The BLTS Archive- China Roses by Trexphile (trxphile@cox.net) --- DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the arrangement, the instruments and all the musicians but occasionally I will take up the baton and direct the music as I see fit, allowing two dancers to take the stage. "China Roses" - recorded by Enya from her album "The Memory of Trees." Used without permission. Feedback greatly appreciated, by email or post. August 1997 --- "Who can tell me if we have heaven? Who can say the way it should be? Moonlight holly, the Sappho comet, Angel tears below a tree." --- Moonlight streamed, silver through the leaves of the trees that lined the banks of the river. The Earth's moon was high in the starstudded sky, its nightly journey already half complete. She sat on a soft bed of green beneath a tree and stared at the rippling reflection of the moon, its normally perfect symmetry distorted by the water's flow. 'Everything is changing' she thought, the moon's unsettling reflection confirming her melancholy thoughts. She had been here almost a week -- a time that had stretched interminably although six days ago she had been looking forward to this shore leave eagerly, hopefully, seeing an opportunity opening like a flower before her. She and Jean-Luc had chosen to take their shore leave together on Earth while the Enterprise-E underwent repairs after the Borg encounter. The prospect of a vacation had been a welcome one -- it was a chance to heal after the horror with the Borg and the subsequent Starfleet hearings. The ordeal had been, Beverly knew, particularly devastating for Jean-Luc as he'd been brought face to face with all of his long suppressed fear and anger for the Borg. The experience had left him subdued, his emotions closed off. Beverly had done everything in her power to bring him out, given him numerous opportunities to share his feelings with her. She was his best friend, after all -- it was her job, her duty and her desire to be the one person he could bare his soul to. He had done so in the past -- after his torture at the hands of Gul Madred, after the deaths of his brother and nephew, even after Wolf 359 when the Borg had raped his body and mind. This time, however, was different. Six days had passed and Jean-Luc was still just as closed off as he'd been when they had first arrived. After tomorrow, they would return to their ship and to their respective positions where the wall would be easier for him to keep in place. "I can't let that happen," she whispered to the moon's reflection. She raised her gaze above the trees that stood tall along the banks of the river. There it was, a bright sentinel between the sparkling dots of far distant suns -- a new comet. It stood out clearly against the ebony sky, its tail faintly blue. Beverly didn't know its name; she recalled hearing someone in the market yesterday refer to it as Sappho. 'Fire and ice' she thought ruefully, 'coming together, blending into an object of beauty.' She wondered if she should consider the comet's coming an omen. She absently fingered the soft carpet she sat on, plucking a small plant loose without realizing it. She opened her palm and looked at the leaves she held. 'Holly' flashed through her mind, although she knew the unknown plant couldn't be holly. Its green was silvered by the moonlight and memories of holidays and festivity rose, taunting her in her growing despair. She closed her fist, crushing the fragile green and leaned back against the tree as the tears finally began to silently fall. --- "You talk of the break of morning As you view the new aurora. Cloud in crimson The key of heaven: one love carved in acajou." --- He was already awake and dressed when she came down the next morning. She hesitated at the foot of the stairs, then went on into the small kitchen. She emerged a few minutes later, cup of coffee in hand, and approached him silently. He stood at the porch railing, his back to her, perfectly still. She didn't speak as she moved to stand beside him, afraid once again to break the silence that had permeated almost all of their shared moments for the past week. The view was breathtaking. The sun had just appeared, its light spilling out and through the clouds that seemed to lie on top of the tree-lined horizon. From the hill on which the small cabin sat, their view of the valley was unobstructed and unmarred by any sign of civilization. Beverly took another sip of her coffee,then set her cup down beside the one Jean-Luc had placed there earlier on the carved acajou railing. Her heart thumped in her chest. As the clouds lightened, she could feel time and opportunity slipping away. Suddenly she was immensely tired, dreading the day that stretched before her, another day of forced smiles and long silences. "So beautiful." The words startled her and she jerked her gaze over to Jean-Luc. He was looking at her, not at the dawn-filled sky, as she had expected, and there was the smallest trace of a smile on his lips. "Yes," she murmured, "I'm going to miss these sunrises." She smiled, wondering once again whether she could gently prod him into something more substantial than just small talk. He kept his eyes riveted on hers, his expression soft and open, poised on the brink of ... something. She held her breath. "Yes," he said simply and turned away and her heart sank. The hated silence continued as the sun rose higher, dimming the surrounding crimson. "I thought I'd go to the market again today" he finally ventured. "Would you like to accompany me?" *Why not?* she thought despairingly. *Why should anything change between us now?* She nodded. "Yes, I'd like that," she replied simply. "I'll get ready after I finish my coffee." "We could get breakfast there too." "Yes, that would be nice." He smiled only slightly and left her alone with her cup and her frustration. She sipped at the coffee and grimaced at the tepid liquid. Setting the cup down again on the railing, she let her fingers drift from the cup handle down along the carved wooden railing, feeling the pattern with sensitive fingertips. Her hand stopped its distracted journey when she encountered grooves that were deeper and rougher-edged than the others. Frowning, she drew her fingertips along the uneven pattern, then bent to see what she was touching. Into the graceful pattern, seven letters had been carved, starkly pale against the dark, weatherworn wood. Beverly. Her fingers trembled along the carefully, painfully carved letters. "Oh Jean-Luc," she sighed and a tiny comet of hope began to burn within her. --- "One told me of china roses; One, a thousand nights and one night. Earth's last picture, the end of evening, Hue of indigo and blue." --- Beverly wandered among the bustling marketplace alone. She had left Jean-Luc at a bookstall, quiet and absorbed in the ancient leatherbound artifacts. Her restlessness had gotten the best of her and she had left him to seek out some other form of comfort. Breakfast had been the same as it had been for the past week, as every shared meal had been -- small talk, discussion of the hearings, comparisons between the local cuisine and other meals they'd shared. Jean-Luc had not let his guard down once -- every time Beverly had tried to direct the conversation in a more personal direction, he'd deflected her attempts, either changing the subject or downright ignoring her. She finally gave up and the brief hope she'd allowed herself that morning had dissipated as the day had passed. She found herself impatient for the day to end so that she and Jean-Luc could return to their established shipboard life. She stopped at the end of a row of stalls, realizing that in her distracted state, she had left the center of mercenary activity behind. It was quieter here, soothing to the senses. She felt a pair of eyes on her and turned to see a small old man smiling at her from behind a cloth-draped table. "Good morning, madam," he said pleasantly. "Can I interest you in anything?" He spread his arms out indicating the treasures laid out before him on the black cloth. Beverly's eyes dropped for the first time to the man's wares and what she saw there drew her to the table, a smile breaking out on her face. Small and delicate handmade figurines covered the black expanse. They were all made of crystal and china, none larger than seven centimeters in height. Every figurine was a tiny replica of something only nature could have created in its original form -- birds in flight and at rest; flowers of all types and world origin; animals, both extinct and living from many different worlds. Each replica was constructed in exquisite detail -- the crystal items utilizing various handblown colors, the original china painstakingly handpainted. "These are beautiful," Beverly breathed and the vendor smiled in appreciation. "Did you make these yourself?" "Yes, madam," the man replied. "I've been doing this all my life -- my father taught me and his mother taught him." He watched her as she hesitantly reached a finger out to touch a delicate crystal swan. "May I?" she inquired, not wishing to break any unposted rules against handling the merchandise. "Of course," he answered. "Feel free. Not all of the enjoyment of such things lies strictly in the viewing. I do ask, of course, that you not practice your juggling skills with any of my creations." Beverly laughed and promised with mock solemnity that she wouldn't, then picked up the swan. She tilted and turned it, admiring how the light reflected, the entire spectrum of color darting between the crevices of the crystal. "Lovely," she murmured and perused the other tiny works of art, occasionally lifting a piece from its ebony bed to study closer. The old man said nothing, allowing his prospective customer to admire his handiwork without pressure to buy. At length, Beverly picked up a small long-stemmed rose from amongst a garden of similar china flowers. She held the stem carefully, afraid that the delicate creation might snap between her fingers. The petals had been painted a bold red, the stem a dark green. At closer inspection, she could even see tiny thorns along the spiralled china stem. Spiralled stem? She looked closer at the rose. It was not like any rose she had ever seen -- the stem was oddly curled and the petals were slightly misshapen, as if they had been mashed. She held the flower out to the artist. "This looks a little strange, like it's unfinished or something." The old man smiled. "You have the eye of an artist," he said, his tone appreciative, not patronizing at all. "You're right -- it's not complete. There's another china rose here among the rest that is a perfect mate to that one. When connected, the blossoms and stems will fit together and once they're joined, they can't be separated without breaking them." Beverly was intrigued. "Where's the mate to this one?" "That one? I don't know." He smiled. "These here do have mates but I don't display them together so it's impossible to tell which will fit." Beverly was confused. "Then why create them in pairs at all if you don't keep up with the pairs?" "I will make a pair and allow them to be purchased together if requested, but my preferred way to do business is to sell them separately." He grinned. "More of a mystery that way. You see, couples like to pick out two roses and see if they will fit together, sort of a 'compatibility test.' It's all in fun, something my father started years ago." He paused for a moment. "There's a story behind these roses." "A story?" "A fairy tale -- one my grandmother used to tell me." He paused again with a dramatic flourish, waiting for Beverly's full attention. "It seems that there was a king who loved his queen very much and wished to present her with a gift signifying their love. He notified all of the artisans in his kingdom that they would create for him the replica of a flower, signifying the love he held for his wife. He stipulated that the flower must be fragile to represent her beauty, yet also be as strong as their bond. Many craftsmen came from all over with their creations. They were made of many different materials and took many different forms. But none of them fit the requirements that the king had set forth -- they were either too fragile and broke easily, or not fragile enough. Finally, a young man from a faraway province came to the king and presented his creation. He knelt before his sovereign and presented him with two china roses. The king was displeased, saying that each artisan was only allowed one flower. The young man replied, 'But sire, is one love not shared between two people and when shared, does that love not become stronger than ever?' He then took the two fragile blossoms and brought them together and when they were connected, the bond was strong and the king could not break them apart. The ruler congratulated the young man and declared that only he had discerned the true nature of his love for his queen." The old man stopped, then shrugged with a smile. "Just an old fairy tale." "But it's beautiful," Beverly replied, captivated by the story's romance. She looked down at the rose she still held. "You'll only sell me one of the pair?" He nodded. She sighed. The rose she held was beautiful but obviously incomplete -- it needed its mate for its true beauty and significance to be realized. She looked back at the man, her eyes a plea. He shook his head slightly. "Why don't you have your mate come and try his or her hand at buying the match to that one?" She dropped her gaze. "I -- I don't think ...." She sighed. "I don't have a mate." "Of course you do." Beverly looked at him straight on. "No, I don't." He smiled and leaned in as he whispered. "Yes. You do." He pulled back and spoke again, louder, his tone all business. "Will you take this one?" She could only nod, wondering what he meant and how he could know so much about her, and he turned away and busied himself at wrapping the rose in paper. She watched him silently and paid him without a word when he handed her the tiny package. "Thank you, madam," he said softly. She nodded in response and left quickly, her thoughts in turmoil. --- The sun was approaching the horizon once again -- the last sunset that Beverly and Jean-Luc would see on Earth for a while. She stood on the porch once again and watched the sky change. Although the sun was now on the other side of the cabin, unseen from her vantage point, the clouds in the east reflected the rays, glowing a brilliant orange that was fading as the day approached its end. She held her china treasure tightly in her hand, wrapped in its protective old-fashioned cotton padding and twine-tied paper. She had no idea what she was going to do with the rose -- she had thought fleetingly of presenting it to Jean-Luc but it would mean nothing, represent none of her true feelings in its single, incomplete state. She clutched it tighter, taking an inexplicable comfort in it solidity. The day had continued after her visit to the old man's table in predictable fashion. She had located Jean-Luc around noon, not far from where she had left him. They'd had a light lunch, then returned to the cabin. He had settled down with one of his new books and she, restless, had taken a long walk along the banks of the river. At one point she had thrown off her clothes and taken a daring swim in the water at a point where the current was slow. She had, rather desperately, fantasized that he would suddenly appear as she swam and would join her, the swim perhaps leading to more intimate activities. He hadn't shown up, of course, and after a time, she had returned to the cabin to find him asleep in the easy chair. A small supper later, she now stood watching the ending of the day and of all opportunity to change what so desperately needed to change. She heard the faint clatter of dishes from inside as Jean-Luc cleaned up the remains of the meal -- she couldn't help but smile wryly at the famous Starfleet captain's attempt at domesticity. She sighed and moved away from the railing and settled down in one of the two lounge chairs, her gaze only briefly leaving the expanding blue and indigo of the horizon. She focused on the changing colors in the sky and lost herself in them, absently rolling the delicate package in the palm of one hand. She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't hear Jean-Luc step up and stand beside her and when he laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, she jumped. "I'm sorry," he said, "Didn't mean to startle you." He seated himself in the other chair and smiled slightly. "Penny?" he said. She smiled at her own words echoed back to her. She started to respond but apprehension rose suddenly and her amusement dissolved. *What do I say?* she thought. *He won't talk of what we need to talk about.* She looked away, her gaze returning to the sky where a lone star could be seen appearing, and close by, the Sappho comet. *We'll be out there among them tomorrow, playing our parts once again.* She looked back at him -- he was still looking at her, his eyes a question. "Nothing of consequence, Jean-Luc," she finally managed, her heart aching. "I doubt that anything that passes through that pretty head is of no consequence." Suddenly she was angry and the ferocity of the emotion threatened to overwhelm her. With the sudden anger came a fear at her loss of control over everything she held most dear - her own emotions, her ability do convey her feelings, and the precious relationship that she wanted so desperately to preserve and further. She knew, frustration rising, that any attempt to *really* talk with Jean-Luc would end once again against his upthrown wall -- and she refused to attempt it anymore. "Please, Jean-Luc -- I don't want to talk right now. Let's just watch the stars come out." He frowned at her. "Well, if that's the way you want it ..." Her face flushed and she fought to keep her rage down. "The way *I* want it? No, Jean-Luc Picard, it is *not* the way I want it! It seems, however, that it's the way you've wanted it ever since we got here." "What do you mean?" "I've been trying to get you to talk to me for the last week but you've slammed the door every time I've tried to get close to you! Do you know how frustrating that is? To see you obviously hurting and not able to help you at all, not allowed to help?" Her hands began to shake as all the frustration and helpless rage filled her. He looked away from her accusing stare, his expression suddenly sad and tired. "I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry. It's just ... so hard for me ..." His voice trailed off. At the pain in his voice and his eyes, she felt something give way inside her, releasing her anger and allowing her love for this man to wash over her. She took his hand. "Jean-Luc -- please. Talk to me now." He looked down at their joined hands for a long time, for so long that she was afraid that once again he would turn away. She squeezed his hand firmly, silently reiterating her presence and willingness to listen, trying to keep him with her. Finally, he spoke and the effort of doing so was obviously painful for him. "I keep looking at myself, at what happened with the Borg and I'm so ashamed. I couldn't see past myself, past my own rage and desire for revenge. It was so wrong -- I was supposed to protect my crew, give up my own life to do so if necessary and I completely lost sight of my duty. I lost all control of myself, of my own mind and will. I might as well have been assimilated -- I had about as much control over my true self." He looked up at her and she could see the tears in his eyes. "I almost destroyed everything." Beverly leaned forward and took both of his hands in hers, her heart leaping in joy that he had finally made the choice to voice his fears and regrets. "But you didn't destroy anything, my love -- you saved us all." He looked up at her as the endearment spilled from her lips, a look of wonder flickering briefly across his face. He lifted a hand from hers and reached out as if to touch her face, then dropped his hand. He looked at the now dark night sky and leaned back, pulling his hand away from hers. "Jean-Luc," she said quickly, "no one blames you for any of this. You performed your duty to the best of your ability. So what if you were angry! You're only human! You're asking too much of yourself." She tried to smile. "I hate to break the news to you, but you're not perfect!" He looked at her with sad eyes. "No, I'm not perfect -- I've always known that -- but I've discovered that I'm not as strong as I always thought I was." "Not strong? Oh Jean-Luc, you're the strongest man I know!" He turned away again. "Not strong enough to overcome my drive for revenge. I should never have allowed myself to get to that state. I lost all control, Beverly. Do you have any idea how frightening that can be?" 'Do I know?' she thought. 'Of course I do, Jean-Luc.' She thought of Ronin and how she had nearly abandoned everything she held dearest to her, her self-control lost in vague but very real sensuality. She didn't voice those thoughts but instead tried to convey her concern and love with her eyes and a gentle touch to his knee. He continued -- now that his guard had lifted, everything he had withheld for so long poured out in a torrent of words. "I'm wondering now if I'll ever feel confident or competent enough to do my duty again." He swallowed and she could see the starlight reflected in his eyes. "And I wonder now whether I'll be able to make a decision in a crisis and not wonder whether that decision is being made for the wrong reasons." 'My God' Beverly thought. She couldn't believe that he had sunk so deep into despondency and self-doubt. "Oh Jean-Luc," she said, "I don't believe that would ever happen ..." He refused to look at her, shaking his head slowly. "Jean-Luc, I mean it! I realize that this experience has been a difficult one for you to come to terms with, but it's not too late for you to do so now." She dropped down beside him, kneeling, both hands on his knee. "I'm here for you -- I've always been here. And I'm not going anywhere. Please -- stop trying to do it alone." He looked at her finally, his emotions laid bare. He reached out and touched her hair and she suppressed a shiver at the touch. "Alone ...." he whispered, "a thousand nights alone ... That's how it's seemed ever since we returned. I wanted to go to you, to see you, to talk to you but I couldn't." "Why not, Jean-Luc? You had to know that I wanted you to come -- that you needed to come." "I just couldn't -- I was too ashamed." He bowed his head. Beverly cursed herself inwardly, wishing, knowing that she should have gone to him instead of waiting for him to come to her. She knew that his thousand nights could have been resolved in just one night if only .... *No more waiting* she told herself, and reached out to him. He sat up straight and looked at the night sky, ignoring her outstretched arm. "I have realized that this time, it was all my fault -- I couldn't blame the Cardassians or Q or a force of nature or even being assimilated against my will. This time I had no one else to blame but myself and my own blind, vengeful pride ... and I knew that you knew it too. I just couldn't face you, knowing that." He stood suddenly and walked to the edge of the porch. "Jean-Luc!" she said, rising to her feet. He merely turned back and looked at her, the anguish on his face freezing her heart, then walked quickly down the steps and disappeared immediately into the surrounding woods. --- "A new moon leads me to Woods of dreams and I follow. A new world waits for me. My dream -- my way." --- Beverly stood on the porch, a growing numbness paralyzing her body. The depth of Jean-Luc's agony had shocked her -- she had never suspected that his despair had grown so much or that he had blamed himself so harshly. Her heart hurt in her chest -- she had never seen him like this. She looked up at the moon, the place of her birth, and sent a silent prayer to whatever gods would hear her, then followed Jean-Luc's path into the woods. He stood next to the river, very near where she had sat the night before and cried her own tears of desperation. He too seemed to be studying the moon's strange reflection just as she had and she felt that she could almost read his thoughts. She approached him as quietly as she could, afraid that he if heard her, he might run away or even lash out at her. She was certain of nothing anymore. She stopped by the tree she'd sat under before and stood still, building up her courage to speak, rehearsing what she would say. She still held the paper-wrapped rose and, as she prepared herself mentally, she began unwrapping the rose, her fingers needing to be occupied. He turned and saw her, his eyes following the paper, twine and cotton as it dropped soundlessly to the grass. She closed her hand gently around the now exposed and fragile china flower and walked to him. He didn't protest, didn't turn away, just kept his gaze fixed on hers as she came closer and stopped a half meter away. He stared at her silently, his expression no longer pained, a wistful melancholy having taken its place in his eyes. He turned back to the river after a long moment and spoke. "Things have changed between us and I don't like it, especially knowing that I'm the reason for the change." Beverly nodded very slightly, not so much at his words but more at how his thoughts mirrored those she had had last night in this very spot. She touched him lightly on his shoulder. "Stop blaming yourself, Jean-Luc. Yes, during the crisis you were almost overcome by your vengeful motives but you didn't give in to them completely. You were acting alone -- did you ever stop to think about that? This was the first time I'd ever seen you set a course of action without asking for advice from your staff, without conferring with anyone. The situation accelerated too quickly for that -- there was no time." She gripped his shoulder tighter. "You did the best you ould." She dropped her hand and looked at the river. "We could all spend our time brooding over the 'what ifs', you know. Will, Deanna, myself -- we could all say 'If I'd only said something, if I'd only gone to the captain and spoken my mind.' But, of course, Will and Deanna were on the surface and when it comes right down to it, *I* was the only one who should have said something ... but I didn't." She gazed intently into his eyes, unwavering. "I should carry some of that guilt, Jean-Luc, but I refuse to do it. What's the point? We're all only human and I praise the gods for my humanity. And yours." She couldn't keep her hand from moving to his cheek. "It's when we're the weakest that we can seek out that which can make us stronger." Her heart pounded as she finally whispered the words she'd wanted to say for so long. "I need you, my love, and you need me. Together, we can be stronger than we ever were before." With a look of wonder, his fingers closed around the hand she held to his cheek. "My love ..." he whispered and she nodded, her eyes suddenly full of tears, now spilling over. He leaned in and kissed them as they fell and when he pulled back to look at her again, she saw his love for her clearly. She had waited so long and could wait no longer -- she leaned in and found his lips with her own and every sound, every sight seemed to fade away as she lost herself in the sweetness, the rightness of the kiss. When they finally pulled apart, she saw the tears on his face and, most wonderfully, that beautiful smile that she had not seen in so long. He held her face in his hands and spoke softly. "I have something for you, my love." He reached in the pocket of his light jacket and her heart began pounding anew when she saw the small package. He unwrapped it with trembling fingers and she felt fresh tears rise when she saw the china rose lying in it soft white bed. "I bought this the other day in the market. I don't really know why .... I just thought the story behind it was charming and the work is so exquisite ...." He looked at her. "There's actually supposed to be a mate to this one --" She brought her trembling hand up beside his and opened it, revealing the rose she had been holding. His surprise was evident in his small gasp. She smiled and gently lifted his rose from the cotton and slowly, carefully brought the two china roses together, praying with all her soul that they would fit. She couldn't suppress a sob as the two flowers, once solitary and fragile, fit perfectly together, becoming one the way they had been created to be, now stronger than ever. Her fingers were shaking as they held the roses and he closed his fingers gently around hers, stilling their shaking, imparting his strength. "I love you, Beverly," he said, his voice trembling. "I've loved you for so long ..." "And I love you," she said, her voice clear and strong as she shared her strength with him. Hands clasped around the symbol of their love, they came together once again. --- "I know that if I have heaven There is nothing to desire. Rain and river, a world of wonder May be paradise to me." --- A soft rain fell, whispering through the leaves, blending with the steady sound of the river. Two figures danced alongside the flowing water, oblivious to the gentle rain, seeing and feeling only each other, the paradise they had created all they would ever need. Under a tree, two china roses lay on a soft green bed, forever entwined, and caught the shimmering drops in its petals. --- "I see the sun ... I see the stars ..." --- The End