The BLTS Archive- Washed Away by Astra (astraplain@yahoo.com) --- WARNING: This is not a light-hearted story. --- "Damn you, Jean-Luc Picard," she muttered under her breath once again. She let her anger propel her, not thinking about anything, especially not where her legs were taking her. She pushed through the last bunch of leaves, coming out onto a rocky hilltop. It was overcast, the sky more charcoal than blue, but she barely noticed. Still angry, still moving, she approached the very edge, then stopped. He was with her; she could feel the weight of him, his presence both mocking and seducing her. Forward; another step, and another. She turned away from the sheer drop, refusing to take in the spectacular vista. She had no intention of being awed. She was too angry. The air around her was still and heavy, a perfect match for her mood. Her heart hammered in her chest as her breathing slowly calmed. She was too old for this. "And you damn well know it." She muttered sullenly. She was tired of this - of his desires, his wants, his demands. It was years since he had been her captain, and still he thought he could order her around. "Not anymore." The words escaped, although she tried to stop them. They wouldn't be held back, just as the drops of water could no longer be contained in the clouds. One landed on the top of her head with a splat. He would be laughing, she knew. If she looked, she was sure she’d see the laughter in his eyes. She closed her eyes, feeling his warmth, this touch, his essence. It surrounded her, confusing her senses, making her wonder where she ended and he began. Damn him. The rain fell faster now, a slight breeze slanting the drops against her skin, moving the droplets across her body. The new dress clung to her, shaping itself like as second skin, cupping her flesh. . . She trembled, but not because she was cold. A pang in her arm reminded her, brought her crashing back to reality. Here. . . on the top of a cliff.. with him in her arms. The urn was heavy, an ostentatious black marble that he would have claimed to hate, but secretly would have preferred. After he was gone, she called the funeral parlor and changed the order from the simple urn he had chosen to this. One last extravagance for her love. She opened the lid carefully, closing her eyes once more. She had to see him once more, if only in her mind; the smiling, dazzling man she spent half her life with. Better to picture that than the remnants she now held. It was his last request, a promise torn from her as she clutched his hand, using her once formidable strength to tether him to this life. It wasn't enough. Before her clear blue eyes he faded, managing one last smile just for her before he was gone. She was proud of her control, that she hadn't marred his last moments with her tears. She watched it all, her eyes recording every nuance, hoarding them like treasure. She would not forget. "Ashes to ashes." She spoke softly into the breeze as she lifted him out of the urn. She let his remains float away in the breeze, imagining she could see them carried out over the cliff. He was flying one last time. The rain continued as she repeated the motion, setting him free on the winds. She no longer felt the wind, or the cold. She was warmed by memories, her anger at his leaving forgotten for the moment. He had loved it here, and now she treasured it too. It would be her private place, just as it had been his. She placed the lid back on the empty urn, noticing as she did so that her dress was fading. Black droplets trailed across her skin, patterns of sorrow for the world to see. She accepted it calmly. She was a widow again. If she were younger, she might have been bitter. When Jack died she had railed against the fates for a very long time, shrouding herself against the pain of living. Jean-Luc had taken that veil from her; he had helped her to live again. She would not dishonor him now by taking on another shroud. She would mourn, here in the rain, letting the blackness cover her until the rain washed it away. -- The End