1. An Apple A Day

Paramount – they're like cicadas – they're everywhere. They own everything, and do a piss poor job of management. That's where I come in.  
  
A/N: I like to pretend the movies didn't happen. Isn't it better that way?  
  
An Apple A Day  
  
One  
  
Beverly Crusher groaned softly and rolled over to press the off button on her alarm chime. She always woke slowly, greeting the day in a semi-daze. The kind that lingers after a hard sleep, when reality is somewhere in between how everyone else sees it, and what you dream it is. She rolled lazily onto her back, crossing one arm over her forehead. The delicate silk of her pajamas was cool against her eyes. She lay that way for a good minute or two before flinging her arm to the side and swinging her legs over the bed. "Here we go," she remarked to no one in particular.  
  
She stretched her arms upward and stood on her toes. She placed her hands behind her hips and reclined slowly backward, working the lactose out of her waking muscles. She bent over and placed her palms flat on the short grey carpet, holding for minute before slowly standing fully upright. This was her sacred ritual, an early morning round of basic stretches. It was a harbinger for the day – it signaled to her whether she'd pushed too hard in the past days, or not enough. Her legs, back, shoulders, and arms all gave a different report – they were sore, they were tight, or they were in harmony. Today they were just a little bit tight. Her shoulders had loosened overnight, but were still tense. Tomorrow she'd meet Troi for a thorough session on the holodeck and work out the rest of the tension.  
  
It had been a long two days. The Enterprise was in orbit around a small M class planet with a newly developing Starfleet colony. They had stopped by on their way through the sector, as a footnote to a far more "important" scientific mission. The stopover was not routine for the medical department however. The colony was thriving, but as with any newly established population, there were a myriad of new diseases that popped up among the settlers almost monthly. The small hospitals were handling it well but they were simply running out of raw materials. Beverly's team had been in the process for the last few days not only of treating some of the ill, but also inventorying, restocking, and when necessary repairing all the clinics. Mundane work, but involved nonetheless.  
  
To be perfectly honest, it was the type of mission Beverly preferred. The day was full and productive, but at the end there were no death certificates to make out. She was able to see patients, often children, and heal them completely. No scars of war, no one writing in agony as Beverly worked to heal mangled bodies. No surgical gowns covered in blood up to her elbows. Just simple medicine for simple people. For Beverly it dredged up memories of Arveda III, but pleasant ones – of her grandmother in their little clinic chatting amiably with parents while treating the occasional sore throat or broken bone. Creating and living in a community, with all its tranquility, petty drama, and love.  
  
She sighed as she started the shower. Water today, and hot. Her muscles demanded it. As she aged she listened to and obeyed increasingly the demands of her body. It had always treated her well, and Beverly supposed she owed it some respect. It wasn't aging that bothered her. The fine lines, a little sag here and there. Hell, she'd earned all of it. But there was still so much Beverly wanted to do, and she was simply running out of time. She forward leaned against the cool tile and let the steaming water stream over her shoulders.  
  
The stop at the colony reminded her that she urgently wanted to return to her roots – to be a healer. But assessing the resident's needs and helping them establish facilities also pulled her back toward Starfleet. The new medical fleet was soon to become a reality. And Beverly knew she was a fool if she didn't acknowledge that the admiralty had their eye on her to take on a significant role in its development. Which meant she would be leaving the Enterprise. As she stepped out of the shower, that thought lead her to consider the other reason she was unhappy with aging. Jean-Luc Picard. Beverly knew they were headed somewhere. They had been for months, practically years now, and it seemed inevitable that at some point soon they would become intimately involved. Inevitable only if there were no change in circumstance. She heaved a great sigh as she tugged on her uniform boots. It was time for her to go – to go on to Starfleet command, to go back to a community and set up her own practice, to do anything but remain onboard the Enterprise. She was stagnating. But whenever she considered the possibility of leaving, she could not bear to part with Jean- Luc. Above all else he was her best friend, the closest thing she still had to family now that Wes and Nana were gone. And how could she just walk away from that?  
  
The reason for her distress was due at her door any minute. She smiled gently as she brushed her hair and finished with a touch of make-up. It was a comfort, spending mornings with Jean-Luc. But had she chosen comfort too readily over challenge? No one could deny that her career was a success – she was a full commander, an accomplished physician both in research and application, and a proud mother. But she'd stopped moving forward, hadn't she? Beverly set down her brush and turned toward the living room, only to hear it fall onto the floor behind her. She retraced her steps and placed it firmly on the counter. She returned to the living room and absent- mindedly replicated breakfast for two as she considered the year she'd spent at Starfleet medical almost a decade ago. True, she'd hated every minute of it and had been looking for a way out almost no sooner than she'd arrived. But that year, and that hard choice she'd made to leave Wes and the Enterprise at the time had paid off. She'd learned a lot, and made friends at command that could help her now if she chose to continue advancing in the ranks. If she chose to continue advancing.....  
  
"I guess it all comes down to priorities," she said to the plate of croissants as she set them on the table. What were her priorities? Damned if she knew. But it was time to figure them out and make a decision. Deanna would surely be eager to help, and honestly it was a good question for Will Riker too. After all, he'd been on the Enterprise as long as she, and had turned down several command opportunities to remain. Part of that decision had been because he had found a mentor in Captain Picard, and part of it had been a reluctance to leave Deanna. Now there was growing chatter of yet another offer for Will in the pipeline. They would not keep coming forever. Beverly took a sip of tea and reminded herself to talk to him. They were due for a good heart to heart.  
  
She returned to the present when her door chimed. "Come on in." She rose to greet Jean-Luc, as was now their custom. Before sitting down she would take his hands and quickly kiss his cheek. It was a platonic gesture, mostly an expression of affection stemming from a 25 year friendship. But it had only been recently that it had begun, and was just another sign that intimacy was not far off. She found they touched each other more and more frequently, never for any particular reason, but simply because each took comfort in it, and seemed unable or unwilling to resist the impulse. They were the middle-aged Vulcan version of horny teenagers.  
  
"What?" Picard raised his eyebrow jovially as he sat down and poured a cup of Earl Grey from the pot. The current assignment had left a lull in duties for the command staff, and Jean-Luc was more rested and relaxed than he usually had opportunity to be. As a result, Beverly found him to be generally more agreeable and open. She decided she liked the change. It was always during these times their relationship had moved forward. When either or both of them became overly exhausted, they had a tendency to take it out on the other. It rarely turned into a real disagreement, but when it did it was always a whopper, and left Beverly feeling very glad they had separate quarters. In another way though, she enjoyed the arguments – they were a way to have non-physical but intense emotional intimacy. Certainly Deanna wouldn't approve, but Beverly wasn't that concerned. It was only a matter of time for the two of them.  
  
"Beverly, are you going to answer me, or simply contemplate your lemon tea all morning?" Picard smiled faintly again as he buttered a croissant and took an aggressive bite.  
  
"You're in an awfully good mood today." Her retort was pert, but not delivered unkindly. She was not grumpy, simply introspective.  
  
"A fine tactic Doctor, attempting to switch the focus of the conversation." He gestured toward her with his butter knife before setting it down.  
  
"I've learned from the best, Jean-Luc. You can be quite taciturn when the mood strikes you." Beverly primly took a bite of her own pastry.  
  
"One would not guess it, but you can be rather secretive yourself, Beverly. Shall I continue to badger you, or simply end this inquisition and move on to another topic?" Picard spoke without meeting her eyes, but when she did not respond he looked up.  
  
She was already gazing at him intently as he did so. He may have been uncertain of her when he arrived, but by now he had fully deduced her melancholy demeanor. It was futile to try and evade him, and he knew better than to try and fleece her. It was both endearing and frustrating the depth of knowledge each had of the other, and quite inconvenient when one was not prepared to discuss the issue at hand. He knew she would come to him with it in time though, and she knew he would wait patiently for her to bring up whatever the issue may be whenever she were ready.  
  
She tilted her head and smiled at him, her expression both intimate and probing. During her quietude he had begun to tell her about his upcoming day, knowing full well she was not really listening to anything he said. Finally finding no more to say, he simply regarded her as she absent- mindedly sipped her tea. Picard did a mental inventory of ship's priorities for the morning, before finishing his own meal and standing.  
  
"It's time for me to report to the bridge." He tugged at his uniform top expectantly as Beverly looked up.  
  
"So soon?" She appeared genuinely surprised.  
  
"I've been here for half an hour, Doctor. What was it you were saying about my taciturn nature?" He raised an eyebrow and favored her with a crooked and tight-lipped grin.  
  
"Forgive me Jean-Luc." His heart softened at her unnecessary platitude. She was genuinely troubled this morning.  
  
"There is nothing to forgive, Beverly." He walked over and leaned down to swiftly plant a chaste kiss on her cheek. "You know where to find me when you're ready to talk."  
  
She reached up quickly and grabbed his hand as he turned, smiling slightly. "Thanks."  
  
He squeezed her hand gently and met her crystal blue eyes before walking briskly out the door.  
  



	2. An Apple A Day Two

  
  
An Apple A Day  
  
Two  
  
Hands shoved into the pockets of her lab coat, Beverly hardly noticed the slate grey corridors of the Enterprise as she traversed the deck on her way to sickbay. She bumped roughly into another crewman in her distraction, and mumbled an apology before continuing on. Try as she might, she could not shake the feeling of melancholy that had permeated her life. There was no particular reason for it, just a general sense of malaise, dissatisfaction. Caught up as she was in her thoughts, she walked right past sickbay. She muttered something unintelligible and turned around, hoping no one had noticed. Luckily, the coast was clear.  
  
When she strolled into her office, Beverly wondered at the irregular, round, shiny object on her desk. She picked it up, gazing at it in wonder. An apple. She truly enjoyed them but rarely remembered to replicate them. A grin touched her lips and she felt her spirits lift momentarily. She buffed it against her lab coat and set it back on the desk next to her terminal.  
  
"Matthew wanted to be sure I told you it was from him. He's quite taken with you, actually." Doctor Paul Wells spoke from her doorway. A smile lit up his features. He smiled whenever he talked about his young son, a precocious five-year old whom Beverly was sure had a small crush on her.  
  
Again she smiled involuntarily. Somber as her mood may be, it was impossible to think of Matthew and not feel just a tiny bit of silliness and joy.  
  
"Tell him to look me up in 20 years." Beverly chuckled as she sat down and gave a cursory glance to the lab report Paul handed her. "How are Matthew and Sheila?"  
  
"Just great. This morning Matt set his chime 20 minutes early. He'd been studying for over a day to replicate the apple for you, and he wanted to make sure he had plenty of time to get it just right." Paul was a small, animated man, and he spoke with his hands. His complexion was fair, but his hair was dark, and his eyes brown and merry. As he recounted the story, he bent, gesticulated, and his brow danced. "The long and the short of it is we have a pile of weird fruit in our quarters now. I don't know how we'll possibly get it all eaten." He finished with a sweep of his hand, his voice boisterous and jovial.  
  
Despite herself, Beverly was laughing so hard her sides hurt. "Paul, please tell Matthew this is one of the best gifts I've received. And that I promise to stop by and help him eat all the fruit."  
  
"Oh, Doctor, he'll be thrilled to hear it." He gave her a wink and turned quickly. "I'm off to file a couple reports. I've got a busy day, not a moment to lose." His voice trailed off as he walked away, still talking to no one in particular.  
  
Dr. Paul Wells was the most enjoyable addition to her staff since Alyssa had come on years ago. Still only a junior Lieutenant, Paul had entered Starfleet later in his career. Before attending Starfleet medical, he'd served on several medical envoys to distant Federation planets that were wracked by war or natural disaster. It was during one of these trips he'd met his wife, Sheila. They traveled together for a few years before deciding to have a family.  
  
It had been difficult for her to conceive, but in the end she'd become pregnant with Matthew. At that point, Paul had wanted a more stable life and joined up with Starfleet. He had not been ambitious in his career, choosing instead to make his son the focus of his life. He was still an amazing physician however, and viewed all life with as much esteem and with as much compassion as Beverly.  
  
She shook her head and turned to her daily schedule. They would be busy that day, as they were due to ship out in the next 18-24 hours. There were still many materials, serums, and specimens to be cultivated and replicated for the planet, and a very short amount of time to complete the work. "Even if I knew what to say to you Jean-Luc, I wouldn't have the time." Crusher sighed and rose, clicking off the screen of her monitor. It gave a lack- luster beep before shutting down.  
  
She strolled into the main bay, where teams were busy preparing to beam down to the surface. Beverly stopped at each to check their kits, giving a silent nod to each and moving on. Her staff worked well together. Crusher had a strong personality – crewmembers that didn't immediately like it in the Enterprise sickbay normally didn't stay long. Those that did became part of the CMO's family.  
  
Beverly reflected on some of the staff that had come and gone. Selar and Alyssa had been with her the longest. Paul had just come on a year ago, but seemed already like a brother. Crusher paused a moment to recalibrate a tricorder before moving on. Two years ago they'd had a young woman that was completely flustered by Beverly and unable to do anything right under the Doctor's supervision. Though she'd loved her to death, Beverly finally had to recommend a transfer. Alyssa had come to her sometime after the ensign had left the ship to explain that, in a nutshell, the girl had had a severe case of hero worship. Crusher had never been one for outward displays of affection, and the young woman had simply taken it for disapproval and never recovered her confidence. Beverly frowned a little bit at the memory. It disturbed her to think that her mere presence might make anyone uncomfortable (intentionally). She made a mental note to talk to Jean-Luc about it. If there were anyone on board to lend a sympathetic ear and advice to that particular problem, it would be he.  
  
"All right everyone. Let's get down there and get this done." Shaking off her thoughts, she picked up a kit and slung it over her shoulder, nodding to Selar on the way out. "Don't wait up." The somber Vulcan merely raised an eyebrow and Crusher smiled. Despite herself, Beverly had an idea that Selar enjoyed her dry sense of humor.  
  
She contemplated this on her way to the transporter room. Ahead of her, Dr. Wells was busy regaling an ensign with one of Matt's latest escapades. His wiry frame was animated and his arms were in the air. In a distant way, Paul reminded her of Jack. Physically they were polar opposites. But their jovial personalities, devotion to family, and outgoing demeanors – Beverly had made peace long ago with Jack's death, but from time to time, she felt a stab of loneliness and injustice from his premature absence. She made a mental note to stop by Paul and Sheila's quarters that night to visit with Matt.  
  
When they beamed down to the planet, Wells was still talking. 


	3. An Apple A Day Three

  
  
An Apple a Day  
  
Three  
  
"There you go. That wasn't so bad." Beverly smiled and ran a hand down the cheek of a young girl she had just treated. It was stained with tears that were now dry. She had fallen off of her bicycle and broken her arm. The colony they were dealing with now was not quite technophobic, but they believed in limited use of technology. It was quaint, and also compelling. In the week they'd been working with the colonists, Beverly had had a chance to dine and recreate with some of the families. She found their slower pace of life appealing, a relaxing change of pace.  
  
The little girl hopped off the bio bed and smiled at her, and Beverly smiled back. Impulsively, she turned back around and threw her arms around Beverly's legs. "Thank you Doctor Crusher."  
  
"You're very welcome, Gina. Don't forget to be more careful next time." Crusher's tone was soft but stern.  
  
"I won't." She ran out of the office, already intent on her next adventure.  
  
Beverly let out a large sigh and watched as the girl made her way out of the building. The waiting room was quiet. She had volunteered to treat patients while her staff worked with the local physicians to make improvements and restock the nearby clinics.  
  
She sat down and bit into a large sandwich she'd made for lunch. She ruminated over Wesley as she did so. It seemed so long ago that he had been Gina's age. He would run to her with a scraped knee and she could make it better just like that. Snap. Where was he now? And who took care of his scraped knees? Did he even think of her? She was so young when Wesley was born. Much younger actually, than couples typically had children – Paul and Sheila were much more traditional in that sense. But she and Jack had been so eager to start a family of their own. Both of them were only children, and both had already lost their parents. In the years before they had been married, they spent long Sunday afternoons discussing the Crusher clan they would raise – conjuring images of a large airy house overrun with the laughter of children. Both of them knew they were just dreams. They were each as married to their careers as each other. Nonetheless, they'd planned to have at least another child. Jack had been hoping for a girl.  
  
Beverly exhaled loudly and willed her thoughts elsewhere. Jack's loss was just a dull ache now and it was best not to dwell on the past – but for some reason she'd been doing it a lot lately. Now she faced the second half of her life alone. Not truly alone, for she had such good friends, almost a surrogate family on the Enterprise. But there would be no grandchildren to spoil in her old age. The best she could do would be to hope that Deanna and Will would come to their senses and finally start their own family. For now, she enjoyed spending time with Matthew, and Alyssa's son Tomas and newborn daughter Tashira.  
  
She broke from her thoughts and looked at the chronometer. Time to check in.  
  
She tapped her comm. "Crusher to team alpha, what's your status?"  
  
Alyssa's chipper voice came back to her. "We're doing just fine Doctor. We should be done right on schedule."  
  
"Very good, Lieutenant. I knew there was a reason I kept you around." A sardonic smile played at Beverly's lips.  
  
"We aim to please." Alyssa clicked off the comm.  
  
"Crusher to beta, report?" She got up and began walking around the office, unnecessarily lining up instruments.  
  
"Hi Doc. What can we do for you?" Paul's easy tenor filled the office.  
  
"Just wondering how it's going out there." Beverly stopped her aimless wandering and plunked down behind the desk.  
  
"We've had some trouble with some of the older equipment, but we're on track now. We're going to work through lunch and should be done on schedule. If you ask Sheila, I could stand to skip lunch more often." Paul chuckled at his own joke.  
  
Beverly could picture him rubbing his stomach in good humor. "All right Paul – but I don't want to hear about you missing dinner." She tapped off as a walk-in appeared in the lobby. The man was mobile and upright, but there was plenty of blood. She began washing up as the nurse at reception came out from behind the desk to help the man into the exam room.  
  
She worked on the colonist for an hour. He'd been cutting trees on his property and had injured himself very badly with the old-fashioned chainsaw. Beverly shook her head in disbelief at the jagged wound. Miraculously, it was not a serious injury, but in order to heal it cleanly she'd had to set it precisely and leave his arm under a dermal regenerator for an extended period. He'd also lost a lot of blood, and needed an infusion. She'd had to draw a sample and replicate a large amount. Finally she'd patched the man up and sent him on his way. He'd given her a hearty handshake and a warm smile, which Crusher returned.  
  
She sat down to quickly file a record of the treatment when her comm. blipped to life. "Doctor Crusher, this is Lieutenant Innes of medical team beta. We have a large scale medical emergency – we need you at the South Clinic immediately."  
  
"Crusher here – I'm on my way." She grabbed a portable med kit and called up to the Enterprise. "One to beam directly to the South Clinic." As she felt the familiar tingle sweep over her she prepared herself for whatever trauma lay ahead.  
  
The preparation was of no use when she arrived on the scene. It was chaos. Bodies and acrid smoke filled her eyes and lungs, and she coughed reflexively. A charred land craft lay half-way in and half-way out of the clinic. It was impossible to tell, but it appeared to have crashed into the building and then caught fire and exploded. In a way it was a very typical Federation disaster drill. Unfortunately, the casualties were real.  
  
As well as she could, she picked her way into the heart of the crash site and the building, knowing that it was there she would find the most severely injured. Lieutenant Innes had followed protocol perfectly, and Beverly could hear others of her medical staff arriving behind her. The most senior were making their way in, while the rest stayed near the fallout of the blast triaging and treating the less wounded.  
  
Finally she made her way through the blown-out entrance and into the clinic lobby, waving at security personnel as she did so, ignoring their warnings. She spotted Innes and rushed to where the Lieutenant crouched over a badly burned colonist. "Report, Lieutenant." Her eyes and tone were intense.  
  
"As you can see sir, a large vehicle crashed into the building. We're not sure exactly what happened or why. Those of us who were able to immediately began treating victims. Anyone that's too badly injured but stable enough for transport is being beamed directly to the Enterprise."  
  
"Well done. What is the current triage situation?" Beverly raised her voice as she shrugged off her medkit and moved to a woman lying nearby, unconscious.  
  
"The new wave of personnel from the East Clinic and those who can be spared from the Enterprise should be able to handle most of the remaining casualties. Local physicians are also assisting." The woman finally looked up toward Crusher. She had stabilized her patient and was preparing to move him out of the area.  
  
Crusher finished a scan and looked up. "Well done Lieutenant. I'll take over from here." The two locked gazes for a moment and Innes nodded in silent understanding. She lifted the man by the shoulders and made her way to the back of the lobby, toward the rest of the clinic and away from the thick smoke that hung in the air in the aftermath of the fire.  
  
Crusher stabilized her patient and beamed the woman back to the ship. The emergency lighting was dim in the thick haze, and again she coughed. She could tell whatever was in the smoke was not healthy for her lungs. She estimated she could stay for no more than ten minutes before returning to the ship. She picked her way through overturned equipment and furniture, searching for more victims. She saw a leg protruding from under an enormous internal imaging machine and gracefully climbed over it. She was not in any way ready for the sight that greeted her on the other side.  
  
"Paul." Instantly she was all business. She assessed his injuries critically, clinically. They were extensive. He had compound fractures in his left thigh and forearm, damage to his liver and spleen, as well as internal hemorraging. A metal rod had pierced his chest, and blood was oozing slowly across his blue uniform. He had a severe concussion and was unconscious. "Hold on, Paul."  
  
She tapped her chest insistently. "Crusher to Enterprise. Get Selar down her now!" She popped open her kit. She was unsure whether or not she'd even be able to get him stable enough to transport back to the ship. As she worked Selar materialized next to her. She'd brought another medkit, this one far larger than Crusher's own away version. They'd need it.  
  
"Come on Paul." As the CMO spoke to her unconscious friend, Selar moved to Beverly's side and began working on Paul's head injury. His blood pressure was dropping, and she was unable to bring it back up. His heart rate was erratic, and would become arrhythmic at any moment. Brain scan activity was discouraging. He was losing a lot of blood. "Crusher to Enterprise. Run a match on Paul Wells and get me as much type-specific blood down here as you can in the next minute."  
  
She moved to his leg. His bone had broken through an artery, which is where the majority of bleeding was occurring. She stared at the break grimly, her jaw working tensely. Turning to her kit she grabbed a tourniquet and tied it quickly and violently around his upper thigh. She similarly treated the arm. "Band-aids," she though bitterly. An ensign arrived with a liter of blood. It was a start.  
  
She began the infusion, and it seemed to help. His blood pressure and heart rate leveled out. But there was no telling what would happen when they began treating the primary wound. She and Selar met eyes over Paul's prone body.  
  
"Crusher to Enterprise. Three to beam directly to sickbay." He'd live through transport. But whether or not he'd live through the rest of the day was touch and go.  
  
Crusher and Selar materialized seconds after Paul. In the stark light of sickbay his condition seemed graver. His pallor was blue-grey, and the glint of the steel rod sticking out of his chest seemed even colder. Attendants whirled around the main bed as the two senior physicians worked, casting worried sidelong glances as they treated their own patients. Beverly knew she should leave this to Selar and another attending, but how could she possibly supervise anything as Paul lay clinging to life in her own sickbay?  
  
With the instruments available to them on the ship, attendants were able to quickly repair the fractures to his leg and arm. But his blood pressure began to drop again, and once more his heart began beating erratically. A sense of calm came over Beverly as she began preparing Paul for surgery. The rod has pierced his lung, and was at such an angle that it had also nicked his heart and run through his stomach. The concussion was much more severe than they had initially suspected, and was going to be a problem. It was important to properly anesthetize Wells, but there was no way to tell what the drugs would do to his brain function. What they needed, and what they didn't have, was time to better assess the head wound.  
  
It was a tough call. "Doctor Crusher, shall we proceed with the operation?" Selar regarded her coolly. A million clinical thoughts ran through Beverly's head. The two choices were clear – a risky procedure to save his life, or a stop-gap measure that wouldn't kill Paul immediately, but might result in death or a permanent vegetative state. In the back of her unconscious mind, Beverly wondered what choice the CMO had made on the Stargazer all those years ago when Jack had appeared in front of him. It wasn't just Paul's life in her hands, but Sheila and Matthew's as well. It was not the first crew member with a family she'd faced in this condition, but this time she could not get Matthew's face out of her mind.  
  
"Prep him for OR." Her eyes were deep blue and flinty, her concentration intense. Paul may or may not live – but Beverly would do everything in her power to make sure Sheila would not lose her husband today.  
  



	4. An Apple A Day Four

  
  
An Apple A Day  
  
Four  
  
Crusher, Selar, and almost half of the nurses in sickbay labored feverishly over Paul for hours. At times it seemed they were in the clear, and at others it was impossible to turn any corner. In the end, Crusher worked for more than an hour after she should have called the case. At that point, even if he had lived, he likely would never have woken up. Beverly tried to tell herself she was not stalling, that she was not trying to buy time before she had to break the news to Sheila. Finally, she had looked up into Selar's dark black eyes. Their logic was inescapable, and Crusher felt ashamed that she'd let it go as far as she had. "Time of death, 19:46 hours." She stepped back and gently set down the instrument she'd been using in a futile attempt to re-close the severed capillaries around his heart. They'd considered implanting an artificial heart, but the collateral damage from the trauma had obliterated his aorta, vena cava, and almost all tributary veins and arteries. His chest would have been a mish-mash of metallic and plastic alloys, and he had just been deteriorating too quickly to even replicate the necessary replacements. Even in the 24th century, Beverly was not God – though she was loathe to admit it.  
  
Nurse Powell stepped in to begin cosmetically repairing the body. Normally Beverly would have stepped away and let her staff finish. It did not seem right in this case. Paul had been her crewman, her responsibility. She began to assist, as did Selar. She would not stay long – she needed to go talk to Sheila. But for now she wanted these few minutes of quietude to gather her thoughts. She would cry when she broke the news to Paul's widow, of that she was certain. Usually she was quite able to maintain her professional demeanor, difficult as it was. She may spend the rest of her week off-shift crying in her own quarters. She might become a bit short with her staff or friends, but she could maintain when she needed to. But this time, this case was too much. Sometimes circumstances conspired against you – and in this case the conspiracy was vast.  
  
Beverly sighed and stepped back from the table. Already tears streaked her face. She nodded to Alyssa and Selar, backing slowly away. Her hands were shaking – she shoved them into her labcoat. She paused momentarily before activating the doors out of the OR and took a deep breath. 'Here we go Beverly. You can do this.'  
  
She waited a moment more before tapping her comm. "Crusher to Troi." Try as she might, she could not keep the waver from her voice.  
  
"Troi here. What can I do for you Beverly?" Deanna's tone was filled with concern.  
  
"We lost Paul Wells. I'm going in to tell Sheila. Can you come to my office?" Beverly worked to keep her breathing deep and regular.  
  
"Absolutely, Beverly – I'm on my way." Her voice was soothing. Crusher sent up a silent thank-you to whoever might be listening in thanks for Deanna Troi.  
  
She walked out into the main bay, which was still fully lit and hectic despite the waning hour. Crusher pulled aside an ensign, who nodded toward her office. She stopped at two of the biobeds on the way. After what seemed an eternity, she walked into the alcove where she knew Paul's family would be waiting. Sheila sat with Matthew on her lap, her back to the door. The apple the boy had so carefully created for Beverly this morning (another eternity ago) still sat on her desk, as red and shiny as ever.  
  
She stepped forward and laid a hand on Sheila Wells' shoulder. The woman looked up through eyes that were already filled with tears. Beverly's heart tore as she saw the desperate hope in the woman's face, quickly replaced by utter despair when she saw the tears in Beverly's own eyes.  
  
"No, Beverly. No. Please." Sheila clutched Matthew tightly against her chest. The boy was quiet. Crusher knew why – he did not understand what was going on, but he did understand that his mother was very, very upset – and that his father was not there.  
  
"Sheila, I am so sorry. We did everything we could." Crusher hated making platitudes. They were always meaningless. Even Beverly could not understand what this woman before her was facing. She could empathize, but even she could not know exactly what Sheila was thinking – and her words were hollow. Suddenly, the room was too hot – her uniform was too tight – the lights in her office too bright.  
  
Deanna walked in, and Beverly lifted Matt from Sheila's lap. The woman sat, still and and unresponsive. Crusher brushed the hair from Matt's warm face and ran a hand down his cheek. There was a world of pain in his future, and it was just beginning. She shifted him to her hips and set him in front of the Counselor. Deanna knelt down to greet him and took his hand. She spoke to him softly, and after a moment she led him out into the corridor, toward her office where she would do the best she could to explain this awful reality. When she was able, Sheila would join them.  
  
Beverly turned back to the distraught widow. Sheila sat with her head in her hands, elbows on her knees. She placed her hand on her shoulder and knelt on one knee beside the woman, trying as best she could to offer some small comfort, one moment of companionship in what would become and endless and violent sea of loneliness.  
  



	5. An Apple A Day Five

  
  
An Apple A Day  
  
Five  
  
It was late, or maybe early, when Beverly finally returned to her quarters. She wasn't sure which. After she'd released a sobbing Sheila Wells into the care of Deanna Troi, Crusher had returned to sickbay. It was still a busy place, as there were remaining casualties to be cared for, and one less primary physician on rotation. But the staff was muted and dour. They offered little comfort to the ailing colonists in their midst. What Beverly wanted, what they all wanted, was time alone and with each other to grieve for Paul. But this was Starfleet, and that time would have to wait. They would steal it in covert, secretive moments when and if they could.  
  
She'd avoided leaving duty as long as she could, circulating through the bay and into cargo deck III where they'd placed recovering non-critical patients. Finally she fallen asleep at the terminal in her office, where a duty nurse had woken her and glanced pointedly at the chronometer.  
  
"I was just headed to my quarters." Beverly rose and smiled painfully at the young woman, laying a hand on her shoulder in thanks before walking quietly out the door.  
  
Which brought her to the here and now, and to her quarters. Her message light blinked slowly. Unwilling to surrender yet to the call of her bed, she sat down and accessed her terminal. It was a simple written message from Jean-Luc.  
  
"Beverly – I heard about Paul Wells. I'm so sorry. I will speak with Sheila tomorrow. Call anytime if you want to talk. I'll see you in the morning – JLP."  
  
Crusher smiled ruefully, glad for the small comfort. Jean-Luc knew the pain of losing a crew member well enough, and knew there was nothing to be said to make it right.  
  
Part of her wanted to go to him now, throw herself in his arms, and try to forget everything. The rest of her simply clicked off the monitor and headed into the bedroom. She stripped off her labcoat and laid it over her armchair. In her room, she removed her uniform and hung it neatly in the closet. Mechanically, she stripped off her socks and placed them in the recycler. She dropped her shining black boots in their place in the closet.  
  
Still unthinking, she pulled on her pajamas and sat in front of the mirror to comb out her hair. She'd put it up for the surgery and it was still in an untidy bun, strands falling all about her face. She had no specific thoughts, only base emotions of void and sorrow.  
  
She set down the brush, and again it clattered to the floor. Wordlessly she bent and replaced it on the counter. She stood, turned, and made her way to the bed, calling for lights down. She slipped into the cool sheets and lay still for an hour before falling asleep.  
  
She stirred as her morning chime sounded, this time hitting the delay button. She could spare another half hour. Maybe dinner tonite with Jean- Luc instead of breakfast. The Captain would understand. She threw her arm over her head and dozed, falling into a deep sleep before her alarm rang again, this time more insistently.  
  
She swung her legs over the bed, stood, and began stretching. This morning, every muscle was taut. It would take more than calisthenics and hot water to relieve this tension. It would take time.  
  
Forty minutes later she tugged on her boots, pulled on her labcoat, and strode through her cabin door. Mere minutes later she walked into her office in sickbay. She sat down at her terminal and clicked it on. Her body felt as though it had never left the chair, and it resisted her at all the wrong places. Starfleet had invested in state of the art ergonomics for all of their equipment, but none of it had been made for continuous use. She began filling out the death certificate for Paul Wells. When she'd finished, she slowly drew down the monitor. She sat and gazed at nothing for another minute before she picked up the apple from Matthew that still sat on her desk. She turned it over and over in her long, delicate hands.  
  
Sighing, she placed it back on the desk and stood. Whatever decision she was to make about her future, she would do it quickly. Beverly was tired of waiting and reacting to her life. Weakness and indecision weren't like her, and they weren't very Howard. It was going to stop today. Plastering a pleasant and confident expression on her face, she strutted out of her office and into the already bustling main bay. It was another day on the Enterprise, and she had patients to treat.  
  
End  
  
"It's another tequila sunrise, and this old world still looks the same, another friend."  
  
Tequila Sunrise – The Eagles – Hotel California  
  



End file.
