The BLTS Archive- Indigo Trinity
by Astra (astraplain@yahoo.com)
and
AdmiralTAG (admiraltag@yahoo.com)

---

Notes: Sex, violence, non-consentual activities, ghosts, ghoulies, oh
my. Comments are *very* welcome.

Standard Disclaimer: To Paramount belongs the Trek, the  characters
and the profits. To us belongs the dryer lint,  shampoo and
painkillers.

Timeframe: Between Generations and FC

---
Strange Fire
---

Caldos turned slowly below her, its motion imperceptible from the tiny
window.  A wave of loneliness compelled her to turn away.  It could
never be home again.

"May I help you, Doctor?"

The crewman reached for one of her bags without waiting for a reply.
Eager to help, he moved too quickly, hitting his shoulder  on the edge
of the dresser.  In the tiny cabin, his whispered curse  echoed off
the walls.  Beverly managed a smile at his stricken look.   She'd done
that enough herself over the past week to be able to sympathize.

"Thank you, crewman, I can handle the rest."

They traveled the distance in silence.  Beverly kept her eyes
straight, neither seeing nor caring to see anything more of this
decrepit transport ship.

It seemed a fitting way to come back to Caldos.  It was the only piece
left of her shattered life and she was crawling back to it because
there was no where else to go.  Her life - like the Enterprise - lay
in pieces, with no hope of reconstruction.

Home.  There was no such thing for her.

She thanked the transport's captain, claimed her bag from  the crewman
and mounted the single transporter pad.  She  barely noticed the
transport process.  All she wanted now  was solitude.

They had beamed her into the front yard of her  grandmother's house,
in  the center of her flower bed.  It was overgrown and scraggly, the
weeds long overgrowing the precious camellias.  Broken tree limbs
littered the grass and walkway.  One corner of the porch bowed under
the weight of a fallen tree.

Tears stung the back of Beverly's eyes as she surveyed the  damage.
How long had it been that way?  Why wasn't she  told?  How could this
have happened?

"Oh, Nana."

Making her way carefully, Beverly crossed the yard and  entered the
house.  It was cold and damp and smelled of  mildew.  She felt along
the damp wall for the light, but the switch didn't work.  Turning
away, she fumbled for the cabinet where the emergency candles and
lighters were stored.

A shiver made Beverly's hand shake as she tried to light a  candle.
She couldn't bring herself to use the palm beacon  she had brought
with her from Earth.  It took three tries  before the candle wick
caught fire.

Holding the weak light aloft, she looked around.  Wind  rushed into
the room through a broken window.  Against the  wall, an antique
mirror rattled.  She walked towards it and saw...

"Ronin."

The candle went out as it hit the floor.

Beverly stood trembling, hands balled into fists held near her face.
Emotions washed over her, leaving her weak.  Only her extraordinary
will kept her upright.

"Come on, Beverly, think."

Ronin was dead.  She had killed him months ago right here  on Caldos.
It was only natural she'd have a few uneasy  thoughts about him.  He
had, after all, been her lover.  And Nana's.  He'd spent a lifetime
loving Howard women.  And in return, he'd taken them over, lived off
of them, used each and every one of them.  The thought of him made her
sick.

Forcing those thoughts aside, Beverly set about lighting the house.
The fallen tree had shorted out a power connector, so Beverly made her
way into the kitchen to activate the backups.  After a few minutes of
struggling, the lights came on, lightening some of her dark mood as
well as the house.

Thirty minutes later she was curled up in Nana's favorite  chair with
a steaming cup of tea and an old storybook.  She had surveyed the
house and decided it wasn't as bad as she'd feared.  True, there was
hard work ahead, repairing the porch and clearing away the mildew.
Not to mention the work she'd need to do to restore the garden.  But
she could do it.

And this time, she'd find a reliable caretaker.  Someone she could
trust.  Not like the last two, who'd stayed less than a month each
before sending her terse letters of resignation along with wild tales
of the house being haunted.  Nonsense.   The house wasn't haunted.
Well, not anymore at least.

Beverly took a sip of tea to warm the sudden icy chill that ran down
her spine.

---

A crisp bright day greeted Beverly through the half shuttered bedroom
windows.  She'd slept in Nana's room, taking comfort in the small
reminders of her grandmother that still remained.  Little of Beverly
remained in what had once been her room.  It had been more than twenty
years since she'd packed her treasures and left.  It was too
impersonal now, nothing more than a guest room.

She lingered over breakfast, strolling through the house with her
coffee and muffin, taking in the little details she'd managed to
forget.  She'd moved little after Nana's funeral, taking only a few
treasured possessions with her to the Enterprise.

Medicinal herbs still hung from the ceiling, drying.  Delicate china
cups graced the antique wooden sideboard.  A misshapen clay vase made
by Isabel Howard stood in a place of honor on the mantle.

With reverent hands, Beverly set her empty coffee mug  aside and
lifted the tiny vase.  She ran her fingers over its surface gently.
There were so few reminders of her mother.  Beverly knew the story of
the vase by heart.  How young Isabel had made it when she was seven,
and had presented it by placing it on the mantle with a single
camellia in it.  How Isabel had placed a camellia in that vase for
Nana's birthday every year until she died a painful and wasting death.
After that, Nana couldn't bear to place flowers in it.  It remained
empty on the mantle.  Beverly returned it to its place.  It would stay
on that mantle forever if she had anything to say about it.

Beverly turned away, a small lump in her throat.  There were reminders
of Nana everywhere, but hardly anything of Mama's, even fewer
reminders of Papa, and nothing at all of her baby brother.  The
raiders had taken care of that.

But she wouldn't think of that, not now. She had come here  so as not
to think. Caldos was her past, a closed book, done and gone.   Nothing
she would do could change the past. Beverly let out a  bitter laugh.
Who was she fooling? Nothing she could do would  change the present or
the future, either. No, she wasn't here to think. If she wanted to
think, there was a whole galaxy out there waiting. There was
Starfleet. There was...No, she wouldn't  think. Not now. Maybe not
ever.

Physical labor--that would stop all this thinking. The garden
certainly needed work, and there was no caretaker besides herself. She
donned a pair of thick gardening gloves and began  pulling up the
prickly weeds. True, she could have used some new-fangled tool to make
the job easier, but easier wasn't what  she wanted--exhaustive was.

Pull and toss, pull and toss. The rhythmic motion was lulling, though
not soothing.  Beverly had cleared a small patch, and  could see the
withered camellias which no one had bothered to  pluck. She pulled one
off a stem and held it in her balled- up  fist. A shiver ran through
her, and a sense of deja vu. Had she  once held a withered flower this
way? Yes, she remembered now,  she had...then.

She ran from the patch, her refuge betrayed by thoughts of  the  past.
Maybe this had been a bad idea, after all. She  retreated  inside the
house, inside her thoughts, and threw herself on  Nana's bed, pulling
the covers up and over her head. It was a retreat into childhood--so
what? She lay there in the darkness and held herself tightly, scared
to feel herself, her skin, the only body she knew, dry and not warm,
barren like the years ahead of her and those past.

How long she laid there she did not know. It was long  enough to
think of those who had left her behind (or had she left them?),  to
chart the wilderness of her life, but too short to think of  anything
beyond the salt taste of tears. Finally, some practical  saving grace
made her get up, drink a cup of tea (but not Earl Grey--that was part
of the life she had lost), and plan something for the rest of the day,
some activity, some reason to go on another few hours.

She was about to resume her weeding when she realized  she had  yet to
visit Nana's grave, an act of discourtesy  unlike her. She  took off
her gloves, shedding them as she  had, so many times,  her past, and
walked out the broken  garden gate. The house, when  she looked back,
seemed  smaller than she remembered it, too  small to contain all her
memories. But what were her memories? All lies? Things she thought she
remembered about the house of women in which she was raised had been
uprooted by Nana's  journals. She slammed the gate behind her, letting
it creak on  its last remaining hinge. The months had been no kinder
to her house than to her soul.

Nor had they been kind to Nana's grave. The garden around  her  house
was in good repair compared to the plot. Having  the coffin beamed up
and back down by the Enterprise crew  had displaced the earth, and the
stone monument teetered at a drunken angle. The ground before it was
covered by a shawl of  thorns, though every other grave wore a neat
dress of grass. Did  the colonists great show of sympathy at the
funeral mean  nothing? Had there been no one to care for the healer's
grave  when the last of the caretakers had resigned? It was too early
in the year to tell if the barren stems would  bear flower, and in any
case, flowers were not allowed in this  graveyard. She bent to her
work, pulling the offending plants as gently as she could so as not to
disturb the ground below or the woman laid to rest even further down.

The area just in front of the stone was cleared, and Beverly  searched
around for some rock to prop the falling monument. She  slid it
beneath the lowest corner, and thought, for one brief  terrifying
instant, that the ground above the grave was covered in flowers.
Again. Like that time...She pulled away from her  vision, her memory,
suddenly, tearing the back of her hand on  the thorns, gathering the
sticky sap of the plants on her  wounds.

Like blood it was, she mused, her doctor's training   activating. A
wind stirred the fallen leaves under the tree above Vader's grave, and
she stood. Time had lost all relevance to her in the wastelands of
space, and she could not recall if this was the rainy season or not.
The thought of rain, the green lightning and  the cracks of thunder
pressing in on her, sent her scurrying back to the safety of Nana's
bed, where she knew she was not really safe, only deluded.

---

The wind woke her, pulling her from dreams that she could  not
remember, but that left her vaguely disquieted.  Shaking her head to
clear it, she rose and stumbled to the bathroom. Standing here under
the harsh glare of the lighted mirror, she frowned at herself.
*Beverly Howard Crusher, you have got to get a grip on yourself.
You've done nothing but indulge yourself in pitiful fantasies and hide
in Nana's bed like a frightened 2 year old since you got here.*

Giving herself one last stern look, she washed her face,  wincing a
little when the water hit her injured hand.  She  allowed herself a
long hot shower, and the luxury of washing her hair twice.  When she
emerged from the bathroom she felt worlds better.

Dressed in thick work clothing, she went downstairs and  fixed herself
a hearty breakfast. She'd missed her evening  meal and was ravenous,
so she cheated, as Nana called it,  and used the replicator.

Beverly smiled, remembering the day she and Jack had  arrived on
Nana's doorstep unannounced, trying vainly to  conceal the huge
replicator box behind them.  Nana had  taken one look at them, hot and
mussed from travel and  Beverly's pregnancy just beginning to show,
and had  squealed with delight.  It was the only time in her life
Beverly had ever actually heard someone make that sound. Nana had been
so happy to see her granddaughter, and to learn of the impending birth
that she'd tolerated the replicator. She'd also been highly
entertained watching Jack try to install it.  By the end of the visit,
Jack had won over another Howard.

Finishing her meal, Beverly went outside, blinking against the bright
sunshine.  The air was crisp, and she inhaled deeply.  She walked to
the end of the porch and surveyed the damage critically.  It wasn't as
bad as she'd first thought.  The previous night's storm had blown down
the tree that had damaged the porch.  It now lay flat on the ground,
saving Beverly the concern of how to get it down.  From here it would
be relatively easy to use a laser saw and cut it up for firewood.

It was nearly dark when she stopped working.  It had been a long hard
day, but she'd made progress.  She'd dragged out all of Ned Quint's
old tools  and put them to good use. The fallen tree had been cut and
the wood stacked.  She'd gathered and stacked the broken branches and
raked up the leaves and twigs. After a short break for lunch, Beverly
had returned to the garden.  Taking Nana's portable media player with
her, she'd weeded in time to the music, careful not to let her
thoughts stray.

She hadn't finished; there was still the damage to the porch to
repair, and the rest of the weeding. And the whole house needed
cleaning, inside and out.  But she would get it done. It would give
her a reason to be here. And when she finished the house, she'd return
to her heritage, taking Nana's place as Healer. Just like Nana had
always wanted.  After all, it was a proud Howard tradition and she
meant to uphold it.

Those were her resolutions of the day, and fine resolutions they were,
but at night the landscape of her mind shifted and changed. As she
slept, she saw  the lives her actions and inaction had destroyed--all
the battles she had seen from the safe confines of sickbay, and all
the blood that had splashed against her immaculate long fingers as she
struggled in vain to put life back in a shattered husk. And suddenly,
irrevocably, she knew that it was all her fault, that she was not good
enough, never had been good enough, had nothing beside an
extraordinary talent for using technology. She could not be a healer
because she had nothing of her own to offer. Maybe if she followed in
Nana's footsteps, followed all her recipes and cures exactly, did not
try to innovate or invent, she might be able to swing it, but she was
no heir to Felisa's legacy, could not be one with the famous Howard
tradition. She was worthless as a woman, as a doctor, as a...

Beverly woke up in a cold sweat. Where had that come  from? She
suffered each time a patient was lost, hated the  inadequate feeling
death brought along as a companion, but  had never questioned her
skills as a physician. She knew  that this was her life's work, in one
form or another, had  always known, and never before had she
experienced a  moment's doubt as to her path. But the dream had seemed
so right, so true, as though a sudden sharp light had been  shined
into the darkest corner of her soul. Even now, she  could feel the
doubts lingering, the blood on her hands.

Though it was before dawn, she retreated to the one refuge  which had
proven effective, physical labor. Her joints already ached with the
unaccustomed effort, but she attacked the mildew in the main room as
though it were a personal enemy. She  disdained the use of gloves,
fearing the added bulk might cause her to lose her grip and ruin some
precious possession, now that she had nothing else in the universe but
these few things, and the chemicals stung on her injured hand, but
even that was useful, reminding her to keep her mind on the present.

While she checked the flowers along the banister and  cleaned the
portraits on the wall she did not think of Ronin seducing her up and
down the stairs. While polishing the window panes she did not think of
the flower strewn table at which she had sat when Ronin told her what
she must do to become a true Howard woman. As she scrubbed the
vestibule rug, she did not think of Jean-Luc lying on it, hurt, still,
and Ronin pulling her away from him. She did not think of these things
at all, or at least not for long.

By mid-morning the little house smelled overwhelmingly of  chemicals,
and she had to get out, be among people, to  dispel the ghosts (more
accurately, ghost) she was trying to avoid. It was raining, and she
still feared Caldosian rainstorms, but even that was all right. Being
among people gave her some reassurance, though she couldn't say what
still had her frightened when she should have known all was well.

Nana's house was located at the edge of town, incongruously close to
the graveyard for a healer. By the time Beverly had reached the
shopping district, she was soaked through to the skin, and stopped in
a coffee house to dry off and warm herself. Inside,  it seemed as
though people shied away from her, shrank back as she passed them.
Could they know? Could they care so very much? The whispered voices in
her almost-forgotten dreams came back to haunt her, reminding her of
everyone she had let down.

She ran out of the coffee house in the pouring rain,  desperate for
shelter, desperate for peace, willing to pay any price to feel whole
again.

She moved, blinded more by her desperation and pain than  by the rain
that molded her hair to her head and her sodden clothing to her body.
There was no conscious thought to her direction, just a mindless,
senseless need to be somewhere else.  A need that drove her on faster
and faster.  Bushes, branches and the wind tore at her face and
clothing but nothing slowed her frantic pace until, without warning,
the ground just wasn't there and she fell, sprawling face down onto
the grass.

It took a long time for Beverly to return to herself.  She felt her
breath forcing itself in and out of her desperate lungs in desperate
gasps.  Her heart thudded against her chest hard enough to shake her
whole body.  Her skin prickled as if lying on a bed of sharp pins.

She was intensely aware that everything hurt, but then  realized with
a gasp that it wasn't true.  She flexed her hand again slowly, just to
be sure.

The tips of the fingers on her left hand felt wonderfully warm,
cushioned against something soft.  Beverly moved slightly, testing,
stretching the hand further away from her body than it was when she
fell.  Soft. Warm. It was real.

If it wasn't real she didn't care.

Slowly, agonizingly, she lifted herself up not quite onto her knees
and crawled to the soft comfort she'd felt.  She didn't bother to look
where she was going, afraid that by looking she'd destroy the
illusion.

She was sweating, her arms shaking with the effort as she  dragged
herself the final centimeters and the pinpricks gave way to a velvety
soft carpet.  She looked once, just a peek, and thought she saw flower
petals.  Abruptly she'd closed her eyes, rolling onto her side and
curling into a ball.  There was silence here, blessed peace, and
relief from the pain, both physical and mental, that had haunted her
since she'd come home.

Her sleep was a dreamless one and she woke to the first  light of dawn
feeling refreshed. Moving slightly, she shifted onto her back and was
suddenly aware of her surroundings.

With a cry, she backed away, rising as she moved, and  looking in
horror at the depression her body had left on the ground. On Nana's
grave.

She turned away, not knowing if she would run or even  where she had
left to run to. Her movement brought a  shower of flower petals down
around her - camellias - and as each one touched the ground a thorny
vine took its place, growing rapidly upward until Beverly was
surrounded, trapped.

All around her the thorns grew thicker, pricking her skin even through
her clothing.  She covered her face with her arms, both to shield her
eyes and to prevent herself from watching as the vicious thorns
dripping their iridescent green sap entered her flesh.

She felt the sap inside her skin, burning like acid as it  penetrated
her. She'd never felt a pain even close to this before. Even
childbirth paled in comparison.

Somewhere inside her mind it began, the denial that she  relied on so
often to protect her fragile self.  It worked itself outward, growing
larger until her cries of pain became sobs, then screams.

"Stop it. Please, stop it. I'll do anything, just make it stop!"

And it stopped.

The tangles of thorns were now daisy chains of camellias,  brushed
away with the slightest movement.

"I can stop it, my lovely Beverly."

And the thorns were back, sharper and more cruel than  before.

"Or I can leave you here to suffer, just as you left me."

From deep within Beverly's darkest nightmares came that  voice -
soft, silky, and so very seductive.  And so very, very dead.

Ronin.

And everything went black.

---

She came to with a cold cloth pressed to her forehead, the thorns and
the camellias gone, and no one near. She rose to leave the cemetery,
shocked at her behavior in sleeping there and shocked at the nightmare
she had had. Ronin was dead. She was sure of that as she was sure of
few things in her life.

Beverly had made it to the cemetery gate before she heard that voice
again, rising from her nightmares. "I've come back for you, my love."

She didn't even turn around. If it was as she suspected, there would
be no person to confront, and if it were not, she would prefer not to
see him. "You're dead. I killed you."

"I'm here. And you don't believe in ghosts." The wind rustled tree
leaves, and she thought she felt a hand in her hair. Her back
stiffened and she fought the urge to turn around.

"I killed you," she spat through clenched teeth. "I took Geordi's
phaser and I killed you." She thought she could feel harsh breaths on
the back of her neck. "This isn't real." She ran from the cemetery,
frantic, trying not to recall the way she had run, once, not so long
ago, to the cemetery, cutting her bare feet on the rough gravel paths,
sent by Jean-Luc to stop her ghostly lover...

Once home she slammed and locked the door. Someone was trying to drive
her mad, but who? Who knew about Ronin, knew enough to fake his
distinctive voice and speech? No one on this world, and she could
think of no one from her own, forsaken world of the Enterprise who
would want to hurt her so. No one but herself.

The sun was setting, and for the first time since her childhood, she
could feel the fear of dark creeping into her like a disease. Around
her, the house smelled strongly of chemicals and disinfectants, like
an old-fashioned infirmary, but she thought she smelled an undertone
of flowers. So many flowers, like a funeral, a house of mourning.

I'm going mad she thought, decisively, and was oddly comforted to be
able to put a name to her condition. It was the only answer--she was
despondent over the course her life had taken, she had run home, only
to find that home was no longer anything she had. And so her mind was
shutting down, creating nightmares and visions to challenge her. It
had to be the answer.

It wasn't an answer she relished though. She had always feared
insanity, and those who knew her well could sense this. Hadn't
Jean-Luc, time after time, used that fear to his own advantage,
gaining her obedience, when all else had failed, by a simple question:
"What has happened to your mind, Doctor?" She was a doctor. She could
diagnose her own condition, find its cause, and cure it. Tomorrow.
Now, the night was drawing in, and she only wanted to hide under
covers in a well lit room, to feel as a child and pretend to be safe.

---
Two days later:


Beverly rose early, driven from bed yet again by disturbing dreams,
and the need to pay Nana a proper tribute. Ever since she'd arrived on
Caldos, Beverly felt she'd been acting irrationally, driven by demons
she should have long ago laid to rest.

The day before, she'd gone to the cemetery early, taking a small
amount of food and water and the necessary tools. It had taken her
until nearly dusk - a full day of hard, back breaking labor, but she
had finished. When she packed her small carry bag, Nana's grave was
clear. The mess of tangled thorn bushes was carefully removed and the
head stone righted, propped in place by stones.

Taking a few sips of tea and a slice of toast, Beverly hurried to the
cemetery. It was just daybreak and her thin shoes were soon soaked
through by the dew and remnants of the previous night's rain. But it
was nothing compared to how wet she'd been two nights ago.

Arriving at last, Beverly opened the cemetery gate and walked through,
shutting it carefully. Turning, she looked at Nana's grave.

With a cry, she ran the short distance and dropped to her knees, tears
of anger and despair blurring her vision. But they were there, she'd
seen too clearly to deny the tangled thorny mess that again covered
Nana's grave.

The headstone tilted at an obscene angle, listing downward so a
passerby wouldn't even see the name.

But far worse than either of these was the sight of the small clay
vase lying under the thorns, near the headstone. Mama's vase.

Beverly cried out, hands moving towards the precious vase, but
stopping just short of the thorns. They barred her way, mocking her
with their cruel curved barbs, each one glistening with a greenish
moisture.

In despair, Beverly scanned the area, hoping she'd left something,
some small tool behind on the previous visit. Finding nothing, she was
moving to rise, planning to get a tool as quickly as possible and
rescue the precious vase. She didn't spare a thought to question its
presence there.

Just then, movement caught her eye and Beverly bit back a scream as
the ground under the vase moved, cracking and splitting. And then,
clawing its way out was a hand. Beverly's knees buckled as she
watched, transfixed by the horror of the scene. Her mind was too numb
to react. Another hand emerged, then an arm, and another until the
hole was dug away and a dirty, mud streaked head emerged, the hand
still grasping Mama's vase. "Beverly," the apparition rasped.

Beverly was frozen, locked in place watching Nana's head and shoulders
emerge from the ground until she appeared to be seated, looking
directly at her grandchild. Her green eyes reflected disappointment.

"Beverly."

"No." Beverly shook her head, wanting this nightmare to stop.

"You killed him, Beverly. Cold blooded murder of the man I loved. And
I not yet cold in my grave." To emphasize her words, Nana shook the
vase. "I deny you, child. You're not a Howard, and you're no longer my
kin."

With finality, Nana turned her head away and lay back down, slowly
disappearing back into the earth.

Watching the vase's descent spurred Beverly to desperate action.
"Nana." She screamed, throwing herself forward, both hands reaching
for the precious vase. A second later agonizing pain drove the vision
from her mind. Beverly blinked once, then looked down to find she'd
driven both hands straight down into the thorns.

Tears staining her face, Beverly held both hands steady, then began
the painful task of extricating herself from the thorns. Relying on
every skill she'd ever needed as a physician, she was finally able to
free herself. The pain was excruciating. She nearly passed out at the
sight of her own torn flesh.

What kind of a healer could she be with damaged hands?

Walking unsteadily back to the house in a half-daze, her blood mixing
with the green thorn sap coating her hands, she thought about Ronin.
Had she really murdered him? Had it really been necessary? Self
defense?

Remembering nothing of her travel, Beverly somehow made it to the
house. Opening the door brought new tears of pain. She stepped
through, unable to think about pulling the door closed. Only to have
it slam behind her. She turned to look at it, then turned back to find
the room covered in thorny plants. Gasping, she moved away, the thorns
tearing at her clothing, her hair, her flesh every direction she
moved.

Starting as a whisper she heard, "Murdered." Over and over, getting
louder. Blind panic drove her toward the steps and up. Even here the
thorns and voices followed her until she was in Nana's room which was
blessedly clear and silent. She slammed the door, bracing it closed
with her back, then slid to the floor.

She was there only a few seconds when she felt the pulsing, throbbing
of her wounded hands. She looked down, studying them until she felt a
touch, like a caress across her cheek drawing her attention. Looking
up, she gasped.

"Ronin."

"I'm here, my love."

"No!" Beverly screamed, backing away gracelessly until she came up
hard against the dresser. "You're not real."

Ronin knelt beside her as handsome and immaculate as the day she first
laid eyes on him. Covering her hands with his, Beverly watched as the
sticky green residue glowed, then rose off her skin and was absorbed
into Ronin's hands, leaving no trace of its presence. As she watched,
Beverly's hands healed, leaving no trace of the grievous injuries. The
pain vanished along with it, replaced by a disorientating
lightheadedness.

"Beverly, my love. I've waited for you."

"You're dead," she repeated, a little louder.

Ronin touched her face. "You've had a shock. It couldn't be helped.
But here, let me help you now." He lifted her to her feet and guided
her to the bed. "It's been so long, my love."

"You're dead. I killed you." Beverly murmured senselessly.

"It was a terrible misunderstanding, my love. You would never hurt me.
You love me. Here, come sit."

He guided her onto the bed and Beverly went, too numb to resist.

"You need me to help you, Beverly. To take care of you." He stroked
her hair. "Just as I took care of Felisa."

The sound of his voice saying Nana's name triggered something in
Beverly. She pushed him away and stood. "You don't want to care for
me. You want to use me."

"Beverly." Ronin's voice held a subtle warning. He stood, shaking his
head.

"Don't come near me. I won't let you touch me. And I will never merge
with you."

Ronin moved a step closer as Beverly backed away. "You're upset, my
love, Let me help you."

"Don't come any closer or I swear that I will find some way to stop
you forever."

"You don't mean that."

"I don't know how you've survived, but I swear if you take one more
step, I will find a way to kill you."

Reaching out to her, Ronin started slowly fading to gas form. Backed
against the wall, Beverly reached out blindly, grabbing the first
thing she touched and hurled it at Ronin. It hit him in the temple,
making a sound that made them both flinch.

He recoiled, giving her a wounded look, then reached up and touched
his head. As he dropped his hand, his expression changed.

"You bitch!"

He grabbed her arms tightly and shook her. "No Howard woman has ever
resisted me. You will love me. You will merge with me."

Beverly snarled, "Go to hell!"

At that moment, the last reserve fled Ronin, leaving him nothing but
blind fury. She had done this, had caused him this pain, had denied
his love. She had imprisoned him within the lifeless carcass of Felisa
Howard, forced to endure an eternity powerless until she had finally
returned. Only then could he merge with her, regaining his freedom and
returning to his love. But she had rejected him. She had done this and
more. This sanctimonious Howard bitch. And all he had ever done was
love her.

Leaning close, he spoke directly into her face, the heat of his breath
fanning her hair. "You thought you were rid of me. Wrong. I have
possessed Howard women for 800 years. I will have you, Beverly
Howard."

He slammed her back against the wall. With an odd smile he dissipated
into a cloud of anaphasic energy and surrounded her, entering her
forcefully. Beverly tried to fight, but he was in her before she could
cry out. He stimulated her pleasure center, bringing her to instant
orgasm. Just before she reached her peak, he gripped her pain
receptors, leaving her sobbing in agony. Turning back to solid form,
he hurled her across the room onto the bed, then climbed on top of
her.

The act was brutal, and when it was over, he assaulted her mind again.
Over and over he took her, physically and mentally. Bringing her pain,
then pleasure, then pain again, until Beverly could no longer could
distinguish the two.

When at last some of his reason returned, he pulled away abruptly,
withdrawing his energy from her body. He watched as she fell to the
bed, unable even to cry out. Senseless, she lay as she fell, unmoving
until exhausted sleep claimed her.

He stayed in human form, watching her sleep. He saw the wetness on her
cheeks and on the pillow that she clutched so desperately even in
sleep. Her naked flesh still bore the marks he'd left as he'd raped
her, mindless in his anger.

Why did she make me hurt her? he asked himself. I only wanted to merge
with her, I only wanted to love her. Can't she see I'm only doing
what's best?

Ronin thought about it, his twisted sanity twisting his logic. I want
to help her to understand. To accept our merging as the act of love it
is. I must help her. He reached out to stroke her face. Even if that
means I must hurt her.

The next morning she awoke to the feel of his physical body pressed
against her . He entered her again, forcing her into submission both
physically and mentally.

After hours of alternating pleasure and pain he was satisfied he had
proven his love for her. He could not, would not merge with her
completely until she wanted it as much as he did. He just had to help
her understand that he only wanted what was best for them both.

Withdrawing slightly, he took on solid form and lay down beside her,
stroking her and whispering tender phrases. Exhausted, Beverly didn't
even respond to his touch. At his urging, she turned into his embrace
and fell asleep at last feeling blessed nothingness. Smiling, Ronin
watched her until she was dreaming, then released his solid form and
enveloped her. He stayed within her, waiting for her to awaken.

Beverly stirred, taking in a deep breath and letting it out suddenly
at the pain in her ribs. She was bruised all over and there was a dull
throbbing in her temples. She felt Ronin leave her body and
materialize beside her, caressing her lightly. She steeled herself
against his touch, trying not to flinch. In the cold light of morning,
some of the fear she felt at his presence reasserted itself over the
mindless feelings he'd forced her to endure.

He slid his hand over her breasts, lightly pinching her sore nipples.
Working downward he slid his fingers between her legs and up inside of
her. Beverly started to tense up and pull away when she felt the first
touch of his presence in her mind. Swallowing to calm herself, she
forced herself to relax, spreading her legs and turning towards him to
give him easier access to her sex.

The pressure in her mind vanished and she felt Ronin's arousal
pressing against her. Without words, he removed his fingers from her
body, then placed a hand on her head, guiding her downward to take him
into her mouth. She didn't dare refuse to pleasure him.

As he released himself inside of her, he turned to energy, surrounding
her and flowing into her. He entered her pleasure center, bringing her
to swift, shattering climax. And again, and again, until the pleasure
became painful in its intensity. She sobbed openly, begging him to
stop.

"I'll stop, lover, when you agree to love me as I love you. Will you
merge with me?"

Her silence hung in the air. As a warning, Ronin forced her to orgasm
again. Beverly cried out with the agony of it.

"Yes!" she screamed at last, "Yes! I'll do anything you ask."

But that wasn't the answer Ronin wanted. He didn't want Beverly to do
as he asked, he wanted her to beg him for the merging. Like a parent
scolding a wayward child, he shook his head. "No, no, Beverly. I don't
want you making empty promises just to appease me. I want you to
understand, to truly realize and accept what I am offering. You are a
Howard and I am your destiny. Accept the merging."

She lay on the bed, naked and battered both physically and mentally,
closer to madness than she'd ever been - even when she'd lost Jack and
their unborn child within weeks of each other. She could actually feel
her herself walking the edge of a vast crevasse. One wrong step, a
stray thought, anything and she would plunge into madness. But was
Ronin offering her a lifeline or pushing her over the edge? How would
she know until it was too late?

The only thing Beverly Howard Crusher knew for certain was that to
continue as she was now, the rawest of her emotions controlled by an
anaphasic madman, was the surest path to madness. If only she had some
time, some space to think about this clearly...

---
Ghost
---
<<<And I feel it like a sickness how this love is killing me
I walk into the fingers of your fire willingly
We dance the edge of sanity;
I've never been this close
I'm in love with your ghost
--Indigo Girls, Ghost
---

When she heard the banging on her front door, she was  certain it was
nothing but the product of her fevered  imagination, but the noise
continued and then, suddenly,  Ronin was gone, both his body and his
touch in her mind.  She hurried to pull on a robe and went down to
open the  door.

It was Governor Maturin. "I got a request from Starfleet to look for
you. A Commander Troi has been trying to reach you for days." He
noticed that she did not invite him inside, but he pushed his way past
her into the vestibule.

"I haven't had a chance to enable the comm console,"  Beverly
explained. "There's been so much to do here." She  smiled sweetly,
falsely, it seemed to him.

Maturin had passed the house a few times in the past  months, and had
to admit that Dr. Crusher had done an  amazing job of getting the
house back in shape. But he was  no Scotsman, and like all the members
of his species, he  had an extraordinary olfactory sense--he knew that
Beverly Crusher had busier playing house than housekeeping.

For the first time he took a good look at her, and noticed the bruises
on her face, legs, and the small part of her chest which was on
display. "You're hurt."

One of her hands clutched at her robe, the other began to  dance over
her lips. "I...I fell." She nodded as though to  reassure him (or
herself?) that this was the truth. "The other night. You remember the
storm? It was so dark, and it's been so long since  I lived here." She
rambled, and the governor recalled how, on her last visit to Caldos,
she had also seemed far too high strung and irrational to be such a
trusted Starfleet officer or to be the level-headed Felisa Howard's
granddaughter. "I...God, I feel so stupid...I tripped and fell down
the stairs."

"You should see a doctor. You may have broken something."

"I am a doctor, Governor. Nothing is broken but my pride.  Now, if
you'll excuse me, I really have to start my day." She dismissed him
abruptly, leaning on the open door to emphasize  her meaning.

"Of course, Doctor. I hope you'll take the time to set up your
console. Your friend was quite concerned." He walked out, evaluating
all he had seen and surmised. Beverly Crusher had a lover, of that he
was certain; he could smell it on her. And those bruises did not come
from falling down the stairs. They also were not three days old; they
hadn't even gotten a chance to discolor. Why would she lie? He thought
of her last visit, and remembered that there had been some
unpleasantness, including the murder of Ned Quint. If Felisa Howard's
granddaughter wanted to hide from her friends, that was no concern of
Maturin's. If she wanted to build herself a love nest and play violent
games, that was her own business. But he was damned if her presence
would again cost a colonist his life.

Back in his office, he placed a call to Starfleet. "Get me  Captain
Picard," he ordered the young ensign who greeted  him. "It's about
Beverly Crusher."

---


That Jean-Luc Picard did not want to talk to anyone about  Beverly
Crusher was crystal clear to the hapless ensign that delivered the
governor's message.  By the time the captain finished his verbal
rampage, it was also clear to half of the people in the building.  The
fact that this behavior was so unlike the gentleman captain did not
make it any easier on the ensign. By the time she was dismissed, she
was nearly trembling.

Picard watched her go, immediately regretting his behavior.  It wasn't
her fault; it was just one of those little cosmic ironies that he'd
been assigned a tall slender red head.  He almost called her back to
apologize, then stopped himself when realized that he couldn't be sure
he wouldn't go off on another tirade. Leave it Beverly to reduce him
to this.

*Damn her.*

He hadn't even known she'd gone until Deanna appeared in  his office
one day asking for her.  The counselor had gone to Beverly's apartment
and found it empty.  It took forty-five minutes of Starfleet red tape
to find out she'd taken a leave of absence - length undetermined,
present location unknown.

She'd made no effort to tell him she was leaving, so he had made no
effort to find her.  But now he knew.  She'd gone to Caldos. But why
was the governor calling?  What had she done now?  Broken another
heart?  Driven yet another man to destruction?  Well, that was her
problem.

He almost made the call anyway, curiosity burning away at  his
resolve, but at the last second he'd stopped himself.   She's left
without so much as a word to him.  Let the  governor go somewhere else
to discuss Beverly Crusher.

On his third try, the governor changed tactics.  Picard did not strike
him as anything less than thorough.  No, he hadn't overlooked the
previous calls, the captain had deliberately chosen not to respond.
Governor Maturin had no intention of letting the  matter rest.
Beverly Crusher was Starfleet's problem and, as far as he was
concerned, Picard was Starfleet.  And he was going to take this call.

The governor hadn't lived among the most stubborn people  in the
galaxy without learning to be stubborn himself.  He  bullied his way
past the ensign who looked relieved to not  have to deliver another
message about Beverly Crusher. By  the time Picard appeared, the
governor was ready to shove  the whole matter into his lap.

"Captain Picard, so good of you to finally answer."

"What can I do for you, Governor?"

"You can get your Starfleet brass out here and find out what Beverly
Crusher is up to."

"Dr. Crusher is on leave from Starfleet, Governor.  She is not our
responsibility."

"Well, you're the closest thing she's got to a nursemaid so  you can
very well get yourself to Caldos and find out what's going on."

"I don't understand.  Has she done something wrong?"

"Not yet, Captain, but I won't have a repeat of the Ned Quint
incident.  I went to see her at Commander Troi's request and found her
obviously involved in some unsavory activities.  I won't have her
posing a threat to another of my citizens."

Picard started to protest but Maturin cut him off.  "You know,
Captain, I never did request a formal investigation into Quint's
death."

There was silence, and Picard knew he was defeated.   Whatever his
personal feelings for Beverly Crusher, he  would not allow the
governor to bring false accusations  against her to Starfleet. He'd
had enough of Starfleet legal proceedings to last a lifetime.  And he
would not wish the experience on anyone.

*Damn her*

"I am willing to postpone my request for an investigation if I have
your word that you will personally look into the Crusher situation."
Unhappily, Picard agreed.  "Excellent.  I will expect to see you in my
office within the week, Captain.  Maturin out."

Picard sat staring at the blank screen for a while.  At last he turned
away, tabbing his communicator.  "Ensign, get me Admiral Calverston."
Sitting back in his seat, he swore, "Damn her." *****

It took a full day to get his personal leave approved, and  another 3
to travel to Caldos.  Four days for the anger he felt towards Beverly
Crusher to fester and grow.

---

Four days in which Beverly Crusher suffered, forced between agony and
ecstasy until she felt nothing but the weakening of her spirit and the
fear of never being a true Howard.

---

Four days in which Ronin molded Beverly to his will, secure in the
belief that his actions would restore to them both the destiny she had
nearly destroyed.

---

On day five, Jean-Luc Picard arrived on Caldos.

He was shown into the governor's office and began  speaking as soon as
he entered the room.  "I'm here.  Now  what exactly has Dr. Crusher
done?"

The governor rose, frowning at the captain's abrupt manner.  A brief
thought flashed through his mind wondering if the behavior of the
captain and of Crusher were somehow connected.

"Have a seat, Captain.  I will make this brief.  I went to see Beverly
at Commander Troi's request.  I found her badly bruised.  When I
questioned her, she lied and said she'd fallen down the stairs."  He
paused a moment, putting aside his personal distaste for  what he
suspected were the cause of those bruises.  Let the captain find out
for himself.  "I don't care what her reasons were for lying, Captain,
but I suspect that she is engaging in activities that pose a threat to
at least one of my citizens.  I lost a good friend the last time she
visited Caldos, Captain.  I don't intend to lose anyone else."

"What exactly do you expect me to do, Governor?  Beverly  hasn't done
anything illegal.  DO you have any proof that she is doing something
wrong?"

"What I want, Captain, is for you as a representative of  Starfleet to
protect the citizens of this planet from a possible threat.  You had
better get started."

Biting back his anger, the captain made one last attempt to reason
with the governor.  Whatever his personal feelings towards Beverly
Crusher, she was a good officer and a damn fine doctor.

"Governor, may I remind you that Beverly Crusher was not  responsible
for Ned Quint's death.  I will talk to her and if I find nothing
amiss, as I'm sure I will, then I will leave.  Good day, Governor."

And he was gone, leaving the governor more sure than ever  that the
captain and doctor were somehow linked.

---

The first thing Picard noticed when she opened the door was her
clothing.  It was well past noon and Beverly was still in her robe.
The next thing he noticed was her hair.  He had never seen her looking
so unkempt.  It all added up to one uncomfortable conclusion.

*Damn her*

He almost turned away, but stopped himself.  Putting it off wouldn't
make it any easier, and the sooner he got this over with, the sooner
he could get off this planet and away from her. Brushing past her, he
entered the house.

"Jean-Luc, what are you..."

"Governor Maturin dragged me out here with wild  accusations about..."
He broke off, stunned into silence at the sight of her.  She flinched
at his scrutiny and stepped back, drawing the robe tighter around her
body.  He stared, finally seeing the dark circles under her eyes and
the pallor of her skin under the mottling of bruises both old and new.

"Mon Dieu, Beverly, what happened?"

She began to stammer something, but he cut her off in mid-explanation.
"And don't tell me you fell down the stairs. I know you too well."

She sighed. "Of course, you're right. I just didn't want to get
involved with the governor...Why did he call you?"

He hadn't expected her to ever let him into the house, and  yet she
was speaking as if their recent past had never  occurred, as though
they were still on the best of terms.  Well, he wasn't so ready to
forgive and forget. He brushed  aside her question and repeated his
own.

"You know, I really did fall down the stairs," she insisted, not
adding the reason for her fall--a push from Ronin when she was being
particularly recalcitrant. "Well, the truth is that I haven't been
feeling well lately. I get dizzy; I fall." She rubbed the knuckles of
her hand, and he noticed cuts on them, odd on a woman who had always
valued her hands so highly as one source of her skills. "And don't
tell me to go see a doctor. I can handle myself perfectly well. If you
think this is bad, you should have seen me last week."

"Governor Maturin saw you."

"Oh." It was a small sound, a hopelessly lost sound, and he almost
gave in, but not quite.

"So you're all right then?"

"Yes, fine," she assured him. "Well on the road to recovery."

"Then I'll take my leave."

Most of her wanted nothing better than to see Jean-Luc  Picard walk
out the door and never return. Part of her knew that if he walked out,
she would lose her one chance to escape Ronin. "Wait. It's a long ride
from Earth. At least let me make you some breakfast."

"I ate several hours ago, thank you."

"Then tea! Something..." He wasn't sure if she really was  pleading or
if he imagined it because he so wanted to hear it. He nodded.

She went to put on the kettle and then announced she would  take a few
minutes to change. He told her to take her time; shower, even, if she
wanted to, he would mind the kettle. He wondered how long it had been
since she'd dressed last. Or combed her hair. Or bathed. He wondered
about Maturin's accusations, and about what sort of "nefarious"
activities she could engage in looking like a Klingon fashion model.

---

She rushed up the stairs to make herself presentable. The part of her
which still believed in old history tried to believe that Jean-Luc had
come to rescue her; the part which remembered her own behavior knew he
had not. It didn't matter, though, she thought as she entered the
bathroom, just seeing him gave her new resolve.

She ran the shower, adjusting the old-fashioned knobs to get the right
temperature. She shed her robe and stepped in for the first time in a
week, enjoying the way the water sloughed off the dirt, the aches, and
the memory of Ronin's touch.

The water felt good, running down her hair, her back, her breasts. So
good. Too good. Over the past days she had become expert in
recognizing Ronin's touch. Sometimes she wondered if she wasn't
avoiding the merging he claimed was her destiny just to feel his
touch. And now here, in the shower, he was again, teasing her with
unseen hands, whispering harshly in her ear. "He's downstairs, isn't
he?"

She tried to play innocent. He was just anaphasic, not omnipotent.
"Who?"

Ronin grabbed her pain receptors, bringing her down to her knees. The
sound of her scream was masked by the running water. "Your precious
captain. He's here, isn't he?" She nodded. "If he tries to come
between us, Beverly, I will kill him." He took on corporeal form and
grabbed her hair, pulling hard at the roots, forcing her head back.

Her private miasma of pain and pleasure was none of Jean- Luc's
concern. She wasn't even certain how Maturin had managed to lure him
to Caldos. But she was not going to have his death on her conscience.
As much as she could, with her head held immobile, she nodded her
understanding. "I'll ask him to leave," she promised, knowing that her
last hope would leave with him. Days upon days of this endless ecstasy
and torture...she knew the psychology, knew that sooner or later she
would anticipate it, look forward to it, beg for it, and then Ronin
would have her forever.

"That isn't enough, Beverly," Ronin murmured, and released her hair.
She knew what he wanted, his special punishment for her, making her
please him with her mouth when he wasn't really corporeal and could
feel none of the pleasure. And then, when he was finished and released
himself down her throat, it would burn as the sap had burned her
hands.

---

She lost all track of time as she kneeled on the shower floor, but
downstairs, Picard was all too well aware of it. When the kettle had
boiled and she had not returned, he was mildly upset. When he had
finished a cup of tea and she had not yet descended, he was angry.
When he finished his second cup and the shower water was still
running, he recalled that she had claimed dizzy spells. He was almost
certain they were a lie, but what if they were true? What if she had
fallen or passed out and was lying there, hurt?

He took the steps two at a time and didn't bother to knock before
opening the bathroom door. He saw her silhouette, kneeling, head
thrown back. There was an odd green glow around her, but he passed it
off as a trick of the light streaming through the frosted window.

He threw open the old fashioned shower curtain and saw her, face
raised upwards into the frigid water spray, her mouth open, swallowing
convulsively. Her lips were tinged blue.

He reached in and jerked her to her feet, momentarily oblivious to her
nudity.

"What the hell are you doing? Get out of there, you're freezing."

He hauled her out of the shower, then reached in and turned off the
water. She was shivering uncontrollably and water, or was it tears,
streamed down her face. His anger calmed, seeing her like this,
seeming so frail and vulnerable. He wrapped her in a towel, rubbing
her skin briskly to dry and warm her.

She struggled weakly, fighting hard not to cry out as the cloth rubbed
against her tender flesh. "Please, stop."

He ignored her feeble protest, putting an arm around her shoulders to
steer her into her bedroom for some clothes. She resisted his lead.
"No."

"You're shivering, you need to get dressed, to get warm."

"No!" She said it louder, desperate to prevent him from caring for
her. It would only make sending him away that much harder - and it was
going to be hard enough already. "Jean-Luc, leave me alone."

He tried, he really tried to keep his temper, to understand what was
happening to his oldest, dearest friend. But there was already too
much hurt and misunderstanding between them and Jean-Luc was not that
strong.

"What is wrong with you, Beverly? The governor drags me out here with
accusations of your inappropriate activities. I get here and find you
looking worse than I've ever seen you. And you lie to me. To me. Your
best friend. You half beg me to stay, then disappear upstairs. I get
worried and come to help you and find you trying to drown yourself.
Now I want to know what is going on and so help me, Beverly Crusher,
no matter what we once meant to each other, if you lie to me I will
walk out that door and you will never see me again."

It was there, before her, the chance to save him while damning herself
to a lifetime of Ronin's cruel pleasures. It would be so easy. Just
one little lie. She opened her mouth, ready to end everything, and
found she could not speak.

She looked down, pulling the towel tighter and shivered. "I need to
get dressed."

But Picard had had enough. He'd been pushed to the limits these past
few months, stoically enduring the loss of Kirk, the Enterprise, his
brother and nephew. He'd held himself together through the memorials
and the Starfleet hearings and then, mere days after the hearings
ended, Beverly had walked out on him. Standing here in these intimate
surroundings, facing this woman he no longer knew, he reached the end
of his already frayed rope.

He grabbed her arm, swinging her around and pushing her back against
the wall. He gripped her wrists and pressed them back against the
wall, letting the towel fall to the floor unnoticed. He also didn't
notice the odd expression on Beverly's face, a mixture of fear and
anticipation.

"We will talk here. Now. You are not leaving this room until I have
answers."

She couldn't look into his eyes. She was too ashamed that he might see
how truly flawed she was. Better he think her a liar than know the
truth. She thought fast, trying to come up with a plausible lie,
something that would not hurt him anymore than necessary. Come on,
Beverly, think.

But Ronin didn't give her time to think. He was there, in her mind,
taunting her, mocking her and her knight in shining armor. He sent
flares of pain through her, making her wince. Send your little Romeo
on his way, Beverly, so we can be alone. Now waves of pleasure were
coursing through her body, making her skin tingle.

"Talk."

Picard tightened his grip, breaking through the pleasure, or maybe
adding to it, Beverly wasn't sure which.

"I... Jean-Luc.... I..." she broke off in a half- sob, half- gasp as
Ronin hurt her again. It was too much, all of it, the intensity of
emotions she'd felt; was feeling now. She'd spent her life losing
everything she cared about and now she must send away the one thing
she had left. The man she loved. The man she'd hurt so cruelly.

She slipped towards the crevasse that was madness, feeling an odd
sense of blackness. Perhaps it was best this way, after all, for
without senses, she would not care about hurting or being hurt. Yes,
that was best for everyone.

With her last clear thought, she looked into Jean-Luc's eyes and
whispered. "I'm sorry."

He wasn't sure what happened next, only that Beverly was howling. He
couldn't understand her words, if the odd sounds she was making were
words, and he couldn't understand the tone. He had only heard two
types of people make those sorts of sounds: those in the throes of an
intense orgasm and those dying horribly. He abruptly released her
hands, shocked, backing away. She was mad as a hatter she was, and it
terrified him.

He stood at the far end of the room, scared to come any closer, yet
compelled to watch in macabre fascination as she arched her back,
gasped, hit her head against the wall. Some memory tugged at his mind,
but the more he fought to capture it, the more elusive it became. And
still Beverly was keening, thrashing, banging her head back again and
again.

She spoke, her words finally clear, but mystifying. She screamed at
him to get out, to stay, to leave her alone, to help her, "no"s and
"yes"es and moans and sighs and cries all intermingling. Jean-Luc had
never seen her like this, not even when he told her Jack had died.
Over the past decade she had been his bedrock, a calm and level ground
which was always ready to absorb his troubles and fears. And now- -how
did she get like this? Why did it seem almost familiar?

Make him leave Ronin said, in her mind.

"No!"

"Beverly," Jean-Luc said, finally released from his stupor, "Stop it.
You are hurting yourself." Is this where all the bruises came from, he
wondered. Had she been hurting herself? He didn't have the time or the
energy to help her or heal her, but he couldn't leave when she was
like this. Not because of the feelings he had for her or their
history, but out of a sense of simple human dignity.

Send him away.

"I won't," she replied, and Ronin and Jean-Luc were each convinced she
was answering his own demand.

Ronin hurt her again, but she was too far gone to care. He had done
too much, and the what had driven her to her knees only days ago now
felt only like a surface scratch.

Jean-Luc slid down to the floor next to her and pulled her into his
lap, taking up the rhythm of her rocking while holding her arms
crossed against her chest to stop her from hurting herself. She looked
up at him, confused, whispering his name, and he realized that she
didn't even remember he was there. It was too much for him. He had
lost almost everything he ever had, and now he was watching himself
lose her as well.

He would not let her slip away from him, not like that. He would take
her back to Earth. He would seek out Troi. There were medical
facilities that could help her. But he would not leave her like this.

She was still squirming, trying to get away, trying, it seemed, to
hurt herself. Some distant corner of her mind knew how she must look,
and wanted to continue the self-inflicted pain, hoping she could make
herself pass out and earn a short respite. Then Ronin sent her
tumbling again, and she couldn't stop herself from writhing in
Jean-Luc's lap.

He felt her grinding against him, and try as he might he couldn't
fully stop his body from responding, though he knew it was wrong.
Roughly, he threw her off, dropping her to the floor, straddling her
naked body to keep her from resuming her self-destructive movements.

The knowledge of Picard's reactions infuriated Ronin, and he assaulted
Beverly with an ferocity unlike all his previous assaults. She was
absolutely mindless with pleasure and pain, and then Jean-Luc was
adding to both, slapping her to bring her out of her delirium, and she
was screaming at both the men to stop and not to stop, and pleading
for it all to end, and begging for more.

Merge with me, and I will stop.

"Yes, anything."

And then I will kill him.

"No!"

She was still bucking beneath Jean-Luc, and he was forcing himself not
to react. His weight felt sweet above her, tying her to reality. And
it was this small bit of joy she allowed herself which showed Ronin
the way to have her forever and be rid of the interfering human male.

You care for him.

Beyond speech, she only nodded.

You want him.

Did she? She once had, back when the world made sense. Did she still?
Ronin had crowded out everything else.

I said: You want him.

If Ronin said she did, she did. All feeling began and ended with
Ronin.

Then have him. Take him.

He let up the barrage of sensations, and her body stopped its wild
dance, laying, exhausted, on the floor. Jean-Luc stayed atop her,
waiting to see if her seizure was truly over or if she would start
again.

Take him!

She couldn't do that, she knew, though because of Ronin's
ministrations that was all she wanted to do. She knew that if she
approached Jean-Luc now, this way, he would stand up and leave her
forever. She disobeyed Ronin, remaining still, waiting for her
punishment.

His voice rang, deadly calm, in her mind. I will kill him.

Without speaking, she laughed. He kept saying that, but did nothing.
He wouldn't hurt Jean-Luc after all, she was sure of that. Absolutely
sure. Positive.

Until the green light crackled around him, as it had so many months
ago. Both the humans screamed out, simultaneously. "Ronin!" Jean-Luc
was still straddling her, held immobile by the green light and the
indescribable pain it brought. Then his weight was gone. Beverly
watched in horror as he was half carried, half flung up and away from
her. He hit the wall with a thud and remained there, his body
suspended. The green light still surrounded him, but Beverly could
clearly see the agony in his eyes.

---

"Ronin, stop this!"  She rose as quickly as she was able.   The horror
of seeing her dearest friend being hurt the way  she herself had been
so many times was too much.   From somewhere within herself she found
a wellspring of  strength.  There was no hope of her escaping Ronin's
control, but she would do anything, sacrifice anything to keep
Jean-Luc safe.  Spreading her arms wide she cried,  "Ronin, I offer
myself willingly for the merging, if you stop this now."

He was in her mind again, nearly snarling in his contempt.  "Such a
noble sacrifice, my lovely Beverly.  Giving yourself to me to save
your white knight."

The green light vanished, and Jean-Luc crumpled to the floor gasping.
Then Ronin was beside him, dragging him to his feet.  "You'd rather
have this?"  the anaphasic being shook Jean-Luc for emphasis, "when
you could have a lifetime of pleasure with me?"

He tossed the limp man aside contemptuously.  His next  words were
carefully measured. "What has happened to your  mind, Beverly?  No
real Howard woman would refuse me."   He stood before her, gripping
her arms, "But you're no  Howard, you're nothing but a bastard child,
the product of a whore."  He sneered at the hurt in her eyes.  He may
have inured her to physical pain, but she was still able to feel the
pain of his verbal assault.  Wonderful.  "I wouldn't sully myself by
merging with you if your mother hadn't been stupid enough to get
herself killed before producing a legitimate child."

He touched her hair, her face, her naked flesh as if to prove he owned
her completely, that no part of her would be free from Ronin's
control.  "She knew better than to defy me."  He touched Beverly's
head, petting her.  "She was so much stronger than you,  my lovely.
It took weeks longer to make her agree to the merging."

"It was a scene much like this one actually, but she didn't refuse me
when I told her to take her lover, Paul.  They were together for
months at my insistence, until it was quite clear you were on the way.
Then one day he tried to take Isabel away." Ronin sighed, "A pity he
didn't survive the attempt.   Unfortunately, your mother took it
rather hard.  She was quite mad by the time you were born.  Even then
she resisted me.  I'm afraid I overestimated her will to live."  Ronin
sighed, stroking Beverly's face.  "I expect it won't be much longer
before you're as insane as your mother." He shook his head.  "An
unfortunate price for resisting me."

"Shut up!"  Beverly pulled herself roughly out of his grip.  "Just
shut up.  Stop your filthy lying.  You're the one who's insane,
manipulating my family for generations, leeching off them, hurting
them.  You revel in your ability to inflict pain, you sick bastard,
and I will stop you."

"Oh, but little Beverly, you've already tried - and failed.  And you
will pay for that.  But not today."  Ronin grabbed her hair and forced
her to her knees.  For one terrifying moment Beverly thought he was
going to make her submit to his special punishment,  making her take
him in her mouth in front of Jean-Luc.  Instead, he leered down at
her.  "You won't stop me Beverly, because I'm going to give you what
your heart desires.  I'm going to give you to Picard."  He smiled at
the faint glimmer of hope under her doubt and fear. "All you have to
do is remain here until you produce a daughter. I will merge with her
and you will be free."  He pushed her away, the force propelling her
down onto her stomach so that her head was near Jean-Luc's barely
conscious  form.  "Go on, crawl to him, seduce him.  I want to watch."

She could not do this, she knew. She couldn't use Jean-Luc  this way
and she absolutely refused to breed a daughter for Ronin's sick
pleasures. But she had to have time--time to heal Jean-Luc, time to
figure out how to escape and how, finally and forever, to kill Ronin.

"I can't do this, Ronin." The green light began to surround Jean-Luc,
and Beverly hastened to add, "He'll be of no use to me like this.
He'll need to recover from the exposure to anaphasic energy."

*The energy never hurt you--unless I wanted it to. I will heal your
fool for you.* The energy again surrounded Picard, but it appeared as
a soft blanket, wrapping him, soothing. When the energy field
dissipated, Jean-Luc opened his eyes.

"Ronin?"

A burst of pain twisted through Beverly's mind. She knew  what she had
to do. "He's not here."

"Beverly, what is going on? Was Ronin here? How? I  thought...Did he
do all this to you?"

She did not answer, would not lie to him. She silently begged him to
stop even asking.

Jean-Luc sat up, glaring down at her. "Did he do this to you?"

Again, she remained silent.

A third time he asked, screaming at her, gripping her arms. "Did he do
this to you?"

This time, he got an answer, or what could pass for one, a  small
moan. He gently lifted her head and laid it in his lap, stroking her
hair. "I am sorry, Beverly. I should have realized you wouldn't leave
as you did unless something was very wrong."

*Just a few minutes more of this,* Beverly promised herself, *a few
minutes more of simple pleasures--peace, no pain, a friend. A few
minutes more and then I'll think of a way out of here.* He was still
stroking her hair, and it felt so good, this small show of tenderness.
She turned her head from side to side to catch some more of the
gesture, to anticipate and prolong it.

Beverly's motions were becoming very distracting to Jean- Luc. He was
sitting on a bedroom floor with a naked woman  turning against him in
a very provocative manner; his  reactions were perfectly normal, if
extremely ill-timed under the circumstances. He nudged her and helped
her to sit up; she blinked distractedly, uncertainly why he had moved
her.

*Very good, little Beverly,* beamed Ronin. *You've gotten  him
interested. You're one step closer to freedom.* In  reward, and as
reminder of who truly owned her, he allowed  her a small frisson of
pleasure.

"Beverly," Jean-Luc interrupted her thoughts, "we have to  talk.
Explain to me what's going on."

"There isn't time," she answered. "Jean-Luc, do you care for me, even
a little?"

"Of course I do, you know that. You're my best friend. You  know that
I..." Even now he couldn't say aloud how he felt  about her. "I care
for you."

"And I care for you--more than you could know. Promise me  something,
Jean-Luc."

He took her hand. "Anything."

She gulped; this would be the hardest thing she had ever  done; it
might well be the last thing she'd ever do. "No matter what I say, no
matter how I act--if you care for me Jean-Luc, if you care at all,
promise me that you will never, never, make love with me."

In her mind, Ronin began to howl, coursing pain as she had  never
known it through her veins. The energy crackled and  flowed around
her, drawing Jean-Luc into its web as well,  sending his unprotected,
incompatible mind down a well of  darkness and terror.

He was falling, plummeting downward, but there was no  wind, no
motion, nothing but the sense of descending,  unable to stop himself
and afraid that he might never stop.  Around him was darkness and
inside, the feeling of heat.  It was almost pleasant at first, like
that first swallow of hot tea burning against the throat, but it grew,
increasing intensity until it felt like flames covering him, consuming
him. And still he was falling.

Stop!  he screamed silently, his mind closing in on itself in fear.
And descent ended, stopping as if he had landed on something, or been
thrown against it.  It hurt, but in the best way, because it was a
sensation he could understand.  He curled in on himself and relished
the pain.  Until, suddenly, it stopped.

There was nothing.  Then slowly, slowly, a faint tingle, tiny
pinpricks of pleasure/pain growing, pulsing, throbbing until it beat a
crescendo against his head.  It seemed to scream "Let me go!" over and
over again until he wanted to weep for the desperation  of it.  "Let
me go!"

In a distant part of himself, he found comfort in the  screaming.  He
knew this, understood it, lived it.  This  desperate pleading was him.
Victim.

How he hated that weakness.  He had been strong and  proud and
inviolate, and they had taken all of that from him, then demanded so
much more.  And, as if it were a voice whispering in his mind he heard
//RageAngerFearHatred// and then //Revenge// and he smiled.  Because
the voice was right. Revenge.

He felt softness beneath him and knew his surroundings  suddenly, as
if waking from a vivid nightmare.  His hand  touched silk and he
lifted himself up slowly and looked down.  Beverly.

She was awake, staring straight up at him and whimpering.   She made
no effort to move as he slid away from her.   //Look// the voice
urged, and he did, studying her with clinical interest, noting the
injuries that covered her but feeling nothing.  Until the voice said
//Victim//

He was over her in a minute, nearly snarling, hand raised to strike.
//Stop// the voice demanded, and he complied.  //Felisa// the voice
suggested, insinuating the meaning within his mind.  Yes, he agreed,
the bedroom.  Roughly he hauled Beverly to her feet and pulled her
from the room.  She didn't help or resist his efforts.  Until he
propelled her into Nana's room.

She didn't waste the effort to speak.  Her Jean-Luc would not hear.
The man beside her, raging at her feeble efforts to get away, was
Ronin's as surely as she was.  There would be no help here.  Better to
submit, to let the image of her  beloved Jean-Luc claim her than to
fight and be forced.  For surely that, the feel of him over her,
taking her against her every protest would be more than she could
endure.  

A calm settled over her and she wasn't even aware of being  lifted
onto Nana's bed.  It would be over soon.  She turned her head to look,
watching as Jean-Luc climbed onto the bed beside her. His mouth took
hers hard, but she didn't resist. It would all be over soon, and the
flames of Hades would claim her.

And suddenly she knew what she had to do.  She had to  burn. Now,
while she was alive and he was inside her.  And  not just her, but
Nana too.  There could be no chance for the monster to survive.

She threw her arms around Jean-Luc, feeling not hard kisses and rough
touch, but the sweet caresses and tender kisses she always dreamed of.
A tear escaped her eye.  Good-bye, she said in her head, not able to
say it aloud for fear of warning Ronin.   I love you, Jean-Luc.

Above her, driven by the voice inside his mind, Jean-Luc  gripped her
wrists tighter and forced her legs apart.  //She made you a victim.//
the voice whispered, and then.  //Revenge//

He sat back, removing his clothing while watching her.  The voice sang
a litany of her transgressions.  She hadn't rescued him from the Borg.
She had left him for the Cardassians.  She had abandoned him after
Kesprytt.  She had taken Jack away.  She had  refused him but slept
with Will.  She had made him a victim.

He straddled her again, his body ready to exact his revenge.  But
something stopped him, made him hesitate.

The voice buffeted him, demanding, deriding his weakness.   But
Jean-Luc, this close to losing himself, had little armor left against
the assault with its maddening mix of pleasure/pain and its agony of
emotion.  And strangely, that lack of armor was his  strongest
defense.   Without that armor, that rigid, inflexible sense of self
that Jean-Luc depended on to shield himself, Ronin had nothing to
grasp.  Jean-Luc was not a Howard, Ronin could not control him as he
could Beverly.  The voice faded, then became nothing more than a
murmur.

"Let me go!"

Jean-Luc's senses returned, and he was suddenly aware of  the residual
pain from Ronin's anaphasic energy blast.  He  felt refreshingly sane
after the madness of everything since his arrival on Caldos a few
hours ago and had to suppress the urge to laugh. Until he realized
where he was--on a bed with Beverly  spread out beneath him, and he
pulled away from her as  though from a hornet's nest.

The voice in his head had sounded so right, had known  things he had
never admitted to himself. When had he begun  to think of Beverly that
way? Was that why he had never  allowed himself to get closer; not the
trumped up excuse of a guilt which should have died with Jack, but
this naming of Beverly as the source of his troubles?

And Beverly--she was lying there, prepared to give herself to him,
anyway he chose to take her. More than that--her eyes shone with
anticipation. She wanted to give herself to him, now, like this, more
than she ever had wanted before. The only thing which stilled the
small voice of disgust in his mind was the idea that he was now so
attractive simply as an alternative to Ronin, or as a channel to
freedom.

He had to win her that freedom, but not at the price Ronin  demanded.
He was Jean-Luc Picard, and he would find a  way to release her from
the bonds of this madness, but he  would not give Ronin a small
hostage in exchange.

Jean-Luc rose from the bed, roughly throwing the cover over Beverly,
putting her body out of temptations' reach. He quickly donned his
trousers and stepped over to the doorway, calling for Ronin as he left
the room.

The creature coalesced in his corporeal form. "I'm not going anywhere
with you, and you're not leaving."

"I'm leaving this room, and if you want anything from me,  you'll
follow," Picard sneered.

Ronin sneered right back. "I'll just stay and play with our fair
Beverly."

Picard walked up to Ronin, standing so close they could feel each
other's breath on their faces. "And you'll never get what you want.
Not from her, and not from me. You need us more than we need you." He
looked over at Beverly, who had retreated into herself again. "We're
prepared to die. Are you?"

"She already tried to kill me. It won't work."

"I don't know how you survived, but I do know this. She is the last of
the Howard women. When she dies, without having merged with you,
without your damned candle, will you be strong enough to find another
family to haunt?" Jean-Luc walked back to the do orway. "I can leave
now, or you can come downstairs and we can talk about this, man to
man." He had seen the things Ronin did, had felt the anger and
misogyny coursing through the creature. He had to get him away from
Beverly at any cost.

Ronin stepped closer to the bedside, and Picard braced  himself for
action. For all his bravado, if Ronin didn't leave with him, he would
stay, too--he couldn't leave Beverly alone with this monster. Ronin
towered over Beverly, who was too exhausted, physically and
emotionally, to react. He warned her to stay put until he allowed her
to leave the bed, and sent a long shudder through her body, as a
reminder to both her and Picard that he could use her as he wished. He
considered having her again, there in front of the valiant idiot who
thought he could thwart a centuries-old tradition, but decided against
that. That could always be done later, but for now, he was curious
what the human male had to say.

He joined Picard at the doorway, and together they walked  downstairs,
into the kitchen. Assuming a bravado he didn't  really feel, Jean-Luc
calmly set about preparing lunch for  himself and Beverly, making
Ronin wait and cool his heels.  Finally, the creature could stand the
suspense no longer. It had been such a long time since he had needed
to deal with anyone he could not control. Usually, he would just kill
such an impediment, as he had killed Ned Quint, but Picard was
right--he needed this human male. Beverly was the last of her line,
and who knew if that boy of hers would ever have a daughter? It was a
chance he could not take, not when a better solution was right here
before him. "You said you wanted to talk," he spat at  Jean-Luc.
"Talk. Or I will go upstairs and talk to Beverly."

"Is that the best you can do? Threats?" Picard didn't even  bother to
turn and face Ronin.

"It's always worked before."

"Has it? I don't see that Beverly merged with you, and you  seem to
have threatened her quite enough for that." Ronin  did not answer;
there was no answer to give.

"And yet," Picard continued, "she was ready to give herself to me,
even when you controlled my thoughts. I find that quite interesting,
don't you?"

"I find you quite annoying."

"Yes, but you need me. You know you'll never merge with  Beverly, and
yet you want to live. You need me to help you. And what do I get in
return?"

"What you've always wanted," whispered that silky voice  which had
seduced generations of Howard women.  "Beverly."

Ronin's seductiveness was lost on Jean-Luc. "I can have her anytime I
want. I've lost count of the number of times she's offered herself to
me. Even after we left Caldos, just after she killed you...It's me
she's wanted all along, never you. She just allowed you to seduce her
because I wouldn't take her." He was pushing beyond the edges of
truth, but he needed to safeguard Beverly, no matter what it cost him.

"You wouldn't take her because you hate her," Ronin  snarled,
remembering the deeply buried emotions he had  uncovered when he
controlled the captain's mind and body.

"Perhaps. Maybe it's just that she's too willing." He finally turned
to look at Ronin, affecting a man-to-man attitude. "A bit of a
challenge is nice now and then, isn't it? But now? You've broken her
spirit. No challenge at all." He turned back to his  cooking.

"And if I stop influencing her?" Ronin asked.

"I might consider an...arrangement..."

Ronin had seen enough of the man before him to know when  he was being
lied to. Nothing would make Picard yield to  him. No persuasion would
sway him, and releasing Beverly  from the spell he had woven around
her might attract Picard, but would not give him a new Howard woman to
possess.

He considered how to punish the two of them. Again he  thought of
forcing her to submit and forcing her hero to  watch, and then he
abruptly realized that he had been living as a pseudo-human for far
too long. He was not a man, a lover of women. He was an energy
creature, formless and genderless. He could do anything he wanted to
Beverly--or to Jean-Luc. He could punish them both, humiliate them,
hurt them as he was being hurt. It galled to hear this Picard remind
him that his life was at their mercy; he would make them realize that
their's was at his.

The only questions which remained was what to do, and  whom it would
hurt more to be used, whom it would hurt  more to be forced to
witness. A slow smile spread on the  false face of the creature as the
answer came to him.

This would be worth savoring he decided.  Yes, definitely  worth
prolonging.  After all, once you broke one of your toys, it was never
as much fun.   He'd been so angry with Beverly for nearly destroying
him that he'd forgotten how much more fun it was to seduce rather than
to coerce.  Far better to have her surrender to his wishes thinking it
was of her own free will.  And she would surrender.  They both would.

Ronin leaned back in the chair and smiled.  He watched  Picard finish
making the meal and place it on the table.   It was simple, just some
of that soup that all his women  seemed to like with some dry bread
and glasses of tea for  both.  He was amused that Picard didn't even
offer a  bowl to him.  No matter, he didn't eat like weakling humans
did and it would be so satisfying to watch them as he planned his next
move.

---
Love's Recovery
---

It was Beverly that finally returned Jean-Luc to his senses.  She was
coughing, softly at first, then deep body wrenching barks that were
painful to hear.  He looked up from his position, towering over Ronin,
beating him much as he imagined Ronin had beaten Beverly. Unlike
Beverly, Ronin hadn't resisted the assault.

Ronin simply looked at him, waiting for the next blow.  Jean-Luc
backed away as if burned.  "No,"  he whispered, "no."  His whole sense
of self shifted dangerously.  He was Jean-Luc Picard, a Starfleet
officer, a diplomat, a man of peace.  He was not someone who would
beat an unresisting being.  He was a man of peace!

He turned to Beverly, searching for his anchor.  He needed her
strength, her unshakable sense of self.  He found a shattered child,
too weak even to sit up.  "No!" he cried, and suddenly found himself
on his knees. "Beverly!"

Another fit of coughing shook her and Beverly understood that she was
dying.  Not the glorious oh-so-noble self-sacrifice that came quickly
when you didn't expect it.  Not like Jack.  This was the slow leeching
away of a life that she suddenly wanted  desperately to continue.
She'd been so wrong, so very wrong.  And now she would die.

She forced her eyes open one last time, needing to see everything,
Ronin, Jean-Luc, Nana.  It didn't matter what they looked like now,
she saw them only as she wished, vibrant and loving.  The smell of her
burnt flesh faded, replaced by the scent of flowers and herbs. Beverly
felt the cold that had chilled her into her bones change into a
glowing warmth.  She managed a smile.  So it ends.

"Beverly!"

The name was torn from two throats simultaneously.  Jean-Luc raced to
her side, taking up her arm,  feeling her wrist for a pulse. Faint.
Fading.

Ronin rose, dirt and wet grass clinging to him.  He went to Beverly's
side, ignoring Jean-Luc, and studied the limp woman.  Still alive. He
melted into his cloud form and surrounded her, healing her, keeping
her alive, not caring about the energy he was expending. Without
Beverly he would be dead anyway.

After an agonizing wait, Jean-Luc heard Beverly sigh.  Her eyelids
fluttered open, then closed and she slept.  Slowly Ronin withdrew and
took human form beside her.

"She is alive for now."

Something in his voice drew Picard's attention.  Ronin looked older
and very pale. "What's wrong with you?"

"I need to merge with a host, Captain.  My candle was destroyed. I've
survived most of the past year in Felisa's decaying corpse. Beverly
fought me, forcing me to expend too much of myself.  Stopping the
fire, saving her, have cost me dearly."

"You're dying?"  Jean-Luc was shocked.  All Beverly had talked about
was killing this creature.  It seemed she had succeeded.

Ronin nodded slowly, looking at Beverly, then at the captain. "Ironic,
is it not?  I only wanted to love her, to care for her, I now I will
have cost us both our lives."  He dropped to his knees facing Felisa
Howard's grave.

"Forgive me, my love.  Forgive me."

This was all too much for Jean-Luc.  He sat down gracelessly and shook
his head.  Reaching out, he cradled Beverly's injured hands in his.

"Let me understand this -  you lure Beverly here, haunt her, abuse
her, tell her lies about her family and then drive her to attempt
suicide.  Then you save her and risk your life to heal her?  Why?"

Ronin shook his head slowly.  "I don't know,"  he admitted at last.
"I never wanted to hurt her, even when she destroyed my candle and
left me to die."  Ronin held his hand out to Jean-Luc appealing to him
for understanding. "Felisa was my lover for many years, Captain.  And
I loved her as much or more than all of my previous women.  Captain, I
kept Felisa going after Isabel's death.  I helped her raise Beverly,
although not in the usual sense.  I loved her.  I loved them both."

Ronin stood, walking over to Beverly, seeing she was conscious and
awake.  He petted her, careful not to hurt her.  "Can you imagine what
it was like, living inside of Felisa, feeling her dying?  Knowing that
the woman you love will be gone and you will die and that there's not
a damn thing you can do about it?"  Emotions choked the being and he
took a moment to calm himself.

"When I sensed Beverly, I thought I was saved.  I thought I would have
love and life again.  And I thought I would fulfill my promise to
Felisa."  Ronin looked away for a moment.  "I never imagined she would
try to destroy me."

"The phaser blast scattered my energy.  It took me days to regain my
consciousness.  When I had, I searched for someone else who would be
compatible.  There was no one.  My only choice, my one hope for
survival was to merge with Felisa again and wait for  Beverly.  I
never expected it would take so long."

"All that time, I was trapped in that coffin, slowly dying.  When I
sensed Beverly was here, I tried to contact her but she was too angry
and upset to listen to me.  I tried to make her listen, but things got
out of hand."  Ronin leaned over Beverly, his expression one of sorrow
and deep regret.  "I never meant to hurt you, my love.  I was
frightened and angry and you were so angry, too."

Ronin looked directly at Jean-Luc.  "It wasn't all me.  Hurting her,
forcing her.  She responded to it, wanted it.  That's why she
responded to you when you were assaulting her."

Jean-Luc looked at the anaphasic being and realized he was right. Odd,
how it took an outsider to reveal truths in a cold light, to teach
lessons one had always feared to learn. His whole relationship with
this woman he had loved for so long would need to be examined, if she
lived.

If she lived. They had to get her to an infirmary. Now that it
appeared Ronin could be reasoned with, there was no more reason to
allow Beverly this sacrifice. "We have to get help for her."

"I can't help you," Ronin lamented. He had driven her to this, and
now, all three lives were doomed. His and Beverly's physically, and
Picard's--his would lose all meaning without the woman they both
loved.

Jean-Luc considered. Beverly was too badly burned to be carried, and
he had seen no ground transport at the Howard home, nor any along the
way. "There is a small Starfleet liaison office on the colony, and
they have transport facilities. I'll go back to the house and contact
them. You...do what you can to keep her safe."

"I will try, Picard, but I can not perform miracles."

"Will you be able to transport to the infirmary with Beverly?"

"I don't know. I will try, but I may be too weak. The transport may
kill me."  He dissolved into his energy form, too weak to maintain a
body. "I will try."

Picard took off at a run, and it wasn't until he had arranged for
Beverly's transport that he realized what he had done. Had he been
mad, leaving Beverly alone with Ronin? It was only hours ago that the
creature had raped her, had also convinced him to rape Beverly, had
threatened to sell her to Orion slavers, and had driven her to this
suicidal act. What had he been thinking of, to trust Beverly with him
when she was at her most vulnerable?

He called in some more favors, arranging for his own transport to the
infirmary. Beverly had been placed in stasis until skin clones could
be grown, not to cover all her burns (that would take weeks) but
enough to save her from fatal infection. He paced the halls, but Ronin
did not make his presence known. Should he chase the Howard family
ghost? It might be futile; if there was any justice in the universe,
the creature had died, and when Beverly was better, the two of them
could forget all this had ever happened, that they had ever seen the
truth and the secrets.

After an hour, the pacing wore Jean-Luc out. It would be many more
hours before Beverly would be allowed to see anyone, and in the
meantime he was not endearing himself to the busy medical staff. They
were fighting to save Beverly's life, and he was in the way. He left
the building, walking seemingly aimlessly, but knowing he would return
to the graveyard.

As he opened the cemetery gate he called out for his counterpart and
enemy. A weak voice answered him, unseen, from by Felisa's grave.

"You didn't go to the infirmary."

"I couldn't. The energy was too strong. How is Beverly?"

"I think she'll live."

"Will they be able to repair the damage?" Ronin asked. "Will they be
able to make her as beautiful as before?"

"I hadn't thought to ask. What does it matter, so long as she lives?"

"It would matter to her." Ronin spoke from his own experience. "You
have no idea what it is like, day after day, year after year, to look
in the mirror and not see yourself, see some stranger. There are
things you'll never understand, Picard."

"And you do?" His ire was rising again. He had been Beverly's friend
for decades. Who was this alien to tell him what was and what was not
important to his best friend? And why did what Ronin say sound so
right? Again, as so many times before, Picard switched tracks,
maneuvering sharply away from that which came too close.

"You're dying."

The voice which was Ronin replied. "Yes. Are you glad?"

"Shouldn't I be?"

"I may be the last of my kind. I'm almost certainly the only anaphasic
lifeform of my type you'll ever meet, and you've helped me--helped me
kill myself."

How did Ronin know how to push every one of Picard's buttons,
appealing to every instinct he had cultivated over his long career? He
could not let this species die out for his own personal, petty
revenge. Even for Beverly. Surely there was a way to save Ronin while
keeping him from merging with the last of the Howard women.

The candle. Of course. It was plasma based, wasn't it? And there was
plasma in the weather station, plasma he knew Ronin could live in,
having done it before. Getting the plasma, though, meant getting
permission from Governor Maturin.

After reassuring himself that Ronin would try to hold on and stay
alive (after all, he had gone to outrageous lengths to stay alive
before, he wouldn't give up easily now, especially after Picard
reminded him Beverly might need his help to heal) he hurried back to
the Howards' home and its comm unit.

It didn't surprise him that Maturin refused his first call, or his
second; they were made more for form's sake than results, allowing the
governor a chance for payback. On the third call, Picard bullied his
way past a half dozen clerks and undersecretaries to speak directly
with Maturin.

"I see you've taken care of the Beverly Crusher situation," he said,
with no preamble.

"In a manner of speaking," Picard replied.

"So well, in fact, that she's now lying in the hospital with third
degree burns over 68% of her body. What amazes me is how highly
Starfleet thinks of the two of you."

Jean-Luc needed a favor from the pompous little bureaucrat, and so he
let the sting whiz by, unremarked. "I need to take some plasma from
the weather grid."

"I remember what happened last time you people messed with my weather
system. The rain ruined the most important caber toss of the year."

Picard fought hard to keep his eyes from rolling, and wondered how he
had gotten stuck, throughout his career, with placating so many
provincial, petty politicians. He waited Maturin out, waited for the
decision.

"All right, all right. Take a little--a *little*, mind you, now-- and
on one condition."

Picard bit back his retort.  He would repay the governor for his
insults later when Beverly was no longer in danger.  Right now the
only thing that mattered was getting that plasma as quickly as
possible.

"Your condition, Governor?"

"I want you and Beverly Crusher off my planet, Captain, as fast as
possible.  And I don't expect to ever see either of you again."

"I can't speak for Beverly, Governor, but I will be glad to leave
Caldos as soon as Beverly is well again.  I'll arrange to collect the
plasma myself, Governor.  Thank you for your help.  Picard out."

Thank you for your help, Picard muttered after the connection was
terminated, more like thank you for nothing.  Forcing his mind back to
the matter at hand, he called for transport to the weather station.

The junior officers manning the Starfleet liaison office were
awestruck at meeting the great Captain Picard and were more than happy
to assist him and Dr. Crusher.  Picard suspected they were also very
grateful for the excitement.  Caldos wasn't exactly a choice posting.
For once he was glad for the recognition of being the captain of the
Federation flagship. Even if he didn't currently have a ship.

Securing the plasma in its inelegant silver container took longer that
he had hoped, and Picard was sure he detected Maturin's influence at
work. He definitely owed that man a visit.  But for now, materializing
back at the Howard home, Picard 's only concern was getting to the
cemetery.

He hadn't dared to ask the liaison officer to beam direct  - Maturin
would have a field day with that - so he found himself walking rapidly
through the fading daylight towards the cemetery alternately hoping
that Ronin would still be alive or that he would be too late and the
anaphasic being would already be dead.

Setting the heavy plasma container down with a clang, Picard stepped
up to Felisa's grave.  He called quietly, over and over, but Ronin did
not answer. Jean-Luc found himself suddenly weak, not knowing if it
was from sorrow or relief.  He sat beside Felisa Howard's grave,
placed his head in his hands and thought of nothing.

Only to be awoken by an insistent angry whispering.

"... damn fool, wake up!."

"Ronin."

"Yes.  You were gone long enough.  I thought you weren't coming back."
The being's voice was weak.  "Open the container Picard, unless you
went to all that trouble just to torture me as I die."

Picard hurried over to the plasma container and opened it slightly.
He heard a hissing sound and then what could only be a sigh of
pleasure. He closed the container again, feeling like he'd trapped a
genie, and smiled just a little.

By the time he returned to Beverly's house, the ground transport he
had requested was waiting.  He thanked the ensign profusely, then
allowed himself a call to the hospital.  Beverly had been removed from
the critical list but she was still in guarded condition and no he
could not see her until late tomorrow at the earliest and goodnight
captain click.

Then he was alone in the silent dark house surrounded by the smell of
burnt flesh and dried herbs.  It was a disquieting odor. Having
nowhere else to go and few favors left to call in, he tried to
distract himself by exploring the house.

The downstairs was untouched by the fire, as were the stairs and what
must have been Beverly's room.  He spent some time there trying to
imagine the room as it had been while she lived in it.  It was a
lovely fantasy.  But that odor ruined it.

He walked the rest of the way down the hall, ignoring closed doors
that led to unknown places.  He had to see the room.

She had started the fire in the bed.  Its linens and mattress were
gone as were the drapes.  The frame had fallen and was little more
than a heap of wood and ashes. The braided rug beside the bed where
Beverly had stood, arms outstretched, was almost all gone, just a few
fragments of charred fabric remained.  Beneath was the blackened floor
miraculously still intact.  The rest of the furniture was all still
standing, though showing varying degree of fire damage.  The closet
across from the bed was open and all of the clothing was charred.  A
black starburst pattern framed both windows, as though Ronin had drawn
the fire out through them before extinguishing it.

Picard started to gasp, struggling for air, as the experiences of the
past 24 hours struck his conscious all at once.  Of all the horrible
sights, the image that wouldn't leave was that of Beverly, surrounded
by flame. It was exactly as he had imagined Robert and Renee had
looked, trapped in that burning barn.

It was well into the early morning hours before Jean-Luc was able to
move from his vigil in the bathroom, sitting in that room where first
he had seen Beverly abused, and then had seen her burning.  Those
images played over and over in his mind until he was finally too
exhausted to feel the horror and fear any longer. Then he went
downstairs, extinguished the fire in the fireplace and wept.

It was midmorning when he awoke, groggy and not at all rested. He
cleaned up as best he could in the small half bath downstairs refusing
even to consider entering the upstairs bathroom again. After a forcing
himself to eat a substantial breakfast, he called  the hospital and
arranged to visit Beverly at 2pm.

Opening the plasma container, he called to Ronin.  He was greeted by
"How is Beverly?"

"A little better.  I can see her this afternoon.  How are you?"

"Much better.  I am nowhere near my full strength, but I do not need
as long as a human to heal.  I can survive in this plasma until
Beverly and I merge."

"Are you strong enough to heal her?"

"Not completely.  Not yet.  I won't be able to handle the cosmetic
damage yet, but I can help her to heal faster."  The disembodied voice
paused, then asked, "How will you get me to her?  You can't exactly
carry this container through the hospital."

"No, but I can replicate a candle, like the one Beverly had, and put
you and the plasma into it."

"Excellent."

It took a little work to design the candle but Jean-Luc was glad for
the diversion.  When it was done, Ronin was pleased with the results.
Jean-Luc made himself eat a light lunch, then drove slowly into town
to see Beverly.

He walked slowly into the hospital carrying the candle and some
flowers. The receptionist informed him that Beverly had been moved to
a private room - something Jean-Luc had insisted on.  She was still
listed as being in guarded condition, but responding  well to
treatment.

Picard followed the directions he was given and finally found
Beverly's room. He opened the door slowly and swallowed hard several
times to calm himself.

A blanket covered her up to her chest, leaving only her arms, face and
neck exposed, and most of the skin in these areas was covered by
dermaplast or bandages.  He thought she looked a little like a mummy.

He fussed with the flowers he brought, unable to sit still and look at
her deathly pale face swathed in strips of cloth.  Shifting a few
items aside he placed the candle on nightstand next to her bed and
softly called for Ronin.

Anaphasic energy surrounded Beverly, soothing and healing her, driving
out slight infections and some of the pain.  The relief he brought
made Beverly sigh audibly.  For a moment, Picard thought he saw her
eyelids flutter, but she merely shifted position  and continued
sleeping.

After ten, then fifteen and finally twenty minutes had passed and
Ronin still had not withdrawn, Picard ordered him out, careful to keep
his voice low.  Ronin replied that he would be better able to heal
Beverly if he could remain in her overnight. Picard considered the
options.  Was Ronin just healing her or was he forcing her to merge
while she was too weak to resist?

Again he called to Ronin. This was absurd, he decided. He was talking
to thin air; he probably looked like a complete fool, or at least like
a man who didn't realize imaginary friends were a thing best left
behind in childhood.

"Don't you want what's best for Beverly?"

"Of course I do."

"Then let me heal her!"

"You don't want to heal her, you want to use her, as you've used her
entire family!" Picard hissed.

"Yes, I do," Ronin insisted, but Picard was unsure which half of the
accusation he was insisting upon. "I promised not to merge until she
accepted me," the voice clarified.

"But she did, back at the cemetery. She said 'yes.' I heard her." For
some reason, Jean-Luc felt obligated to play devil's advocate.

"She was weak, she was hurt. I manipulated her."

"Yes, you did. And I want to make sure it won't happen again."

"It won't," Ronin promised.

"Not good enough, damn it, not good enough!"

"Then join us. You'll know everything that happens."

Jean-Luc shrunk back, remembering his previous exposures to anaphasic
energy.

"I won't hurt you, I promise."

"Why should I believe you?"

Ronin gave him the least logical but most convincing argument
possible: because, ultimately, Beverly had.

Following Ronin's instructions, he placed his hand over Beverly's
breasts, where the skin had first been grafted. He tried to rest
lightly, both for fear of causing her pain and for knowledge of just
where his hand lay. He then closed his eyes and tried to relax his
mind, to concentrate on Ronin's actions.

His mind filled with a vortex of color and light. It grew in
intensity, deeper and faster, spinning him round and round, out of
control. With a yelp of pain he pulled his hand away from Beverly,
cutting himself off from her and from Ronin.

Ronin said nothing, either too absorbed in healing Beverly to speak or
too disdainful of Picard to mention his absence. Minutes passed, as
Jean-Luc tried not to analyze what he had felt, or what was happening.
All he knew for certain was that he was experiencing a growing urge to
touch Beverly again. Whether it was to reassure himself that she still
lived, for the vicarious pleasure of touching her, or to once again
have the vortex fill his mind he was uncertain. Could this be the
start of the addiction which had claimed the Howard women? Did it
matter? Beverly needed Ronin's help and Ronin needed Beverly's. He had
to act as chaperone to make sure that Beverly got what she needed
while keeping Ronin from getting what he wanted.

Once again he laid his hand over her breasts, in the spot where Ronin
had assured him would cause no harm or pain. Again the vortex swirled,
drawing him in, but this time he offered it no resistance. Something
tingled along his skin, like chills, like the feeling of a hesitant
lover's caress. Abruptly, Jean-Luc opened his eyes. "Ronin?"

The voice was more a physical than aural sensation, silky, warm.
"Shhh. Help me heal her." Jean-Luc complied, allowing himself to be
drawn further into the sensations. They were sensual, but not sexual.
He remembered how Beverly had looked when he had first interrupted her
in her home the year before--the sensations he was feeling now, as
pleasant as they were, could not have  produced that reaction. He
allowed himself to be pulled further into the link, confident that
Ronin was not attempting to merge with her.

At eight, a nurse came in to send him away; the patient needed
undisturbed sleep. But it appeared that the visitor had fallen asleep
himself, soft sighs escaping his lips now and then. Through the
curtains, the moonlight shone with a soft green sheen, illuminating
the touching scene. She hesitated before waking the man, checking the
monitors above the patient's bed. The improvement in Crusher's
condition was miraculous. She noticed the man's hand on the woman's
body, and somewhere in her wild Celtic heart she attributed the
miracle to love.

In a way, she was right, but she had underestimated how much love,
and in how many permutations, was healing Beverly Crusher.

During the night, as together they guided Beverly towards healing,
Ronin and Jean-Luc talked. Something in his historian's soul had to
take advantage of this time, this chance to talk with a man who had
lived through centuries of wars, of truces, of arts and literature,
for whom what to Jean-Luc was history was his life. They discovered a
mutual love for detective fiction and Shakespeare, and a mutual terror
of the Howard propensity toward public performances.

---

It was late the next morning when he returned to the hospital.  He
was delighted to find Beverly awake.  She smiled at him, clasping his
hand with her own.  He looked at it in wonder, the skin as flawless
and unscarred as it had been before the fire.  He found himself
swallowing hard several times to clear the lump from his throat.

"How are you?" he managed to ask.

"I am glad to be alive," she answered, her voice telling him she meant
it wholeheartedly.

"Where is Ronin?"

"I don't know.  He left a little while ago, saying something about act
2. He was feeling very self satisfied."

Jean-Luc pulled his chair close, still holding Beverly's hand.
"Beverly, I need to know... I have to ask you..."

"Why I left you?"

"Yes," he whispered, fearing the answer to his question.

"You were so vulnerable, Jean-Luc.  So hurt.  I know you  were trying
to accept what had happened - losing Robert and Rene and the
Enterprise - but you were closing yourself off.  The way you always do
when you are in pain.  Then we had that fight - that awful fight -
over nothing. I knew I couldn't watch you die by inches.  Death was
claiming you, Jean-Luc, and you weren't trying to stop it.  It had
almost taken me after Jack died. I knew I couldn't fight it again.  So
I left.  I'm sorry."

"I was angry at you for walking out."

"I know.  I wanted you angry.  Anger is better than grief."

"Not when it keeps people apart.  If Maturin hadn't  blackmailed me
into coming here..."

"I would have merged with Ronin."

"He would have forced you.  This merging was of your  choosing."

Beverly smiled softly.  "Yes.  It was a good choice.  I never should
have resisted."

Jean-Luc wanted to protest, but he had nothing to say.   Instead, he
gently squeezed her hand.  They sat in silence  for a while, then
Beverly asked, "Did you say Maturin  blackmailed you?"

"It's a long story, Beverly."

Beverly was going to protest, but she felt Ronin returning.  He took
his corporeal form and leaned over to kiss her cheek.  "You are
better, my love."

"Yes."

"Wonderful."

Beverly threw Ronin a sharp look and Jean-Luc frowned.   Ronin was
smiling far too much.  He had to ask, "What have  you been up to?"

"Nothing you wouldn't approve of, my dear Captain." He drew up a chair
next to Jean-Luc and took Beverly's hand. "It was straight out of your
Charles Dickens. Did you know that I saw him perform 'Christmas
Carol?' He was quite the performer."

"Ronin..."

"All right, my love, details. It was all quite simple." Ronin related
how he had appeared to the pesky little governor first as a fragment
of history ("He has pictures of his mother simply everywhere. Now I
know why he's such a simp.") and then as something from the present,
("You, my dears," he said, taking both their hands. "Although I don't
think I got Jean-Luc's 'commanding attitude' quite right.") but before
he could explain his Ghost Of Caldos Future, Jean-Luc interrupted him.

"You mean you took on our forms? How could you?"

Ronin laughed softly. "This is just my exterior form, my dear captain.
Sometimes I really sympathize with that...that...R creature who used
to visit you."

Without forethought, both humans corrected him. "Q."

"Whatever. This form is not who I am, it's just a costume I can put on
and take off at will." He turned to Beverly. "Do you remember when you
were very little, and Felisa took you to..." The two indulged in a
shared memory, the meaning of which had been hidden from the young
girl's understanding, but now was revealed to her. To Jean-Luc's ear,
Ronin sounded almost paternal. Somehow, that was the worst thought of
all. It was intimidating enough to contemplate taking Beverly as a
lover; taking her with another lover, Ronin, was even more so. But
taking her with a father figure along for the ride was almost too much
to think about.

But it was good to see Beverly laughing again, cajoling,  teasing. She
hadn't been the woman he knew since he first  arrived at Caldos;
listless, apathetic, suicidal, serene, but not Beverly. He had feared
the merging with Ronin would change her forever, but slowly, as she
regained her health and her beauty, she regained herself as well. And
Ronin could leave her for short periods of time, as he had when
visiting the governor; perhaps, when the two of them were together,
Ronin would go elsewhere?

But was that fair to ask of Beverly, to lay aside a part of herself to
be with him? And was that truly love, if he had to ask that of her to
satisfy some human squeamishness? And what exactly was it he was so
uncomfortable with--the presence of another? That Ronin appeared male?
The ghost of the Ronin he had originally met, so different from the
genial man sitting and laughing with Beverly?

But why did he always have to share Beverly? First with  Jack, and he
had claimed almost all her attentions, and then with Wesley, and he
had claimed almost all her attentions, and now with Ronin. Would he,
too, claim almost all her attentions? Was he always to be second-best?
Would he ever be able to accept that as enough, or would he one day,
as had Beverly's father, seek to free his lover from Ronin's grasp?

He continued to brood, silently, until Beverly once again  drifted off
to sleep. Within the week she would be well  enough to come home, now
that Ronin had frightened  Maturin into leaving them alone, but she
would be weak still for quite some time.

When he was certain Beverly was past hearing, Jean-Luc  called to
Ronin. "Why has she forgiven you?"

"Am I influencing her? No. She's forgiven because love  forgives." He
smiled at Picard's skepticism. "It does. As  you've forgiven her for
leaving you on the Borg ship, and for Seltris III. You never really
blamed her, even, because when you love, you know. And you knew she
never meant you harm."

"But what you did to her parents!"

Ronin looked genuinely confused, and then recalled more of  the cruel
taunting he had subjected them to in his madness. "My dear, how little
you know me yet. Do you think I could really do anything like that to
Felisa's daughter?"

"Then you didn't try to merge with her? You didn't drive her to her
death?"

"Of course not. I had Felisa--why would I need Isabel?"

"And Paul Howard? You didn't kill him?" This question was,  of course,
of vital interest to a man considering his position as part of this
odd triangle of love.

"No, he died on Arvadda III. Unless you're implying I was to blame for
that whole tragedy?" Jean-Luc shook his head; even he couldn't
conceive of such an absurd idea. "Isabel and Paul were together for
many years after Beverly was born; they had another child, a little
boy." He answered Jean- Luc's next question before it was even
uttered; he also did not know why his lies had so affected Beverly.

He glanced at her sleeping form. "She looks so like Felisa  did at her
age."

Suddenly, much became clear to Jean-Luc. "You loved  Felisa."

"I loved all the Howard women." He could feel Jean-Luc's  glare, and
so confessed. "Yes, she was my great love. So  now you know why I can
not take another Howard woman  the way I had Felisa--not Beverly, not
her children. I would have done it to save my life, but it did not
feel right. Maybe that's why Beverly was able to resist for so
long--because she knew I did not love her, not that way, and that you
did, and were waiting for her. I understand your qualms, my dear, but
how long will you make her wait? Our destinies take us, sometimes in
ways we do not anticipate, but our destinies take us. When will you
take her?"

"Why is it so important to you?" He had dealt, in his career, with so
many lifeforms, and had learned to respect the ulterior motives which
drove all life.

"Because I love her, and want her happy. And you make her  happy." The
room was silent for too long. "Is it because of me? Am I your latest
excuse? First Jack, then Wesley and your positions on the Enterprise,
and now me? If so, work with me. Find where I  come from, take me
back. Be rid of me forever, but don't make her wait. You've both
waited too long already." Ronin offered further proof of his
sincerity. He was willing to be exposed, to have it known to all that
Beverly hosted him, if she consented to reveal it. He agreed that any
children she had, including Wesley, be made aware of his existence and
his needs, although in the young man's case it was a moot point, given
his total disappearance from his mother's life. And in exchange for
agreeing to each of Jean-Luc's demands, he had only one of his
own--that Jean-Luc allow himself to let Beverly make him whole. "You
don't love yourself," Ronin whispered. "But she loves you. Let her."

The great Captain Picard, famed across three quadrants,  could only
stammer out the simplest of questions,  overwhelmed with needs and
fears. "How?"

Ronin leaned back in his chair and sighed.  "You must find  the answer
to that question on your own.."

Five days later, one Caldosian week after the fire, Jean-Luc was still
struggling to find the answer.  He had divided his time between the
hospital and the Howard home.  It had required hard work and a great
deal of help from the neighbors but when he br ought Beverly home it
was to an immaculate house and yard, complete with gardens.  The look
on her face was more than enough reward for the challenges he'd faced
in working with the neighbors.

"Jean-Luc, it's beautiful."  Beverly had announced, voice  thick with
emotion. He smiled at the memory.  She had  insisted on walking among
the flowers, and then inside, on  inspecting all of the rooms.  When
they were done, she was  nearly trembling with fa tigue.

A small study on the first floor had been converted into a  bedroom
for Beverly until she was strong enough to move  back into her old
bedroom.  She was there now, sleeping  soundly.

---

It was quiet in the house, and Jean-Luc wasn't ready to retire to his
place on the sofa.  Instead, he wandered upstairs and found himself in
Nana's room.  The damaged had been repaired and there was no trace of
the horrible things that had happened.  He had wanted to restore the
room, including furniture, but Ronin had  convinced him to leave it
empty.  Redecorating the room would give Beverly something to do as
she regained her strength.

He entered the bathroom slowly.  It was more difficult to push aside
the memories in this room.  Perhaps they should redecorate this room
too.

Leaning against the wall, he slid to the floor and closed his eyes.
"How?"

The question still haunted him day and night, but he knew  from the
moment he had asked it that he would find a way to show Beverly that
he loved her.  No matter how long it took.

---

There were good days and bad days over the next two  weeks, as
Jean-Luc knew there would be.  Beverly was  never a good patient and
her weakness frustrated her.

"Try again."

"I am damnit.  I can't do it!"

"Beverly..."

"Don't you 'Beverly' me in that tone of voice.  I am *not* being
unreasonable.  Stop laughing!"

But he was laughing, and Jean-Luc couldn't stop.  She was  absolutely
adorable all freckled and smudged with dirt, hair pulled back in a
ponytail and baggy pants sliding dangerously low on her hips.

"Besides," she harumphed, "I hate fish."

"You do not, my love, you're just being stubborn."

"Am not.  What's so special about fishing anyway? I thought we were
going to go swimming?"

"We will.  After we catch a fish."

"Why don't we do both at once?"  she asked with a devilish  smile.
She slid her hands suggestively over her hips,  shoving those annoying
pants down around her ankles, then  stepping out of them.  Seconds
later the shirt joined the pile and she was racing towards the water.

"Beverly!"

"Last one in has to eat that stupid fish."

Jean-Luc stared at the pile of clothes laying on the grass.  She had a
bathing suit on, but still, watching her casually strip made his heart
race.

"Well are you going to get in the water or do I have to push you?"

"Ronin.  Shouldn't you be with Beverly?"

"No, I can see her from here.  Besides, I hate swimming." He gave
Picard a stern glare.  "It's been two weeks.  Isn't it time?"

"I was thinking about it."

"I can see that."  Ronin said pointedly.  "Stop thinking and do
something.  Soon.  She needs you.  I'm going for a walk."

It was a clear invitation, just as all those other walks Ronin had
taken over the past weeks had been.  Invitations to talk to Beverly,
to declare his love.  To make love.  And he'd ignored every one.

They didn't catch a fish and he didn't go swimming, but they had
compromised and returned early for a replicated dinner and some real
wine.

"That was wonderful."  Beverly declared, pushing her plate  away. She
smiled at Jean-Luc.  "And much better than fish."

Jean-Luc returned her smile and stood, moving around the  table to her
side.  "I've kept my part of the bargain, my love, now it's your
turn."

She kissed his cheek.  "Indeed, sir.  One evening of dancing, as
agreed upon, my choice of music."  She tapped the media player and
soft music started.  "Traditional Caldosian," she said to his
questioning gaze.

They moved together, slowly pressing closer until they could feel each
other's heartbeats.  Beverly's breath caressed his cheek.  Jean-Luc
moved closer and they kissed.

He had meant it as a friendly peck.  He didn't expect to meet her
hungry, demanding mouth with his own, equally hungry and demanding.
Her hands were on his back, digging into his flesh, bringing him
closer. He managed a surprised gasp, "Beverly?"

"Yes.  And yes, I love you."

They kissed again and then, without warning, she stepped  back,
waiting.

It was up to him then, to take the next step.  Together, now, when his
stomach was fluttering with self-doubt; or away, where he might never
find his way back to this place.

He had a horrible thought then, as he was frozen with fear.  Ronin. He
looked at Beverly, her clearwater blue eyes turned indigo with the
agony of waiting.  It suddenly made sense to him.

He stumbled over the words, cringing at how poorly he was  expressing
himself even as he spoke.  But he didn't stop.  He needed to say these
things as much as she needed to hear them.  He tried to explain how he
had been so hurt when she'd left and how he  would do
anything...anything to be together.

Somehow, with many tears they both said the things that  they needed
to say, as much for themselves as for the other.  In the end,  there
were no more words necessary.  Taking his hand, Beverly led Jean-Luc
upstairs and down the hall to Nana's room.

He hesitated at the door, but she assured him it was all right.  It
had to be here, in this room where they'd both nearly lost so much.
Here was the place for starting anew, amongst the fresh paint and new
furniture and the small subtle traces of Beverly that had not been
there before.   This was where their new relationship would rise from
the ashes of the old.

But the question which had plagued him these past weeks  remained:
how?  Over the course of more than two decades  he hadn't figured out
how to approach Beverly, and now, with Ronin...When in doubt, a man
falls back on what works, and what had always worked for Jean-Luc
Picard was passivity. He had no idea how to take from her what he
wanted, but was an expert on giving her what she needed; let her
demand it of him.

His resolve faltered when she led him through the bedroom,  stopping
not as he had expected at the bed, but at the door to the bathroom. He
had not entered that nightmare room again since the day he had brought
her home; when she had still needed his help, he had insisted she wash
in the half- bath downstairs.

She let go of his hand and ran her fingertips along his arms, stoking
his desire. "There can't be parts of my life you can not enter, or of
our house. It's time."

From behind him, a silky voice agreed. "Stop being such a  squeamish
maiden. It doesn't suit you, my love."

Never stopping her caresses of Jean-Luc, Beverly raised her eyes to
meet Ronin's. "Disappear, sweetheart. I've waited too long for this to
share him with you."

"Spoilsport." Jean-Luc felt a faint brush against the back of his
neck, like a pair of lips in a sweet, lingering touch, and then Ronin
was gone. His heart was beating double-time, aroused by Beverly's
touches and terrified by Ronin's appearance. What was he letting
himself in for? And did he care any more?

If he did, he stopped as soon as Beverly's long fingers began opening
his shirt, whispering light touches across his chest. She slowly
backed up into the bathroom, and he followed, not wanting her to break
contact. The mirrors reflected and rereflected  their faces, their
hands unfastening each other's garments, and the moonlight and
candlelight spilling in from the open door.

Beverly backed away and into the shower, still without a  curtain. She
turned on the water and adjusted it, then stood under its spray, arms
spread wide. *As she had for the fire,* he thought. *As she had for
Ronin.* She was offering her whole self, as she had the other two
times, regardless of the cost and consequences. And just like the fire
and just like Ronin, he could not refuse.

He stepped into the shower, spreading his own arms wide to  match
hers, shoulder to shoulder, fingertip to fingertip, all that was him
matching all that was her. Finally, as he hoped and knew it would, his
body took over for his malfunctioning brain, and he pressed Beverly
hard against the shower wall, his lips insistent against hers. His
hands left hers and began mimicking the water, rolling down her skin.

She moaned into his open mouth, and her hands began a  trail down his
spine. Soon, her lips began to follow the same trail down his front as
her hands were down his back. And then she was kneeling on the shower
floor, changing forever the memory of how he had found her two weeks
ago, her face upturned under the water, by replacing the lead actor.

Jean-Luc gasped at the feel of her breath, her lips, her  tongue, the
warm moisture of the shower and the warmer  moisture of her mouth. As
his body began to shudder and  tense under her ministrations, a
thought passed through his mind which he instantly dismissed as
inappropriate: was this how it had been for Ronin as he prepared to
pour himself into Beverly?

The time for passivity was over. It allowed him too much time to
think, and all he wanted to do was feel. He ran his fingers over
Beverly's upper lip, getting her attention, and then gripped her
shoulders, urging her to stand. He stepped forward, pressing her
against the shower wall, lifting her hands alongside her head and
holding her captive. They kissed, and he savored the difference he had
made in the taste of her mouth, and the difference her taste had made
in his, creating something new, unique to them. Her eyes fluttered
closed.

"Open your eyes." Jean-Luc's voice was low, insistent. He  had to be
certain, even after all they had been through, that she knew it was
him--not Jack, not Ronin, Jean-Luc Picard. As the water poured down on
them, he explored her body, keeping her hands pressed against the wall
as long as his own could reach that high, trapping her waist when he
no longer could. He spread her legs, and the soft, helpless way she
called his name when he touched his tongue to her almost forced him to
rise and take her, but  he forced himself, instead, to wait. Their
merging must be by her insistence, as had the merging with Ronin and
with the fire.

It took her several long minutes to figure this out, minutes filled
with warm water falling, and moans, and gentle loving. Finally
enlightened, she dropped to her knees alongside Jean-Luc, kissing him
for another taste of the exotic mixture they were creating between
them. He sat, and she moved up on his lap, straddling him.

They sat that way, looking at and into each other, for a  minute, two.
Beverly cupped her hands, gathering water,  and raised them to
Jean-Luc's lips. He drank, and she drank, and then she poured the rest
over his chest, following the trail of the water down to his stomach
and below, grasping him and guiding him inside of her.

They rocked together until their arms and legs could no  longer
support them, and then they rolled out of the shower and onto the bare
floor. He lay above her and fought the memory flash of seeing her just
this way back then. She was no longer bruised or battered, no longer
was she being forced. She was almost whole now, and he completed her.

They were two parts of a puzzle, and together was the only  way they
both made sense. Slowly, over the course of so  long, they had been
learning to make each other whole, and  now, with the candle and the
moonlight  gleaming off the  waterdrops in her hair,  she took him and
completed them  both.

He raised his head, licking the water dripping off her breasts before
it could fall onto his chest. The smell of her and the knowledge of
what they were, at last, doing, began to intoxicate him, and he
realized that she was still entirely too self-possessed to be fair.
He rolled them over as gently as he could in the narrow space, pinning
her beneath him, speeding up their leisurely pace, pushing them both
past the limits of reason and thought, thrusting them into that place
where the world is light and  each other. He had a moment of sheer
wonder at finally being allowed his most fervent wish, and then all
was the blossoming desire and need.

And Beverly was beneath him, reaching up toward him,  surrounding him,
fire in her touch, the source of all energies, merging with him,
becoming him and he becoming her. And he was inside her, reaching
deeper and deeper within her, until he spilled himself inside her,
giving her his life and essence, merging with her in something greater
than they either were.

Afterwards, they lay on their sides, his hand heavy against her thigh,
hers lightly curled up against his shoulder. They did not speak, but
lovers need no words to share vows. They created a world of their own,
alone and together, until the water splashing off the floor reminded
him of the rest of the universe. He left the splendid cocoon they made
and rose to shut the shower.

He looked down at her, lying content on the tiled floor. Two weeks ago
she had looked desperate, haunted, at odds with herself and the
universe. Now she looked at peace, almost whole. Her eyes shone at him
the way he always had hoped they would, but the now-familiar spark was
not there, and to his surprise, he found he missed it.

"Ronin?"

Beverly smiled. "He's in his candle. Sulking, I think. He  doesn't
like being left out."

"He shouldn't be left out." Jean-Luc held out a hand to her, and she
took it, rising gracefully to her feet and pressing herself against
him.

She kissed him gently. "Are you sure?"

Now it was his turn to choose. Ronin and Beverly had to  choose
between life and death; all he had to choose was  between convention
and love. "No," he gulped. "But it's  right."

He led her back into the bedroom, willingly offering himself to the
unknown as had Beverly, as had Ronin. The being was no where to be
seen, but he was waiting for them, they knew; there were flowers
everywhere, the bed covered in petals.

Beverly and Jean-Luc laid down next to each other almost  shyly,
slowly gaining the courage to kiss and then caress.  Ronin's presence
was almost forgotten as they catalogued  the wonders of each other's
bodies, their earlier urgency  sated.

Ronin had promised not to be Beverly's lover, and would not now break
his word. He could help steady her, keep her on an erotic edge when
otherwise she would have fallen into an endless chasm of sensation.
But Jean-Luc--ah, about Jean- Luc he had made no  similar promises,
and now Ronin delighted in the feel of a human body, after so many
months of loneliness and death. He allowed himself the luxury of
draping over his new lover, feeling, touching, giving, asking
forgiveness with his actions.

Beverly smiled to see the green light flickering here and there on
Jean-Luc's lean body, and began playing with the light, leading it on
or following its lead. And each of their touches he reciprocated on
Beverly's body, allowing them to feel the  pleasure they gave him.

It was almost easy for Jean-Luc to forget the newness of  these
sensations as Beverly touched him and he watched  her fingers dance
across his chest, up his thighs. It was  almost easy to lose count of
how many he aroused by  suckling on Beverly's neck, covering her
breasts with his  hands. But then he would notice one pair of hands
too many  on his body, or feel a touch somewhere even Beverly's long
fingers could not reach, and he would remember Ronin.

It took a long time for Jean-Luc to learn to relax into their touches,
and when he did, he was breathless with desire. Beverly kneeled beside
him, her hungry mouth exploring his own, and around him, the energy
flowed like a blanket. He was no Howard, and  yet Ronin--neither man
nor woman, formless and genderless--was seducing him with skillful
touches and sensual caresses. How had Beverly ever been able to
resist?

His eyes closed, he could no longer tell the difference in  touch,
could no longer differentiate between Beverly and  Ronin. That was as
it should have been, since they were  now one. He felt a weight settle
above him, but still did not open his eyes, almost afraid at what he
might see. He could not last long this way; his self-control was
eroding quickly. He called out to Beverly, his voice hoarse with need,
and was answered by both voices.

Jean-Luc rolled her onto her back, and with Ronin as his  guide,
explored the treasure below him. He learned his  lessons well, making
her gasp as he traced a fingernail  against the base of her palm,
inhaled on the skin inside her elbow, caressed the arch of her foot.
The green light flitted over her breasts, her stomach, down the inside
of her thighs, and Jean-Luc followed with his hands and his mouth,
rewarded by the sounds of pleasure Beverly  made.

And then the energy was gone, no longer guiding either of  them, and
they knew what they had to do next, wanted to do  next. Gently, he ran
his hands up her calves, her thighs,  separating her legs, preparing
the way. Gently, he entered  her, and gathered her in his arms,
kissing her gently, gently.

Then Ronin returned, blanketing them, plunging them deeper  into each
other and the world of sensation they created  within and for each
other.  They were a complex puzzle, the three of them, burning with a
strange fire which could only be fed this way and  could only be
extinguished one way. But because of Ronin, and because they had
waited for this so long, they remained on the brink of eternity.
Slowly, more accustomed to the rhythms they invoked and the gradually
increasing pace, small details became important--the feel of her
breasts brushing against his chest; the tingle of energy running along
his back, her sides; the smoothness of her legs running up and down
his rougher skin. Like puzzle pieces they fit together, with Ronin the
glue that bound them.

And then, finally, they moved against each other faster,  harder,
their bodies demanding satisfaction. Beverly arched up off the bed,
pulling him deeper in. Jean-Luc readjusted his legs and his arms,
seeking to bathe himself more fully in her welcoming he at. Ronin drew
closer, caressing, reflecting, mirroring the passion each felt for
each other, adding his own unvoiced whispers of love as they opened
their minds and hearts, completing the circle of love and desire. He
touched their minds as gently as they touched each other, and as she
tightened around the lover he had secured for her, Ronin caressed
their bodies like a shower of sweet, stolen kisses.

Beverly spooned her body against Jean-Luc's to sleep that  night, on
the large bed in the room that had housed their  dreams, both good and
bad. During the night, when he woke,  startled by the unfamiliarity of
this woman in his embrace, he could have sworn  he felt another body
pressed against his back. The puzzle was complete, and he could fall
back into the embrace of dreams. *****

When he woke again it was mid-morning.  There was a warm  body
cradling him and he nestled against it with a contented sigh, allowing
his eyes to drift closed; only to be awakened again by a faint
clattering of metal pans.

"Beverly?" he whispered to the person holding him.

"That's her," Ronin replied, "making her usual infernal racket in the
kitchen.  It's dangerous in there when she cooks.  Particularly when
she's worked up an appetite."

Jean-Luc sat up quickly, pulling out of the suddenly awkward embrace.
Ronin remained where he was, smiling at the view.  They looked at each
other for a moment, each waiting for the other to decide what to do.
Finally, Jean-Luc sighed and climbed out of bed, snatching up a robe
and putting it on.

"Problems, my love?"

Picard's expression froze, then went carefully blank.  "I would prefer
you not call me that."

Ronin stood, careless of his nudity.  This form, after all, was
nothing but a costume.  "Then what would you have me call you?  Surely
not Captain Picard?"

"No, no, you don't have to be so formal, but something  less..."

"Sexual?"  Ronin prompted, slipping on his clothing.

"Exactly."

Ronin pouted, "You let Beverly call you that."

"Yes, well, that is a little different."

Ronin looked at him hard.  "Is it?  Beverly and I are one now.  You
know that." He frowned, "You're not having regrets about last night?"

Before he could answer, Beverly called up to them, "You'd  better come
to breakfast soon or I'm starting without you,  Jean-Luc."

Jean-Luc was surprised to see a wistful look in Ronin's eyes.  He
looked a question at the anaphasic being.

"Yes,"  Ronin said with a smile, "Beverly definitely inherited the
Howard women's appetites."  At Jean-Luc's upraised eyebrow he added,
"All of them," and walked out of the room.

By the time he made himself presentable and arrived at the  table,
Beverly was well into her plate of waffles.  The smell was delightful
and it made Jean-Luc's mouth water.  He had no trouble eating a hearty
meal, deciding it was certainly late enough to call it brunch.

Beverly offered him teasing smiles around her fork, watching as he
ate.  They didn't talk much, but Jean-Luc had deliberately chosen the
chair closest to her and then moved it even closer.  She lay one hand
on his leg as they finished their meal.

Their lips came together in a syrup sweetened kiss, followed quickly
by a second and third.  It wasn't long before they were on their feet,
caressing and touching each other as they moved slowly towards the
stairs.

Ronin watched the whole thing from the corner where he'd  retreated to
read.  He didn't need to eat like they did, and preferred not to
watch.  He considered joining the pair as they retreated to the
bedroom, then decided against it.  He would join them later; right now
there were dishes to be done.

---

Six weeks after the fire, Beverly's doctor released her from his care,
pronouncing her healed and remarking on her miraculous recovery.
Ronin and Jean-Luc insisted she continue with her physical therapy.
Two days later she decided she disliked her therapist, so they
undertook the task themselves.  It was not easy for any of them.

After one particularly difficult session, Beverly left the house in
tears. Jean-Luc wanted to follow immediately, but Ronin held him back.

"Let her go, Captain.  I know where she is."

Jean-Luc sat down with a defeated sigh and put his head in  his hands.
"Do you know what's wrong?"

Ronin managed a smile at the question.  Of course he knew.  "She is in
pain, and frightened, Captain.  Frightened of the pain.  Frightened
she will not be able to dance again.  Frightened of leaving Caldos."
Ronin took Jean-Luc's hand in his and studied  it.  "You are an
explorer, Jean-Luc.  You seek bold new frontiers.  Do not let the
stars seduce you into forgetting that the relationship between two
people who love each other is one of those frontiers."

"Beverly thinks I'm going to leave her?"

"Everyone else has, Jean-Luc.  Even her son."

"But I would never, never_"

"You must show her that.  Everyday.  As often as she needs  to see and
hear it until she believes it in her heart."  Ronin sat back in his
chair.  There was no need for Jean-Luc to be told to go to her.  He
knew it himself.  Without another word, the captain left the house,
knowing without being told where Beverly could be found.

---

She was on her knees beside Nana's grave, head bowed  and tears
running freely.  This position hurt after a physical therapy session,
but she kept it anyway, in defiance of her pain.

Jean-Luc sat beside her and pulled her gently into his  embrace.  He
petted her, letting her cry, until tears stopped wetting his hands.
He kissed her head and helped her to her feet.  They had things to
talk about, but not here among the dead.  They were going to talk
about the future.

There was a swing on the back porch of the Howard home,  placed there
by a very amused Jean-Luc.  He'd bought it on  impulse the last time
he and Beverly had gone shopping.  It was big enough for four people
to sit in, or, as Beverly had proven, for two people to lie in.  She'd
taken to napping in that swing every afternoon after lunch.  Sometimes
he joined her.

Today he sat beside her in the swing, holding her hands in  his.  She
had already wiped the tears away but there were  still traces of them.
He kissed her cheek.

"We need to talk, Beverly, about us."  Jean-Luc cleared his throat,
desperate for a way to begin this conversation.  She started it for
him.

"Ronin told you I was afraid.  That everyone leaves me, and that I
think you will too."  He nodded, encouraging her.  "It's not the whole
truth.  Oh, Jean-Luc, if you could understand what it was like.  I was
so young when my father died.  I can barely remember his face, and
more of that is from Nana's descriptions than my own memory.  My
brother, I don't remember him at all.  Only what Nana said." Beverly
shifted in her seat to look directly at Jean-Luc.

"Do you know what it's like having to depend on other  people's
memories of your mother or father or brother  because you have so few
of your own?  Maybe that's why  Mama's vase is so important to me.
And why I was so willing to believe Ronin's lies about Mama.  A
memory, even a false one, is better than nothing."

"No it's not."  Jean-Luc's hand tightened on Beverly's, but he was
still careful not to hurt her.  Her hands were still healing too.
"False memories are never better. Never."

She turned her head away. "Then I have nothing."

Jean-Luc gently guided her face towards his.  "You have us, my love.
And our future."

There was a warmth surrounding her, then a green glow and  Ronin
appeared, sitting on her other side, away from Jean- Luc.  He slid a
hand down her leg. "And you will have your dancing.  If you practice."

Beverly smiled at him.  "Only if you stop being such a harsh
taskmaster."

Ronin offered, "No promises," with a smile of his own.  He  stroked
her cheek, then looked at Jean-Luc, silently asking to talk to the man
alone.  Jean-Luc kissed Beverly and excused himself to get a pillow
and blanket.  When he returned, Ronin had lulled Beverly into a
peaceful sleep.

Tenderly covering her, Jean-Luc resisted the urge to give her a light
kiss.  He didn't want to wake her.  Ronin waited for him to follow as
he returned to the parlor.

"I can give her the memories she lacks," he said without  preamble.

"What?"  Picard demanded, "How?"

"If I merge with Beverly physically, just once, I can merge the
memories I have of Isabel and Paul with hers.  She'll remember their
faces, their voices, even some of the things they did together.  It's
not a complete record of her childhood, but it's better than what
she's got."

"I thought you were fully merged with her now.  Why doesn't she
already have access to these memories?

"Because I took only what I needed to survive.  We are more separate
than any of my other mergings were.  She does not have access to all
of my knowledge, or my memories.  It is quite a relief, actually."

"Why?"

"Because I would not want her to have access to my  memories of
assaulting her. I wish I didn't have access to it either."

The anguish in the being's tone shook Jean-Luc.  He was so  close to
this entity, he couldn't bear for him to suffer this much.  "Ask her,"
was all he could offer.

So he did, after she awoke from her nap and had had a  snack.
Jean-Luc carefully absented himself to the parlor.  Far enough away to
eliminate distraction while still being close enough to jump in
immediately if Ronin tried coercion.

To everyone's surprise, including hers, Beverly refused.  To accept
would mean receiving the sum total of Ronin's memories, not just those
of her family. It was more than she would ask - for this being to open
himself up to her like that.

Instead, she asked Ronin to tell her what he remembered,  like bedtime
stories. From then on, every night after the  three of them made love,
Ronin would cradle Jean-Luc  and Beverly and tell them what he
remembered of Isabel and  Paul and their two children.  It was the
perfect way to fall  asleep.

---
Epilogue
---

Deanna Troi fidgeted in her seat opposite Captain Picard. It had taken
months, but everyone had settled in aboard the new ship. She had
allowed time for his emotions to settle, and she knew his life had
changed; if nothing else made that obvious, the fact that he had taken
shared quarters with Beverly would have done that. But even taking all
that into account, he had changed in ways the counselor could not
understand. And that puzzled and worried her.

"I'd like to run a new psych profile on you, Captain."

He raised his eyebrows, but made no other response.

"I've known you for over eight years, but I don't *know* you anymore
at all. I used to be able to distinguish your emotions half a ship
away, but I don't recognize you at all."

"And you think that may effect my ability to command this  ship?"

Deanna straightened her shoulders. She had not expected  this to be
easy. "No, I'm afraid it will effect my ability to offer you counsel.
It's like I'm meeting you again for  the first time, learning who you
are."

He smiled, a gesture he had rarely offered in the old days. "And is
that a bad thing?"

"I suppose not. But this change in you concerns me..." Troi tried yet
another way around her captain.

"Counselor, has it ever occurred to you that this change is simply the
nature of love?"

Troi retreated, unable to counter this seemingly simple  argument,
totally missing its stunning complexity.

No sooner had the doors to the ready room closed than the  small green
haze, unnoticed in a corner, coalesced into  Ronin.

"I still don't see why you need Counselor Cabbagehead.  Equipping the
crew with mood rings would be cheaper and  prettier."

"You really are a bitch, aren't you, Ronin?"

The entity smiled. "And you wouldn't have me any other way, dear."

Picard leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Were you like  this
before you merged with Beverly?"

Ronin nodded. Along with their trademark red hair and their ability to
heal, the need to puncture bubbles of self- importance was a proud
Howard tradition. "But I have to admit that Beverly and I have
sharpened our claws since we merged. After all, we now have you to
practice on."

One of the things Jean-Luc had always feared about a  relationship
with Beverly was just this: that her sharp tongue and teasing, so
valuable in a friend and colleague, would prove too much for him from
a lover. But now he had that, times two, and found he rather liked it.
This new life he was living was one of constant revelations.

If only Ronin would stay in sickbay with Beverly life would be
perfect, but he seemed determined to go gunning for Troi's job. Just
because he quite possibly was better suited for the assignment was no
good reason to consider it...

Picard could just imagine getting laughed out of Starfleet if he tried
to broach the subject with his superiors. "You see, Dr. Crusher, who
is my lover, has merged with an anaphasic creature who can travel
along power transfer beams and transporters without being detected, so
we can use him to gather intelligence where no Starfleet officer could
go. Oh, and incidentally, he can make himself visible and invisible at
will, and he lives in a candle." They'd ship him off to the nearest
psychiatric clinic, they would...

"Did you have a reason to be here, Ronin," Picard asked in  his most
brusque, captainly fashion, "or is it just that Beverly kicked you
out?"

"I know something you don't," he teased in a singsong voice. "I'd
suggest you hurry home after your duty shift today, Jean-Luc. Beverly
has a surprise for you." Ronin did not keep secrets well; he never
had.

"I know. And that means we'll have to have a talk about you, as well,
Ronin. We haven't told anyone about you yet, but we won't be able to
keep a child from speaking out of turn. If Wesley was an indication,
it seems to be rather a specialty of Beverly's children."

Ronin frowned, petulant. "You knew."

Jean-Luc stood, walking over to Ronin and placing  a hand  on his
slumped shoulder. "You've grown soft, Ronin, and  used to seeing the
world through Beverly's eyes. She's been trying to deny this for
weeks, but when a woman her age shows those signs--mood swings,
exhaustion--they can only mean one of two things. And when she started
throwing up...I'm not a complete idiot, you know."

"You used to be, but you're learning, Jean-Luc."

"Indeed."

Ronin perched on the edge of the desk, in a pose so similar to Beverly
that for a moment Jean-Luc almost forgot who was really there.

"What do you intend to do about the child?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Your child," Ronin corrected him, but Jean-Luc didn't want to think
of the unborn child as his yet, waiting to hear if Ronin would, as he
had once threatened, claim Beverly's baby.

"What do you intend to do? Will you merge with her?"

Ronin began to rub his knuckles, and Jean-Luc was again  struck by how
many of Beverly's mannerisms he had  adopted. "We don't know it's a
girl."

Jean-Luc had thought he had conquered any lingering  doubts and
mistrust of Ronin; in light of the cozy homelife in the Picard/Crusher
quarters, he was almost certain he had, but they all came rushing to
the surface at Ronin's non-answer. He towered over the entity,
grabbing both his shoulders and shaking. A look of fear and
anticipation passed over Ronin's face, and for the third time in as
many minutes, Jean-Luc found himself reminded of Beverly. He refused
to contemplate that, though, or let it soften  his anger. "Damn you,
Ronin, what do you intend for my daughter? Will you merge with her?"

Ronin refused to look at Jean-Luc. All the guilt he had  repressed for
so many months came rushing back at him.  "You mean, will I use her
the way I've used all the Howard  women?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know you still felt that way about me."

Jean-Luc collapsed into his chair, suddenly too tired to deal with a
histrionic lifeform. "I don't. But I have a family to consider now."

Ronin pouted and refused to turn to face Jean-Luc. "You  know I can't
merge with more than one person at a time. As  long as Beverly lives,
I will not merge with your child. I  already promised you all this
when Beverly was in hospital on Caldos. But you hate me too much to
remember that, don't you?"

Jean-Luc sighed. "I don't hate you, Ronin."

"Then how do you feel about me?"

Jean-Luc gulped. He didn't hate Ronin, really he didn't, but he
couldn't put a name to what he felt for the entity who shared his life
with Beverly. He couldn't, or maybe he was afraid to.

Ronin turned around then, tears in his eyes. "You love  Beverly. You
tell her that every day. I am a part of her--why can't you tell me the
same thing?"

This time it was Jean-Luc who kept his eyes downcast. Why  couldn't he
forgive Ronin, as Beverly had forgiven him? He  was horrified to
discover the well of bitterness which still remained in his soul when
he had thought it long drained.

The comm system beeped, saving him from having to  respond to Ronin's
anguished cry for love. It was Beverly,  asking him to come home; she
had something she wanted to  tell him, a little surprise.

Jean-Luc smiled at the sound of her voice and the promise  her
surprise held for the future. He stood and reached for  Ronin's hand,
remembering the love that had created this  pregnancy she planned to
surprise him with--the love, the  trust, and the forgiveness.
Together, he and Ronin had  healed Beverly; together, Ronin, Beverly
and the baby would heal him.

---

The End