DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns them all.  

AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was orignally published in Orion Press's "Fire and 
Ice" fanzine.  At the time I wrote this (mid-1998, I believe), I had read a 
few fanfics that portrayed Beverly as becoming involved with Jean-Luc 
immediately after Jack's death.  I didn't think this was a fitting tribute 
to what I'd always imagined as a happy marriage between Jack and Beverly so 
I wrote this story.  Writing it, however, resulted in something I hadn't 
foreseen -- I was able to express thoughts and emotions that I had never 
fully allowed myself to express in my personal life.  Almost everything 
Beverly experiences in this story I experienced nine years ago.  I'm not 
trying to engender sympathy -- I have since met and married a wonderful man 
-- but since this story deals with issues very close to me I wanted the 
readers to be aware of it.  I am aware that there are parts in the story 
that aren't well-written, that seem awkward and maudlin to me now, but I 
haven't changed any of it.  It was written from my heart so I'm posting it 
as originally written.

Thank you for reading.

*******************************

AND SHE PONDERED THEM IN HER HEART
by TrexPhile
Summer 1998


CHAPTER ONE

"Okay, Wes -- what do you want for dinner tonight?"

"Hot dog!"  The little boy bounced into the kitchen after his mother.

She looked down at him in exasperation.  "Wesley.  You had a hot dog last 
night."

His grin was so disarming.  "I like 'em."

"Oh, alright," she replied, turning to the replicator.  "It's late and we 
don't have time to discuss this."  She smiled as he took his place at the 
table.  "At least it's not jelly sandwiches anymore..."

"And to drink?" she queried as she removed the plate from the replicator.

"Apple cherry juice with three cherries with the stems still on 'em!"

"Of course," she muttered, punching in another command.

The doorbell buzzed.

Beverly sighed, grabbed the full glass that appeared in the replicator and 
set the hot dog and glass in front of her five-year old son.  She placed a 
firm hand on his squirming shoulder, pushing him back down into the chair.

"I'll get it, Wesley.  You eat.  You still have to get your bath before 
bed."

As she crossed the room, she wondered briefly who could be calling at this 
hour.  It was almost 8:00 -- too late to be having dinner, too late to be 
having visitors, especially with a Kindergartener who needed to be in bed 
in less than an hour.  The whole day had been like this -- too little time 
and too many unexpected interruptions.

She punched the panel, opening the door.

A Starfleet officer stood there, his expression solemn, his hands clasped 
loosely in front of him.

Now this was odd.  Starfleet officers had dropped by before, but that had 
been when Jack was home and they were calling for him.  

Jack...

Her heart shut down.

The man began to speak and Beverly's eyes darted to the left, picking up 
movement from the corner of her eye.  The officer turned to see also and he 
frowned.

"Who is this?" he spoke gruffly.

"Walker," she said softly.

"Oh yes.  Captain Keel."  The officer nodded at Walker.  "I'm sorry, sir -- 
I didn't recognize you at first."

Her friend slowed his steps as he approached the other man, never taking 
his eyes from Beverly's face, his normally jovial expression grief-stricken 
and sympathetic.

"Walker," she whispered again, suddenly very frightened.

She felt a rustling beside her and a small hand touched her side. 

The man looked down at Wesley and seemed hesitant to speak.  Beverly took 
Wesley's hand, knowing that she should send the child away and yet unable 
to move or speak.  

"Mrs. Crusher -- I'm sorry to give you the news that your husband, Jack, 
was involved in an accident while serving on the Stargazer.  His commanding 
officer reports that Lieutenant Commander Jack Crusher was killed in action 
while serving on an away mission."  He paused.  "Starfleet extends its 
deepest sympathies to you and your family on this loss."

Beverly felt herself nod.  

Walker stepped in and gripped her arm.  "Come here, Beverly."  He gently 
guided the pair of them to the couch, then returned to the door to whisper 
something to the officer.

The air was roaring around Beverly's ears, swirling into a soft cocoon 
through which she was barely able to perceive her surroundings.  She turned 
her head slowly to look down into her son's frightened eyes.  She felt as 
if she was swaddled in cotton, her sense of sight inhibited by soft clouds, 
her movements slowed and ponderous, her thoughts crawling and solidifying.

"Mommy?"  His chin shook.

She gathered him into her arms and hugged him, her tongue leaden and 
uncooperative.

"Baby," she whispered into his hair.  

His little arms moved slowly around her waist.  "What happened?" she heard 
him say.

"Daddy is--"  She was unable to say it.  What would be easier for a five-
year old to hear?  'Passed away?'  'Went away and isn't coming back?'  'Is 
with the angels now?'  She didn't believe that last one at all.  She wasn't 
sure yet that she believed the reality.

"He had an accident, Wesley, and he was... killed."  

His little face looked up and she saw the tears trembling in his eyes.   
"What happened to him?"

"I don't know."  Why did she feel so distant, so removed?  Shouldn't she be 
panicked or collapsing into a faint or at the very least crying?  Something 
else besides this numb inertia?  

Walker sat down beside her and began speaking softly.  "Would you like for 
me to call someone for you, Beverly?"

She forced her eyes to raise to his, the effort draining her.  "Nana," she 
whispered.

He rose to access the terminal in the next room.

She closed her eyes, trying to grasp the ability to speak coherently.  

"Walker," she managed, "Nana doesn't have a home terminal.  Try..."  She 
tried to think.  "Try contacting Siobhan McCreedy.  She's one of Nana's 
close neighbors."  She sank back into the cushions, so tired.  "She'll get 
the message to her."

She should do something, try to gain some semblance of control.  From her 
seat on the couch, holding her son, she spoke to the Starfleet 
representative who stood just inside the door.  "How did it happen?"

"The details at this time are sketchy," he replied efficiently.  "All we 
know at this time is that he was serving on an away mission."  His 
expression softened.  "The Stargazer is currently enroute to Earth and is 
expected to arrive in twenty-seven hours."

Her voice sounded so distant, so strange to her ears.  "Was there anyone 
else--"  She swallowed.  She couldn't say that word again, not yet.  

Thankfully, she wasn't required to finish the sentence.  "No, ma'am.  There 
wasn't."

She nodded and bent over Wesley's head, placing her hand against his cheek, 
the cocoon tightening around her again.

"We will notify you as soon as the ship arrives.  Again, our deepest 
condolences on your loss."

She nodded against Wesley's head.  Walker, finished with the transmission, 
let the officer out.  She looked at him as he returned to sit beside her.

"Who was that?" she asked.

Walker's eyes widened and she knew from his expression that he'd 
misunderstood her question, that he was wondering if she was losing her 
touch on reality.

"I didn't recognize him," she clarified.  "Who was that?"

"Commander Burnett."

"Oh."

She felt small arms tighten around her waist and she leaned over her little 
boy's body, suddenly angry at the forces that had caused this tragedy, 
welcoming the intensity of the emotion.  It was something, at least -- 
better than the void that had been surrounding her.  It was unfair and so 
wrong that her son's innocence had been ripped away like this.  He should 
never have to endure this kind of pain.  She had wanted so much to shield 
him from anything like this, keep him from having to experience what she 
had experienced as a child.  

She felt Walker's arm move around her shoulder but she didn't want it there 
-- not yet.  She didn't want her anger to dissipate yet, didn't want it 
soothed away, didn't want to cry and allow grief and despair to replace 
this more heated emotion.  

It slipped away, however, despite her efforts to keep hold.  When Wesley 
lifted his head and looked at her, his expression questioning, her heart 
cried out, twisted sharply and all her sorrow poured forth.

Walker drew them both into his arms and the tears finally came.


CHAPTER TWO

She lay in the darkened bedroom, trying to sleep but unable to.  She was so 
tired, so drained and yet sleep evaded her.

Wesley had eaten his dinner and gone to sleep almost immediately afterward.  
She and Walker had sat together for three hours after Wes had gone to 
sleep.  She hadn't cried for long, and the numbness had returned.  She had 
needed to do something, to occupy herself.  Walker had helped her 
straighten the living room and kitchen, and then she had begun folding a 
basket of laundry that had been waiting a month to be tended to.  She had 
come across one of Jack's shirts in the pile and, feeling suddenly panicky, 
had just ignored it, shifting it aside and folding hers and Wesley's 
clothing instead.

Walker had finally convinced her to lie down, gently stressing the 
importance of getting her rest.  She hadn't argued with him, although she 
knew that achieving sleep would be an impossibility.  She lay in the bed 
now, worrying about her baby, about his reaction -- or rather, his lack of 
reaction.  He didn't understand -- she knew that.  She had occasionally 
mentioned to him the dangers of serving in Starfleet, in terms that she 
thought he would understand.  There had been times when she and Jack had 
received news about an acquaintance being injured or killed and she had 
tried, without Jack's help, to include Wesley in their brief discussions, 
hoping to instill in her son a sense of what could happen to his father.  
She knew now that he had never realized the possibility.

Did I really realize it myself? she thought, staring into the darkness.  A 
memory formed, a conversation from about six months ago.

"He was a good officer," Jack had said, ending the discussion.

"Daddy?"  Wesley had voiced, looking up from his drawing.  "Will that 
happen to you?"

She recalled how Jack had glanced at her and then had grinned and swept 
Wesley up in his arms.  "Never!  We Crushers are invincible!  Don't you 
worry about it, Wes."

Wesley had laughed as Jack had tossed him onto the couch and had asked, 
"What's 'abinsible'?"

Beverly pulled the afghan around her, squeezing her eyes shut against the 
memory.  "Oh God..." she moaned.

"Beverly?"

She felt the bed shift and she opened her eyes to see Nana, her arms 
outstretched.  She sat up slowly.

"Nana.  How did you get here so soon?"

The old woman smiled, the pain she was feeling for her only grandchild very 
evident in her eyes.

"I was already on my way."

Beverly was confused.  "Already on your way?  But you never travel, Nana.  
How did you know to come?"

"Come here, child."

She allowed her grandmother to envelop her in her embrace.  Although the 
older woman was smaller and almost frail-looking, her arms radiated 
strength, providing desperately needed comfort.  Beverly clutched her 
grandmother to her, once again the small injured child seeking healing from 
the Healer, allowing her questions to dissipate.  

"Oh Nana," Beverly whimpered as the tears rose in her throat again.  "I 
don't think I can do this."

"Can't do what, child?"  Her hand moved across Beverly's head, soft and 
soothing.

"Be strong..."  The word ended in a sob.  Her throat, her chest, her whole 
body burned with the release of the acrid tears.   "I'm supposed to be 
strong right now but I have nothing left.  

"Why must you be strong?"  Nana's voice was soft.

Beverly pulled back, searching the familiar lines of her grandmother's 
face.  "I have to, for Wesley... I'm all he has left."

Nana nodded in understanding.  "Yes, I suppose you do.  And how will you do 
that?"

Beverly sat back.  Her mind felt so muddy, so slow.  "By... I don't know... 
by just being strong!"  She felt like she was losing control of her own 
thought processes, as if her synapses were winking out one by one.  "God, 
Nana, I can't even think."

Nana drew her in again.  "I know.  Don't try.  Your mind needs time to 
recover.  You're a doctor -- you know that after a body suffers trauma, it 
must take time to recover.  Your mind is still in shock.  Your senses will 
return in time when you need them."  She smiled and touched her 
granddaughter's cheek.  

"But I have to be there, all of me, for Wesley right now.  He doesn't 
understand any of this, Nana.  He's so confused.  And I don't think I can 
help him right now.  I can't be what he needs."  The tears rose again.  She 
hated them, hated the weakness they signified.

"Oh, my little Beverly.  Always the caregiver, always the 'strong' one on 
whom everyone depends.  You have always been this way, from the very 
beginning.  That's why you're a Healer.  But."  She took Beverly's face in 
her hands and gazed directly into her eyes.  "When you feel your strength 
waning, you mustn't be afraid to let it slip away.  That's why I'm here -- 
be strong for the others if you must.  But allow yourself to be weak with 
me."

Beverly nodded and the tears didn't burn quite as badly as before.  Nana 
began rocking just slightly and Beverly closed her eyes, letting her mind 
go numb again.  Surely it would be easier now.  Nana was here.


CHAPTER THREE

Beverly sat at the kitchen table, ignoring her cup of coffee.  Nana was 
preparing breakfast for the still-sleeping Wesley.  The sun was just 
beginning to peek through the curtains, brightening the room.  Beverly had 
always loved the morning, loved to open up the house to let in the new day.  
Today, she felt the sun mocking her and wanted only to hide from it.

Her mind was clearer this morning.  Her thoughts were now tumbling and 
spinning, and she wasn't sure if she liked this state of mind much better 
than her previous frozen state.  There were too many disturbing thoughts 
and pictures rolling through her head.  In seventeen hours, the Stargazer 
would arrive, bringing with it two of the men who were most precious to 
her... and one of them was dead.  

Dead.

Jack was dead.

She wanted to know how it happened.  Starfleet hadn't given her any 
explanation, just that he'd been serving on an away mission.  Had it been 
an accident?  Some sort of equipment malfunction?  Had they been attacked?  
Perhaps Jack had died while protecting Jean-Luc...

Jean-Luc.

Beverly could just imagine what Jean-Luc was feeling right now.  As 
captain, he was responsible for the safety of his crew.  He took that 
responsibility very seriously, Beverly knew.  And Jack was much more than 
just a member of this crew -- he was his best friend.  

This can't be happening...      

She'd always known that something like this could happen, somewhere in the 
back of her mind.  Serving in Starfleet was both vastly rewarding and 
inherently dangerous -- this was an accepted fact, one that every Starfleet 
cadet was reminded of from the first day of class.  As a medical student, 
Beverly had  learned the administrivia that was required when "processing" 
the death reports of Starfleet personnel, knew what information was to be 
gleaned from autopsies of those killed in the line of duty, had composed 
"letters of condolence" to fictitious family members -- she was prepared 
for every situation that a medical officer might have to deal with when one 
of their finest and bravest was killed.

Except for when that fine and brave one was a part of your heart.

She felt Nana's hand on her shoulder.

"I made some eggs, honey."

Beverly shook her head.  "Thanks, but I'm not hungry.  I can barely keep 
this coffee down."

Nana slipped into the chair opposite.  "I understand.  Try to eat something 
later though."

Beverly nodded, thankful that Nana wasn't pressing the matter.  

"Nana," she said suddenly, just now remembering a question that she'd never 
had answered the night before.  "You said that you were already on your way 
here last night."

The woman stirred her tea for a long moment, then set her spoon down 
deliberately.  

"Yes, I was."

"Why?"

The old woman looked past Beverly's face, her green eyes darker than usual.

"I'm not sure," she finally replied.  "I just had to come."

Beverly's stomach twitched as she regarded the unfamiliar haunted look on 
her Nana's face.  She swallowed, willing the wave of nausea to subside.

"You know me, Beverly -- I'm not one for travel.  Never have understood 
some souls' desires for leaping from planet to planet.  But for the last 
three days, I had this strange, restless feeling within me that I just 
couldn't get rid of.  It was as if something was calling me, telling me to 
find a ship and come to you here."  She brought her eyes to Beverly's.  "I 
now understand why."

Beverly licked her suddenly dry lips.  She didn't believe in supernatural 
powers and as long as she'd known Nana, she'd never heard her mention any 
such belief of her own.  The closest discussion they'd ever had about such 
a thing were the ghost stories her grandmother would tell her by the light 
of that old candle that was always burning.  

"Nana," Beverly finally managed.  "Are you saying... do you think that you 
somehow knew about Jack, even before you were told?  Before it even 
happened?"  She sat back, shaking her head.  "That's not possible."

"Beverly."  Nana leaned forward and grasped Beverly's hands.  "I'm not 
going to try to explain it.  I only partially understand it myself.  All I 
know for sure is that I knew that you needed me and I came."  She 
uncharacteristically dropped her gaze.  "You are more precious to me than 
anything.  We have shared so much together and our bond is strong, even 
more so than you realize."  She looked up and Beverly was surprised at how 
green her eyes were.  "There's more to this than just the love I have for 
you, which is immeasurable."  She smiled.  "Some love endures for 
generations.  It was that love that spoke to me and told me you needed me."  

Beverly was puzzled by her grandmother's unusually cryptic words.  What was 
Nana trying to say? "Nana--"

"Mommy?"

She looked up.  Wesley was standing in the doorway, rumpled and sleepy-
eyed.  

"Good morning, Wesley," Nana responded rising from her chair.

"Nana!"  Wesley trotted over to his great-grandmother and she hugged him to 
her.  "I didn't know you were here."

"Yes, sweetie, I got here last night."  She stroked his head, then leaned 
down to kiss his forehead.  

He stepped back and rubbed one eye.  "I'm hungry."

Nana smiled and moved to the counter.  "I think I have something for that.  
I made this just for you."

Wesley approached and looked at the plate, then broke out in a grin.  
"Happy face pancakes!  And whipped cream!"

He followed Nana eagerly and sat down after she'd set the pancakes down.  
He looked up at her.  "Did you make these yourself?"

"Of course I did," she smiled.

"No rep'icator?"

"Now, you know me better than that, Mr. Crusher!" she intoned, as she 
feigned a shocked expression.

He giggled and began eating.  

Beverly tried to smile but it was just so hard to do so.  She watched her 
son as he ate, taking sips of her coffee, her stomach protesting with every 
swallow.  

"I had a dream last night, Momma.  About Daddy." 

Beverly's heart clenched.  "A dream, baby?"

He nodded and took a drink of milk.  "He talked to me."

Beverly glanced at Nana, who looked as concerned as Beverly was.  "What did 
he say?"

Wesley smiled.  "He told me that he wasn't really dead.  He said it was 
just a mistake and he was coming home real soon with Captain Picard."

"Oh honey..."  Beverly sighed, her eyes stinging.  She didn't know what to 
say and looked to Nana for help.  Nana's lips were pressed together and she 
was shaking her head slightly.  

Beverly knelt beside Wesley's chair.  "Wesley..." she began.

"I'm glad he's not really dead, Momma.  I was scared at first but now I'm 
not.  It's just like Daddy said -- that if I ever missed him when he was 
gone, he would be in my dreams and it would be like he was right here.  And 
he was in my dream and he said he wasn't really dead so he'll be here soon.  
Right?"  He looked at her, seeking confirmation.

"Honey, that was just a dream.  It wasn't real.  Your daddy... he was 
killed and he can't come back to us."

She wanted to break down at the sight of her baby's wide, confused eyes.  I 
have to be strong, have to explain it to him...

"I've told you, Wesley, that sometimes accidents happen, that sometimes 
Starfleet officers get hurt or killed.  None of us wanted this to happen to 
Daddy but it did."

He shook his head vigorously.  "No!  Daddy said that this wouldn't happen 
to him.  He promised me!  He said that nothing would happen to him 'cause 
he's a Crusher."  His voice rose.  "He told me he would be in my dream and 
he was and he's not dead!  It's a mistake!"  He slapped the tabletop with 
both hands, toppling his milk over.  

"Wesley!"  Beverly rose as her son leapt from his chair and ran toward his 
room.

"No!" she heard him cry out.  "You'll see when he gets here.  It's a 
mistake!"  

Beverly stood, staring down the hall, her heart jackhammering in her chest.  
Anger, sudden and hot, roiled within her.  

"Damn you, Jack!"  She clenched her fists, fingernails digging into her 
palms, shaking so violently she thought she might pass out.  She wanted to 
regret the words she'd just said but couldn't.  

"Damn you, Jack," she repeated in a whisper.  "Look what you've done to 
your baby."

The anger subsided as suddenly as it had arisen, replaced by an aching 
anguish.  Through the swelling clamor, she thought she heard a voice 
speaking softly and urgently.  With great effort, she focused on the voice.

"Beverly."

She looked over, feeling dazed and saw Nana right there, milk-soaked cloth 
in hand.  

"Nana -- what do I do?  How do I make him understand?"  The tears rose, 
searing her eyes and spilling over to carve hot trails down her cheeks.

Her grandmother grabbed her shaking hands firmly.  "He will understand, 
Beverly, in a very short time.  This is too overwhelming for him to process 
immediately.  Give him time to sort through it."

"But he's expecting Jack to come home tonight!"

Nana nodded.  "And when he doesn't, he will begin to realize the truth."

The truth.  Jack is dead.  He's not coming back.

"God, it hurts so much..."

Nana embraced her as Beverly's trembling knees gave way and the older woman 
eased  her granddaughter to the carpet, holding her tightly as she cried.


CHAPTER FOUR

Once more, Beverly lay in the darkness of her bedroom.  The day had passed 
surprisingly quickly -- a hectic, hazy melange of sympathetic faces had 
appeared briefly in her home and departed quickly.  Beverly had experienced 
the hugs and the soft "I'm so sorrys" as if from a distance,  watching 
herself move through the almost ritualistic procedure of accepting the 
condolences of friends and co-workers.  By mid-afternoon, she had endured 
enough and had retreated to her room, letting Nana take over.  She had 
wanted to try to talk to Wesley again but he had been whisked away by a 
family friend to spend the day with her son.  The friend had spouted 
something about Wesley being overwhelmed by it all and Beverly had merely 
nodded mutely and let them take him.  

She had actually managed to sleep.  She had awakened suddenly and, not 
expecting the darkness, had bolted upright, disoriented.  She fumbled for 
the chronometer.

11:30.  That would be 2330 hours.  

Her breath caught in her throat.  When had she started automatically 
converting to military time?  Just one more example of how Starfleet had 
altered every aspect of her life. 

She hated Starfleet.

"Beverly?  Are you awake?"

Nana's face was barely visible in the doorway.  

"Yes."

Nana came on into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.  "There's a 
call for you.  It's Captain Picard."

Oh no.  "Is he here?  I mean -- the Stargazer.  It's arrived?"

"I believe so, honey.  He's waiting to speak to you."

Beverly rose, then stopped halfway to the door.  "Is Wesley back?"

Nana nodded.  "He's in his room."  She lowered her voice.  "He won't go to 
bed.  I tried to talk to him but he wouldn't have any of it.  He says he's 
waiting for his daddy to get home."

Beverly looked at the floor, wishing it would just swallow her up.  "Well, 
his daddy is home now, isn't he?"

She left the room before Nana could speak again.

The personal terminal glowed, the only light in the room.  She stood before 
it, finger poised over the button, contemplating the words "Your Party is 
Standing By" that were superimposed over the blue Starfleet symbol.  
Finally, she sat and punched the button hard.

A slight flicker and Jean-Luc's face appeared.  The first thing her 
physician's eyes saw was the static intrastabilizer on his right temple.  
Why was he wearing that?  It was only a first aid device, to keep a serious 
wound in a form of stasis until more thorough treatment was available.  Her 
initial thought -- that somehow the Stargazer's medical staff had been 
unable to attend to their captain's injury -- was immediately replaced by 
what she knew was really true.  Jean-Luc, she knew without a doubt, had 
refused treatment, choosing instead to resolve the current crisis, to get 
his best friend home first. 

"Beverly."  His mouth barely moved as he said her name.  His eyes were 
shrouded and dark, the two creases between his eyes deeply pronounced.

She tried to respond but her throat was suddenly frozen and tight.  She was 
afraid that she would cry and that was the last thing she wanted him to see 
her do.  She merely nodded.

"We've just now docked and I wanted you to know that we're preparing to 
take--"  He paused and his gaze wavered for a moment.  "To take him to the 
morgue at Starfleet Medical."

"I want to go."  She was surprised by the immediacy of her response.  

"Beverly."  The creases deepened even more.  "It's not necessary that you -
-"

"Yes, it is, Jean-Luc," she interrupted, angered by his overprotective 
response.  "I'll be there right away."

"Beverly, he hasn't been... prepared yet.  Perhaps it would be better if 
you wait until--"

She was tense and prickling in her indignation.  The emotional state wasn't 
a pleasant one but it gave her a sense of control that she hadn't had in 
more than a day.  She welcomed it.

"I'm a doctor.  I've seen death before.  As I said, I'll be there right 
away."  She terminated the connection before he could say more.

She stood and turned resolutely and saw Nana standing in the middle of the 
room, looking at her.  Beverly locked her gaze on her grandmother's, 
silently daring her to try to dissuade her.  

Nana's response was soft.  "I'll watch Wesley while you're gone."

Beverly swallowed hard, unwilling to let her grandmother's presence soften 
her resolve.  She grabbed her light jacket from the back of the rocking 
chair and paused at the door.  

"I'll be back soon."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

He met her as she exited the lift on the first level.  

"Is anyone else here?" she asked.

"No," he answered simply.

She stepped forward until she was close enough to touch him.  She almost 
did so but stopped herself.  She could tell by his demeanor that he 
wouldn't welcome any physical contact.  She wasn't surprised.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

She nodded and they began walking down the long gray hall.  Their steps 
became synchronized as they made their way slowly and deliberately toward 
the door at the end of the corridor.

She stared straight ahead and yet details of her surroundings were so 
clear.  Strange thoughts floated into her mind.  Why had the walls been 
designed to slope inward?  And who had decided on the necessity of benches 
to line those walls?  Every time Beverly had been down here, there had 
never been crowds of people.  This was the last place that anyone wanted to 
visit at Starfleet Medical.  

Her thoughts were unnerving and the silence, broken only by the echoing of 
their synchronous footsteps, was making it worse.  

She had to say something.  

"It's good of you to come with me."  She didn't look at him.

"It's the least I can do."

Polite.  Impersonal.  An automatic response.  Despite their long 
acquaintance, she didn't expect more from him right now.

As the end of the corridor loomed closer, her heart began to speed up.  She 
thought briefly, irrationally, that she wished she had a tricorder so that 
she could measure her adrenaline levels, so that she could occupy her mind 
with something.  An old song popped into her head and, horrified, she could 
do nothing to make it stop repeating.  

"Hit the road, Jack, and dontcha come back no more, no more, no more, no 
more..."

They reached the end of the corridor finally and turned left.  There was 
the door right in front of them.

01-6593.  Morgue.

Jean-Luc pressed the panel and the doors slid open.  

The room was dark, the blue lights on the individual stasis chambers the 
main source of light.  They stood on a raised level a meter or so above the 
rest of the room, a sort of gallery that overlooked the autopsy area.  
Stairs directly opposite the entrance led down to the area where a lone 
table sat, a shrouded figure atop it.

As she stared at the table, she felt the cocoon envelop her again and her 
senses dulled.  The only thing she could actually feel was her painfully 
throbbing heart.  

They descended the stairs slowly and Jean-Luc spoke again.

"You don't have to do this."

Her words came from elsewhere.  "It's important to me.  I have to see him."

They had reached the table and the cocoon tightened around her.  She looked 
down at the sheet-draped body and realized that, when the sheet was lifted, 
she would be viewing it upside down.  For some reason, it made sense, 
accurately representing this sudden upheaval in her life.

Jean-Luc touched the edge of the table with his fingertips, regarding her 
intently.  

"You shouldn't remember him like this."

She wanted to be angry at his attempts to shield her from reality but the 
cushioning cocoon wouldn't allow her to react.  

"I have to face the fact that he's gone."  And that it's really him under 
that sheet.  That it's not a mistake.

Jean-Luc gripped the edge of the sheet and, watching Beverly's face, pulled 
it back.

There was no mistake.

She moved around the table to Jean-Luc's side so that she could see better.  
The cause of death was obvious.  A jagged, meandering wound that was 
concentrated right below his right temple and spread up and across to the 
middle of his high forehead and down along his jawline, ending after it 
crossed his throat.  Death had to have been instantaneous.  

"How did it happen?" she whispered.

Picard looked away.  

"I sent an away team down to the surface of Tapella Prime, a routine 
exploratory mission. The planet was supposedly uninhabited and routine 
scans picked up no sentient lifeforms.   Somehow our scans had failed to 
pick up a large group of aliens that were in the same vicinity of the away 
team."   He gripped the edge of the table, still avoiding her gaze.

"The away team had split into two groups and, with no warning, the aliens 
attacked both groups.  Jack was heading up the team and he requested 
emergency beam out but the transporters had begun functioning erratically -
- an ion storm had sprung up.  We finally managed to lock on to one of the 
groups.  That was when Jack was hit."  

Jean-Luc stared off at the blue indicators.  "He had been shot in the 
abdomen.  We hadn't yet transported the others aboard and I told him I 
would get him out first, but he refused to be taken, said his wound wasn't 
serious and to get the others out since we'd already locked on."  His voice 
wavered and he looked down at his friend's battered face.  "That's what I 
did.  I beamed the others aboard and then tried to lock on to Jack and the 
rest.  It took two full minutes before we managed to grab them and by 
then... it was too late.  The aliens had overwhelmed them and Jack was shot 
again -- almost point blank range."  His voice dropped to a strangled 
whisper.  "He was already gone when we beamed him aboard."

Beverly had listened to the entire accounting without looking away from her 
husband's face.  It was all so horrifying and she simply let the details 
flow past her.  She couldn't assimilate them at the moment.

All the remarks she'd heard about a dead person looking peaceful, as if 
they were sleeping -- they were all lies.   Jack didn't look peaceful at 
all.  His death had been violent and painful and the marks were right there 
as evidence.  His once beautiful face now savagely torn, his skin 
colorless, his lips parted and slack.

"It's not him," she whispered.  "Not him."  It's just a shell.  He's not 
here anymore.

"Beverly..."

She raised her eyes slowly and focused on Jean-Luc's anguished eyes.  

"I'm so sorry.  I should have... Jack was injured and I should have gotten 
him out of there right away.  If I--"

"Jean-Luc.  It's not your fault."  Her voice sounded dead to her ears, all 
emotion leached from it.  "It was a crisis situation and you had to make a 
decision."

She took one last look at Jack and then, with great effort, lifted the 
sheet and covered him again.

She turned and walked away without looking back, not even waiting to see if 
Jean-Luc would follow her out.

She felt him walking beside her as she made her way back down the corridor.  
This time, her mind was blank and she didn't notice any of her 
surroundings.  She stopped automatically in front of the lift doors.  

She kept her gaze fixed on the doors.  "Jean-Luc.  I need you to come back 
with me to the house.  I need you to tell Wesley."  

"Tell him..." Jean-Luc replied hesitantly.

"About his father.  That Jack isn't coming back."  She punched the panel 
and the doors opened.  She went inside and waited for Jean-Luc to follow.

As the doors closed, she realized that she hadn't shed a tear.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Nana greeted them at the door.  

They entered and Beverly draped her jacket over the rocking chair.  "Nana -
- this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard."  She turned to Jean-Luc.  "This is 
Felisa Howard, my grandmother.  My Nana."

The pair shook hands politely as Beverly moved down the hall and stood 
outside Wesley's door.

"Is he asleep?" she asked quietly.

"I don't think so.  He came in for some water about five minutes ago."

Beverly sighed and looked at the floor for a moment.  "It's past midnight," 
she murmured.

"Beverly."  Jean-Luc spoke from the center of the living room.  "It's late.  
We don't have to--"

"No.  He needs to know now."  She took a deep breath, then opened the door.

Wesley sat on his bed in his pajamas, a picture book open on his lap.  He 
looked up at her through squinting eyes, looking very tired and anxious.   

"Mommy?  Where did you go?"

She started to speak, to tell him the truth but changed her mind.  "Baby, 
Captain Picard is here."

His face brightened just a bit.  "He is?"

Beverly crossed to the bed, suddenly frightened for her child, and embraced 
him.  She would give anything to spare him what he was about to experience.  
She held him for a moment, then stood and picked him up, something she 
hadn't done in a long time.  He wrapped his arms around her neck and his 
legs around her waist, just like when he was smaller.

"I'm tired," he murmured into her neck, "but I wanted to wait up for 
Daddy."

She closed her eyes.  Loosening her grip, she allowed him to slide down and 
stand in front of her. 

"Come on, Wes."  She took his hand and led him from the room.

When they entered the living room, Nana was in the rocking chair and Picard 
still stood in the center of the room.  Beverly felt her son's steps falter 
as they entered, saw him look around, searching.  

"Wesley?"  Jean-Luc stepped forward and Beverly could see the dread in his 
eyes.  She suddenly felt a rush of sorrow for the man, for the role he was 
being forced to play, for the responsibility that was lying heavily on him.  

She felt Wesley's little hand squeeze hers tighter and watched him take a 
brave step forward.  

"Where's Daddy?"

Jean-Luc's eyes shimmered and Beverly felt her own tears rise into her 
throat.  Picard knelt so that he could look straight at the little boy.  

"Wes, something happened to your father.  He was on a planet far away and 
something went wrong and he was killed.  He was very brave -- he saved some 
other people's lives.  We did everything we could to try to save your 
father too but we couldn't.  We're all very sad about it and we wish it 
didn't happen, but it did."

Wesley stepped back until he was pressed against Beverly's leg, his hand 
still clutching hers.  She looked at Jean-Luc, seeing the pain etched in 
his face, then looked down as Wesley let go of her hand and wrapped his 
arms around her leg, pressing his face into her hip.

She laid her hand on his back and could feel him trembling.  His voice was 
barely audible.

"I don't want him to be dead."

She knelt and pulled him into her arms.  He felt so tiny, so fragile.  

"Mommy, I don't want him to be dead..."  The words were louder this time 
and she could hear the tears within them.

"I don't either, baby.  I wish he wasn't.  I wish it so much."  She was 
crying now, her tears wetting his hair.  She sat down and he curled into 
her lap, holding onto her tightly and she began to rock gently back and 
forth as his sobs increased.

This was the worst, having her child suffering such pain and unable to do 
anything for him.   She looked up, seeking a source of strength to add to 
her own dwindling reserves.  Jean-Luc was sitting on the coffee table, his 
face buried in his hands, his shoulders trembling and the sight both 
touched and unnerved her.  He was always so stoic, always so controlled.  
This was a Jean-Luc Picard that she'd never seen before.

Nana rose and knelt beside them.  Beverly saw the tears glistening on her 
grandmother's lined cheeks and held out her hand.  Nana took it, then moved 
closer, wrapping her arm around Beverly's shoulder.  Beverly laid her head 
on her grandmother's breast as Nana gently rocked them both.

They stayed this way for a long time, until the tears had drained away.  
Beverly looked down at her son.

"He's asleep," she whispered, her throat parched.  She and Nana rose 
together and they carried Wesley to his bed.

Beverly left while Nana was tucking him in.  She returned to an empty room.  
Jean-Luc was gone.



CHAPTER FIVE

Beverly stood in the small viewing room at the chapel, her eyes fixed on 
her husband's still face as he lay in his casket.  

The hideous wound was gone, his skin now a natural shade.  He looked at 
peace, as if any moment he would open his eyes and smile up at her.  But 
there was no slow rise and fall of his chest, no soft sussuration of breath 
from his nostrils.  She knew that if she touched his cheek, it would be 
cool and unyielding.  She reached forward slowly and lightly touched his 
hair just above his hairline, being careful not to touch his skin.  

A shell.  Just a shell.

She shut her eyes tightly against the image that suddenly rose before her.  
Jack, on the morgue table, his face ravaged, split open by death.  She 
wished with all her soul that she'd listened to Jean-Luc, that she hadn't 
stubbornly insisted on seeing Jack that way.  He had been right -- she 
shouldn't remember him like that.  And she was suddenly very afraid that it 
was the only way she would be able to picture his face again.  She opened 
her eyes and focused intently on the face before her now, a face that had 
been repaired and made presentable, a face that was intended to invoke the 
peacefulness of death for those who came to mourn.  She burned the image 
into her memory, hoping to sear it there forever, giving that other face no 
place to return to.

She pushed away when she heard soft sounds behind her.  She turned to see 
Nana with Wesley holding tightly to her hand.  

"Come here, baby," Beverly whispered and held out her hand to her son.  He 
approached slowly, his gaze fixed on the casket.  Wesley hadn't seen his 
father yet -- Beverly had wanted to prepare herself before letting him come 
in.

She watched him as he stared at his daddy's face.  Her heart ached at the 
tight line of his lips, the dark circles under his eyes.  He was only five 
years old -- he shouldn't look like an old man.  

He lifted his hand and reached forward and Beverly held her breath.  Wesley 
hesitated, then with a small finger, traced the outline of the Starfleet 
insignia on Jack's uniform.  Beverly pressed her lips together, forcing the 
welling sob to stay inside.  Wesley laid his palm flat against Jack's 
stilled chest for a long moment, then pulled his hand away and looked up at 
his mother.  His lips trembled as he spoke.

"Can I give this to him?"  He raised his other hand and Beverly saw a tiny 
starship on the little palm.  It was a replica of the Stargazer, the one 
that Jack had given Wesley the last time he had shipped out.  

She could only nod, the lurking tears burning in her throat.  

Wesley gently laid the tiny ship on Jack's stomach, above his clasped 
hands.  "He really liked this ship," she heard him say.  "I think he would 
want to have this with him."

She couldn't hold the tears back anymore.  She hugged her son to her as her 
grief rolled down her cheeks in an unceasing stream.  Wesley wrapped his 
arms around her and she felt his little body start to shake with his silent 
sobs.  Beverly knelt to take him into her arms, then stood slowly as he 
wrapped himself around her, his grip tight around her neck.  He laid his 
cheek against her shoulder and together they stared down at their husband 
and father for the last time.

Nana moved to stand beside them.  She laid her hand on Jack's chest and 
murmured a few words, barely loud enough for Beverly to hear.

Beverly recognized the cadence of the old language that she had heard 
spoken as a child.  Drawing nearer, she laid her hand over Nana's, 
listening to the musical words.  She translated the last phrase in her 
mind.

"Sleep, beloved son.  Rest forever in the embrace of our love."

Beverly felt a calm wash over her.  She kissed Wesley's forehead and let 
him slide down to stand beside her.  

"It's time to go, sweetie."

He nodded.  

She looked down at the only man she had ever truly loved one last time, 
then taking her son's hand in one hand and her grandmother's in the other, 
left the room. 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"We grieve with you, Mrs. Crusher.  He was a fine officer."

Beverly took the folded flag from the admiral and nodded her thanks.  She 
placed the blue and white triangle in her lap and looked up as the admiral 
moved aside and another Starfleet officer took his place in front of her.  

"Our condolences, Mrs. Crusher."

Out of the corner of her right eye, she saw someone move quickly through 
the people and away.  She looked to her left.  A line was forming, a long 
one.  Panic rose within her as she realized that she was expected to sit 
and acknowledge each person's sympathies one by one.  

I can't do this, she screamed inside.  

She didn't care what protocol dictated -- she took Wesley's hand in hers 
and, tucking the flag under her arm, she stood and stepped forward.  She 
looked down at Jack's coffin for a moment, poised and ready to be lowered 
into the ground.  Then she turned away and began walking away from the 
crowd, heading for the groundcar that had brought her to the cemetary.  She 
scanned the people on the fringes, seeing both familiar and unfamiliar 
faces.  

"Beverly."

A woman stood before her, a friend.

"Debbie."  

Debbie took her free hand, then embraced her.  "I'm so sorry, Beverly."

A memory swam up through the murky depths of her mind.  Beverly laid her 
head against the top of her friend's head.  

"Deb, remember when you taught Jack how to two-step that night around the 
fire?"

Beverly felt Debbie nod and shudder slightly.  "I've thought about that so 
many times.  I can still see him laughing and apologizing over and over for 
stepping on my feet."

Beverly smiled.  Debbie pulled away and looked up at her, her face wet.  
"Are you okay, Bev?"

"I'll be fine."

The two women separated and Beverly took Wesley's hand again and continued 
on.  She felt Nana move in to walk beside her and she felt strengthened by 
the woman's presence.  

"Beverly?"

She smiled over at Walker as he took his place on her other side.  
Surrounded by her friends and loved ones, she felt protected and for once, 
was grateful for it.  

She tensed as she approached the groundcar.  A figure stood beside it, 
staring off toward the gravesite.  

"Nana..."  She stopped and looked at her grandmother.

Nana didn't say a word to her.  She took Wesley's hand from Beverly's and 
led him over to the side.  Walker hesitated for a moment, then joined them.

Beverly approached the man slowly.  When he saw her, he straightened, 
becoming more rigid in his stance.

"Jean-Luc.  I thought you'd left."

He licked his lips.  "No, I thought that ... you might need a ride back 
home."

"Walker's taking me home," she whispered.

He nodded.  "That's good."  

The ensuing silence felt solid between them, the birdsong around them a 
surreal intrusion.  She swallowed and looked away, uncomfortable, her heart 
suddenly racing.  Why did it have to be Jean-Luc?  Why couldn't Jack have 
had someone else as his commanding officer?  She glanced back at him and 
saw that he was once again staring off at the dispersing crowd.  His 
thinning hair ruffled in the light breeze and she knew that he would begin 
losing it soon.  She wondered what he would look like bald, whether it 
would detract from his authoritative presence.  Probably not.  Nothing can 
take that away from him.  He would still be just as powerful, just as 
attractive ...  She caught her breath.  What the hell am I doing, thinking 
something like that about Jean-Luc?  She felt suddenly tremendously guilty 
and she looked over at the grave.  The mourners had all left and the crew 
had moved in to begin lowering the coffin.

The all-too-familiar panic began to rise again.  She didn't want to see the 
coffin lowered into the ground.  She needed to get away.

"Beverly," his voice broke in, thankfully distracting her from her rising 
emotions.  "I am truly sorry about everything.  It shouldn't have happened.  
If there was any way I could go back and change things--"

"Please don't think that way, Jean-Luc.  It doesn't do any good.  You did 
everything you could at the time."  She felt an urge to embrace him, to 
comfort him, to try to dispel some of the guilt he was feeling.  But it 
wouldn't be "appropriate" -- she knew that it would make him uncomfortable 
and there were also those other feelings, the ones that she had always made 
a conscious effort to ignore whenever the two of them had been together.  
There had always been that mutual attraction between them, despite his 
constant standoffishness.   Although they were friends and had spent much 
time together, with Jack gone, it just didn't seem right to seek comfort in 
each other.  He had been Jack's friend first -- and with Jack now gone, she 
could feel the connection that she and Jean-Luc had once shared, that 
unspoken attraction, as something that would harm whatever relationship 
they still had.  

"I have to go, Jean-Luc."

He turned his sad eyes on her.  "I can take you," he said, a bit 
hesitantly.

"That's all right.  It's all taken care of."  She looked at him fully.  
"Why don't you come with us?"

Nana and Wesley walked over to the car.  Nana spoke softly.  "I'm sorry, 
hon, but we need to go now."

"Yes, Nana, I know."  She looked at Jean-Luc and asked again.  "Will you 
come by later today?"

He shifted his stance and glanced off and she realized then that he would 
never come by, that he had only offered to take her home out of some sense 
of duty, not friendship.  

"I have to be getting back to the Starg--" he began.

She cut him off.  "I understand."  She extended a hand to him.  "Thank you 
for everything you've done, Jean-Luc," she said and hoped that it didn't 
sound too sarcastic.

He took her hand and held it tightly.  "I'll be in touch," he said softly.

Sure you will, she thought and she suddenly felt so very alone.  Tears 
sprang to her eyes and she looked down quickly.  She released his hand and 
flexed her fingers slightly.  "I'll do the same."

She turned away quickly before he could see her cry and got into the car.  
Nana and Wesley followed her.  Through the darkened windows, she watched 
Jean-Luc step back and look toward her.  She knew that he wouldn't be able 
to see into the interior and was glad of it.  As Wes snuggled in beside 
her, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders.  She watched as Walker 
exchanged a few words with Jean-Luc who nodded his response.  

Walker took his seat in the car turned around to look at her.

"Home?" he asked softly.

"Yes, please."

The vehicle moved away from the curb and Beverly allowed herself one brief 
glance at the gravesite.  She didn't look back at Jean-Luc at all.


CHAPTER SIX

"Honey, I can stay."

"No, Nana.  Your patients need you.  You said so yourself."

They stood by the front door, Nana's bags packed and ready to go.  In just 
a few minutes, a shuttle was scheduled to arrive.  It would take Nana away 
to the 'port where a passenger ship would disembark within the hour and 
carry her back to Caldos.  

Beverly looked up at the leaves fluttering in the spring breeze.  She knew 
this would be hard, having her source of strength leave her but she had to 
go on with her life and having Nana stay would just prolong the inevitable.  

"You can come with me," Nana said.  

"I can't.  Wesley needs to stay here where it's familiar.  He's had so much 
upheaval -- he doesn't need more."

Nana's small smile was wistful.  "Yes, you're probably right there."  She 
reached out and hugged her granddaughter to her.   "You need to stay put 
but please -- come visit soon."

"I will."  She gripped her grandmother's slight form tightly.  "You can 
count on it."  She pulled back and smiled. 

The sound of the approaching shuttle made them both turn.  

"Well, it's time," Beverly said and called into the house.  "Wes!  Nana's 
leaving!"

She heard running feet and he appeared around the corner.  

"I wish you didn't have to go, Nana," he said softly as he slowed.  

"Me neither, sweetie, but I have to.  Give your Nana a big hug."

Wesley let Nana embrace him and Beverly swallowed hard to keep the tears 
back.  It would be so easy to leave, to go with Nana and get away from the 
reality that awaited her.  But she couldn't.  She had to stay.

Nana raised up and grabbed Beverly's hand, placing a kiss on her cheek.  
"I'll contact you as soon as I get home.  Siobhan is going to get awfully 
tired of me hanging around her place."

Beverly laughed.  "You need your own terminal, Nana."

"Yes, I suppose you're right."  The shuttle pilot walked up and Nana turned 
to her, indicating her bags.

"Can you help me with these?"

"Of course, ma'am."  The woman took the bags and placed them in the 
shuttle.  "We're ready to go, ma'am."

Nana looked at Beverly, tears glistening in her eyes.  "Take care of 
yourself and my great-grandchild.  You'll be in my thoughts always."

"Thank you," Beverly managed to whisper and watched as Nana strode to the 
shuttle and took her seat.

"Bye, Nana!" Wesley called and waved.  "Come back soon!"

Nana waved as the shuttle doors closed.  Beverly stepped back, taking Wes 
with her and they watched silently as the shuttle rose and flew away.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

"Good night, baby."

Beverly tucked the covers under Wesley's chin and kissed his forehead.  

"'night, Mama."  He turned onto his side as Beverly dimmed the lights to a 
faint rosy glow.  She stepped out into the hall and looked at the closed 
door at the far end of the hall.  

Their bedroom.  No.  Her bedroom.

She waited on the threshold for a long minute after the door opened, then 
moved slowly into the interior.  The bed looked huge in the room and she 
felt suddenly very small.  She sat on the edge, on "her" side, the one 
closest to the door.  All she had to do was turn back the covers and lie 
down but somehow she couldn't bring herself to do so.  Now that Nana had 
left, the house seemed too empty.  It was amazing how one small woman could 
possess a presence that was so large.

Beverly stood and took the pillows from her side of the bed.  She couldn't 
sleep here, not tonight anyway.  She tiptoed through the darkened house and 
into the living room.  Grabbing a quilt from the rocking chair, she quickly 
made up a bed on the couch and lay down, wrapping herself up tightly, 
cocooning herself against the dark and silent night.

She lay still, trying to relax, pleading for sleep to take her quickly.  
She could feel a sense of uneasiness blooming within her and she wanted 
desperately to take refuge in  the oblivion of sleep before this uneasiness 
flowered into something monstrous that she wouldn't be able to control.  

She had always been strong, had always been able to handle the most 
difficult of situations and emotions.  She'd always been proud of her 
independence, of the self-sufficiency that she'd attained through the 
hardships of her childhood.  I should be able to handle this now...  She 
realized then that Jack had been the only person with whom she'd allowed 
her strength to falter, the only person that she had allowed to peek behind 
the facade.  He had never asked her to be anything besides herself, had 
always accepted her with all her shortcomings intact.  He had listened when 
she'd ranted on about school or work, had indulged her when she was feeling 
selfish and needed special attention, had known intuitively when she just 
wanted to be left alone.  And she realized now that she had been able to 
truly be herself with him, with no barriers.  She had never been able to do 
that with anyone else, not even with Nana.

"He really did love me," she whispered as the tears that she hadn't allowed 
at the funeral finally began to fall.  "I love you, Jack.  I miss you so 
much."  

Her strength was gone, ebbing with the tide of tears.  And Jack wasn't 
there to give it back to her.  She was utterly alone.

CHAPTER SEVEN

It had been a month now since Jack's death, and life had resumed its former 
routine.  Beverly was working every day at Starfleet Medical, finishing up 
the residency that she'd begun on Delos IV.  Wesley had just finished the 
spring term of school and the summer months stretched ahead of them both.  

Wesley had been very subdued since classes had let out two weeks before.  
Beverly's schedule allowed her to have most of the afternoon off with him, 
and she had made a concerted effort to spend as much time with Wesley as 
she could.  He had always been a bit of a loner, spending little time with 
his friends.  He was, of course, only five years old and hadn't developed 
much of a social life.  He had always been content to spend time alone -- 
drawing, playing interactive educational computer games, reading once he'd 
learned how a year before.  Beverly, however, was uneasy at leaving him 
alone as much as he'd been accustomed to.  She should be there for him at 
all times, she reasoned, in case he needed her for emotional support.  She 
didn't think it was healthy for a little boy to be alone during a time like 
this.

So she planned little excursions for them every other day or so -- picnics 
in the park, holofilms, visits to the playground.  Wesley seemed to enjoy 
himself but every time they would return home, he would once again retreat 
to his room.  She avoided invading his privacy as much as possible and 
tried to involve herself in her own activities instead.  She started 
bringing work home and even started the flower garden that she'd always 
planned on having.

It was a Friday afternoon and she and Wes had been home for about an hour.  
She hadn't planned anything for them to do together and he had once again 
disappeared as soon as they'd hit the door.  She had just finished up a 
patient profile and was debating on whether they should have beef stew or 
spaghetti for dinner.  I'll let Wes decide this evening, she decided and 
approached his door.  When it opened, there was no one inside -- his little 
desk was littered with paper drawings and markers.  Frowning, she stepped 
back and called out.

"Wes?  Baby, where are you?"

There was no answer and her heart stuttered.

She peeked into the bathroom, seeing no one, then opened the door to her 
bedroom.

Wesley was standing in front of the dresser, looking up at her with wide 
eyes, holding something in his hand.

"What are you doing, honey?"  She approached him slowly, staring at the 
drawing he held.

He hesitated then spoke softly.  "I made this for Daddy."  He held up a 
drawing of a starship, crude but still very detailed.  It was the 
Stargazer.

"I wanted to put it somewhere special," he continued.  "And his stuff is 
here so I thought I'd put it here."  

Beverly looked at the dresser top, at Jack's "stuff."  He had been a buff 
of ancient flying machines and had collected related artifacts ever since 
he'd been a teenager.  There were two old aviator pins displayed in cases, 
a model of a B-17 and his pride and joy -- a real leather aviator's cap 
that had been worn during World War I.  

Beverly ran her fingers lightly along the cap.  "I think that's a really 
good idea, Wesley.  Go ahead and put it here."  She smiled at him as he 
laid the picture reverently next to the cap.  She squeezed his shoulder and 
he looked up at her.

"Can I put more stuff here?  Like stuff that I've made that he would like?"

"Sure, baby.  Anything you want."

He nodded solemnly and hugged her.  She leaned down to kiss the top of his 
head.  "Daddy would be very proud to have these things."

"Yeah," Wesley mumbled, then pulled away and returned to his room.

Beverly followed him.  "Wesley -- would you like spaghetti tonight?  Or 
maybe stew?"

Wesley sat down at his desk, looking thoughtful and Beverly stifled a 
smile.  He could be so serious for a five-year old.  

"Spaghetti.  But no mushrooms."

Beverly raised an eyebrow.  "But I thought you liked mushrooms."

Wesley turned back to his drawings.  "Daddy didn't like mushrooms."

She started to reply to that but stopped herself.  If Wes decided he didn't 
like mushrooms because Jack didn't, she wouldn't argue with him about it.  


CHAPTER EIGHT

Her last patient had been seen to and she was finishing up the report.  She 
sighed and sat back in her desk chair.  I hate paperwork, she sighed to 
herself.  Just a bunch of administrivia...  She smiled.  "Administrivia."  
That had been one of Jack's words.  He had hated it all just as much as she 
did.  And it was one of the reasons that he had chosen a profession that 
had taken him out among the stars instead of chaining him behind some desk.  
She had often resented the time he'd spent away from her and Wes but she 
also had loved seeing the excitement in his eyes when he would return and 
regale her with stories of their adventures.  

A pain stabbed her heart.  They had planned from the beginning that one day 
he would be the captain of a starship and she would be the CMO and they 
would be able to be together always.  Nevermind that Starfleet, while not 
explicitly forbidding it, tended to frown on married couples serving 
together, especially if they were senior officers.  "We'll prove that 
theory wrong, Bev," he'd said.  "We'll show all those brassholes that a 
strong, loving marriage can survive anything."

Anything but death, Jack.  It had now been three months and every day she 
thought of him.  It seemed that everything around her reminded her of him.  
She hadn't realized how many memories she and Jack had built together, 
despite his frequent absences.  She was growing accustomed to these 
unexpected reminders popping up when she least expected them, was gleaning 
a sort of comfort from their sudden appearances.  What was that old quote 
she had heard once?  It had been from the Bible: "But his mother kept these 
things and pondered them in her heart."  Beverly, like Mary, was collecting 
her memories and storing them away like treasures -- treasures that she 
needed to securely protect for they were now all she had left of her 
beloved.

At first she had been hesitant to talk about Jack with Wes, not sure or 
whether she would be able to control her emotions, afraid as always that 
she might lose her composure.  One day, however, as she and Wes were 
walking through some trees in the park, he had picked up a leaf and asked 
if it were a manta leaf.

"No, honey, that's an oak leaf."

"Oh," he'd replied.  "If it was a manta leaf, I was gonna take it home and 
you could make a fire in the fireplace and I could see if it would pop."  
He'd collected some more leaves as they'd walked on in silence and then 
he'd said, "Remember what Daddy said about those manta leaves?  He said 
that if I found the very specialest one that when it popped, all the elves 
would come out and give me a wish."

Beverly had forgotten that incident, one that had happened on their first 
family camping trip.  She realized then that sharing memories about Jack 
was a good thing, something that she shouldn't be afraid of.  They had 
talked some more about that camping trip and when they'd returned home, she 
had felt more peaceful, more hopeful than she had in weeks.

She realized suddenly that she had been sitting for ten minutes, lost in 
her memories.  She straightened her desk quickly and glanced at the 
chronometer.  Late, dammit.  She was supposed to have picked up Wesley from 
the day care center downstairs fifteen minutes ago.  

She hurried out the door and into the 'lift opposite her office door.  The 
doors reopened onto a huge bustling lobby -- the main entrance to Starfleet 
Medical.  Beverly had been here at all hours of the day and night and had 
yet to see a time when the place wasn't full of people.  She made her way 
through the crowd as quickly as possible, intent on reaching the opposite 
end where the day care center was.

She glanced at a row of public terminals as she passed and stopped dead in 
her tracks.  

A man stood with his back to her, chatting animatedly to the glowing 
monitor in front of him.  She couldn't see his face but what she could see 
made her heart twist in her chest.  

Brown hair with a bit of a cowlick at the crown.  Tall, taller than her.  
Lean, his back tapering into his hips.  She watched as he raised a long-
fingered hand, emphasizing some point in his conversation.  His head turned 
slightly, just enough for her to catch a brief glimpse of his profile and 
high forehead.

"Oh God," she whispered.  "He looks..."  

She realized suddenly that she was standing stockstill with the crowd 
parting around her as they passed.  She forced her legs to move and resumed 
her trek, much slower than she had been, never taking her eyes off the man.  
As she passed by, still staring, he turned and made eye contact with her.  

He didn't look anything like Jack.  Just the hair color and the physique 
but that was it.  This man was older, his facial features rougher, with 
brown eyes instead of blue.

The strange man paused in his conversation and frowned slightly at her.   
Embarrassment washed over her and she turned away, feeling the heat in her 
cheeks.  She increased her pace, almost breaking into a run.  She 
maneuvered through the crowd mumbling apologies and almost cried with joy 
when she saw the words Starfleet Medical Day Care Center printed on the 
transparent aluminum doors.

She waited to catch her breath before going through the doors, cursing 
herself and her foolish imagination.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

The hot water stung the back of her neck and shoulders.  The incident 
earlier at Starfleet Medical had unnerved her and she still felt off-
balance.  She was beginning to wonder if perhaps she should get some 
counseling.  Not that she was necessarily at the end of her rope or 
anything -- she was aware that grieving was an ongoing process, that it 
would take some time before she would work through it.  She had started 
reading a couple of books on the subject of grief and the psychology 
courses she had taken had also been a reference source.  But perhaps she 
should be doing more -- for herself and for Wesley.  Maybe interacting with 
others who were grieving, hearing about their experiences in a group 
therapy situation would help her focus on what she needed to do to start 
feeling normal again.

She had been in the shower for almost fifteen minutes and had yet to begin 
washing her hair or anything else.  She felt so strange -- detached, light-
headed, numb.  It was the same feeling she'd had during the days before the 
funeral but there was an additional element of foreboding.  She didn't like 
it.  

She finally reached for the shampoo, hoping that action would dispel the 
hovering darkness.  She washed her hair vigorously, concentrating on the 
sensations in her scalp and fingertips, scrubbing harder than necessary.  
As she rinsed the suds out, an image popped into her head.  She and Jack in 
the shower together.  He was washing her hair, his hands moving from her 
head to her shoulders, down her back, fingers curving around her waist, 
then back up and around to flutter across her breasts.

"Oh God."  She leaned her head against the shower wall.  She was tired of 
feeling so lost, so weak.  And it was all because of Jack.  It was his 
fault. 

The anger came upon her swiftly and with no warning.  It was hot and so 
very intense, more so than she'd ever felt it before.  She inhaled deeply 
as the water dripped from her face and body, trying to control the heat 
that kept building.  It wasn't working.

She reached blindly and found a loofah sponge. She squeezed it tightly, the 
stiff fibers digging into her fingers and palm.  It hurt but she didn't 
care.  She squeezed it harder, then with both hands began pulling and 
twisting at the sponge in a frenzy.  Horrified, she realized that she was 
crying out words.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you..."

She dropped the sponge, suddenly ashamed of her loss of control and covered 
her face with her hands.  It took her quite a few shaking moments before 
she could pull herself together enough to finish her shower.

She dried off, her mind functioning again.  As she stood before the mirror, 
toweling her hair, she came to a decision.  She would inquire about 
counseling for herself and Wesley first thing tomorrow morning.  


CHAPTER NINE

"Who are all these people?"

Beverly looked all around her.   There were people everywhere, a huge crowd 
and they all seemed to be waiting for something.  Anticipation lay heavily 
over them all.  

She was getting more and more uneasy.  She moved through the crowd, trying 
to find her way out, beginning to feel suffocated.  Nobody seemed to notice 
her -- they kept laughing and talking amongst themselves, all the while 
looking off in the distance as if waiting for something.

Then she saw him.  He turned to look at her briefly, then turned away 
again.

"Jack?"  She rushed to him, her heart pounding.

"My God, Jack!"

He looked at her, a frown forming on his face.

"Hi, Beverly.  What is it?"  He looked off to the horizon again.

"Jack," she began slowly, her unease rising.  "Why are you here?  HOW are 
you here?"

"I'm here with everybody else."

"But... Jack, you're dead.  You can't be here."

He looked at her then and laughed.  "Dead?  Who told you that?  I'm not 
dead.  Do I look dead to you?"

She was getting angry -- she could feel the heat rising within her.  "Then 
where have you been?"

He sighed in annoyance.  "I was away.  I had things to do and I had to go 
away."

"Where?  Where did you go?"

He didn't answer her, just kept looking off.

"JACK!  Don't you realize what you've done, leaving us like this?  Without 
even telling us where you were going?  It's been horrible!"

He looked at her again.  "Oh.  I'm sorry.  Well, sometimes these things 
happen, you know."  

She was seething.  "How can you be so flippant?  And selfish!  Jack -- 
don't you understand anything?  You left us, me and Wesley -- you left us 
alone!"

He turned away.  "No, I didn't."

She opened her mouth but couldn't get anything out. 

He turned to her again and this time his expression was soft, his eyes 
glowing with emotion.  Just like she'd remembered.

He took her hand in his and kissed it softly.  "You can do it, Beverly.  
You're not alone.  Remember that."

He stepped back, their hands still joined, their arms stretching out 
between them, and Beverly realized that the crowd was gone.

"I love you, Beverly."

He was leaving her, beginning to fade away.

"Jack!"  His hand dissolved in her grasp.  "I love you..."

He was gone.  

She awoke instantly, her eyes snapping open in the early morning light.  
She stared at the ceiling as a single tear trickled down.  

She had dreamt of Jack before but this time was different.  Instead of 
waking up angry and upset, she felt a peace, a peace that she knew would 
last.  

He was right.  She could do it.



CHAPTER TEN

Beverly tilted her head back and let the rays warm her face.  The weather 
had turned out perfectly.  Rain had been threatening the day before, as was 
customary for late October, but the morning had dawned blue and clear and 
had thankfully stayed that way throughout the day.  

She opened her eyes and smiled at her little boy where he lay sleeping 
amidst the remains of the picnic.  He had played really hard and had 
finally given out.  She turned her face back to the sun.

It had now been five months since Jack's death.  Wesley had been attending 
counseling sessions and seemed to be doing better.  The counselor had 
explained to Beverly that Wesley was highly intelligent, at genius level, 
and he also had a vivid imagination.  In most situations, this combination 
would be beneficial but in this particular instance, Wesley had developed a 
secret fantasy world -- one where his father was still alive.  The 
counselor had been helping Wes to work through the emotions he was feeling, 
using Wesley's world as a common area where the two could meet.  She told 
Beverly that Wesley had made great progress in dealing with his feelings 
and Beverly had seen her son's behavior reverting back to its previous 
state.  She was thankful for the loving care "Dr. Lois" had shown toward 
Wes and was confident that he would suffer no long-term trauma from his 
father's death.   

As for herself, she had attended one therapy session.  Actually, she had 
attended half of a therapy session.  She had decided after much 
deliberation that she would attend an all-day grief support group just to 
see if it was what she needed.  She had sat through it quietly, listening 
to the others talk.  Most of them spoke in great detail about their losses, 
about how difficult it had been for them to cope.  There were alot of tears 
shed and the longer Beverly had sat there, the more uncomfortable she had 
become.  Some of these people had lost loved ones two and three years 
before and yet they didn't seem to have moved on at all.  They were still 
lost inside their grief, still needing to reach out for support and 
strength.  What was the point of these people being in therapy if they 
weren't benefitting from it?  When they broke for lunch, she didn't go 
back.

She was comfortable in her decision to not seek professional guidance in 
dealing with her grief.  She kept reading her books and stayed alert for 
the stages she expected to experience.  She was pleased to realize through 
her reading that she had already done some of the things suggested as ways 
to work through the grieving process.  One of the suggestions was to create 
a "memory place," a physical location where the loved one could be 
remembered through objects and such.  She realized that she and Wes had 
already begun their memory place, one that she had begun referring to as 
their "shrine."   The number of objects on the dresser in Beverly's bedroom 
had grown over the last couple of months -- Wes had added more art 
creations and small toys and Beverly had contributed some things herself, 
one being the book "How To Advance Your Career Through Marriage" that Jack 
had given her as his way of proposing.  

The small shrine was a source of comfort for her.  Seeing Jack's things on 
display along with the items that represented the links that she and Wes 
had with him were keeping his presence very real in their home.  The shrine 
symbolized a well-lived and well-loved life in a way that a headstone never 
could. 

She sat up straighter and uncrossed her legs, stretching them out and 
flexing her ankles.  She'd been sitting too long.  She stood and brushed 
the cake crumbs from her skirt.  The sun was on its way down and the blue 
of the sky was fading to indigo.  A breeze, cooler than it had been, 
ruffled her hair.  They should be going soon.  

She began humming as she gathered up the picnic supplies quietly, careful 
not to disturb Wesley's sleep.  When everything had been repacked into the 
basket except for the blanket, she stood, still humming.  She paused as she 
realized what the tune was.  It was a waltz, a simple little tune.  The 
last time she had heard it was many years ago, right before she and Jack 
had married and they had danced to it.  She didn't even know the name of 
the tune and hadn't heard it since but she had somehow retained it in her 
memory.  

She looked out between the trees, shifting so that she could see the 
setting sun better.  It really was time to go but the view was so 
beautiful, the weather still pleasant enough -- she would wait a few 
minutes longer before rousing Wesley.

She began humming again, swaying in time.  She closed her eyes and could 
see in her mind's eye exactly how it had been when she and Jack had danced 
together to this song.  She could feel his arms, strong and sure around 
her, the confidence in his steps as he moved her fluidly across the floor.  
He had been a good dancer and they had always turned heads when they had 
ventured onto the dance floor.  This time, however, it was just the two of 
them and as the music played in her head, she began to move beneath the 
trees.  She kept her eyes shut, her arms curved around the memory of her 
husband.  After a few moments she slowed and lowered her arms, opening her 
eyes again.  She turned around slowly and stared across at the sun that had 
almost completed its daily journey.  She tilted her head back and saw the 
first star of the night shining strongly.  Lifting her hand, she reached up 
until her fingertip was just touching the star's light.  Slowly she brought 
her hand back down and touched her fingertips to her lips.

"We love you, Jack," she whispered.  "Don't worry about us.  We'll be 
fine."

She began humming again and this time when she danced, she danced alone, 
her steps sure, her smile hopeful and bright.


EPILOGUE

"Here it is, Mom."

She turned at the sound of Wesley's voice and smiled.  "Well, I was close 
anyway."  She walked two rows over to stand beside her son.  He was getting 
so tall, only about half a head shorter than she was.  She bent and laid 
the bouquet of spring flowers in front of the headstone and ran her fingers 
briefly through the grass before standing again.

Neither one of them spoke.  Beverly could only imagine what was going 
through Wesley's mind.  She knew that if he chose to, he would tell her but 
she knew better than to press him.  The last ten years had seen him grow 
into an exceptionally bright, highly motivated young man, just as she had 
hoped.  He had set high goals for himself and she knew without a doubt that 
he would accomplish every one of them.  He had never lost his tendency to 
keep his emotions private and, although she wished at times that he would 
share more with her, she respected this trait of his and treasured the 
times when he chose to be more open with her.

She gazed down at the headstone and simple inscription.  James Robert 
Crusher.  Lieutenant Commander.  Born 2319.  Died 2354.  

Well, Jack, here we are ten years down the road.  So much has happened, so 
much has changed.  I wish you could be here to share it with us.  Sometimes 
I can almost feel you with me and maybe in some way you are.  

She knelt and arranged the flowers again, then sat back on her heels.  
Wesley had moved away and she watched as he moved down the row of 
headstones, lost in his thoughts.

You'd be so proud of Wes.  He's becoming an amazing young man and he's 
already decided that he wants to enter the Academy when he's old enough.  
For a long time he wouldn't even talk about Starfleet -- I think it took 
him awhile to see it as something more than just the reason for you leaving 
us.  I'm glad he's made this decision -- he has so much to contribute.

She gazed off toward the setting sun.  I understand how Wes felt, you know.  
It took five years before I could seriously start considering my own 
Starfleet career.  Those five years were a confused time for me, rather 
rootless and wandering, but I finally realized that Starfleet was really 
where I wanted to be, and that you would be pleased for me to be there.  
I'm glad I made that decision.

She plucked a camellia from the bouquet and fingered its petals.  I've just 
been granted the commission of Chief Medical Officer.  I'll be serving on 
the Enterprise and I'm leaving tomorrow for Farpoint Station.  I have no 
idea why I have to go there first -- just one of those Starfleet "command 
decisions" that I'll have to get accustomed to, I suppose.  The best part 
of all of this, though, is that Wes will be able to go with me -- it's a 
brand-new ship, the first of the new Galaxy class and they actually allow 
families to live on the ship.  It's what we'd always dreamed of -- I just 
wish you could be here too.  It would be perfect then.  Jean-Luc's the 
captain so I suppose, in a way, we'll be a sort of family.  It won't be the 
same, of course but I'm hoping that this posting will bring Jean-Luc and me 
closer together.  I haven't seen much of him these ten years -- but then, 
he always was rather distant, wasn't he?

She rose and peered off, looking for Wes.  She saw him down at the end of 
the row.  Well, we have to go now.  Time is slipping away and there's still 
so much to do before we leave.  She noticed that Wes was looking at her and 
she smiled at him.  It hasn't been easy without you in my life.  Some times 
have been harder than others but I've managed.  Who knows -- maybe some day 
I'll be able to tell you all about it.  After all, anything is possible, 
right?

She smiled down at the flower in her hand, kissed its petals and laid it on 
the grave.  

"See ya later, Jack," she whispered.  "In the stars."

****************************
****************************

In memory of Robert Windol Waller 1959-1991


<end And She Pondered Them In Her Heart>