Work Text:
Jean-Luc Picard sat at the head of the Observation Lounge table, intent on the PADD in his hands. Behind him, the blue orb of Bajor filled the window. The sound of the door chime made him shift his attention. It looked like his visitor had arrived, he called out, “ Come.”
The door opened to reveal his visitor, Commander Sisko. Jean-Luc recognized him easily from his service record picture. Sisko strode into the lounge as Picard rose to greet him, tugging down his uniform tunic. Shaking his hand he offered in a warm tone, “ Commander, come in. Welcome to Bajor.”
Shaking the proffered hand, Sisko stated dryly, “ It's been a long time, Captain.
Gesturing for his visitor to sit down, Jean-Luc looked at him curiously, he couldn’t recall how or when he had met him, so he asked , “Have we met before?”
Sisko returned the gaze, slightly disbelieving, before offering, “ Yessir. We met in battle. I was on the Saratoga at Wolf 359.”
A simple name for a rather uninteresting star system. The sum of all his fears and guilt and now here there was a survivor in front of him. Jean-Luc recognized that Sisko was daring him to address all that, and in another circumstance he might have apologized and even tried to explain his own survivor’s guilt. But this was not an informal chat in Ten Forward, it was a commanding officer giving his orders to another fellow officer, so he decided to let the comment pass. In a much colder tone than the one he had used to greet his visitor seconds before, he began, “ I assume you've been briefed on the events leading to the Cardassians’ withdrawal.”
In a cold, controlled voice, Sisko responded, “Yessir... I understand they've spent the last half century robbing the planet of every valuable resource... before abandoning it…”
With a slight nod of his head, Jean-Luc continued, “ They've left the Bajorans without any way to be self-sustaining... the relief efforts we've been coordinating are barely adequate.” He stood up, putting some distance between himself and Sisko, going to stand next to the window. The coldness of space was infinitely preferable to Sisko’s own. He took a long look at the planet below them before continuing, “ I've come to know the Bajora. I'm one of the strongest proponents for their entry into the Federation.”
The comment caught Sisko’s attention and compelled him to ask, “Is it going to happen?”
Turning to face his visitor once again, Jean-Luc sighed before explaining, “Not easily. The ruling parties are at each other's throats… factions that were united against the Cardassians have resumed old conflicts…”
“Sounds like they're not ready.” Sisko offered simply .
Fixing him with an intense stare, Jean-Luc ordered, “Your job is to do everything short of violating the Prime Directive to make sure they are.” He got closer and waited until he saw Sisko nod his understanding before continuing, “Starfleet has made me aware of your objections to this assignment, Commander. I would think that after three years at the Utopia Planitia Yards, you'd be ready for a change.”
Sisko held Jean-Luc’s stare without flinching before retorting, “ I have a son that I'm raising alone, Captain. This is not the ideal environment.”
“Unfortunately, as Starfleet officers, we do not always have the luxury of serving in an ideal environment,” Jean-Luc reminded him.
“As if I need to be reminded of my oath and my duty,” Sisko thought to himself, aloud, he simply said, “I realize that, sir. And I'm investigating the possibility of returning to Earth for civilian service.”
Jean-Luc peered closely at his fellow officer, disliking him and his attitude. He waited for a beat or two and then offered him a way out, “Perhaps Starfleet Command should begin to consider a replacement for you.”
“That's probably a good idea,” Sisko agreed wholeheartedly with it, he wanted nothing more than to take Jake’s hand and return to his transport and back to Earth.
Nodding his agreement, Jean-Luc told him, “ I'll look into it. In the meantime…”
Sisko rose up and interrupted him, “In the meantime, I'll do the job I've been ordered to do to the best of my ability, sir... thank you for the briefing.”
Jean-Luc was shocked by Sisko’s abrupt ending of the meeting. His attitude was bordering on the insubordinate and if he was part of Picard’s crew, said attitude would not be tolerated. He took a few breaths, clenching and unclenching his fist to control his anger before speaking again, in a tightly controlled voice, “Dismissed.”
He watched Sisko’s back until the Lounge doors closed behind him, then he allowed himself the luxury of exhaling aloud. To say that he was shaken was an understatement. He went to the replicator and requested a cup of Earl Grey. He returned to his chair at the head of the table and sat sipping, trying to regain his inner equilibrium. He almost spat out the first sip of the hot tea, it tasted metallic, oily. He groaned inside, it had been more than a year since he had had any flashbacks. He tried again and the tea tasted as it should, lemon and bergamot. He took another sip, still perfect.
The encounter had badly shaken him, totally unprepared as he had been, to face the unspoken recriminations that Sisko had thrown at him. It had him wondering, had Sisko been given his orders by someone else, if he would have been that uncooperative. He turned his chair around to face Bajor, eyes unseeing, sipping his tea, until his comm chimed, “Bridge to Captain Picard,” Data’s voice piped from the comm system.
“Picard here, Commander,” He answered, after tapping his communicator.
“Captain, it is time for your meeting with Kai Opaka,” Data’s voice, usually flat and unemotional, carried a little questioning tone.
He checked the chronometer on the table's surface. He was surprised to see that he had spent more than an hour lost in thought and that indeed it was time he beamed down to Bajor. “On my way, Commander.” He took his cup to the replicator and left the Observation Lounge. Emerging onto the bridge and without breaking his stride, he ordered, “Mr. Data, you have the bridge, Mr. Worf, you are with me. Have a security detail meet us in the transporter room.”
He barely heard the “Aye, Sir,” both officers offered. He found himself in the turbolift with Worf before being joined by the rest of the security team and reaching the transporter room.
The beam down into the government complex went smoothly and they rematerialized in an airy hallway where a young aide was waiting for them. He was shown into Opaka’s office and went in with Worf, leaving the guards outside. The meeting lasted about three hours, going over the relevant points of Federation protection and StarFleet takeover of the space station.
Kai Opaka struck him as a shrewd politician, intent on helping her people in the difficult transition between Cardassian slaves to a free world once more, even if a Federation protectorate. He returned to the ship with his spirits a little uplifted, and for three hours he had managed to push back his encounter with Sisko.
The moment he stepped into his ready room, his mood returned. Noticing the time and his promise to Beverly, he decided to pay a visit to the station and see if he could find a place to have dinner. He had intended to ask Kai Opaka or one of her aides for a recommendation but the opportunity hadn’t arisen.
He made his way down the corridors towards the docking hatch, meeting many crewmembers walking the same path or returning to the ship. He had authorized shore leave for the crew while docked and it seemed they were fully taking advantage of the privilege.
The contrast between the ship's brightly lit corridors and the gloom of entire sections of the station was depressing. He thought that Miles O’brien had his job cut for him and wondered idly if he wasn’t going to find a request to return to his old post on the Enterprise on his desk. He made his way through corridors filled with rubble and maintenance crews until he found himself on the Promenade where noise and lights were coming from the only place that appeared to be open for business, it read in bright neon, “Quark’s”.
He went inside and made his way towards the bar. It was packed, many of his own crew were there enjoying themselves and also a few Bajorans as well. He noticed a Ferengi bartender and grimaced inside.
“My if it isn’t Captain Picard, hero of Maxia Zeta,” offered Quark obsequiously when Jean-Luc reached the bar.
“Not according to your people, Daimon,” Jean-Luc retorted, settling on a high bar chair.
“What my people and I actually agree upon are very few things. I’ve never been in the military, so I’m not Daimon, Captain. Quark will do nicely. Actually, to me you are a hero. Salvaging the Stargazer made me a tidy profit,” Quark retorted smugly, setting on the counter the glass he had been polishing.
Jean-Luc didn’t know what to make of the Ferengi. Mentioning the loss of the Stargazer was still a sore wound and knowing that the being in front of him had sold pieces of his beloved first command as scrap hurt.
Unfazed by his customer’s silence, Quark asked, “What do you fancy, captain? First drink is on the house.”
Actually, Jean-Luc wasn’t in the mood for anything, except to be left alone with his thoughts. He was too morose to return to the ship and he had promised to take Beverly for dinner on the station after she returned from Bajor. Betting that what he was planning to ask for was too rare for the Ferengi to stock, he asked, “You wouldn’t happen to have a bottle of Armagnac somewhere, would you?”
A wide grin appeared on Quark’s face, “I do, somewhere. Cardassians weren’t too fond of Earth beverages. Roooom……”
Another Ferengi appeared quickly, stammering, “Yes brother?”
“Go to the back room. Search for a bottle labeled Armagnac Apothecaire Baco, must be under rare beverages and possibly covered in dust. Bring it back as soon as you find it,” Quark instructed his brother.
Hearing the label, Jean-Luc whistled softly. He knew the winery, it was small, family owned like his own and very expensive. He chastised himself; he had bet and lost, and it made him wary of any other business interactions with the Ferengi. He wondered idly how many credits it was going to cost him. Better perhaps to buy the bottle and take it with him. While he was thinking, the one named Rom had returned with a dusty bottle. Quark carefully cleaned it and presented it to Jean-Luc triumphantly. He gave the Ferengi a brief nod and watched as the bottle was uncorked and the pale caramel liquid was poured into a beautiful glass snifter.
Pushing the glass towards his customer, Quark offered, “Nothing but the best for Starfleet,” and watched expectantly.
Jean-Luc took a cautious sip, it warmed a path down his throat and chest. It was as good as he remembered from the few times he had tasted it. “It is indeed excellent.” He commented.
“Now captain, can I offer you something else? Maybe the company of one of the dabo girls? Or something more tailored to your refined tastes? I harbor the few Orion dancers of the sector, or do your tastes go in some other direction, perhaps a burly Deltan male? We are the finest establishment in the sector.”
Probably the only establishment in the sector, thought Jean-Luc to himself, ruefully looking towards the dabo table where William Riker appeared to be having a roaring time and fleecing the house from the looks of it. He negated slowly, “No thank you. I'll finish my drink quietly. Maybe you could recommend a nice place for dinner, though.”
“Look no further, Captain, mine is the only establishment fit for dining on the Promenade, the rest of the business are slowly reopening after the end of the occupation.”
Jean-Luc hummed and took a sip of his drink, it was true that Quark’s was the only place open on the Promenade, the rest were full of debris and cleaning crews readying the shops. He’d been hoping for a recommendation planet side. He hadn’t asked Kai Opaka since she hadn’t struck him as a worldly type.
Offering him a PADD, Quark explained, “I gather you seek peace and quiet Captain. Have a look at my newest holo-programs. Some are brand new. The Cardassians, well, they only cared for a couple of them, if they used the holosuites at all. Seeing that you are staying for dinner, I can offer you a prime rate.”
Amused by the Ferengi’s business instinct, Jean-Luc asked, “Quark, what makes you think, there’s something here that I might like that’s not already available on my ship?”
Quark shrugged his shoulders and made as if to take the PADD away, but something had caught Jean-Luc’s eyes and he pulled it back. It read, Vic Fontaine’s, Las Vegas 1960’s. It might make for interesting scenery, at least if it wasn’t a casino, it would certainly be quieter than Quark’s and a more intimate place for dinner with Beverly. “You might be right. I would like to try this program.”
With a wide grin, Quark told him, “There’s a staircase at the back of the bar. Go upstairs, holosuite 3. I’ll run it from here. Just tell me when you might want dinner sent up.”
Getting up and taking hold of the bottle and snifter, Jean-Luc told him, “There’s somebody coming to have dinner with me. Send her up when she arrives, dinner half an hour afterwards.”
“How will I recognize your companion, Captain?” He was trying hard to imagine what kind of companion this stoic and even dull Starfleet captain had invited for dinner.
With a fond smile, Jean-Luc retorted, “You’ll recognize her just fine.” He took hold of his bottle and snifter and made his way to the back and upstairs.
He reached the holosuite and its doors opened automatically. He was faced with dim lightning and cigarette smoke and a burly bouncer that put a hand to his chest and stated, “No costumes allowed, only black tie as you can see.” Signaling the room, it was indeed full of tuxedo clad men and elegant women in long dresses.
He nodded his agreement and retired a little ways back. The doors closed and he found himself facing a replicator. Hoping that Quark kept his technology in better shape than the Cardassians had kept the entire station, he keyed in his request and was rewarded with a white tuxedo materializing. Looking around and confirming that he was alone, he placed his drink on the floor and proceeded to quickly change clothes.
Next to the replicator, he spotted a column of lockers. He placed his uniform inside one of them. After dropping a quick message to Beverly telling her their dinner location and requesting she dress up, he placed his PADD over it, and closed the locker, locking it under his command code.
Carefully, he picked his bottle and glass up again and returned to the holosuite entrance. The doors opened and he was faced once more with the bouncer. The other man looked him over from head to toe twice, and nodding, he moved to let Jean-Luc pass. Spotting the Armagnac bottle, he stated, “No outside liquor.”
“It’s not from outside, just from Quark’s,” Jean-Luc offered.
His comment was met with a grunt. Seeing that there were no further objections, he went inside. The smoke was thick and it tickled his throat. It was indeed quieter than downstairs. There was a jazz band playing at the front and some couples on the dance floor. Spotting a secluded table near the stage, he made his way to it and sat facing the stage, drinking from his snifter from time to time.
During his meeting with Kai Opaka and the Bajoran authorities he had managed to push aside his discomfort and guilt after his meeting with Commander Sisko but now, even if he felt his frayed nerves begin to relax with the combination of the soft music and the fiery liquor, his feelings resurfaced.
He, of course knew the loss of life that Wolf 359 had caused, intellectually he also knew that it had been Locutus' fault and that the hearing into the events of his abduction had cleared him of all charges. He also knew that many in Starfleet resented that and thought he was better off in a penal colony and not as the captain of the flagship.
Most of the time he managed to forget all about it, aided by the fact that the Enterprise rarely went to Earth. Days like today, when faced with survivors, all his guilt returned. Worse was the feeling of impotence, of being unable to defend himself. For the survivors he was the face of all the Borg represented. Some days, when he allowed himself to descend into depression, he tended to agree with them.
Trying to rein in his spiraling depressing thoughts, he turned his attention to the stage. The band had stopped for a break, the dancing couples had returned to their table and the ambient noise was full of whispered conversations. Thankfully, he was left alone.
Looking around the room, it appeared he was the only sentient being, the rest of the crowd looked holographic. He took another sip of his Armagnac, his thoughts turning to Bajor and Kai Opaka. Setting aside the religious undertones of the government leaders, Opaka struck him as a wise woman, a good leader and an astute negotiator. With her in charge and Federation protection, he was sure Bajor would recover quickly from the Cardassian occupation. He was so lost in his musings that he didn’t hear the band begin to play again. He was brought out of his reverie by the lyrics of an old song,
“ It is only a paper moon
Hanging over a cardboard sea
But it wouldn't be make-believe
If you believe in me”
It’s only a paper moon, his brain supplied the song’s title. It struck him as oddly appropriate. He believed in Commander Sisko. Command believed in him. Yet, Sisko and he shared the same doubts over their own abilities to complete their mission.
His attention returned to the stage and the singer. Holographic too, from the looks of it, styled after Sinatra and The Rat Pack and with a wonderful crooner’s voice and a commanding stage presence. Almost in spite of himself, he began to relax, a combination of the Armagnac and the music, for sure. He lost himself in his brooding once again, and was startled to hear a deep voice next to him.
“Why so brooding, pally? Lover stood you up?” the holographic singer asked, signaling the empty chair in front of him.
Jean-Luc raised his face from the glass to meet the singer's eyes. With a rueful smile, he answered, “My companion will arrive later. She’s not a lover, just a friend.”
Turning the chair around, Vic straddled it. Jean-Luc had to suppress a chuckle, it was uncanny how much the action reminded him of Will Riker’s preferred way of sitting. He was offered a doubtful smile and a proffered hand, “Vic Fontaine at your service. Welcome to my joint.”
Jean-Luc shook hands with the singer and introduced himself, “Jean-Luc Picard. Nice place you have here, Vic.”
With a shrug of his shoulders, Vic offered, “I do what I can. The customers seem happy.” He fixed his gaze on his customer and waited. Since Jean-Luc didn’t add anything and was back to staring at his snifter, he asked, “So, if it’s not because of a gall, why are you brooding. This is a place of joy and relaxation, and you seem intent on avoiding both.”
Jean-Luc sighed inwardly. In some ways, the holographic singer reminded him of Guinan. “How familiar are you with monsters, Vic?”
Vic seemed to ponder his question for a moment, before answering. “Like real life monsters? Not the ones from fairy tales or nightmares I gather.” At Jean-Luc’s little nod, he added, “Right, I have met some monsters myself. So far, I’ve managed to leave them behind. They don’t come to pester me or my customers.”
“Then count yourself lucky Vic. Mine are very real and give one the worst nightmares. They choose to pester me at the most inconvenient times,” Jean-Luc told him quietly.
The Borg were real living monsters that filled his dreams and turned them into nightmares. He returned his attention to his snifter, only to find it empty. He extended his hand to refill it and found Vic’s hand on his, stopping the motion.
“They don’t just disappear like that, you know,” he told him matter of factly. “Rest assured, they know better than to come in here, chasing my customers. Freddy at the door,” he gestured vaguely towards the door, “is more than he lets on. I have additional security around the place. You’re safe here.”
Vic’s reassurances did little to bring Jean-Luc out of his mood. Freddy and security measures could not keep at bay the monsters in his mind. Still, he nodded his agreement. He had better shake himself out of his dark mood before Beverly arrived. She would pick up on it instantly and berate him for it.
“Any requests, Jean-Luc? I have a new set coming up,” Vic asked.
If his question was answered, he didn’t hear as he heard a few wolf whistles. He turned towards the door to see a stunning redhead entering the lounge. She was clad in a column of black satin that left creamy shoulders bare, slit midthigh revealing long, perfect legs. She was trailing a black boa, lazily looking around the room. She smiled and made her way towards them.
Vic turned to face Jean-Luc to find him looking at the beautiful woman with a mixture of adoration and desire. “Your companion?” At Jean-Luc’s nod, he added, “Wipe that look off your face pally or she’ll catch it on you.”
Jean-Luc shook his head, trying to clear whatever it was that Vic had read. By then Beverly had reached them. Smiling, she kissed Jean-Luc’s cheek and turned towards his companion. Vic took her hand and kissed it lightly. “Vic Fontaine, at your service.” He winked at Jean-Luc and left them alone.
Sitting down and peeling off her gloves, Beverly commented, “Charming fellow.”
“Runs the place and provides live entertainment,” he offered.
Beverly just hummed. “Sorry to keep you waiting. The Bajoran health authorities were overenthusiastic.”
“It’s all right. I’ve enjoyed the ambiance and Vic is quite a good singer. It was worth the wait just to see how beautiful you look. So, how was your day?”
HIs admiring stare made her blush a little. With a sigh, she began, “Well, that depends on how you look at it. There’s the aftermath of any occupation, especially one so vicious as the Cardassian one was. Refugee camps, internment camps, prison camps. All filled with sickness and infirmity. The children…” Her voice broke a little.
Gathering her composure, she continued, “As usual, that’s the worst part. Especially the teens, robbed of the last bit of childhood to become freedom fighters. I’ve requisitioned every single health kit that I found on the Enterprise and Geordi and his team are hard at work on sanitation. Fortunately, the Bajoran medical personnel are well trained and perfectly capable of taking care of their own. They need supplies badly.
I’ll detail all that’s needed in my report but I’m requesting all medical supplies from the ships near the sector. Medical is going to be angry with me. There are some patients that need special medical care, and those I”ve had transported directly to my sickbay. I expect Selar and I are going to be quite busy for the next few days.” She paused long enough to take a champagne flute that had appeared in front of her, “Cheers,” Beverly said, clinking her flute to Jean-Luc’s and took a sip.
“Santé,” He toasted and mimicking her, he also took a sip. It was perfectly crisp and cold, and helped dissipate the heat that Beverly´s presence had suffused his body with. He couldn´t remember ordering it. He chanced a glance towards Vic on the stage. In the midst of his song he caught Jean-Luc´s silent inquiry and nodded slightly. Right, the hologram was on a quest on his behalf.
He sat back and enjoyed both the champagne and Beverly´s company. He was quite happy to let her talk and unburden herself. He wasn’t that keen to share his experience with Commander Sisko.
He listened attentively to her enumeration of Bajor’s medical needs. She didn’t need his approval for any measures she had to apply nor for the supplies she needed. After a few more minutes, he took advantage of a moment of silence to interject, “Well, that’s the worst of it as you say. I gather there has been something good too.”
By then, a plate of appetizers had appeared in front of them. Quark seemed to have impeccable timing. It looked like local seafood in a steaming sauce. Enthusiastically, Beverly dug her fork in and took a bite. It was slightly spicy and delicious. Waving her fork, she exclaimed, “It’s delicious Jean-Luc, try it. I was a bit skeptical of your choice of dining venue, but if the rest of the dinner is this good, you were absolutely right.”
He smiled at her enthusiasm and filled his fork; it was indeed very good. He washed it down with a sip of champagne, which paired perfectly and commented, “It seems Quark’s is the only place for dining on the station, apart from the replimat. I followed his suggestion.”
Quark’s name brought a furrow to Beverly’s brow. The Ferengi had been too obsequious and slimy and made her shudder. Jean-Luc noticed and asked, “Did Quark make a pass at you?”
“Let’s just say he tried to be seductive and I cured him of his pretensions,” Beverly stated with a smirk. Pulling Quark’s lobes after caressing them certainly had taught the Ferengi not to be overly attentive to clearly uninterested human females.
Jean-Luc hummed and stayed silent. Beverly knew how to get rid of bothersome admirers. Their plates were cleared and plates of a warm salad appeared in front of them. He asked again while sampling the dish, “So, I’m still waiting to hear about what you consider the best part of your day.”
Pointing her fork towards the salad, she answered, “Apart from dinner and your company? It appears that the Bajorans have a rich tradition of herbal healing. The scarcity of medical supplies during the occupation only re-enforced it. They are quite enthusiastic about sharing their knowledge and I managed to spend a couple of hours in a greenhouse.”
“I have already downloaded some treatises on the subject and have requested some saplings and seedlings. I plan to study the chemical compounds and see what other applications they might have.” Then she launched into a monologue on the most promising two or three herbs she had been shown. She paused long enough to notice that Jean-Luc appeared lost in thought and was toying with his salad, “Penny for your thoughts?”
That brought him out of his reverie, blinking, and he asked, “Pardon me?”
Patiently, she explained, “Jean-Luc, I’ve been talking for the past ten minutes about the ten different alkaloids that can be found in the Kalaa leaves and the traditional use of a tea of said leaves to treat swamp fevers. You haven’t even grunted. So come on, what’s up? How was your day?” she finished, pointing her fork at him and adding, “Please, eat something. The salad is quite good; it reminds me of Escalivada and goat cheese. Remember that time in Barcelona?”
Barcelona, Beverly and Jack newly married, with him trailing along. He was unwilling to revisit those memories. He sighed to himself. It was uncanny, the ability that Beverly had to read him. He took a sip of champagne and began. “The meeting with the Bajoran authorities went well. They are open to all the help the Federation can offer and I believe that when they recover, they’ll make major contributions to the Federation and will obtain membership quickly and easily.”
“Kai Opaka might well be a spiritual leader but she is also a skilled politician. The accords will have to be reviewed of course before we sign them, but I envision no difficulties.” To please her, he took a bite of his salad. It was indeed very good and he took another forkful. Anything to keep Beverly happy.
“It should make you happy and exultant and yet here you are sulking, so what’s really up?” she prodded.
“Do you remember that I had a meeting with the new station commander?”
“Right, he was supposed to arrive today on a transport from Earth. Did you give him his orders?”
He nodded but didn’t elaborate. He stalled for time, finishing his salad.
“Jean-Luc, I swear, getting you to unburden feels worse than trying to pull a tooth without anesthesia.” Gently placing her hand on his chin so he would face her, she begged, “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m sorry Beverly that I’m such bad company tonight. I… Well, it turns out the new station commander and I had already met and I didn’t remember it.” Beverly raised her eyebrow questioningly, “Wolf 359. He was on the Saratoga. He lost his wife because of me and is raising his son alone.” He finished dejectedly, eyes fixed on the tablecloth.
Her heart sank. It was bound to happen and they knew it, meeting survivors of the battle, especially Starfleet survivors. She had always fervently hoped that they would understand that Jean-Luc was another victim of the Borg like them. “Jean-Luc, we’ve been through this many times before. You are not guilty. Locutus is and you certainly are not him. The Board of Inquiry cleared you of any charges. Command….”
Jean-Luc interrupted, “Command is sitting quietly inside their offices in San Francisco. They don’t have to meet survivors face to face. I do. Frankly, what I see on their faces is what I sometimes see when I look at myself in the mirror.”
“Then I hope they see the man I see every morning across the breakfast table. The best captain of the Fleet, honorable, brave, a true leader and skilled diplomat,” Beverly stated forcefully and then added in a softer voice, “Because I see all of that and I also get to see the side of my best friend that they’ll never see.” She took hold of one hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “ And the man I’m in love with, ” she added to herself.
They way she said it, and her soft gaze brought a lump to his throat. Trying to cover his embarrassment, he took his flute with his free hand and almost gulped down half of it. Beverly held his gaze and brought her own flute up and saluted him with it. “To my best friend,” she toasted.
He acknowledged the toast with half a smile and stayed silent, then Vic began a new song. Happening to catch the lyrics, Jean-Luc commented, “How apt.” At Beverly’s raised eyebrow, he supplied, “The lyrics of Vic’s current song.”
Here's to those who love not too wisely, know not wisely, but too well
To the girl who sighs with envy when she hears that wedding bell
To the guy who'd throw a party if he knew someone to call
Here's to the losers, bless them all
Here's to those who drink their dinners when that lady doesn't show
To the girl who'll wait for kisses underneath that mistletoe
To the lonely summer lovers when the leaves begin to fall
Here's to the losers, a-bless them all
Beverly paid attention to the song, sipping from her flute, but when she heard the word losers, she reacted, “No way, you are not a loser. No one can take a look at your service record and think that.” Vic ended his song and began another one. It was much more uplifting, and eager to break Jean-Luc out of his depressing mood, she took his hand and asked, “Come on, before our next course arrives, dance with me. Let’s cheer you up,”
“I don’t dance Beverly,” He protested.
“Of course you do, we danced at my wedding. If I remember correctly, you did quite well." Before he could protest again, Beverly had pulled him up and led him to the dance floor. They faced each other and he could see the challenge in Beverly’s eyes, lead or be led. “Fine, I’ll lead,” he thought, and placing one hand tentatively on the small of her back and the other taking her hand, he maintained what he thought was an appropriate distance.
Beverly, however, had a different idea and moved in closer as they began to dance. He stopped paying attention to the lyrics, concentrating instead on his steps and on controlling his body’s unruly reaction to the feeling of Beverly in his arms. As the song was ending he happened to see a Ferengi waiter clearing their plates and placing their main course on their table. He murmured in her ear, “Our main course has arrived, best to return to the table before it gets cold.”
She nodded her agreement. As much as she had enjoyed dancing together, it had unsettled her, the things that the closeness of him did to her own body. They returned to the table to discover their main course, a crispy grilled fish on a bed of what looked like brown rice.
She took a tentative bite and with a smile munched on it and washed it down with a sip of champagne before exclaiming, “Quark might be a slimy bastard but he sure knows how to hire a chef and get first quality supplies. Do you think we could steal his chef and convince him to hitch a ride on the Enterprise? For the captain’s private galley? A treasure for diplomatic functions.”
Jean-Luc smiled and told her, “And risk Guinan’s wrath? No, thanks, I’d rather face the Borg again than an angry Guinan.”
Beverly shrugged her shoulders. It was a difficult thing to understand Guinan’s friendship with Jean-Luc that spanned decades and appeared to have begun in Earth’s nineteenth century. Taking another bite, she offered, “I had to try, you know.”
Jean-Luc just smiled, beginning to eat from his plate. The dancing and the food had relaxed him further and, as Beverly had intended, brought him out of his dark mood. The rest of the meal passed in a lighter tone.
Dessert was also superb, a chocolate mousse whipped to perfection. Beverly briefly thought of Deanna and how much her friend would have enjoyed the sweet treat. She would have to talk Will into taking Deanna to dinner.
Vic had ended his set while they were finishing their dinner and now the band was playing soft ambient jazz. They were served two raktajinos and Jean-Luc refilled his Armagnac snifter. Beverly eyed him curiously. She had noticed the bottle when she’d arrived but had forgotten to ask about it. “Jean-Luc, what’s in that bottle?”
“Armagnac, a fine and rare one as it turns out. I took my chance with Quark and lost it. Considering what I imagine he was planning to charge me for just one drink, I decided to divest him of the bottle. It’s a pity that such a good beverage would spoil after opening it to pour just one drink,” Jean-Luc explained and took a sip. It was even more perfect with the raktajino. Without thinking, he offered his snifter and asked, “Do you want to try it?”
Beverly was amused by the thought of the wily Ferengi getting the best of Jean-Luc. Equally unthinking and eager to taste something new she agreed and extended her hand to take the proffered glass. Holding his eyes, she took a sip. It was warm, fruity and woody at the same time and burnt a fiery path down her throat. Jean-Luc’s intent stare was burning her and suffusing her body with a heat that had nothing to do with the Armagnac. She returned the snifter and managed to comment, “It is indeed quite good.”
Their fingers touched lightly when Jean-Luc took the snifter back and he felt a spark traveling up his arm and all the way down to his loins. Deliberately, he turned it around and took a sip from the spot her lips had touched the glass. Without breaking eye contact he returned the snifter to Beverly.
She took it back and repeated his movement, placing her lips where his had been. The faint taste of his lips clung to the glass. She found it difficult to swallow, she was beginning to burn all over and it had nothing to do with the fiery liquor. They sat like that, their eyes fixed on each other exchanging sips and indirect kisses until the snifter was empty.
Jean-Luc placed it slowly over the table, he felt strangely bereft now that it was empty, yet intensely relieved. If it kept up any longer, he would forget his restraint and make love to Beverly with the strains of Vic’s latest song in the background. He took a sip of his coffee; it had gone cold. He drained the cup in one gulp and looked towards Vic. The holographic singer winked at him and turned around to his audience.
With a strained voice he managed to say, “Dance with me?” If she felt as wound up as he was, she didn’t let on as she got up and, taking his hand, they returned to the dance floor. He managed to keep his personal space to himself this time on the dance floor, enjoying both the dance and the company and managing to turn his arousal into a half burn. If asked later, he would not know how long they had danced or to which songs, he would only remember Beverly’s perfume, her pliant body in his arms and the slight taste of her lips on the snifter.
Beverly was wondering what she would tell Deanna the following morning. She was only fixated on Jean-Luc’s warmth as she followed him around the floor. She was aroused and worried that it showed in her flushed cheeks, hoping that Jean-Luc would take it as a result of their exertions on the dance floor.
Vic’s set ended to loud clapping and some cheers and they returned to their table. She sat down fanning herself with her hand, and took a sip of her glass of water hoping it would cool her down.
Jean-Luc looked at her worriedly, her face was flushed and her cleavage had a lovely rosy tint. Tearing his eyes from the exposed skin, he asked, “Are you alright?”
Smiling, she told him, “Sure, don’t worry, only a little hot from all the dancing. My partner manages to give a good workout, even though he claims he doesn’t dance,” she finished with a teasing tone.
It was his turn to flush, and he took a sip from his own glass, staring at it intently, avoiding her face.
“Would you excuse me for a moment? I need to freshen myself up a bit.” At Jean-Luc’s nod she got up.
Just then Vic reached their table, looking at Beverly’s back as she went in the direction of the restrooms. Vic commented admiringly, “Jean-Luc, she’s stunning. I understand why you are smitten. I just can’t figure out why you are carrying that torch around.”
Jean-Luc shrugged his shoulders. “Look Vic, it’s complicated. I have loved her since the day we first met. Back then she was my best friend’s girlfriend, later on his wife. She’s a widow because of me. We are friends and that’s all I can aspire to be.”
Vic gave his customer a long, appraising look. For a human, he was quite blind. “Look, I know you’ll say it’s none of my business and really, why should you accept romantic advice from a holographic singer? Just know pally, that the best is yet to come. Gather your courage and speak up. I have the feeling you’re in for a surprise. Love must be confessed lest someone with less love and more courage speaks up first.” He counseled.
Beverly returned to the table just then, and offering the singer a bright smile, she asked, “Closing time already Vic?” She had noticed the dwindling crowd and the slightly brighter lights.
“Aye, my lady. Even holograms need some rest,” Vic offered with a half bow.
“I suppose I couldn’t convince you to sing one last song. It might well be some time before Jean-Luc and I get the chance to dance again.” Another flash of a dazzling smile, this time directed towards her dinner companion.
The smile blinded him and he simply nodded his agreement. The moment Beverly’s attention turned back to the hologram, Jean-Luc chastised himself. Even if he had enjoyed dancing, which gave him the excuse to hold her close and drown himself in her presence and her perfume, one last dance might be too much.
He was tired and slightly intoxicated both from the Armagnac, the champagne and Beverly’s scent. Above all, he was still aroused and he was afraid of making a fool of himself and blowing the night and their friendship if his control slipped and he made a move to change their relationship.
Vic winked at him and told her with a dazzling smile of his own, “Anything for you ma belle, and baldy here of course. Only, I choose the song.”
“Fair enough,” Beverly told him. Vic nodded and made his way to the stage. He signaled the band to sit down again. A collective holographic groan could be heard across the room but the musicians complied. The first strains began to play and Beverly extended her hand, asking playfully, “Shall we, baldy?”
Jean-Luc took the proffered hand and rose, letting himself be led to the dance floor. She pulled him closer and they began to dance. As before, he tried to keep his distance, but again Beverly had other ideas and stepped closer into his embrace, gently laying her cheek against his. He sighed inwardly and hung onto his control. He heard Vic begin to sing,
“ Out of the tree of life I just picked me a plum
You came along and everything started to hum
Still, it's a real good bet, the best is yet to come
Best is yet to come and babe, won't that be fine?
You think you've seen the sun, but you ain't seen it shine
A-Wait till the warm-up's underway
Wait till our lips have met
And wait till you see that sunshine day
You ain't seen nothin' yet
The best is yet to come and babe, won't it be fine?
Best is yet to come, come the day you're mine”
By the last words, he had come into Vic’s direct line of vision. He caught his eye and winked. Jean-Luc groaned inside. If he didn’t know better, it would appear that the holographic singer was hell bent on romance and upping his chances.
He tried to read Beverly’s expression but she had closed her eyes and had a dreamy expression on her face as she followed him around the dance floor. He decided just to enjoy the moment. As Beverly had said, who knew when they would be able to dance again. The song ended in the blink of an eye and they stood in the middle of the dance floor. Separating a little from him, Beverly opened her eyes and blinked slowly, reacquainting herself with her surroundings. She leaned in and gently kissed his cheek, “Thank you for a wonderful evening Jean-Luc.”
He raised her hand and kissed her knuckles softly, “I have to thank you . For being a wonderful companion as always and for lifting my spirits.” He wrestled with saying more. Instead, he lowered her hand and led her to their table. She picked up her handbag and Jean-Luc his bottle of Armagnac. When they turned around Vic was standing, waiting for them. Picard extended his hand and shook the hologram’s in farewell. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”
Beverly leaned in and kissed Vic. It should not have been possible, but the hologram’s cheeks went red. “Thank you Vic. You’re wonderful.”
Vic was speechless for a second, “My pleasure, Baldy, Red. See you around.”
Jean-Luc offered his arm to Beverly, she placed one hand in the crook of his arm and with a final smile towards Vic, they made their way out of the holosuite. Vic contemplated their retreating backs until they exited. With a shake of his head, he mused, “Humans,” and before he had the chance to say goodbye to the band, he simply vanished.