want to be found just yet." He stopped to sip his milk, then looked to Will with a gaze of concern. "What do you propose we do? Go search for her, or leave her to her 'time alone'?" "I think this calls for a search party. This is very unlike Deanna, to just up and disappear. Something may be very wrong with her, emotionally speaking-- after a day like that one, who does *she* turn to?" Picard rubbed his chin in thought. "'Quis custodiet ipsos custodes'," he said with consideration, rather to himself. "Excuse me, sir?" Despite everything, Picard allowed himself to smile. "It's Latin. Roughly translated, it means, 'Who shall guard the guards themselves?' Rather ironic that our doctor needs doctoring, and our counselor needs counseling. Some shore leave *this* has turned out to be." Though he was wrought with worry for the two women, and still reeling from the children's passing, Riker smiled as well. "Go on, Will, take whom you choose, and lead a search party for our absent counselor." He drained the milk glass, and finished, "Do you have any idea where to begin looking?" "Well, sir, I'll ask Cheif O'Brien to get me a list of any unidentifiable transports to the surface within the past two days. Hopefully the list won't be very long, and we can begin a ground search at the coordinates to which she may have beamed." Riker relaxed in his seat, though what he wanted to do was get right down there and start looking for her on his own. Picard stifled a yawn, realizing he had become very tired, and apologized. "Given the head-start Deanna has, she may no longer be anywhere near where she beamed down." Riker sighed, "Don't remind me." The two of them stood and left Ten-Forward together; Picard continued, "There is also the slim possibility that she is still on board, somewhere -- in which case, I will ask Mr. Data to scan the ship for any unidentified humanoid lifesigns." Riker nodded in understanding, but knew in his heart that she was not on board. Before turning down separate corridors, Will added, "Let me know if anything changes with Dr. Crusher." As tired as he was, Will's comment had set Picard to thinking he would drop in on Beverly and Wes, for undoubtedly her son was there by her side in Sickbay. The poor cadet looked like he hadn't a wink of sleep since seeing his mother on the floor in her bathroom: his eyes were encircled with dark rings and his skin was wan. "Hello, Captain Picard," said Wesley, his voice dragging with fatigue. "No change." The captain studied Beverly as she lie unconscious on the bed. It seemed in those few hours since last he visited her that her usually warm eyes had become that much more sunken; her skin, that much more ashen; her body, that much more frail. His heart was in his throat, but knew he had to remain strong for Wes. "Why don't you go and get some sleep? It won't help your mother much for her son to be in worse shape than she is....." His attempt at humour was interrupted when the pair of them heard Beverly Crusher yawn. "Mmmm," her dry throat crackled, "... *terrific* nap... " As her eyes blinked open heavily, she saw there were two men present and nearly screamed. "Why are you two here? Wait a minute, why am *I* in Sickbay?" Picard breathed a sigh of relief. "Beverly, you're going to be all right." At virtually the same moment, Wesley said, reaching for her, "Mom!" Wesley's glee was stopped dead in the water when she uttered in what seemed an uncaring tone, drawing her fine brows together: "Who are *you*?" "The medics warned that this might occur, some temporary memory loss, Wes. Don't let it frighten you," Picard reminded, aside, to the confused cadet. Wes nodded in understanding, though it still bothered him. To Beverly, he said, "Do you know your name, your station?" She propped herself up with her elbows. "I see by your insignia that you are a captain, sir. I don't believe we've met. I'm Beverly Howard, just starting my second year in Starfleet Medical, sir." She extended her hand with a girlish smile. Picard tentatively took it, and shook gently. He'd known her at that time, and she didn't remember him, either. "I'm Captain Jean-Luc Picard, of the Enterprise 1701-D." He watched her for a reaction; nothing that even resembled recognition surfaced on her face. He continued, "Beverly, don't you remember either of us?" She was beginning to look a little scared. "Should I? What happened to me? Tell me! Please!" Wesley hovered nervously, and Jean-Luc sat on the edge of her bed. "You were in your bath, when you fell and hit your head. You are Doctor Beverly Crusher, Cheif Medical Officer of this ship, the Enterprise. This is your son, Wesley." "Son? And who's Crusher? I'm *married*?" Panic edged her voice. The silent Wesley spoke up: "He was Jack Crusher, my dad. He's dead." His lower lip was trembling at the thought of his mother reduced to this, all of her training, and his father, forgotten. And she was trembling with fear, for all of this was new to her. Son? Dead husband? Chief medical officer??? "Here's that list you wanted, sir." Will Riker, having managed a good amount of sleep, albeit turbulent, took the list with a polite thank you from the grasp of the transporter cheif. In one column was the list of coordinates, and the other, the approx- imate surface location. Will's eyes darted over the names: there weren't very many, and he thought that maybe luck was finally on his side. One particular location jumped out to him screaming 'Deanna', which only strengthened that belief. Giving the coordinates to Cheif O'Brien, he dashed up to the transporter pad and commanded, "Energize." After a moment of shimmering, Riker was gone. _What a difference a day makes,_ thought Picard as Beverly waved to him from her bed upon his entrance into the room. "Captain. It's good of you to come back, sir," she said. How utterly foreign for her to be so formal. "Beverly," he said in return, for "Doctor" or "Crusher" wasn't something she was accustomed to just yet. He took a seat on a nearby chair. "You look like you're feeling better. Does being back in your own room help at all?" For a moment she looked at him strangely; apparently she did not remember this room either. She offered, trying to sound hopeful, "My medical knowledge is returning. I found myself telling the medics how many cc's to put in my hypospray last night in Sickbay before they moved me here, to, uh, my own room. Unfortunately, I still don't remember any of you." "It will all come back to you. It is promising that you're remembering as much as you are." He tried to sound as optimistic as he could to counter her disorientation. She nodded. "Some of the senior officers came by to try to cheer me up earlier... let's see, the commander... with the beard, and the android, and the Klingon." _What a brave front she's keeping,_ he thought, as he told her, "That would be Will Riker, Data, and Worf." She snapped her fingers and pointed towards the captain. "Yes, of course. They did tell me that. It was right at the tip of my tongue, thank you." At once she became dejected, knowing that her forgetfulness was blatantly obvious. "Who am I trying to fool? I'm not recovering as quickly as I should be, given the treatments. At this rate I could be like this for days, months... years. I want to remember so badly --I'm trying so hard just to remember my son and my husband, and it's not coming to me." She looked as if tears might spring from her eyes at any moment, a rare sight for the headstrong doctor. "In your own time, in your own time," he said to her soothingly, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. He was about to call for the counselor, but remembered her abscence with chagrin. "I know," she said in a small voice, "but it isn't easy." Picard decided to leave to find out what progress if any had been made in locating the counselor. "I have to be going now," he said kindly, "but just remember that we're all behind you." With a delicate smile she said, "Of course, sir. You're a busy man. I can't expect you to wait on me hand and foot. But, maybe you could come by again later and tell me some tales of... our time together." As he stood and straightened his top he replied that he would gladly. Striding down the corridor, he hoped that Riker was having luck in his search, for Deanna was needed here in a desperate way. Riker materialized beside a giant slab of cool, rough stone. He peered around himself in awe at the gargantuan structure that encompassed him, and at the pastoral, golden brown field that gently lapped at it on all sides. The sun was on the downswing, bathing everything in an orange glow. Will was struck by the sense of complete permanence here, that this place was as it had been for centuries past, and would be for centuries to come. The wind whistled between the rocks and sent waves across the surface of the field, making this ancient place all the more mystical. Stonehenge. Sitting in the center of this antediluvian calendar was Deanna Troi, crosslegged, with her hands on her knees and her face upturned towards the dusky sky. Her features were as emotionless as a Vulcan's, her curly hair was free and floating on the breeze. There was no surprising an empath, however, and she opened her eyes with a look that said louder than words that she was irritated at being disturbed. "Deanna." He approached her with care, as if fire might shoot out from her eyes and render him lifeless. Her voice was low. "How did you find me?" It was more a statement than a question. "As you can see, this is something I need to do alone." "Deanna, I think you should come back to the Enterprise. We are all worried about you. We need you back. We... *I*... miss your smile." The word did nothing to elicit one on her lips. "Will, I know you're trying to help, but please, leave me be. I'm working through this grief and stress as best I can with the time I've got. Sometimes I'm just pulled in too many directions at once. Sometimes all of the hurt and pain builds up with a mounting pressure-- it's all I can do to keep it from exploding in my face. I'm the 'tower of strength' for the whole ship." She said the words as if they had a bitter taste. "Keeping up appearances only adds to it." Will sat beside her, disregarding her wish for him to leave. "What you need to do," he said quietly, resting his hand on her shoulder in comforting her, "is to talk this problem through with someone. We all turn to you for our crises. I wish you knew enough to turn to us for yours." She turned away from him, and covered her face with her hand. "Please, just go. I won't be very much longer, I promise." Reluctantly, he said, "All right, but at the very least, take your communicator. So you can get back." She hadn't really considered that in her rush to leave without being detected, and with the slightest suggestion of a smile, she took it from his palm and pinned it to her bosom. "You'll be okay?" he asked. She nodded, covertly blotting a tear in the corner of her eye. As he stood and left her to be alone, an instanteous change of heart caused her to call to him: "Well... if you really want to stay... I suppose I *could* use a shoulder to cry on..." He returned to her side and wrapped an arm around her as she let loose a torrent of tears. "I feel like a blubbering baby," she managed apologetically between sobs. "Sometimes blubbering like a baby is the best medicine for life's ups and downs. Lets you get on with your life." He placed a consolatory kiss on the top of her head and smoothed her hair down as the tears flowed. He was surprised to feel tears coming from his own eyes, and he dabbed them away. The tears began to cease a few minutes later, and she took in a deep breath, clearing her eyes. She stood to straighten and dust off her airy white dress, and he followed. She offered him a genuine smile. "I feel so much better. Maybe that was what I needed all along, not some silly traditional Betazoid trance." She laughed lightly at the thought, wiping her cheeks dry. "Thank you, Imzadi." She took his hands in her own. They looked at each other, secure enough in their deep friendship and affection for one another not to need any more words. It seemed that they might even become romantic when the inevitable chirp of Riker's communicator sounded. "Captain Picard to Commander Riker." He turned away and tapped it, eminating disappointment enough for her to read, saying, "Riker here." "Report. Any luck finding our counselor?" "I'm... with her now, Captain. Consider her found." The captain replied, "Oh... well... very good. Tell her she's needed in Dr. Crusher's quarters at her convenience." "Of course. We'll be right up. Riker out." Deanna looked to him. "Dr. Crusher? Did something happen to her?" "She sustained an injury that has caused her to lose some of her memory. She's going to be fine. We just think it's a good idea for her to talk to you." "What was I thinking? How could I have left like that?" Deanna became very upset again. "I don't know what came over me! How could I be so selfish to just ignore my duty like that? They need me, and I've just tossed them aside! How horrible and callous of me!" Will followed her aimless pace and grabbed her arm, angry at her for putting her own feelings so far behind those of others. "Whatever guilt you're laying on yourself, stop it. You're not made of stone. That's what endears you to us all. Everybody knows that even you need time to release it all, too. All you do is pick up where you left off." After a pause, she sighed, breaking the almost tangible tension. "You're right. You've just convinced me that this time off was deserved, even if I do catch hell from the captain for it." She smiled again. With a flash of teeth, Riker ordered, "Two to beam up." At the vast and infinitely dark table in the observation lounge, the lone figure of the captain sat with a cup of hot tea, deep in thought, peering out of the window at the blue-green jewel before his eyes. He was interrupted suddenly by the tweedle of the door. "Come." In came the counselor and the commander, both looking serious. "Commander Riker has filled me in about Dr. Crusher on the way here," said she. Deanna and Will sat on either side of Picard; folding her hands and looking every inch 'recovered', she commanded their attention. "It is my firm belief that she is subconsciously blocking all memories that include those closest to her, those she cares about most, as a reaction against the unfortunate deaths of those children. If you aren't able to care about anybody, you can't be hurt by their loss. That is what is keeping the treatments from working as well." The two men shot each other a glance of concurral. "What can be done about it, Counselor?" queried the captain. "I can begin by speaking with her. I can't promise a thing more until I see her." They all rose as if it were planned. Riker said, "Well, go and give it a shot." Beverly Crusher sat, dressed in a linen nightgown and robe, at her console, studying very carefully a photograph of herself and the son she could not remember. They were having a wonderful time, indicated by the broad laugh they both seem to have been caught in. "Why?" she muttered to herself. "Why isn't there anything for my mind to latch on to?" Tears welled in her eyes and she turned off the console with a jab of impatience. The chime on her door sounded, making her jump. "Come in," she called. A woman entered exuding a great sense of warmth and care. The friendly smile on her lips indicated to Beverly that this dark-haired woman must have been close to her, although no memory of their friendship existed any more. "Hello, Beverly," she said, her voice kind and trustworthy. "I know you don't remember me. I'm Deanna Troi, and I am the ship's counselor. You used to come to me whenever something troubled you. Would you like to talk?" Beverly stood, and proceeded to pace the floor in front of Deanna, who had taken a seat on the couch. "I can't remember anyone that I'm supposed to care about, and medically there's no reason for it. That's the problem in a nutshell. What's wrong with me? Am I crazy?" "Beverly, please, come and sit. It won't help for you to get all riled up. Sit and relax." With a glance that only made the pain more apparent, Beverly sat beside Deanna. "Now, you've tried situational therapy?" "Yes," was the curt response. "And it has failed?" "It would seem that way." "Let's see. Maybe there's some situation you've not yet encountered, one that would trigger everything. You've had contact with all of the senior bridge officers?" "You're the last, and I'm sorry to report that there's still nothing. Not a spark with any of you." "Not even the captain? He and yourself were close friends." Beverly shook her head. "What about Wesley, your son?" "Not a thing, not a thing." Deanna shifted in her seat. "Okay, what about places? Have you gone back to Sickbay? Ten-Forward?" "My medical knowledge has pretty much returned, and I haven't had the physical strength to get down to Ten-Forward. Besides, I'm not up to socializing-- I hear it's a popular place to wind down." "*That's* an understatement," quipped Deanna, and was glad to see Beverly amused by it. "I guess that means you haven't gone back to the Main Bridge either." The doctor nodded. Deanna paused, phrasing very carefully in her head the last of her questions, the one she was sure was the key to it all. "Beverly," she began tenderly, "what about your deceased husband, Jack Crusher? Have you re-read his personnel file, looked at pictures of him, listened to his or your personal log entries of the time?" Deanna had hit a nerve: Beverly was very slow to answer, and she began to wring her hands restlessly, her eyes elusive. "N-no." "Why not?" In a voice that was barely audible, she confessed, "I'm afraid." "You? *Afraid*?" The counselor offered her support with a smile. "That isn't the Dr. Crusher I know." Deanna stood, taking Beverly's hand with her to pull her off of the couch, towards the console. "The only way for you to fully recover from this is to do that very thing. Come with me." It was like taking a dog for a walk that didn't want to go. "Please. I'm not ready for this yet." "You are more than ready, and you know it will work. What are you afraid of, that you're human? It's the only way to get those memories back." Deanna sat her down in the chair facing the console; her unwillingness was fading as reality set in. "Ask for it, ask for the files on Jack Crusher." Clearing her throat, Beverly began, her voice tremulous: "Computer, give me a visual image of J-Jack Crusher." A gasp came from her lips as the handsome face of Jack Crusher appeared on the screen, a wide grin seemingly in place just for her, brown eyes twinkling. Her fingers reached up and touched the screen where his cheek was. She muttered, a trickle of memories returning, "Stargazer..." Deanna intervened. "Computer, play the last personal log recorded by Jack Crusher." The computer replied bluntly, "Access to that file is restricted to Doctor Beverly Crusher." Glancing to the ceiling with a gaze intense enough to burn, Beverly said, "Doctor Beverly Crusher, hereby giving authorization." She turned back to the console, where Jack, alive and in the flesh, smiled to her. She was mesmerised. The cool voice of the commander began to speak in an entry that was clearly meant for Beverly's eyes only. Deanna felt it appropriate to turn away. "Bev, honey. Hope those studies are going as well as always. You're going to head up Starfleet Medical someday, I just know it." He paused to look away off-screen. "This is just to tell you again how much I miss and love you and Wesley, and when this mission ends I can't wait to return to you so I can just hold you again. Until then, you only have these words of my complete love and devotion, as few as they are." Beverly just stared glassy-eyed, mouth open and dry, not uttering a sound. "I've got to go, Picard is waiting in his ready-room for me; you know how he can be when he doesn't want me to do something." He winked. "Give Wes a kiss for me. Bye." The log had been recorded only hours before his death. As if she were physically struck by some unseen force, she doubled over with relentless sobs as she cried out over and over again: "JackohJackohJackohJack..." Her hands were still on the screen, fingertips white from the pressure she exerted. Probing Beverly's mind, Deanna found that her memories were rushing back at a mind-boggling rate, overwhelming her. Deanna quickly got out. The counselor pried Beverly away and brought her to sit on the floor, placing her arms around the disconsolate doctor. There was nothing more to be said. Simply put, the one person she had loved the most had died an untimely death. That one person was never fully grieved for, as Beverly had been far too busy with her medical studies and with her young son to even give it a thought. Now, finally, came the release of it all on a grand scale. It was like someone had taken a weight from her chest, and she was able to breathe at last. Out of the blue came Wesley, racing into the quarters. Hearing his call for her, Beverly looked up to him with red, swollen eyes. "Wesley," she said, her voice choked with tears, stretching her arms out to embrace him fully. Deanna backed away to let him comfort his mother. With a great feeling of satisfaction, she said to herself, "My work here is done." The following morning, the Enterprise made all the necessary preparations to break from orbiting the Earth one week after her arrival, making sure that all crew were present and accounted for, that there were no unwanted guests as well, and running diagnostics, just to be sure, on every vital system. In the middle of all of this chaos, Captain Picard found himself wanting to check up on Doctor Crusher one last time before departing. He had not seen her since her extremely emotional recovery, and a small part of him needed to be reassured that he was in fact still someone in her past. She was too important to him to have their relationship forgotten. The computer indicated to him that she was in Holodeck 3, running the updated and modified 'The Outing' program. He smiled to himself and left his ready-room to join her. The doors of Holodeck 3 swooshed open, and Jean-Luc stepped onto the grassy bank of the newly added stream, which flowed by with a relaxing babble. It meandered across the land; at its most acute bend it came about three meters away from the campsite, glinting like diamonds in the sun. At the campsite, there were two sleeping units that showed signs of recent use, and the fire sent up a thin line of smoke from its dying embers. On the opposite bank was a thick forest of mighty pines, whose aroma lightly filled the air. Beverly Crusher sat on the edge of the stream dressed in typical camping gear, her jean legs rolled up to the knees, her feet dangling into the clear, warm water. She was so in thought that his prescence was still unnoticed; he walked near to her and said, "Dr. Crusher." She turned at the waist to look at him with the open smile he had always known. Recognition, usually taken for granted, came with welcome from her hazel eyes. "How good it is to hear that, and *know* it, Jean-Luc. Come and sit beside me." She indicated a lovely patch of green next to her. "That's quite all right," he returned, squinting in the sun. "I can't stay. I just came to see how you're doing." He stood as if he were at attention, feeling kind of awkward at interrupting her peace. She pursued the issue: "Come on. You don't have to get your feet wet or anything, although it does feel awfully good." She splashed her feet, as if to prove a point. Her playfulness was charming, and it won him over. He was even persuaded enough to remove his boots, roll up his pant cuffs and stick his feet in the water. She was right, it did feel great, but he didn't want her think she'd totally won, and commented, "*You're* feeling better, all right." She winked like a little leprechaun, and they both laughed. "May I ask, what happened exactly in your bathroom that you fell? Did you become dizzy, did you feel faint?" She shrugged coyly. "I'm almost embarrassed to say... If you can believe it, I slipped coming out of the bathtub. In this day and age of matter transporters and photon torpedoes..." She chuckled. "I guess you were the one who found me in there, huh?" He nodded. "I *know* I can thank you for being a gentleman." "Of course, Beverly." She smiled inwardly. Was that a blush staining his cheeks? After a moment of purely basking in the sun, she said, completely changing the course of the conversation, "I brought Wesley here last night. He loved it. We had a great time, roasting marshmallows, telling scary stories, even talking about Jack, and crying a little, too. It's been a long time since we've done anything of the sort. It was really nice... kind of put everything into perspective." She leaned back and rested on the palms of her hands, tilting her head to one side, her reddish hair shining as it swayed with the breeze. It was good to see her back in health, and happy. Not wanting to cloud over this deserved state of well-being, he still had one thing that he had to clear up. Unsurely, Jean-Luc asked, "Doctor... *Beverly*..." As he turned his head to look to her, their eyes met. In an eerie sort of way, it seemed she knew what he was about to ask. For that he was silently grateful. "Jean-Luc, I once cursed you for letting my dear Jack go to his death. That, however, was my most immediate, immature answer. There was no way you could know what was going to happen, no way at all. It would be foolish of me to bear such an unfounded grudge. And it would be foolish of *you* to still feel guilty. You have always been a fine and more than capable captain. When Jack wanted to do something, there was just no stopping him. You did what you could." She sat forward again, digging her fingers into the cool earth. "You've become such a dear friend and such an important confidante of mine in the time we've served together. Be assured, if you didn't realize it already, that as Jack was your friend, so am I." She stopped, a look of sudden amusement on her face. "If he were alive, I think he'd be sitting here right along with us, kicking his feet in the water." In the spirit of this renewed comraderie, Jean-Luc put his hand on hers, giving it a couple good pats. "Yes, I believe he would, and undoubtedly he would be trying to get water all over my uniform, just to test my patience as only he could," he said, smiling. "What, like this?" She kicked up a good splash, spraying the both of them with a fair amount of water. She laughed heartily as he shot her a good-natured look of infuriation. He repeated, "You can be *such* a devil sometimes," wiping the droplets from his jersey and pants with a grin. "Let it go, Geordi. Just let it go." Geordi LaForge looked to his hands as he felt a tear in his eye. He told himself that what he and little Kieran had shared was very special and irreplacable, but now she was gone, and he had to accept it. He would cry now and again for her; most likely, he would smile when he thought of her cherubic face and bell-like laughter. He looked to Deanna across the table and straightened proudly, telling her that very thing. "I have only good things to remember about her. I'm sad that she's gone, but strangely enough, I don't feel I *have* to weep. I keep hearing her voice tell me, 'Don't cry, ya big baby,' and I feel like laughing." Yet the tears betrayed his words, and from behind the metallic VISOR they began to roll down his cheeks. Deanna grasped his hand with both of hers. She said to him gently, knowing with every fiber of her being there weren't truer words: "Everything will be all right." _______________________________________________________________________________ copyright 1992 by sandra guzdek. usual disclaimers about paramount, etc. and remember, plagiarism is a big word for thievery, which is a big word (but not as big as the first) for stealing. (but passing it around as mine is o.k.)