The BLTS Archive - Coffee in Bed
by Opal (opalesse@gmail.com)

---

One moment, she's talking about who's going to win the Carrington
Award this year, like a sane person. It's just dinner. Their fourth in
the last two weeks, and Beverly cooked again.

She has a way with her replicator, that, or it just isn't related to
the hateful, spiteful, demanding piece of machinery Kathryn has.
Either way, Beverly's quarters are better for dinner.

So here she is. Again, sitting across from the doctor with the
incredibly long legs, talking about Healer Sevna being nominated again
while it's the first time a Bajoran, Doctor Tolryen, has been
nominated. It's a perfectly normal conversation, except, halfway
between the salad and the main course, Kathryn's become distracted.

It's never happened to her before. She's been distracted, of course,
she's human, but this particular one is new.

It's Beverly's hair.

Which is ridiculous because Kathryn has hair. It's gotten long on her
again and she wears it up more than she lets it down.

Beverly's is down. It caresses her shoulders and tumbles around her
face in gentle red-gold waves. It catches light. It sighs and whispers
when Beverly turns her head and Kathryn's half-convinced its flirting
with her.

Which is also ridiculous, but not quite as ridiculous as how much she
wants to touch it.

She's sure she could. Beverly wouldn't mind, or even really notice if
she just...

But they're eating. They're talking and this is certainly not the time
to innocently wonder what kind of spray Beverly puts in her hair to
get that scent, or if it's just her perfume. Either way it's divinely
distracting.

Beverly leaves her chair for dessert and coffee. There's no shortage
of coffee, and no rationing either on Earth. Every once in awhile
Kathryn catches herself mentally calculating how many pots of coffee
she has left that month before she runs out, but it's no longer
necessary. She's home, and Earth has coffee to spare.

"What is it?" Beverly's smiling at her and she must have given herself
away. "I haven't changed my hair, if that's what you're wondering.
It's just the light."

Candlelight.

They have candles and the burning wicks remind her a little of
Chakotay, who's well and happy on Voyager.

"Why do you always wear it down?"

Silly question, but it's easier to ask and have something to say than
to sit and try not to admit how distracted she's been.

"My hair?" Beverly's smile widens and she toys with her chocolate puff
with her fork. "When I'm in surgery, I have to put it up. When I put
on my surgical scrubs, I put up my hair. It's a routine. I've done it
that way for years. I suppose it became a habit."

She takes a bite, then sets down her fork. Her hands wrap around her
coffee cup and Beverly lifts it thoughtfully. Is she flirting?

Does Kathryn want her to be?

"Let me guess."

Beverly's almost too good at guessing but Kathryn nods, hiding behind
her cup before she can give away too much.

"You wear yours up because someone told you it made you look young
with it down." Beverly finishes her guess with a triumphant raise of
her eyebrows and Kathryn's stomach jumps exquisitely.

They're flirting.

"I was a lieutenant commander," Kathryn begins. Does she even remember
how to flirt? It's like riding a hoverbike. She has to remember.

"I was supervising the new cadets and someone mistook me for one."

Beverly coos sympathetically and laughs but her eyes are wicked. "No."

"Oh yes," Kathryn winces at the memory. "One of the ensigns scolded me
for not being with the rest of my class."

"Ouch."

"After that I put it up." Kathryn downs the last of her coffee and
reaches for the pot in the middle of the table.

Beverly's hand beats hers by half a second and they touch. Kathryn's
fingers wind around Beverly's and they're both holding the glass and
metal coffee pot.

"You wanted to look severe." Beverly surmises, not letting go.

Kathryn concedes, brushing the back of Beverly's hand before she lets
her host refill her coffee for her. "I wanted to not look nineteen."

Beverly tops off her own cup and lifts it in a toast. "To wasted
youth."

Chuckling a little, Kathryn agrees, "to wasted youth."

The cups clink and Beverly adds, "think we've grown wiser? Or are we
the same fools with more memories of being foolish."

"Some of the best moments in life are foolish." Kathryn's coffee is
hot and fragrant, but it's not what she wants.

"Do you think so?"

The question hangs in the air like so many others they've asked each
other in since this, whatever wonder this is, began. Do you miss your
husband? What do you think life would have been like with your fiancé?
Just what is going on with you and that captain?

"I think trying to get out of my physical was foolish." Kathryn tests
the waters; she's not even sure if she can swim, but she wants to
think it's possible. Just like that shade of red can exist in nature.
She'd believe it if she could touch it.

"You've apologised," Beverly reminds her gently. She understands the
connotation behind the thought. "You saved me from a very dull evening
at the ballet by myself."

"Oh no, you saved me from a very dull evening of paperwork in my
office by myself."

There was that play in London they transported over for, then that
restaurant Beverly found in Singapore, where they had to have
breakfast for dinner because their time of day was all wrong in San
Francisco. They're working towards infinite cups of coffee between
them and Kathryn can't remember the last time she went through a day
without a message or two from Beverly on her computer.

They stare at each other over the table, each of them daring
themselves to ask what they're doing. The candles are low, and it must
be late but it's a Saturday and neither of them have anything they
must do tomorrow.

Wine after coffee goes straight to her head, but Kathryn agrees when
Beverly offers.

They retreat to the sofa and the moonlight paints blues into the red
of Beverly's hair. Kathryn turns, half-facing Beverly with her arm on
the back of the sofa. Beverly's hair is right there, centimetres from
her fingers, laughing at her playfully as Beverly tells the story of
how her son once took over the Enterprise.

Kathryn will have to dredge up an old story of Phoebe, or tell Beverly
about the time cheese made them give Voyager a fever. Beverly should
appreciate the medical science behind feverish gel packs, and she
decides on that as she listens to how close the Enterprise came to
destruction.

The tips of Beverly's hair are cool and soft. Kathryn's not entirely
sure when she touched, but they're in her hand and she's rolling them
between her fingers.

When Beverly catches her, there's only that smile again. That playful,
teasing little smile. Beverly shifts on the sofa, leaning in, and in
far less time than it's ever taken a man to undo her hair, Beverly has
the clip in hand and Kathryn's hair is tumbling down.

"I have one of these." Beverly explains, leaving the silver clip on
the coffee table next to the tiny flowering roses. She keeps plants;
even keeps them living. It's a skill Kathryn's never been able to
master, except once, with tomatoes, a lifetime ago on the other side
of the galaxy.

Kathryn shakes her hair out, and Beverly sinks her fingers in near the
scalp. Her strong fingertips massage through, then down Kathryn's
neck.

Kathryn shivers deliciously and they're so close that she can pay far
too much attention to the soft, red fullness of Beverly's lips.

"It's grown long." Kathryn says of her own hair.

Beverly nods and arranges it playfully over Kathryn's shoulders. "I
remember the holos when you came back. It's almost easier longer,
isn't it? Less work."

"I can't say I've really thought about it. Not lately." Which is true.
Kathryn's own hair has been low on her list of concerns while
Beverly's just keeps rising.

Beverly straightens Kathryn's hair a little more and then drops her
hands to the space between them. There's not much. Their thighs are
touching and Kathryn's acutely aware of how much longer Beverly's legs
seem to be, amongst other glorious things about those legs.

"What have you been thinking about, lately?"

There it is. Kathryn's not sure if it's an invitation to swim or a
notice that these waters aren't what they seem but she can't pass it
up. She's been so alive, so fulfilled, so happy since one dinner
became several and the ballet became a standing engagement.

"Red."

Beverly laughs and her hair dances as she shakes her head. "Kathryn,
you'll have to elaborate. You've lost me."

Finding Beverly's chin with her hand, Kathryn leans closers and
instead of walking into the water, she dives right in.

First kisses are often a mixture of pleasure, surprise and
uncertainty. Every once in awhile, Kathryn gets to enjoy one that
knows what it is. Some kisses know they have reinforcements on the way
and let themselves relax. This one doesn't just have the Third Fleet,
this one welcomes her on board because it seems to know she belongs.
She slips her hand deep into Beverly's hair, finding the warmth of it
along the soft skin of Beverly's neck.

After a moment, there's a greater warmth of Beverly's tongue against
hers and their mutual sighs of surprise and gratification. Warm and
welcoming, as if the water is perfect for swimming.

"Lips?" Beverly guesses when they come up for air.

"Hair."

Beverly giggles and strokes Kathryn's cheek. "I can't say yours makes
you look nineteen, but it's beautiful."

"It's only a little red."

Kissing away Kathryn's mock pout before she's even started, Beverly
hushes her.

"It's beautiful."

There are a handful of reasons Kathryn will allow anyone the last
word. Beverly's quickly discovering most of them; she's remarkably
willing to let her.

---

Her boots are on the floor by the doorway. Kathryn's uniform jacket
has found a chair, but hangs haphazardly. Beverly leaves the clothing
where it is and gets a glass of wine from the replicator. It's
synthehol but the taste and the feel of it in her mouth is what she
wants more than she wants to be drunk.

She thinks for a moment, glass in hand, and returns to the replicator
for the bottle. Kathryn will steal from her glass, and tonight they
might both need it.

The living room is empty. The late summer rain outside has the bite of
autumn in it, lashing the windows of Kathryn's apartment. Beverly's
clothes and hair are damp, but she didn't have to walk that far from
the shelter of Starfleet Medical.

At an optimistic point in the past, they had a dinner date, but in the
end, both of them had to work. Beverly ate, but she can't remember
what it was. She hopes Kathryn found the time, but it's just as likely
that she won't remember what she ate either, if she even did.

Picking up a PADD and straightening the books on the table, Beverly
caresses the leaf of a bleeding heart she brought over as a joke. It's
doing well, which is proof that Kathryn's not as inept with plants as
she protests to be. Walking past the bedroom, she hears water and
smiles. After the chill of the rain, a bath would be incredible and
that's where Kathryn must be.

She should have guessed.

Learning in the doorway, Beverly smirks down at the pile of uniform on
the floor of the bathroom, then smiles over at the tub.

"You didn't get caught in it, did you?"

Kathryn sits up from the water, happily startled. Her hair's up in a
towel and she's almost lost in bubbles. "I was walking down Pike
Street. Once I was soaked, running back for the transporter just
seemed redundant."

Swirling her glass, Beverly lifts it in an offering. "Malbec?"

"No Chateau Picard?" Kathryn teases, lifting her knee so the water and
the bubbles part around it.

The air is heavy and full of lavender-scented steam. It's a refuge in
here tonight and when the door shuts her in, Beverly smiles.

"Not today." Setting down her glass on the edge of the sink, Beverly
strips off her uniform jacket as Kathryn watches her.

"Cair Caroli five?"

"Trade sanctions turned into food riots. Three dead, eleven injured."
Kathryn's tone is bleak and she stares into the water.

Things along the fringes of Cardassian space are still uneasy and
everyone's on edge about the are no simple economic decisions and
Beverly worries that Kathryn misses science more than she lets on.
Keeping the peace along Federation supply chains is hardly exploring.

Beverly slides down the zipper of her trousers and slips them off her
hips. Kathryn's eyes run over the exposed skin of her legs and
Beverly's warmer already.

"Your heart transplant?" Kathryn asks while Beverly peels her
turtleneck and tank away from her skin. She spent most of the day in
scrubs; still her uniform feels stale and confining.

"Didn't take. His lungs wouldn't sync with his cardiac rhythm. The
moment we took him off respiratory support, he seized. We tried a few
more times, but I don't think he'll ever be able to accept an
mechanical implant. There's still a chance for a donor organ, but that
could be months away." Sighing as she removes her bra and panties,
Beverly moves her wine closer, setting the glass on the edge of the
tub, the bottle on the floor, and steps into the bath.

Kathryn scoots to the corner, making room for her to get in. The
bathtub hardly requires that consideration because it's huge. It's
still cute of her, and Beverly's smile brightens.

Beverly stands over her, stepping in slowly. The hot water brings
feeling back into her feet in a rush. She didn't know they were that
cold, but the heat tingles. Her shudder makes Kathryn smile, and the
other woman steals the wine glass.

"It's good."

"I have taste."

"Exceptional taste."

Beverly sits down on the edge of the bath first, and Kathryn playfully
nudges bubbles towards her legs.

"Will you keep him in stasis?"

There are no names in their discussion of her patients. His heart, her
brain, his leg...they're all here because Starfleet Medical is one of
the most advanced medical centres in quadrant, and they need her. She
can't say she doesn't like the challenge, or that she ever lets
herself give up hope. Hope is the most important thing, still, there
are bad days and days when all she wants is to remember that most of
the time, she makes a difference.

"It's killing his parents, slowly..." She climbs in the water, letting
it cover her belly.

Kathryn's wet hand brushes Beverly's hair back from her cheek, and she
grabs it before it returns beneath the surface. They sit there in
silence, listening to the whispered hiss of the bubbles. Kathryn's
hand is her connection to the world; her forgiveness for not being
able to right all injustices of biology.

Eventually she smiles back and squeezes Kathryn's hand before she lets
it go.

Beverly has been meaning to ask, but the history of everyone who's
come before just hasn't found a way into the conversation yet. "Would
it bother you if it was Chateau Picard?"

Kathryn tilts her head and raises her eyebrows. "Should it?"

Flicking bubbles at Kathryn, Beverly studies her face. There's no
accusation, only curiosity. "The Enterprise will be here next week."

"Should we ask Jean-Luc to dinner?"

Beverly shuts her eyes, sighing up towards the ceiling. Her hair
trails into the water and now she'll have to wash it. "I will."

She can picture Kathryn pursing her lips, and she trails her hand
through the bubbles when she opens her eyes.

Kathryn lets her mouth twist into a smile. "I know we've half had the
conversation, maybe we should finish it."

Beverly chuckled and leaned in close. The water sloshed a little and
Kathryn's legs touched hers. "We might need real wine."

"I have some." Kathryn pointed through the wall with a bubble coated
hand. "I think."

"We'd have to get out."

Both of them frown at the idea and Kathryn runs her wet fingers
through Beverly's hair. "You have bubbles in it."

"If I wash it, your bubbles will disappear."

"Don't you hate surface tension?" Kathryn sighs and gestures for
Beverly to turn around. "I can have more bubbles another time."

"How very-"

"I could dunk you-"

"-Patient of you," Beverly finishes.

"Thank you."

Easing Beverly's head back, Kathryn immerses all of her hair into the
water. All the sound vanishes when her ears go under and the water is
full of the hushed sounds of her own breath and heartbeat. Shutting
her eyes, she looses herself in that safe darkness. Kathryn kisses her
forehead, her lips almost the same temperature as the water.

"Cheb was the cutest boy in high school. He was charming, funny,
brilliant, but he didn't get into Starfleet Academy, I did, and that
was the end of that."

Beverly sits up, water pouring down her head. "If you hadn't been
accepted, I bet he would have told you to try again next year."

"Not to worry about it."

"You'll be fine, you can reapply." Beverly rolls her eyes towards the
wall and Kathryn laughs behind her head then rubs shampoo between her
hands. She starts at the Beverly's hairline, moving down without
urgency, her slender fingers strong and sure.

"I dated a few times in the Academy, I had a thing for men with a
sense of humour and nice bone structure."

Kathryn laughs again, running her fingers through lather towards the
tips of Beverly's hair. "DNA Snob."

"There's nothing wrong with being informed."

Kathryn's hand pats her shoulder. "Rinse."

Beverly ducks the back of her head beneath the surface of the water
again and this time the bubbles hiss and begin to disappear. Kathryn's
hands follow her down, running through her hair and chasing the
shampoo away.

"Jack made me laugh."

"You know, Justin had no sense of humour."

Beverly tucks her hair behind her shoulder and turns around. "You
loved him."

"I did. I would have married him and I might have been happy."

Resting her forehead on Kathryn's, Beverly smiles. "I was happy with
Jack."

Kathryn's lips brush her cheek. "How about that wine?"

The wine isn't Chateau Picard, but it's a perfectly respectable South
African merlot. Kathryn's robe is blue and it clings to her slightly
damp skin. Her hair hangs down wet, staining the shoulder. She toys
with the stem of her glass, smiling nostalgically. "Justin wasn't even
sure if he liked dogs."

"I've never had a pet." Beverly grabs a piece of apple from the plate
in the middle of the table. "Nana and I never had the time. I love
cats."

"You would."

"Not that there's anything wrong with dogs." The wine is spicy, rich
and dark. Beverly sips and then grins at her. She knows what she's in
for. "I don't think I'd ever have time for one on my own. The hours
wouldn't be fair."

"But a cat might not even miss you."

"A very independent cat." Beverly reaches across, stroking the back of
Kathryn's hand. "Jean-Luc's a little like a cat. He knows what he
wants, but he keeps to himself. He's independent, reserved. A very
good friend whenever I need one, but-"

"There's something?"

Beverly finishes what was in her glass and Kathryn fills it. "We were
telepathically linked once. Some kind of neural implants that attuned
themselves to our brain waves. We shared our thoughts."

Turning her hand over, Kathryn takes Beverly's free hand and toys with
her fingers. "Like a mind meld?"

"I've never...I think it was similar." She fidgets with the rim of her
glass. It's cool and smooth beneath her fingertip and it reminds her
of Jean-Luc and the night in his quarters where she walked away. "He
was in love with me for twenty years. I married his best friend and he
fell in love with me."

"And he never said anything? You didn't suspect?"

Beverly releases her hand, then shakes her fingers through her wet
hair. "He's a very private man. I-"

Kathryn leans in over the table. "Yes?"

"I knew there was something, but he never went through with it. He
never said anything. We were, we are friends and that's all we'll ever
be. He met someone four years ago. She doesn't leave her planet much,
but he has a lot of accumulated leave. He's happy with her. It's the
kind of relationship he wants."

"And what do you want?" Kathryn's eyes flash playfully and she has to
be acutely aware of how low her robe has fallen over her breasts.

Beverly lifts her glass and lets her eyes fall to Kathryn's cleavage.
"I think I have what I want."

"Good."

"Good?"

Kathryn stretches, flirting lazily with a twist of her shoulders that
exposes even more skin. "I outrank him anyway."

Now Beverly laughs, and the weight lifts off her chest. "I don't
outrank a captain."

Kathryn chokes a little on her wine and starts to laugh. "He'd never
fight you for me."

"Would you want him to?" They're both giggling at that thought.

"He'd never have to. I keep the things I want." Kathryn grabs the
bottle of wine and refills her own glass. "When we were attracted to
each other, Chakotay and I couldn't, not in the Delta Quadrant, not
while I was waiting for Mark..."

Beverly leaves her chair, heading to the replicator for bread and
cheese to go with the wine. She kisses the skin left bare on Kathryn's
shoulder and smiles at the back of her head.

"It wouldn't have been fair to the crew. I couldn't divide my focus."
Kathryn's glass hits the table hard.

Beverly sets the bread on the table and wraps her arms around
Kathryn's shoulders. "You brought them home. You're the great Kathryn
Janeway."

Turning her chair buries her face in her shoulder, and Kathryn sighs
before she answers. "He's happy now. Chakotay has a crew to look
after. We never had the right timing. He's a good friend."

Beverly squeezes her again before returning to her chair. Lifting her
glass, she offers a toast. "To good friends?"

"Good friends."

The glasses clink and Kathryn's cheeks are pink from more than just
the bath.

"I don't settle." Kathryn stares down into her glass, watching the red
liquid cling to the inside as she swirls it. "I want you to know that
you're not-"

"I know." Beverly brushes her bare foot against her leg under the
table. "Neither are you."

Kathryn leans in again, the apprehension gone from her deep blue eyes.
"I've been offered a survey mission."

"A survey mission?" Beverly tears the bread and hands her a piece.
"It's scientific."

"It's a stellar survey. Plasma flares along the Badlands. I think I
said yes before I finished reading what it was." She smirks and
Beverly eats her bread. "It's only three weeks. I'll write..."

"I'd be pretty upset if you didn't." Beverly can't match that smirk,
but she smiles. "There's a botanical conference on Betazed about
medicinal plants. I've been meaning to go. I'll be occupied, which
should not to be taken to mean that I won't miss you. I'll have
something to write about."

"I've always considered you quite literary."

Beverly's eyebrows head towards the ceiling. "Readers aren't always
good writers."

"You are."

"Oh?"

"You managed to chastise me effectively for being late in a note. My
mother's been jealous of you ever since we met." Kathryn looks at the
cheese in her hand instead of eating it. "She wants to meet you."

"Your mother?"

That's a new step. Jean-Luc's one thing, Chakotay's the same, but
Kathryn's mother?

Kathryn's gaze has the same intensity as laser scalpel. "Doctor
Janeway, the mathematical kind, not medical."

"I'd be honoured." Beverly nods and realises she is touched by the
invitation. "Would we...?"

"Oh no, she'll insist on cooking." Kathryn pauses, then relaxes. It
was a little difficult to ask and Beverly's touched. "Which is a good
thing. Everything I am not, she is, in the kitchen. She'll love you."

"I thought she already did." The offhand comment floats in the air and
Beverly almost misses what Kathryn says beneath it.

"I do."

They look at each other, then away. There's the hint of a flush in
Kathryn's skin that has nothing to do with wine. Her lips move, but
before she can speak, Beverly interrupts.

"I'm not good at saying it. I was, once, but when Jack died I..."

Kathryn's relief lights her eyes. "We can leave it. We have an
understanding."

"The best one I've had in a *long* time." She'll hate that the
pillows will be wet, but Beverly lets her eyes flick towards the
bedroom. "I like this."

Once on her feet, Kathryn lowers a hand to Beverly to guide her out of
her chair. When they're face to face, she stands on her tiptoes and
kisses her. The heat in Beverly's stomach is much more than wine.

"So do I."

---

Dear Beverly,

You're right. I'll admit it this once and save myself on the
humiliation for few weeks. Taking a hypo to counteract caffeine does
help me sleep, but it's really not the same. Perhaps I've become too
accustomed to having someone in my bed at night to feel comfortable
with it empty. I think that I'm missing Earth, than I realise it's
your apartment by the waterfront and the sound of you making coffee in
the morning that I really miss.

My replicator's already frustrated that I don't find it a fair
substitute for you. I've had to eat in the mess hall most days so I
don't press my luck.

We're doing our second survey of the area along the Badlands. Oddly,
though this was what Voyager was designed to do so many years ago,
after the Delta Quadrant, the Badlands just isn't as exciting as it
would once have been. There's no Dominion activity, thank all the gods
for that, and it's quiet. The only structures we've found are long
dead. It's a land of ghosts again, perhaps it always has been.

How are the vaccination programs coming? You said you were getting
closer and closer to a working trail for Romulan Cuperic Fever? I
should get into the habit of reading your letters again before I
write, but even when we're not doing anything important, I still find
a way to be overly busy.

Yes, I can make a stellar survey a nightmare for myself in terms of
paperwork. No, I don't really know why I've been cursed with that
particular demon.

When I ask you again why I agreed to take this mission, remind me I
love the way the stars look outside the mess hall windows and that I
don't feel as at home anywhere but in the big chair in the centre of
the bridge. My desk at Starfleet Command isn't even comfortable.

It's still less than perfect, and I've been blaming that on the empty
centre of the bed. You know it wouldn't be fair to say you have a
side. You've always been more centrifugal in your approach to the bed.
I miss you. More than coffee and the warmth of your skin, I miss
*you*. I don't laugh the same way without you. I can't say I don't
laugh...but something's missing.

Are you sure you don't want to do a tour as the CMO of a tiny little
ship on a boring little survey mission? I could put in a good word
with the admiral in charge. She's a little bit of a head case but she
has a great heart when you get to know her.

At least, so I'm told.

Do you remember, two letters ago when you went on for eight pages
about what you'd seen at the botanical conference for new medicinal
plants and then apologised profusely and threatened not to send it?

I've been rereading that before I fall asleep, imagining you pacing
around your dining room while I eat, telling me everything you've
wondered at during the day. I'm so glad you decided to send it after
all.

Yes, I've been working on my Mok'bara but you're still going to crack
me into the floor. I've always been terrible at meditating.

Back to the bridge, there's a plasma flare that needs my undivided
attention.

All my love,

Kathryn

P.S. -

The plasma flare ended up having to make do with my much distracted
mind. Somehow, days I get your letters always end up being like that.
Not that I mind in the slightest, nor should this be taken as a reason
to write less or combine letters. The plasma flare eventually got over
his indignation and was quite beautiful.

Which again, made me think of you.

- K

---

Dear Kathryn,

Of course I'm right. I'm the head of Starfleet Medical. Meaning I'm
the absolute head of all things medical in Starfleet. Being that
you're in Starfleet, your body, technically, is my responsibility.

This means regular sleep, less than two pots of coffee a day, and
perhaps, I know it's foreign to you, exercise. Maybe you'd consider
finding someone on that little ship of yours to play velocity or
tennis with. It might help you sleep better. If not, I can plan a
special regime we can start when you return. I'm sure I can find ways
to wear you out.

I don't know what your bad luck is with replicators. The glitches you
were worried about in mine cleared up last week, mysteriously right
after you left. I'm sure it's just a coincidence.

Don't get too friendly with your ghosts of the Badlands. Remind them
you have plans when you get home. There's a new restaurant down in
Costa Rica I'd like to try. I know it'll take a transporter trip, but
the view is spectacular and the lobster is even better. I thought I'd
send you a holo, but I've decided I'd rather have it be a surprise.
That way you have something to look forward too.

This Romulan Cuperic fevers pose a special challenge. While you've
been gone, I've been spending far more time in the lab than you'd
like, and most of it is on this virus. With the mess of Romulan
internal affairs following the coup d'état and subsequent split of the
government, their medical scientists are scattered and completely
lacking in support. Several of the best Romulan doctors are working
with me now on Earth, but it's been slow going.

I don't need to tell you that the variation in the protein coat when
it needs to bond to a copper-based endothelial is as unpredictable a
supernova and unfortunately something I haven't had much time to
study. In human blood there are markers known to Federation medical
science. Most of the viruses on Earth have been studied, tested and
can easily be replicated. We know them.

This is a new kind of evil. The Vulcan medical database has sent me a
few centuries worth of research on all haemorrhagic fevers encountered
on their planet, but there are a thousand years of tiny different
evolutionary shifts in Romulan DNA and immune response. We're exposing
Vulcan cells to the virus to see if we can use the mapped
nucelocapsids of Vulcan viruses and their replication patterns to
search for patterns in this virus.

We finally cracked the polyadenylated, monocistronic mRNAs when the
virus bonded to a Vulcan host cell and finally started to replicate.
It was enough of a celebration last night that I found the time to
compose this letter in the morning. Forgive me if this is a little
scattered, I can't remember half of the things I meant to tell you.

If the rambling thoughts of my far overwork mind put you to sleep, I
can send you my pathology notes, though they're far less colourful.

This virus could mean thousands of deaths, maybe hundreds of thousands
while sanitation is suffering in the post-war clean up. I tell my
staff not to think about it, to focus on their work and let someone
else worry about the greater implications. Doing a tour of duty as a
CMO again sounds incredible now that I've realised that I am the
person who worries about the great implications. I'm the one my staff
hands their projected mortality rates to before they return to their
laboratories.

It's enough to make me nostalgic for plasma burns and sprained
shoulders in the holodeck. I'm afraid even having the whole bed to
myself hasn't made me frequent it as much as I should, and I keep
looking up from my work around the time you come looking for me to
remind me of supper. I've been imagining restaurants as I eat at my
desk. After Costa Rica, there's Riyadh, Salatiga, Depasar, Vung Tàu,
Darkhan and five or six others I added today.

We'll probably use up all of your transporter credits once we run out
of mine, but it sounds like we'll need a break, if your stars can
spare you for awhile. It sounds like your desk won't miss you. Mine
probably wishes I would be gone more. I know she has things she's been
planning to do.

It's been so busy around here I might just be rusty enough for you to
get me once or twice in Mok'bara, if you practice. It'll be all the
more embarrassing for you if you can't.

Keep your ship in one piece. Be nice to Doctor Sahn, she's only been
out of the Medical Academy a little while and she's not ready to deal
with your special ways of torturing your medical professionals.
Besides, I told her personally how nice you are before Voyager left.

You may need to explain to me why plasma flares deserve an admiral's
attention, lest I start to believe that you just wanted a joy ride
around the galaxy for old time's sake.

I must admit that absence seems to turn you into quite the literary
flirt. Something I shall have to research how to encourage if I find
the time before you come back.

If I'm not there to meet you on your triumphant return from your very
important survey, you do know where my office is.

love,

Beverly

P.S.

Before I forget, Wesley may be in town next week. He either meant this
month or next month in his letter. You'd think someone with timespace
at his disposal would be more accurate in his estimates, but, us lowly
mortals have to make do. I'd like him to meet you. He's asked and I
think, if you'll pardon the pun, it's time the two of you knew each
other.

Don't worry I've only spent a fraction of the time telling him how
wonderful you are that I've spent inflicting the reverse on you.

---

Panting for breath, back against the wall of Beverly's apartment with
her suitcase at her feet, Kathryn smirks.

"I missed you too."

Beverly rests her hand on Kathryn's breast, beaming as she nibbles
down her neck.

"I thought you were arriving tomorrow?"

She squeezes Kathryn's breast against her palm and Kathryn gasps.

"We made good time."

Beverly's long, nimble fingers run over the zipper in the front of her
jacket and tug it down.

"I'm not complaining."

Her hands are inside the Kathryn's jacket in an instant and Beverly's
fingers are much more insistent through the thin fabric of her
turtleneck. She chases the jacket off Kathryn's shoulders, slipping it
down her arms. She pushes Kathryn closer to the wall, trapping her
between the painting of M2-9 Will Riker gave Beverly as a housewarming
gift and the comm panel.

With Kathryn's jacket gone, Beverly grabs her around the waist and
kisses her again. She's usually not this aggressive but the time apart
made them both hungry. It isn't just the sex, though Kathryn missed
that more than she thought she could miss anything, it's the little
things: like sinking her hands into Beverly's red hair or the way
Beverly's leg slips between hers.

"I missed you," Kathryn sighs into Beverly's neck.

Beverly's laughter is rich and tactless; she tugs up Kathryn's red
turtleneck. The tanktop beneath is grey and thin enough that she can
feel the zipper of Beverly's jacket press against her stomach.

"Of course you missed me." Beverly steps backwards, pulling her by her
waist towards the bedroom. "No one else replicates your dinner for
you-"

"-or steals my coffee." Speaking through a kiss is never easy, and
Kathryn's not sure how much Beverly heard. Maybe it doesn't matter.

Beverly eases down the zipper of her own jacket, making the motion coy
and full of promise.

"Your sister was right about how badly you share."

Sighing in exasperation, Kathryn lets Beverly pull her ever closer to
the bed.

"I never should have let you meet."

"We had a lot in common."

Beverly reaches the bed and sits down on the edge, shrugging out of
her jacket like it's the opening movement of the ballet. Kathryn loves
how she can do that with anything. Taking off a boot or tossing the
pillows back onto the bed, there's a grace to ever Beverly's
unimportant movements that she loves.

Kathryn tilts up Beverly's chin and kisses her sweetly.

"Too much."

Laughing again, Beverly pulls her closer by stroking the back of
Kathryn's calf with her foot.

"I'll remember to fight with Phoebe next time."

"Thank you."

Beverly doesn't believe Kathryn's half-pout and guides her closer
until she's neatly between Beverly's open thighs.

Kathryn drops her arms to Beverly's shoulders, relaxing into the
moment. It's so peaceful, yet full of a tingling kind of promise.
She's been on giddily on edge since the long range sensors picked up
the Sol system and it wasn't her apartment that she was rushing back
to. It was this smiling, teasing, wickedly incredible woman.

Her smile must have given too much away, because Beverly pulls her
down on top of her to the bed. For a moment they lay there, tangled
over Beverly's grey sheets.

"I missed you."

Longing isn't the emotion burning in her chest, but it's the one
Kathryn's most comfortable expressing.

Beverly nods, stroking Kathryn's cheek with her thumb before she lifts
her head to kiss her again.

"I liked receiving your letters."

They signed them with love. Kathryn hasn't said it and Beverly hasn't
asked...but they wrote the words. Yes, they were a footnote at the end
of eight page reports on medicinal plants; they were there.

"Mine were short-"

Kathryn's complaint cuts off when Beverly wriggles her thigh expertly
between Kathryn's own.

"You had less to say?"

Beverly's question and her cool fingers work in unison; the latter
sneaking upwards across Kathryn's stomach.

"You make me a little tongue-tied."

Kathryn has to look away before she flushes from more than arousal.

Beverly takes advantage of the shift and rolls them both over. The
subtle shift of her thigh sends a shiver up Kathryn's spine. Now on
top, Beverly kisses her chin, then her cheek, and finally pauses,
lazing freeing Kathryn's hair from the clasp holding it up and back.

"I love you, Kathryn."

Hair brushes her cheek and tickles. Beverly's bright blue eyes stay
with her own and they kiss before Kathryn has to speak. She thought
she'd be the one to say it first, but when she gets down to it,
Kathryn's a forgetful, tentative romantic. It's easier to joke than
put that emotion into words.

Beverly smiles coyly, preventing Kathryn from needing an answer.
Slipping down her body, Beverly's hands run hot over her stomach, then
she skips Kathryn's legs to tug off her boots.

Sitting up partway, her weight on her elbows, Kathryn watches Beverly
drop her last boot to the floor.

"Beverly..."

The other woman's hands are on her trousers, opening them up while she
maintains that coy grin.

"Yes?"

Her tone's so light it's almost musical. Beverly taps Kathryn's hip,
wanting her to lift them up off the bed.

Kathryn sits up, her hands useless and clutching the sheet.

"I love you."

"I know."

Beverly slips Kathryn's trousers off her slim hips in a neat motion,
now smirking with the same confidence Molly has when she steals the
sofa.

"You know?"

Heat from Beverly's mouth on the inside of her knee makes Kathryn gasp
in needy surprise.

"it's not difficult to diagnose."

Giggling helplessly when Beverly continues up her inner thigh, Kathryn
has to pull her away to look at her. Tearing off Beverly's teal
uniform top with eager hands, she exposes the creamy skin of her
stomach.

"When did you-"

Beverly kisses her again, ending the question. Kathryn surrenders
willingly to her tongue, but she's still desperately curious.
Beverly's lips are smooth and warm; she tastes faintly of lipstick and
lemon green tea.

She rests her forehead against Kathryn's.

"It's important, isn't it?"

Nibbling along her ear, Kathryn murmurs, "it is."

Beverly slides her bra straps down off her shoulders, letting Kathryn
work her way down towards soft, tempting flesh of her breasts. She
undoes the clasp in the back and pulls her bra free. Smiling, she
drops it on the bed to the side.

"You made me breakfast the day you left."

Kathryn looks up from the gentle curves of Beverly's breasts, ever so
slightly flattened from Wesley's nursing years ago. The differences in
shape and size fascinate her. While Kathryn's breasts easily spill
over her hands, Beverly's are smaller and they fill her palms with
little excess, nipples hardening slightly against her palms.

"I hate cooking that much?"

A little sigh turns into laughter and Beverly's eyes twinkle with
amusement. She kisses the corner of Kathryn's mouth, chasing away any
beginning of a frown.

"You stood there, coffee in hand and watched me sleep, for I don't
know how long. That's love, Katie-dear."

Kathryn can't help rolling her eyes. She loathes the nickname and
Beverly knows it. It softens the ache of knowing that she, that
they've both, fallen so hard. When she trusts herself to speak without
hesitation, Kathryn rubs her thumbs playfully over Beverly's nipples.

"The dancing doctor's in love?"

Beverly pulls back, jumping out of Kathryn's hands to her feet. With
her hands on her hips, she could look stern, if she wasn't topless,
flushed, and beaming wickedly. She swivels her hips, letting the
motion take her in a circle while she rolls black uniform trousers
down her thighs. Her bright blue panties are a deviation from standard
issue, if only in the colour not the cut.

When she's all the way around, after gracefully stepping out of her
trousers, Beverly drops them at the foot of the bed.

"Maybe she is."

Kathryn could never do that. Her body won't follow that undulating
curve from hip to shoulder, but Beverly makes it look easy. She always
does.

She climbs back onto the bed, eyeing Kathryn's bra while she steals
Kathryn's socks from her feet and tosses them somewhere towards the
living room. They'll turn up, later. Taking her bra too, Beverly holds
it up to her own chest and smirks for a moment before she lets it
fall.

Shaking her head, Kathryn barely has any time to protest before
Beverly's mouth closes hot around her nipple and sucks playfully.
Beverly licks across to the other side and nibbles with exceedingly
gentle teeth before sucking it until Kathryn gasps.

She reaches down to pull Beverly back up, but the other woman
playfully grabs her hand, then kisses it away. One of her hands kneads
Kathryn's breast, and the other pulls down her panties, exposing the
wet ache between her thighs to the cool air.

Kathryn squirms, helpless. Beverly's left hand runs up her stomach,
finds one of Kathryn's and holds tight. She still wriggles, panting as
Beverly's tongue explores every centimetre of her inner thighs but
leaves her wanting.

If the tongue wasn't bad enough, Beverly's right hand plays over her
stomach, teasing lower and lower until it brushes agonisingly close to
her clit. Kathryn's moan is almost a growl of frustration before
something soft and incredibly warm dances across her desperately wet
labia.

Beverly releases her hand, and they collaborate in a quick shuffling
of pillows. With Kathryn's hips are raised, Beverly's mouth and hand
return to their former positions and thought vanishes from Kathryn's
mind. Like the San Francisco stars fading into the clouds, she drifts
away.

Her fingers splay in pleasurable shock when Beverly's tongue slips
into her. The slim finger that follows goes deeper, and Kathryn arches
her back against the bed. The licking teases, then strengthens and
deepens. A second fingers slides in wet and the extra pressure makes
her head swim. She rolls back her hips slightly and Beverly follows
the change in angle.

Deeper, harder, more insistent and finally she doesn't know anything
other than the rhythmic soft sounds of Beverly's fingers speeding up,
and her own throaty moaning. Kathryn tingles, but she's been caught on
a current like a plasma field since Beverly opened the door. She was
ready before they even made contact.

Heat blossoms inside her like one of the plasma flares that took her
away. Her reflexive yank of Beverly's hand goes unnoticed and she
pushes Kathryn in deeper. She passes crescendo into the asymptotic and
a shudder consumes her body. Unaware Beverly had finished, or even
much of anything beyond her own damp, seemingly charged skin,
Kathryn's surprised when Beverly pulls her close.

Panting and utterly spent, Kathryn rests her head on Beverly's chest,
listening to her breathing once the rushing blood leaves her ears.

Stroking her hair, Beverly holds her, warm, soft and dry by
comparison.

"I did miss you."

Beverly chuckles and kisses the top of her head.

"You do have a way of working yourself up."

"You help."

Beverly's lips linger against her forehead. "I'm damage control."

Kathryn starts to pull away, wanting her turn to play with the
responsive expanse of Beverly's skin. Her lover holds her a little
longer, calming something in her belly Kathryn's never sure is there
until the knot disappears.

She lifts her head and kisses her way down towards Beverly's sternum.

"I thought I was pale."

The gentle taunt makes Beverly smile.

"You are. I'm worse."

Smiling into her breasts, Kathryn searches for a rare freckle and
kisses the first one she finds. Beverly keeps playing with her hair,
letting Kathryn take her time. Her fascination amuses Beverly, who
doesn't see the allure of breasts in quite the same spotlight Kathryn
does.

It's not all breasts: it's these. The curves are so different from her
own. Maybe it's just the angle that Kathryn looks at them, but the
slope above the nipples intrigues her almost as much as the nipples
themselves. They're bigger, and that might be from Wesley, but she
loves toying with them until they're perfectly erect.

Beverly's fingers dance across her cheek, patient and content. There's
a slight hitch to her breath and her long legs are parted. Slipping in
between them, Kathryn nuzzles along one, marvelling as she always does
at how statuesque it is. There's nothing wrong with her own legs, but
Beverly's have a special beauty.

"It took me years to stop tripping over them."

Beverly says in response to Kathryn's pause. When the latter looks up,
Beverly's watching her, still amused.

Kathryn slides her hand down Beverly's stomach, crossing the red patch
of pubic hair and diving gently between her legs. It's wet and warm;
her forefinger glides in without effort.

Beverly's lips part and her little satisfied sigh makes Kathryn's feet
tingle. While they kiss, Kathryn's fingers circle her clit; Beverly
gasps into it. Her lips grow clumsier, and eventually she breaks the
kiss entirely. Rolling the pad of her thumb over Beverly's clit,
Kathryn slips two fingers, then, when Beverly's hips grind up into her
hand and their skin is damp with mingled sweat, she adds the third.

Beverly presses her forehead into hers, holding eye contact even when
her breathing is ragged and her fingers dig deep into Kathryn's back.
Her eyes waver ever so slightly, and there's a cry in her throat. her
body shivers and contracts around Kathryn's hand. She pushes Beverly's
orgasm just past the breaking point with the pressure of her curled
fingers.

She'd try for more, but Beverly tugs her hand away and holds her tight
before they both drop, one gasping, the other contentedly quiet, to
the bed.

They rescue some of the pillows and drag the sheets around them.
Beverly ends up on her side, head on Kathryn's chest and an arm across
her stomach. Kathryn hates the slight roundness of it, but Beverly
unfailingly finds her beautiful.

She also fidgets and tonight her fingers circle Kathryn's navel,
loving leaving patterns on her almost ticklish skin.

Looking up keeps Kathryn from squirming.

"I love your windows."

Beverly has skylights, one of the many perks of being Head of
Starfleet Medical and has her in greater esteem than a mere admiral.
Kathryn is one among many, but Beverly is alone at the head of her
division.

Beverly chuckles and her hand drops flat against Kathryn's belly.

"Is that why you keep coming over?"

"It's a minor perk. So is your bed, the walk through the gardens on
the way to Starfleet Headquarters instead of past the Academy
barracks."

"You don't like scaring cadets?"

Beverly lifts her head, turning to rest her chin on her hand. Her hair
tumbles down across bare shoulders, falling in haphazard waves.

"I thought certainly... How are your plants?"

Kathryn has to shake her head, laughing weakly.

"I suppose you kept them alive better than I could?"

"Your Fuchsia boliviana's are blooming."

"Is that good? Are they the blue ones?"

Beverly nips playfully at her breast, rolling her eyes.

"Katie-"

"Thank you. I meant to say thank you."

She accepts with a kiss, but still shakes her head.

"How could a fuchsia be blue?"

Kathryn winces.

"I water the plants you've so kindly given me on the exact schedule
you told me to. I once grew tomatoes. I don't know if fuchsias can be
white, purple or bright orange. It doesn't mean I love them any less."

"Such a good answer."

Beverly kisses her left cheek and settles back down, now tracing some
unknown pattern along Kathryn's breast. It doesn't really tickle, and
yet Kathryn can't help watching Beverly's hand.

"You could stay."

"Tomorrow? I intended to."

Kathryn tilts her head back to look at the stars. She yawns and
Beverly cuddles closer.

"You could stay," Beverly repeats. The hand on Kathryn's breast turns
it's attention to her nipple.

Startled by the offer, Kathryn sits up and Beverly meets her surprised
gaze with a smile.

"It's logical."

Kathryn can't argue. The thought has crossed her mind. They eat
together when they're free, spend more nights together than apart and
she already has two uniforms in the drawer, a robe in the bathroom and
her own toothcleanser.

Beverly's apartment is spacious, almost too big for one person, even
one who manages to fill it with plants and artwork. It's also lived
in, somehow more alive than Kathryn's even been able to make her own,
and she's had that apartment longer.

"Even with my-"

Beverly waves that off.

"You're a former Starfleet captain, you don't really own anything."

"I don't."

It's the right idea. Kathryn knows that, and deeper in her chest, she
wants it. She wants this bed and this window. She likes company for
breakfast and Beverly's ancient little silver tea and coffee set.

She wants her.

"I'd be honoured to stay."

Kathryn didn't intend to tear up. It's not that emotion of an idea,
but her eyes sting and a moment after she says it, Beverly's arms are
wrapped tightly around her.

"We need a dog."

The request is muffled by Beverly's neck, but she laughs as they
settle back down to the bed, entwined again. Kathryn's the one
fidgeting with Beverly's hair now.

"And a cat."

"A cat? They'll never get along."

"They'll get along. We need the right cat."

"And the right dog."

"As if you'd possibly choose the wrong dog."

---

"It's a long walk from the transport hub."

Gretchen dug her three tined gardening claw in around her lilies and
let whomever it was approach without looking up. She had great many
bulbs to bury before the ground froze and some of them she wanted to
move around. Her lilies would look better near the gate, and the
lovely irises Tuvok had sent would need more shade, best to put them
near the house.

"It's a nice day and I was a little early."

The voice was soft and feminine, most likely the illustrious woman
already celebrated by her youngest daughter for being the most
impressive catch of her oldest.

Beverly Crusher was worth getting a look at. Especially if she was
half the beauty Phoebe swore she was. Gretchen set the tool down and
rubbed her gloves together as she stood. Her joints protested a little
more each year, but none of them were creaky enough yet to need
replacing. No matter what Phoebe and Kathryn might tell her.

Gretchen began with her feet. This Doctor Beverly Crusher had worn
civilian clothes, but her boots were simple and dusty from the road.
Beverly's legs were long and shapely like a dancer's, Phoebe had been
right about them. Her top was deep blue and her black jacket was
Starfleet issue, Gretchen knew the cut.

Beverly's red-gold hair caught the late afternoon sun and glowed. She
smiled, lighting her eyes. "I hope you don't mind."

Gretchen grinned back, stripping off her gloves and reaching out to
shake Beverly's hand. "Gretchen Janeway."

"Beverly Crusher."

She had a firm grip, long fingers and the kind of smile that promised
she was the kind of doctor Gretchen liked, genuine and witty.

"Well, Doctor, I suppose my daughter's absence means she's working
late?"

Beverly's smile faded slightly and she seemed to be debating what she
could say to a civilian. Gretchen had seen that look before on her
husband and daughter.

"The Phedre's three days late reporting in from our trade route near
one of the more conflicted parts of Romulan territory. Kathryn works
in trade and first contacts. She needs to see them home."

The slight tightening of the lines around Beverly's eyes gave away her
concern. Whatever was happening was serious.

Gretchen brushed her hands against each other, shaking off the sweaty
feeling of the gloves. "Come in, I'll make you some tea."

Expecting a real teapot, Beverly smiled when she watched Gretchen pull
a blue and yellow ceramic one from her cupboard. Nana had sworn by
real tea. The replicated blends just weren't right because they were
always the same. Making tea with leaves had a hint of difficulty to
it. Steep them too long and the tea was bitter, pour too early and the
tea was weak. The replicator didn't understand that perfection had to
be sought. It couldn't just arrive on command.

Gretchen tilted her head, amused by Beverly's whimsy even though she
couldn't have shared it.

"My grandmother depended on her tea pot."

That brought a gentle laugh to Gretchen's throat, much like Kathryn's
on her lazier days.

"Edward found this one in an antique shop. He thought I'd like the
colours. He didn't pay any attention to the fact that it was a late
twenty-second century original from an art gallery that once cost
hundreds of credits. He just saw it and thought, my wife will like the
colours."

Gretchen scooped tea leaves then poured hot water from the electric
kettle on the counter. Steam rose from the blue and yellow pot,
curling up towards the ceiling.

Heavy beams of wood were bare in the ceiling above them and the house
smelt of trees from centuries ago. The floor creaked a little as they
brought tea into the living room. Gretchen favoured her right hand
slightly when she passed a mug to Beverly. Her tiny hesitations would
have been almost unnoticeable to most people but Beverly had spent her
life watching people.

As she broke a corner from a brownie and lifted it to her mouth,
Beverly called her out.

"Does your hand hurt often?"

"It's more stiff than painful."

That was the polite answer. Beverly studied the eyes of the woman
across from her, wondering if Kathryn's tells were anything like her
mother's.

"I suppose I'd be right to assume that you see a doctor as often as
Kathryn did-"

Gretchen chuckled, nearly inhaling her brownie. She politely covered
her mouth with her hand and swallowed, still shaking slightly with
laughter.

"I hear she sees quite a lot of one in particular now."

"Has she ever told you how we met?"

Beverly filed the potential arthritis away to bring up again later and
tore another piece of her incredible brownie. When Kathryn made them,
brownies were exquisite. Gretchen's were close to experiencing a moment
of what Wesley called 'true oneness with the universe', only through
chocolate instead of the more spiritual explanation he'd have.

"At Starfleet headquarters."

Gretchen shrugged and poured the tea. She raised her eyebrows
playfully.

"I've been told you took her to a play after that but all recounting
of the meeting has been vague."

"Kathryn skipped her appointment for her physical. I suppose it's
something she's gotten away with in the past, counting on her good
health and her doctors' patience."

Beverly lifted her tea and let it warm her hands as the rich scent of
it floated up.

"I probably would have tracked her down on a starship. It's the
advantage of confined space. Starfleet Headquarters is unfortunately
large, so I had to give her an incentive."

"Bribery?"

"I shut off her computer terminal and medically locked her out of any
others in the vicinity."

Laughing as she dropped a second brownie on Beverly's plate as a
reward, Gretchen beamed. "I assume that went over as well as running
out of coffee in the Alpha Quadrant."

"She sent me flowers and an apology."

Nodding approvingly, Gretchen poured milk into her tea. "That's my
girl." She stirred her own and held the pitcher above Beverly's mug.
When Beverly nodded, she poured. "Were they nice flowers? I like to
think she was raised to have taste."

Returning Gretchen's smirk, Beverly thought again of her grandmother.
Nana would have loved Kathryn's intensity and enthusiasm for life.
"Lilies, red and pink ones. Very beautiful."

"And then you went to a play?" Gretchen settled back, getting
comfortable with her tea. Her smile lit her eyes and she seemed
entirely content to keep listening while Beverly was willing to talk.

"I love the theatre. I directed the little theatre company on the
Enterprise. On Earth, there's so much around I don't have to create my
own, which works out because I'm so much busier than I ever was on the
Enterprise."

Gretchen's quick smile said she understand. "More constant small
crises instead of one big one followed by weeks of calm?"

"Exactly."

"Edward hated being on Earth because there was no transport time. He
said he was never going from one place to the other and catching up,
he was always exactly where the crisis was."

Beverly chuckled and decided she would have liked Edward Janeway, if
she'd had the chance to meet him. "That sounds accurate."

"Do you work too much?"

Beverly tilted her head, trying to judge herself. "Yes, but I've
improved greatly since Kathryn moved in."

"Now you have a reason to go home?" Gretchen set down her tea and
rubbed at the back of her right hand. The way she favoured her fingers
was much more obvious now. Beverly set down her own cup and held out
her hand without verbalising the request.

"I think that's part of it. Kathryn can't cook, so if I beat her home,
I know dinner will have safely emerged from the replicator."

When she finished frowning her disapproval, Kathryn's mother gave in.
Gretchen reluctantly allowed Beverly to take her hand, relaxing her
fingers as Beverly examined them slowly. "Is she still having trouble
with her replicator?"

Beverly smirked down at Gretchen's slightly stiff fingers. She had no
idea what it was with Kathryn and replicators, but it was an ongoing
issue.

"Now Kathryn's having trouble with my replicator. I thought the one in
her apartment was a fluke, a bad model, but when she moved in, mine
started hating her too."

"She hasn't mentioned that." The elder woman's voice caught slightly
in her throat when Beverly examined one of her knuckles. "I suppose
you'll tell me that's not supposed to hurt."

"You have a very mild case of osteoarthritis." Beverly released her
hand and glanced towards the kitchen. "If you have a class two
replicator and a medkit..."

"Oh Kathryn's going to have to keep you." Gretchen left her chair and
led Beverly back into the kitchen, collecting the medkit from the
cupboard. "You do housecalls."

Beverly smirked and input the sequence of the synthetic biopolymer
joint fillers she wanted into the replicator with a slow roll of her
eyes that Gretchen caught and chuckled at. "If you're anything like
your daughter, you won't bother to see your own doctor until you can't
hold a fork."

"I've been intending to."

"Don't make me lock out your computer."

"Doctor," Gretchen feigned innocence. "I wouldn't dream of such a
thing."

"Of course." Beverly took the hypospray, a subdermal scalpel and a
very fine microsuture and gestured to the countertop. "It'll take me a
few minutes. Our tea won't even be cold."

She opened up the tricorder and let it tell her what she already knew.
Four of Gretchen's phalangeal joints had worn down and needed to be
filled. After sterilising the area quickly with one of the handheld
units, Beverly began.

"This will quick, painless with a local anaesthetic, and it would make
your joints feel thirty years younger. If you were less stubborn, you
could have had this years ago."

Gretchen shrugged, smiling sheepishly watching as Beverly numbed her
joints. "It's not bad."

Beverly watched the magnification on her tricorder and opened the
first joint with the subdermal scalpel. Scraping the bone clean, she
set the hypospray to a minute dosage and filled the space that
formerly had cartilage. Once the bone was protected again, she
wouldn't feel a thing.

"Kathryn thinks it was her father who taught her to live with her
headaches and work when she's ill. I don't thinks she's ever
contemplated that it's you who set the terrible example."

"Well, Doctor, I hope you're as forward with her."

Beverly thought for a moment and had to laugh at herself this time. "I
think I'm worse. She's so slow to ask for help, even when it's
something small, like a stiff neck or a sore ankle. I must have told
her a hundred times that repairing bodies is just as much my
responsibility as it is hers to protect her starships. Her body is
especially important to me."

Gretchen smiled, blinking quickly, chasing tears from her eyes.
"Good."

Beverly let the suture finish and kept her eyes up. "I love her, very
much."

The moment Beverly released her hand, Gretchen had her wrapped in a
very tight hug. "I know, dear, I know. It's...well, it's very nice to
hear you say it. I worry about her. Edward had the girls and I to come
home to. Before you, Kathryn had her empty apartment. It's not that I
don't trust her to be single, it's just that..."

"You're her mother," Beverly agreed with her, holding her a little
tighter when she realised she empathised completely. "You want her to
be happy, and safe. Revitalised and protected when she needs to be."

Gretchen pulled back, studying Beverly's face and searching for
something familiar. "Says a woman who knows what she's talking about.
Kathryn said you have a son."

"Wesley." Beverly sighed and inclined her head back towards the living
room. "He's brilliant, funny but more serious than his father was."

Gretchen retook her chair and moved her fingers a few times, before
she smiled broadly. "You're right. I should have asked my doctor about
my hand months ago. So, tell me about Wesley."

"I don't see him much." Beverly had spent more time explaining how
little she saw her son to anyone who asked than she'd actually seen
him in the last few years. When Gretchen's eyes widened with sorrow,
Beverly quickly explained. "He lives with a race of inter-dimensional
beings called the Travellers. Time passes differently for him."

Gretchen reached across and patted her hand sympathetically. "It's not
that he doesn't write, it's that he thinks he's just written?"

What she must have gone through, thinking Kathryn was dead for four
years, was beyond Beverly's comprehension. She was lucky with Wesley;
he was exactly where he wanted to be, and he was safe. "He's happy,
and he loves where he is and who he's with."

"Still, he could write more."

Pausing as she sipped her tea, Beverly laughed gently. "Children could
always write more."

"Kathryn writes about you." Gretchen smiled in response, watching
Beverly with amusement. "She's always been good about writing, and
since she's been back she writes more than ever. A few months ago,
after the lily incident, all her letters mention you. You cook?"

"Yes." Her cheeks warmed as Beverly flushed with embarrassment. "My
parents died when I was very young, and I grew up with my grandmother.
She tried not to use her replicator if she could avoid it. She used it
more when she was younger, but after Arvada III, she wanted to be
better prepared."

"Arvada III?" Gretchen paled as she made the connection. "You weren't-
I remember hearing about that on the news service. You poor dear-"

Beverly had talked about it before. Jean-Luc knew the whole story of
her life, Deanna, Will and she had told Kathryn one night when they
talked until dawn. No one quite understood what it was like to live
through a plague. Her grandmother did, and perhaps that was part of
why they had been so close. To her surprise, Beverly spoke of what
happened easily and while Gretchen listened intently, she told her
life story. How she'd decided to attend medical school after she'd
seen what the Starfleet doctors could do once they arrived, and how
once she'd reached the Academy, her life had fallen into place.

She studied well, learned a great deal, made friends and fell in love.
Jack Crusher was meant to be her partner for the rest of her life. She
loved him and once they had Wesley, however unplanned their son had
been, life was nearly perfect. Jack was away much of the time, but it
wouldn't always be that way. Someday they'd serve together, they'd be
together with their son.

Beverly told this story so rarely that the words felt foreign in her
mouth. Jack was an old, slightly blurred memory of another time, of
another her.

"I remember when Admiral Patterson came to tell me Edward wasn't
coming home, that Kathryn was seriously hurt but healing, and that
she'd lost Justin. Kathryn expected Justin to be her life. They were
to be married, have children, be happy together for the rest of their
lives."

Beverly blinked, calming her stinging eyes and smiling weakly. "That's
the idea."

"There are days when I remind myself how lucky I was to have Edward as
long as I did. We had nearly thirty good years together, and he was an
incredible father to our girls. They were both grown when we lost him,
but I don't think losing a parent is ever easy, no matter how old we
get."

Gretchen reached over and patted her hand again, smiling in sympathy.
"I can't imagine having to raise a child by yourself when he was so
young."

"I left Starfleet, for a time. I didn't want Wesley to have to face
losing me too. We spent some time in St. Louis, and I thought I'd
never return to space."

Pouring herself more tea, Gretchen raised an eyebrow. "Someone enticed
you back? Captain Picard, was it him?"

"Captain Keel, actually. He was an old friend who needed a chief
medical officer, and Starfleet had just decided to put families on
starships." Beverly reached for a cookie and stared at it in her hands
for a long time instead of eating it. It was an old fashioned sugar
cookie. The kind that first crunched then melted in your mouth.

"I probably lost Wesley then. He was in love with starships the moment
he came on board. Once we joined the Enterprise, that's Captain
Picard's ship, Wesley was serving on the bridge within a year and an
acting ensign before he even went to the Academy."

Gretchen chuckled and dunked her cookie lazily into her tea. "I hope
Kathryn wasn't too jealous."

"Only a little."

Beverly took two bites of her cookie, letting the sugar boost her
resolve. She felt a little like she was cheating to ask, but every
time they talked about Wesley there was a wistfulness in Kathryn's
eyes that wouldn't go away. "Kathryn wanted children with Justin.
She's mentioned the idea a few times in passing. I know Mark was less
than thrilled about trying to raise a child between Earth and a
starship, but now we both live on Earth."

Gretchen's eyes twinkled and she held her hand playfully stopping
Beverly before she could finish. "If I tell you, it really seems like
cheating. How long have you been together? Two months? Three?"

"Fifteen weeks," Beverly corrected, smirking. "Give or take a day or
two."

"It depends on how I define 'together', doesn't it?" Her smile
broadened. "And asking you anything more comes dangerously close to
asking you a question about my daughter's sex life."

That made Beverly bite back the impulse to laugh. "That it would."

"Would you indulge a purely hypothetical question?"

Beverly raised her eyebrow and finished the last of her cookie. She
had to nod, deeply curious.

"I've never been with a human woman. Before you, I didn't know my
daughter had been either. Is it much different?"

"Mechanically, sure, it's different than a man." Beverly adopted a
more professional tone, then had to laugh and shake her head. "I love
your daughter very much, and that is far more important than the
mechanics."

"Of course, of course." Gretchen beamed at her. "I had to ask. I can't
really ask Kathryn-"

"No."

"You're about to tell me when you love someone very much, the
mechanics really don't matter."

"Something you've said."

"I may have said it a few times. It's something my mother told me when
I was young and experimental."

Beverly remembered the 'human' qualifier from a moment ago and smiled
in surprise. "That sounds like a story."

"One that will have to wait for another time and a bottle of wine."
Gretchen's promise was cut off when a light flashed on the central
computer screen on the desk. "That would be the Southern Bloomington
transport relay station. Kathryn should be here in a few minutes. Why
don't I start dinner while you walk out and make sure she still knows
the way home? There's an old oak tree by the fence. It's at the end of
a path through the fields. Kathryn always walks that way. Find that,
and you'll find her."

Beverly hoped her anxiety wasn't too obvious in her face. Maybe it
didn't matter. Gretchen understood how hard even potentially losing a
starship would be on her daughter. Being sent to find Kathryn on her
way home was tacit approval. Kathryn's mother was trusting her to know
what to say and giving Kathryn the extra time to compose herself.

Smiling her thanks, Beverly headed for the doorway and the road to
find Kathryn.

---

The End