The BLTS Archive- Hoist' By Her Own Petard by T'Reija (Theganan@gmx.de) --- Post/Archive: ASC, ASCEM(L), BLTS, R'Rain's all others please ask first. Disclaimer: The mighty Paramount own ST:TNG and all it's characters, I claim this story. Note: Okay, so I asked what the phrase "hoisted by one's own petard" means, and after so many of you replied (thanks!) I promised a story with that title. So, here it is. You'll have to read it to find out for who the "?" stands, but I think it's *quite* obvious, isn't it? Oh, and thanks to Charlene for telling me it's "hoist", not "hoisted", and that correcting Shakespeare *would* sound a little odd... January 1999 --- They were having a shared breakfast, as so often, when he first broached the subject. Between two mouthfuls of Bolian bacon, Jean-Luc, who wasn't normally very talkative while eating, asked her for advise. "Beverly, what would you do if you loved someone, but it was impossible to have a relationship with them? Say... say because that person is, well... in your line of command." Sipping her Tarkelian tea, Beverly replied. "Well, that depends. Does this person return these feelings? Do they want a relationship, and if so, can they distinct the private from the professional? If so, I don't see where the problem is. After all, even the 'Fleet accepts these arrangements by now as long as it doesn't negatively affects the work of either partner." Searching for his eyes - which he carefully had directed down to his plate - she sighed and poured herself more tea. She had waited so long already for him to make a first step beyond the borders of their friendship and had almost given up by now. Could it be? That he was actually talking about her, giving her some indication? It was far-fetched, true, but after all, who else could there be? The captain wasn't close with many women, and those few weren't under his command. "Jean-Luc, we've been friends for so many years now, won't you tell me who it is? Maybe it'll be easier for me to give you some advise then." Evasively, he answered: "Oh, no one, I was just generally speaking. Maybe... well, actually, I was thinking about Troi and Riker. They've always been intimate, but I think it seems as if they're getting even more close now. I was just wondering whether that'll be okay, that's all, because Will has to act as captain often, and you know the problems there are then." "Oh." Silence stretched between them, until the doctor finally added: "I'm sure Will and Deanna will work everything out. They're both grown-ups, and very conscientious. I don't think you have to worry about them." "Guess you're right." And they both knew he wasn't really speaking of Riker and Troi. --- That evening, Beverly Crusher lay in bed, thinking about her friend's words. //Beverly, what would you do if you loved someone, but it was impossible to have a relationship with them?// Did he see it as impossible? Was there no hope of him changing his mind? Didn't he know how she felt about him? So she spent another evening on her own, going over boring medical reports, and at night, when she tried to sleep, restless thoughts were bothering her again. //that person is, well... in your line of command.// So? Wasn't their love - was that what it was? - worth it? Couldn't he overcome his own urge to be the more-than-perfect super-captain? Oh, Starfleet was proud of him, at least most of the time. Unmarried, no wife or children as obstacles, nothing to restrain him from his work. The perfect leader, unattached and objective, and a specimen of duty and loyalty to the Federation. They wouldn't want him any other way. But she did. At the same time, Jean-Luc Picard was not asleep yet either, also thinking about his beloved. What a crazy place this universe was! Of all people he knew, he had to long for someone that unreachable, that... impossible. Two persons in two different rooms, both restless and tense, thinking about the one they loved... --- Three days later they met again, this time for fried eggs and toast. Beverly had spent the last two nights as she had the first: barely able to fall asleep, and troubled by dreams when she did. What she needed was clarity, even if it meant a disappointment. "Jean-Luc, you know, on Tuesday, you asked me about... about someone who loved someone in their line of command. And... and you said it was Troi and Will you were talking about, but..." Uncomfortably, Picard shifted in his seat, not unnoticed by the doctor's practised eye. "You know, I've been thinking. Well, I know career is really important and all, but, would it really be the end of the world to have some feelings? And to show them? I mean, you can say what you want, but in the end, when you're out of the 'fleet or in some kind of desk job, you need someone to be with you to be happy." "True." "Well, I've told you before, we're friends, and I know you weren't thinking about any of your crew when you asked me about it the other day. It's you, isn't it?" "You know me too well, you know. Of course. But it was just a thought I had, nothing I couldn't manage." "Won't you tell her?" she said, but thought: 'Please, please, let it be me.' "What? Oh. No, I don't think I will. It would be too complicated, one way or the other. Besides, I think the person concerned knows, or at least suspects. Wouldn't... she... have made a first move by now? I guess I'm just too old to be falling in love." "You know you're not. And to your question: Not necessarily. Maybe she's taken aback in some way because you're the captain, or she's in some way afraid of her own feelings. Or something like that. Perhaps she's waiting for *you* to make the first step, waiting until *you* are ready. I think you should tell her, or at least give her some indications so she can be sure about your feelings." "I'll think about it. Now let's talk about something else: How's Wesley doing? Have you heard anything from him since he went with the Traveller?" --- Jean-Luc Picard woke up in a sweat, way past midnight by ship's time, and sighed thinking about his most recent dream. What was it Beverly had said? //Perhaps she's waiting for *you* to make the first step, waiting until *you* are ready.// Quietly, he laughed to himself. Well, she couldn't have known who he had been talking about, especially after the "your line of command" thing he'd said, but maybe she was right in a way. Maybe he should clear things up. He hadn't really considered this as a possibility before she had told him to do so. Well, it was easy for her to say. She wasn't in love with someone she could never have. His silent gaze wandered to the mirror that hung on the wall, showing his fizzy reflection in the darkness of his quarters. And something... someone else, too. "You? Why are you here?" he asked, knowing the answer already. "Do you want me to go?" "No." "Then I'll stay." Picard sighed again when the figure stepped closer and sat down beside him on the bed. "It's not that easy, Q. It is for you, probably, but I've got responsibilities, and how much confidence does a captain inspire who has a relationship with an unknown alien life-form that has threatened mankind more than once?" "And that is important to you." Silence. "More than I am." Again, the room stayed quiet. Q desperately wanted to read his human's mind now, but he had sworn himself not to, and intended to keep this promise. Finally, Picard shook his head. "No." Hesitantly, he smiled, and that moment, things like Starfleet or other obstacles were simply forgotten. He would have to thank Bev. After all, she had opened his eyes in a way. --- For the next two weeks, they couldn't share breakfast due to the fact that a colony near the Romulan Neutral Zone had been attacked and Beverly was part of the team of medics that had been put together to heal the wounded. Things were very busy, and they didn't even see each other much on duty, as she was mostly on the planet. So when they were together again, he almost forgot about thanking her, but only almost. "Bev, you were right, about telling the person I love that I do." These words came as a surprise to her, for after their last discussion she'd almost given up because he didn't seem to react. "Yes?" Nervously, she kneaded the fingers of her left hand, waiting for what was to come. Or what she though was to come. "You know, I've acted on your advise, and I don't regret it, not at all. Even though it will be difficult if anything comes out." Like hailstones his words hit her. He'd told her? And it wasn't she? "Who... who is she?" She swallowed, trying to mentally prepare herself for whatever was to come. Hesitating, he opened his mouth. "He, actually. It's... well, it's Q." //Q?!?// "And I just wanted to thank you. Without your help, I probably wouldn't have admitted my feelings to myself, even less him. I think I owe you one." Muffling a groan, she turned her head down, mumbling "that's okay" or something equally dumb. So she herself had talked him into /this/? Suddenly, she remembered a line from a play Jean-Luc had once told her about, Hamlet: ...For 'tis the sport to have the engineer Hoist by his own petard... How terribly appropriate. --- The End