The BLTS Archive- Turn Around
by Ellen Milholland (pretyclose@aol.com)

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Spoilers: Star Trek: Insurrection

Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply. They ain't mine.

For my fellow BonClettes. :)

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She stepped through the doors, and the shimmering lake was bright and
beautiful. The waves lapped at her boots, and sand brushed across her
ankles and her stark black pants. Breeze tousled her hair, and though
it was warm and comforting, she shivered.

She pursed her lips. She saw him in the distance, down the beach, but
she did not move, even as the arch disappeared behind her. Trees
replaced the empty corridor, but she did not move. The wind pushed the
sand into little dunes around her spit-shined boots, but she did not
move.

He wasn't moving either. She could see that his back faced her, but
she did not call to him. She simply watched his back, and wondered
what he was thinking.

Probably about that woman, she reasoned. He wouldn't have recreated
this place for any other reason. The beach wouldn't have been so
perfect, the mountains so crisp and beautiful.

It wouldn't have been so perfect unless he was trying to remember her.

She nodded absently to herself, even as heat built up behind her
cheeks.

He was thinking of her. The fact hit her hard, and she actually
stepped backwards with the force of the realization. Of course, she'd
known it, but perhaps she'd deluded herself into denying the
importance of it.

He was thinking about her.

Even now, when they were back aboard the ship, shiny and repaired and
beautiful, he was thinking of her. Months later, he was thinking of
her.

Months later... after he'd shared her bed and said he'd love her
forever, he was recreating this place, and thinking of another woman.

She was frozen to her place, head swimming with the concept.

He had lied to her.

"No, Beverly," he'd told her, "I don't miss her."

"You loved her, Jean-Luc," she'd answered.

"No, I only love you. Always."

"You didn't love her?"

And he'd lied. "No."

But the mountains were too perfect and the water that lapped at her
boots was too warm.

He'd lied. He loved her.

"What about your shore leave, Jean-Luc?"

"What about it?"

"You told Anji you'd spend it with her."

"I'll tell her I can't."

"Promise?"

And he'd lied. "Promise."

The wind blew through her hair, and it brushed across her face it wild
tendrils. Tears pricked her eyes like a million pins, and they pooled
in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks.

He stood with his back to her as she watched him. Her heart twisted
and turned cold, and she called for the arch. The wind carried her
voice, and he turned and looked at her.

He opened his mouth to call for her, but she was gone.

A lone bird cried over the waves, and he turned back to face the
mountains, deciding they were not crisp enough as he called for the
arch.

He owed her an apology.

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The End