Subject: revised version, "Out in the Open"
From: [email-masked] (sandra guzdek)
Date: 27 May 92 15:19:00 GMT
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative

this story was posted previously, oh, about two weeks ago. i got lots of 
nice comments, but also a lot of very helpful constructive criticism 
(thanks, aryk!!!!!). being the anal-retentive person that i am, i couldn't 
sleep until i had fixed what was wrong (although most of you would agree it 
was petty). so i hope you all like it. if you don't want to be bothered 
again, that's fair: hit "n" now. :) 
once again, all comments, good and bad, are greatly appreciated.

sandra g.                                | "More coffee for me, boss....
ub illustration dept, buffalo ny         |  'cause I'm not as messed up
username: [email-masked] |             as I want to be..."
                                         |       
                                         |          -- "Hearing Aid", TMBG
                                         |     


Out In the Open by Sandra Guzdek                                  May 1992
_______________________________________________________________________________

	"I sense that you are feeling a great deal of guilt for what's 
happened to your son, that somehow you feel you are responsible." The words 
were quiet and soothing, like a warm blanket. The woman to whom they were 
addressed looked up with a tear-stained face, and nodded.
	"I had a strange feeling about sending him, I should have followed 
those instincts..." she managed between sobs.
	"It is impossible to know what the future will hold. Think of all 
the times it has been done with success." The counselor, a petite, dark-haired 
woman with onyx eyes, reached out and placed her hand on the grieving 
woman's arm. "I know this is very hard for you to bear, but you musn't let your
grief put the blame where it doesn't belong."
	The woman covered her green eyes with her hands, and wiped the 
corners dry. "It just isn't right. He was only a child." She stood and tried 
eagerly to compose herself, shakily combing her hair back with 
long, thin fingers. "Deep down I know you're right. Maybe someday I'll 
believe it." She forced a smile and headed for the door.
	"Melanie." The woman turned at the door. "You know where I am if 
you need me."
	She nodded, touching the corner of her eye to halt another barrage 
of tears. "Thank you, Counselor. Thank you," she said, her voice husky with 
sorrow. The doors slid apart, and the tall, thin woman exited with a mask of 
bravery.
	As the doors closed, the counselor sat behind her desk and cradled 
her head in her hands, totally and thoroughly exhausted. She secretly hoped 
no-one else came her way, for right now she felt spent of consolation.

***EARLIER THAT DAY***

	"Ready to beam down children's kindergarten field trip to the Grand 
Canyon on my mark," commanded Lieutenant Commander Geordi LaForge with 
a certain air of authority. He stood in Transporter Room Four, along with 
transporter operator Ensign Beryl McDowell. He smiled to the children 
warmly. "Now I know this is the first time transporting for many of you. 
Don't be scared. You'll get a fuzzy kind of weird feeling for a couple of 
seconds, and then --whammo!-- you'll be standing in front of one of the 
greatest natural sights on the planet." Some of the children snickered and 
giggled. 
	Ensign McDowell said, "I've got all of them locked and ready for 
transport, sir."
	"And what about Ms. Casouk?"
	"She's waiting for the arrival of her class on the surface. She 
beamed down just before you got here to set up the picnic site."
	Geordi nodded. "All right, I guess she'll be wanting her class 
right about now. Engage." He smiled to them as they faded from sight.
	Almost instantly the ensign said, panic in her voice, "Sir, all of 
their signals are fading!" Her fingers deftly swept over the keypad in an 
effort to recover their locks.
	Geordi thought about the speech he had just given them all with a 
certain amount of regret. "Get those kids back now!" he said, trying not to 
let the terror invade his voice. "How did this happen?"
	The ensign shook her head, doing everything in her power to save 
them. "The locks just... went out. I can't explain without another level 
one diagnostic." She wiped her brow and continued her intricate fingerwork.
Geordi ran around behind the console. The screen flashed, indicating some 
of the locks had been reestablished. On the transporter pad, glimmers 
appeared. Geordi breathed a sigh of relief; that is, until Ensign McDowell 
said to him in a hectic tone:
	"Sir, we only have *sixteen* locks!"
	He looked to her in shock. The class had been a class of twenty. 
She continued frantically as the children looked around themselves in
confusion. They had landed every which way on the transporter pad. He raced 
over to lead them away.
	After two more minutes of trying, she announced sadly, "Sir, I've 
tried everything I can. I'm afraid they're... gone."
	Geordi looked to her; the ensign's eyes had begun to mist over. 
Geordi then looked over the dazed children, left with the horrible job of 
determining which of the youngsters hadn't made it back. With a wave of 
nausea, he realized one face was distinctly missing as his eyes darted over 
the small crowd.
	Kieran Petrochko.
	Mustering the will to speak, he commanded, "Ensign, inform the captain 
there's been an... accident."

***

	Amidst the sounds of wails and sobs in Sickbay, the medical team 
attended to the children who had made it back. The injuries were few; mostly, 
the children were scared out of their minds, crying relentlessly for their 
parents. The cheif medical officer had taken it upon herself to console the 
children until their families arrived. It was the least she could do, 
considering she was a mother herself; the thought of her own son 
suffering a similiar situation kept her motivated. The death of any child, 
anywhere, always rattled her, regardless of the fact that as a medical 
professional it was not supposed to.
	This visit to planet Earth was to be a shore leave for all crew 
aboard, but the sudden disaster had halted it for senior bridge officers 
while things went back to being normal. Those crewmembers already on shore, 
including some of the parents of the surviving children, had to remain on the 
surface until it was determined what exactly had occurred. That she was to see 
her own son again during this shore leave only made it harder to wait out 
the postponement. She found herself pacing the floor between the bunkers, 
finding little things to do to keep her mind occupied.
	Walking with her head down as she read another chart, she directly 
intersected the path of the ship's captain. He was distracted as well and did 
not see her approaching. "Doctor!" he said, surprised, as her charts nearly 
fell to the ground. Fortunately for her and her patients, he caught them.
	"Captain, I'm so sorry." She regained control of the charts, and 
tried earnestly to regain control of herself. 
	He motioned that she should think nothing of it, and said with 
deepest sincerity, "Such a terrible tragedy. How are the children who returned?
How are they feeling?"
	Unable to focus her concentration, she darted her eyes around him 
and managed to respond with, "Um, Deanna talked with them, explained what 
happened to their schoolmates. How it is extremely rare that it should happen.
They're mostly just frightened. They still don't really understand what 
happened. They're physically all right. Nothing really wrong. Cuts and bruises 
from landing on the transporter pad. They want their mommies."
	Jean-Luc Picard smiled tenderly, putting aside for the moment the 
pain he felt for these children. How typical of her to try to bear the 
weight of the world on her own. "Beverly," he said gently.
	She still was restless. "I know I'm not making sense, but I can't 
think. Maybe I'm putting myself into the shoes of those mommies who don't have 
children coming back."
	They had been walking away from the noise and confusion; he touched 
her arm, halting their stride, and caught her gaze. "Beverly," he said in a 
consolatory tone, "Everything's taken care of down here. The children who are 
back are going to be fine. The children who are lost are by some terrible 
circumstance irretrievable, and unfortunately there's nothing we can do. What 
*is* in our control has been done, and done well. Your prescence has 
undoubtedly reassured them. However, your work here is complete, and I don't 
have to remind you that you have a very able staff. What you need is to get 
'far from the madding crowd'."
	She knew he was right, and nodded her head.
	"Might I recommend a certain holodeck program until you're able to get 
down to see Wes? I've thrown in a few changes to 'The Outing' program that 
I think you would enjoy." 
	She looked around herself again, still feeling a bit edgy and 
unsettled. "No, I think a hot bath will do wonders for me. Maybe followed 
by a glass of hot chocolate, and some sleep, hopefully."
	As the pair approached the turbolift, he smiled again, patting her 
shoulder. "That's the spirit. Now go on." She got in, and offered a small 
smile, holding her hand up to say "goodbye". The doors shut, and he turned away.
	_How unlike her to be so distracted in her work,_ he thought,
glancing over the children, who'd begun to settle down somewhat. _Then again, 
understandable, given these terrible circumstances..._  Pulling down on the
bottom of his jersey and clearing his throat, he decided to pay a visit to the 
suffering families to offer his condolences, out of duty...
	 And out of personal need.

	It was discovered what caused the accident: a random flux of the 
dilithium crystals simutaneously paired with a structural weakness in the 
transporter coil caused an energy bubble to form that the scattered the 
children's patterns. After several hours of level one diagnostics and test-
transporting non-living matter sucessfully in all of the transporter rooms, 
it was determined that everything was back in tip-top shape and general shore 
leave was once again granted. After holding a brief but tearful memorial 
service for those poor innocents who had perished, even Captain Jean-Luc 
Picard, well known as having a staunch dislike of shore leave, was looking 
forward to walking on terra firma, and getting away from it all. He had 
changed into a comfortable casual outfit and had packed a small bag of some 
food and a good book for a picnic under a broad elm somewhere, anywhere, when 
his communicator chirped. He rolled his eyes and grumbled uncharacteristically.
"Ensign Kimball to Captain Picard."
	He slapped it with impatience. "Picard here. Is anything 
wrong?"
	"Sorry if I've disturbed you, sir, but Dr. Crusher's son is down
here on the base and he would like permission to board the Enterprise."
	The captain was somewhat relieved. "Wesley? Of course he has 
permission." After a split-second of realization he queried, "Hasn't he 
contacted his mother?"
	"We've both tried, but have gotten no response from Dr. Crusher."
	Picard's relief was quickly replaced by a sense of foreboding. 
"Computer, locate Chief Medical Officer Beverly Crusher."
	The computer, in its most pleasant and monotone voice, replied, 
"Dr. Crusher is in her quarters."
	Picard turned on his heel for the doctor's quarters. "Ensign 
Kimball, tell Wesley Crusher to meet me in his mother's quarters. Picard 
out."
	It was probably nothing. She probably so sound asleep that she 
couldn't hear the alert, or perhaps her communicator was deactivated. For 
some reason, though, Jean-Luc was terribly worried. His pace was rapid, and 
his heart was pounding.
	Finally arriving at the door of Beverly Crusher's quarters, he 
began by pressing on the door chime. "Dr. Crusher, are you in there? Wesley's 
on his way up." No response. "Dr. Crusher, report!" he yelled. He had a 
sinking feeling that his instinct was right, that something was indeed amiss. 
"Beverly!" he said one last time, before deciding to enter the quarters.
	As the door slipped open, he saw all was as if she had just gotten 
in: her jacket strewn on the edge of her bed, a hairbrush out as if she'd 
just pulled it through her auburn hair, the corner of her bedsheet turned 
down as if she could hardly wait to rest her weary head. However, it had been 
nearly seven hours since he had parted with her at the turbolift, and by all 
rights, she should have been either sound asleep or readying for the rendezvous
with her son that she had been so looking forward to. In a more subdued tone, 
he said, "Beverly, answer me, are you here?"
	A mixture of relief and alarm washed over him when he saw light
eminating from beneath the door of the bathroom. He hastened to the door and 
called again for her. When there was no reply, he took it upon himself to 
enter. "If she's in there and showering, I'll be more than embarrassed," he 
muttered to himself, "but if I don't go in..."
	As the door opened, he was shocked to see the doctor sprawled upon her 
stomach on the floor of the bathroom, a trickle of now dried and crusted blood 
coming from a head wound. Her hair was tousled, and she was wrapped merely in a
bathtowel, obviously having just come from the bath when the injury occurred.
"Captain Picard to Sickbay. Medical emergency in Dr. Crusher's quarters; I need 
a medical team here at once!" He bent on his knees, looking at her, trying to 
see if she was still breathing. She was. He combed away the hair that covered 
her face -- her eyes were closed, but fluttering. Not knowing what else to 
do, he covered her with a robe, partially because he knew she was in shock, 
and partially because he knew she was modest. Sensing someone behind him, the 
captain turned to see young Wesley standing at the door of the bathroom, 
blanched with shock. 
	"Mom?" The word escaped his lips in a dry whisper.

	William Riker, feeling much the same sadness and regret as the rest of 
the crew concerning the children, decided to embark on a sojourn to New 
Orleans, for he too knew, after the consolation and the tears at the memorial 
service for the four of them, that life must inevitably continue. He needed to 
get away for some form of quiet time to simply appreciate life, whether he 
just walked the lush streets of the old Garden District, or ended up in a 
nightclub to experience first hand the recent revival of jazz. The more he 
thought about it, the more he knew Deanna should come as well. This she would 
enjoy, and besides, he still owed her an authentic Cajun dinner from 
some past poker bet. The entire crew had been under such a great amount of 
stress in the past eighteen hours, but as she was the cushion for everyone's 
emotional free-falling, her own stress was undoubtedly intensified.
_All the more reason for her to go,_ he thought. _I hear that warm New 
Orleans air can sometimes work miracles..._
	 He changed into less rigid attire and went to her door, ringing the 
chime. He heard her call out, "Who is it?"
	"Deanna, it's Will. I'm heading down to the surface, going to 
New Orleans. Want to come?"
	It seemed to take her an extraordinary amount of time to respond. 
Finally he heard her whispery reply: "No."
	He was surprised by this answer, although a part of him knew she 
may have made other plans. "Not even for dinner?"
	"No."
	He wrinkled his brow, concerned about the tone her voice had taken. 
She hadn't sounded at all like herself, even in those two one-word answers. 
"Can I at least come in?"
	Deanna's uniquely accented voice called back, "I'd rather you 
didn't." 
	Behind the door, Deanna sat crosslegged on her bed. The room was 
dark save the aura of a small lamp; there was low, soft music humming in the 
air. She was brimming with sadness for those poor children who had perished, 
for their parents: no matter how hard she tried, she could not shut out the 
painful emotions eminating from them. She just didn't have the energy. _All 
this time being a counselor, is it supposed to weather me against the anguish?_ 
she thought.
	"I'd like some time alone," she concluded. "It's been a long day."
	Riker objected silently, but said to her, "I'll be on board for another 
hour if you need me, or if you change your mind."
	"I'll keep it in mind, Will, thank you."
	Will turned away from the door and decided to see if Geordi, Worf or 
Data had made plans. As he continued walking, he commented to himself how great 
it was that everything had returned to normal when he was passed quickly by 
a pair of medics in a hurry to get somewhere. As they turned down the 
fork in the corridor several meters ahead, he realized that that was the branch 
that led to the cheif medical officer's quarters. His curiosity and concern 
were piqued, and he detoured to see just what was happening.
	As Riker approached he saw the captain, whose pale and shaken visage 
belied his posture of strength, and an equally upset Wesley Crusher. He arrived
just as one of the medics walked away from the pair of them, and the other 
commanded a transport to Sickbay from deep inside the quarters. "Captain, 
what's going on here? Is everything all right?"
	"It's mom," managed Wesley tenderly.
	Picard elaborated: "Dr. Crusher has been injured. They've just beamed 
her down to Sickbay. If you'd care to join us, we're on our way down there..."
	"Of course, sir. What happened?"
	The young cadet kept admirable pace with the long strides of the two 
senior officers; he remained silent as the three of them entered the turbolift 
for Sickbay.
	"I was worried when she didn't answer several hails, so I went down 
to make sure she was all right. I found her on the floor of her bath chamber. 
She may have been that way for several hours. Whether she slipped or passed 
out is unclear, but on the way down she hit her head and is presently 
unconscious, and luckily breathing on her own." Will could tell that this was 
affecting him more than he was letting on. 
	"She *is* going to be all right, though," Wesley added.
	The captained acknowledged with a nod. "One of the medics told us 
that he is concerned she may experience some disorientation, and possibly some 
temporary memory loss. But, yes, she will be fine. Nothing that the 
Flansburgh/Linnell cyclical neurotreatment won't repair."
	The three of them got off of the turbolift, and Wesley sprinted 
ahead. Riker said to the captain, "But what about you? You look as if 
you've seen a ghost. And after what happened this morning..."
	"Confidentially, Number One," the captain began in a quieter tone, 
"it scared the living daylights out of me to find her on the floor like 
that. To find *any* of you like that would disturb me. But somehow I feel 
responsible."
	Riker flashed one of his famous grins. "She's the first one on this 
ship who would browbeat you for suggesting she can't take care of herself."
	Picard smiled. "Indeed, Number One. Indeed."

	Geordi LaForge, ship's chief engineer, turned away from the console 
for a moment to think. It had now been two days since the transporter fiasco, 
and the crew in engineering was just returning the main electrical system 
back to normal and on line. When the bubble formed, many other systems 
went down along with the transporter. With the backup, however, noone could 
even really tell there was a problem, and being so near the Earth, there had 
been no real cause for alarm. Now that everything had been put back in its
proper order, Geordi finally had time to grieve.
	He had used the excuse of repair to avoid the memorial service for 
the children. There was a reality there that he found hard to face, for he 
had recently befriended one of the deceased children. The young girl had 
recently taken an interest in engineering, and had begun to look upon 
Geordi as a mentor. They had also spent a good deal of time together outside 
of the engineering section as well, he helping her with her studies, going 
fishing on the holodeck, even attending one of her "tea parties". He 
thought of her disgust at hooking a worm... and what were those dolls' 
names? Madeleine and Peter? He remembered swallowing the awful tasting 
"tea" and, smiling, telling her it was the finest he'd ever had. The arboretum; 
ah, those daffodils. How she loved their scent...
	Standing near Geordi was Lt.-Cmndr Data, who, upon perceiving an 
emotional state not unlike despair, inquired, "Geordi, are you feeling 
well?"
	Geordi mustered up a smile for his emotionless friend. "Sure, I'm 
fine. I'm just thinking about Kieran. Poor kid."
	"It is truly fortunate that a high percentage of them were saved 
against the odds, yet, I am disappointed we were not able to get them 
all. Is that what it means to bereave?" Data cocked his head like an 
inquisitive child.
	"I think you understand, but it is so much more. Like when Tasha 
died, like when any of us dies, you realize that you'll never laugh, cry, 
console or be consoled by this person again, and the sense of loss becomes 
almost overwhelming. Fortunately, time does heal all wounds." Data took a 
moment to process this information. "A long time."
	"Ah yes, Tasha. Every day I am reminded of her in some way." He 
took the seat next to Geordi, and continued, "May I recommend that you talk 
with Counselor Troi? I regret that I cannot fully reciprocate exactly what 
you are... feeling."
	Geordi sighed; he had hoped that a talk with the counselor wouldn't 
be necessary, but deep down he knew it would be the only way to confront 
the terrible fact that little Kieran was gone. He nodded to Data and tapped 
his communicator. "LaForge to Counselor Troi. Acknowledge." His page went 
unanswered, so he tried again, with the same results. He looked to Data, 
whose look of confusion was impeccably human.
	"I do not understand."
	"Maybe she went for her shore leave. Come to think of it, I haven't 
seen her around in a couple of days."
	"That would not explain why she is not responding. Even when not on 
board she would be expected to respond almost immediately."
	According to the computer, Deanna was still on board, in her 
quarters. For an android, Data seemed to eminate a great deal of concern. 
"The fact that the same set of instances occurred just days ago to Dr. Crusher
is disturbing. I hope that Counselor Troi is not injured in some similiar 
way."
	Geordi stood and straightened his shirt. "Come on with me, Data. 
Let's go and solve this little mystery."

	Having forsaken a spot under a broad elm tree long ago for a less 
comfortable seat in a nearly empty Ten-Forward, Jean-Luc Picard sat reading 
Shakespeare with a glass of warmed milk in his hand, both to soothe his nerves. 
He just couldn't sleep, and for some reason he felt cramped in his quarters. 
Hearing someone call out his title, he looked up to see his second-in-command 
nearing the table. "Will, any news on Dr. Crusher?"
	"No, she's still unconscious, and unresponsive to the drug to bring 
her out of it." Will took the liberty of sitting across from him.
	"That worries me. She's been unconscious for far too long."
	"Absolutely." A passing attendant brought Riker a glass of synthehol, 
and he thanked her politely. "That isn't why I needed to speak with you, 
though. It would seem that Counselor Troi is... missing."
	Picard set the book aside. "What exactly do you mean by 'missing'?"
	"Noone can recall seeing her within the past 48 hours. LaForge 
needed her for grief counseling this evening. When he went to her quarters 
with Data, he discovered that her communicator had been left behind 
on a table in her room. Needless to say, she was nowhere to be found."
	"Intriguing. Do you think that she intentionally left it behind?"
	"Frankly sir, I spoke to her the night after the disaster. I think 
I may have been one of the last people to speak with her. She sounded 
terribly disturbed: sad, maybe even depressed. She said something about 
needing some time to herself."
	"While there's nothing wrong with wanting that, it *would* seem very 
peculiar for a senior officer to just... take leave without informing someone, 
least of all, the captain. And that she left behind her communicator 
implies that she does not want to be found just yet." He stopped to sip his 
milk, then looked to Will with a gaze of concern. "What do you propose we do? 
Go search for her, or leave her to her 'time alone'?"
	"I think this calls for a search party. This is very unlike Deanna, to 
just up and disappear. Something may be very wrong with her, emotionally 
speaking-- after a day like that one, who does *she* turn to?"
	Picard rubbed his chin in thought. "'Quis custodiet ipsos custodes'," 
he said with consideration, rather to himself.
	"Excuse me, sir?" 
	Despite everything, Picard allowed himself to smile. "It's Latin. 
Roughly translated, it means, 'Who shall guard the guards themselves?' 
Rather ironic that our doctor needs doctoring, and our counselor needs 
counseling. Some shore leave *this* has turned out to be." Though he 
was wrought with worry for the two women, and still reeling from the 
children's passing, Riker smiled as well. "Go on, Will, take whom you choose,
and lead a search party for our absent counselor." He drained the milk glass, 
and finished, "Do you have any idea where to begin looking?"
	"Well, sir, I'll ask Cheif O'Brien to get me a list of any 
unidentifiable transports to the surface within the past two days. Hopefully 
the list won't be very long, and we can begin a ground search at the 
coordinates to which she may have beamed." Riker relaxed in his seat, 
though what he wanted to do was get right down there and start looking for her
on his own.
	Picard stifled a yawn, realizing he had become very tired, and 
apologized. "Given the head-start Deanna has, she may no longer be anywhere 
near where she beamed down." 
	Riker sighed, "Don't remind me."
	The two of them stood and left Ten-Forward together; Picard 
continued, "There is also the slim possibility that she is still on board, 
somewhere -- in which case, I will ask Mr. Data to scan the ship for any 
unidentified humanoid lifesigns."
	Riker nodded in understanding, but knew in his heart that she was 
not on board. Before turning down separate corridors, Will added, "Let me 
know if anything changes with Dr. Crusher."

	As tired as he was, Will's comment had set Picard to thinking he 
would drop in on Beverly and Wes, for undoubtedly her son was there by her 
side in Sickbay. The poor cadet looked like he hadn't a wink of sleep since 
seeing his mother on the floor in her bathroom: his eyes were encircled with 
dark rings and his skin was wan. "Hello, Captain Picard," said Wesley, his 
voice dragging with fatigue. "No change."
	The captain studied Beverly as she lie unconscious on the bed. It 
seemed in those few hours since last he visited her that her usually warm eyes 
had become that much more sunken; her skin, that much more ashen; her body, 
that much more frail. His heart was in his throat, but knew he had 
to remain strong for Wes. "Why don't you go and get some sleep? It won't help 
your mother much for her son to be in worse shape than she is....." 
	His attempt at humour was interrupted when the pair of them heard 
Beverly Crusher yawn. "Mmmm," her dry throat crackled, "... *terrific* 
nap... " As her eyes blinked open heavily, she saw there were two men present
and nearly screamed. "Why are you two here? Wait a minute, why am *I* in 
Sickbay?"
	Picard breathed a sigh of relief. "Beverly, you're going to be all 
right."
	At virtually the same moment, Wesley said, reaching for her, "Mom!"
Wesley's glee was stopped dead in the water when she uttered in what seemed 
an uncaring tone, drawing her fine brows together:
	"Who are *you*?"
	"The medics warned that this might occur, some temporary memory loss, 
Wes. Don't let it frighten you," Picard reminded, aside, to the confused cadet. 
Wes nodded in understanding, though it still bothered him. To Beverly, he said,
"Do you know your name, your station?"
	She propped herself up with her elbows. "I see by your insignia that 
you are a captain, sir. I don't believe we've met. I'm Beverly Howard, just 
starting my second year in Starfleet Medical, sir." She extended her hand with 
a girlish smile. Picard tentatively took it, and shook gently. He'd known her 
at that time, and she didn't remember him, either. 
	"I'm Captain Jean-Luc Picard, of the Enterprise 1701-D." He watched 
her for a reaction; nothing that even resembled recognition surfaced on her 
face. He continued, "Beverly, don't you remember either of us?"
	She was beginning to look a little scared. "Should I? What happened 
to me? Tell me! Please!"
	Wesley hovered nervously, and Jean-Luc sat on the edge of her bed. 
"You were in your bath, when you fell and hit your head. You are Doctor 
Beverly Crusher, Cheif Medical Officer of this ship, the Enterprise. This 
is your son, Wesley."
	"Son? And who's Crusher? I'm *married*?" Panic edged her voice.
	The silent Wesley spoke up: "He was Jack Crusher, my dad. He's dead." 
His lower lip was trembling at the thought of his mother reduced to this, all 
of her training, and his father, forgotten.
	And she was trembling with fear, for all of this was new to her. 
Son? Dead husband? Chief medical officer???

	"Here's that list you wanted, sir."
	Will Riker, having managed a good amount of sleep, albeit turbulent, 
took the list with a polite thank you from the grasp of the transporter 
cheif. In one column was the list of coordinates, and the other, the approx-
imate surface location. Will's eyes darted over the names: there weren't very 
many, and he thought that maybe luck was finally on his side.
	One particular location jumped out to him screaming 'Deanna', which 
only strengthened that belief. Giving the coordinates to Cheif O'Brien, he 
dashed up to the transporter pad and commanded, "Energize." After a moment 
of shimmering, Riker was gone.

	_What a difference a day makes,_ thought Picard as Beverly 
waved to him from her bed upon his entrance into the room. "Captain. It's 
good of you to come back, sir," she said. How utterly foreign for her to be so 
formal.
	"Beverly," he said in return, for "Doctor" or "Crusher" wasn't 
something she was accustomed to just yet. He took a seat on a nearby chair. 
"You look like you're feeling better. Does being back in your own room help 
at all?"
	For a moment she looked at him strangely; apparently she did not 
remember this room either. She offered, trying to sound hopeful, "My medical 
knowledge is returning. I found myself telling the medics how many cc's to put 
in my hypospray last night in Sickbay before they moved me here, to, uh, 
my own room. Unfortunately, I still don't remember any of you."
	"It will all come back to you. It is promising that you're 
remembering as much as you are." He tried to sound as optimistic as he 
could to counter her disorientation.
	She nodded. "Some of the senior officers came by to try to cheer me 
up earlier... let's see, the commander... with the beard, and the android, and 
the Klingon." 
	_What a brave front she's keeping,_  he thought, as he told her, 
"That would be Will Riker, Data, and Worf."
	She snapped her fingers and pointed towards the captain. "Yes, of 
course. They did tell me that. It was right at the tip of my tongue, thank 
you." At once she became dejected, knowing that her forgetfulness was 
blatantly obvious. "Who am I trying to fool? I'm not recovering as quickly as 
I should be, given the treatments. At this rate I could be like this for days, 
months... years. I want to remember so badly --I'm trying so hard just to 
remember my son and my husband, and it's not coming to me." She looked as if 
tears might spring from her eyes at any moment, a rare sight for the 
headstrong doctor.
	"In your own time, in your own time," he said to her soothingly, 
taking her hand and squeezing it gently. He was about to call for the 
counselor, but remembered her abscence with chagrin. 
	"I know," she said in a small voice, "but it isn't easy."
	Picard decided to leave to find out what progress if any had been 
made in locating the counselor. "I have to be going now," he said kindly,
"but just remember that we're all behind you."
	With a delicate smile she said, "Of course, sir. You're a busy man. 
I can't expect you to wait on me hand and foot. But, maybe you could come by 
again later and tell me some tales of... our time together."
	As he stood and straightened his top he replied that he would 
gladly.
	Striding down the corridor, he hoped that Riker was having luck in 
his search, for Deanna was needed here in a desperate way.

	Riker materialized beside a giant slab of cool, rough stone. He 
peered around himself in awe at the gargantuan structure that encompassed 
him, and at the pastoral, golden brown field that gently lapped at it on all 
sides. The sun was on the downswing, bathing everything in an orange glow. 
Will was struck by the sense of complete permanence here, that this place 
was as it had been for centuries past, and would be for centuries to come. 
The wind whistled between the rocks and sent waves across the surface of 
the field, making this ancient place all the more mystical.
	Stonehenge.
	Sitting in the center of this antediluvian calendar was Deanna 
Troi, crosslegged, with her hands on her knees and her face upturned 
towards the dusky sky. Her features were as emotionless as a Vulcan's, her 
curly hair was free and floating on the breeze. There was no surprising an 
empath, however, and she opened her eyes with a look that said louder than 
words that she was irritated at being disturbed.
	"Deanna." He approached her with care, as if fire might shoot out 
from her eyes and render him lifeless.
	Her voice was low. "How did you find me?" It was more a statement 
than a question. "As you can see, this is something I need to do alone."
	"Deanna, I think you should come back to the Enterprise. We are all 
worried about you. We need you back. We... *I*... miss your smile."
	The word did nothing to elicit one on her lips. "Will, I know 
you're trying to help, but please, leave me be. I'm working through this 
grief and stress as best I can with the time I've got. Sometimes I'm just 
pulled in too many directions at once. Sometimes all of the hurt and pain 
builds up with a mounting pressure-- it's all I can do to keep it from 
exploding in my face. I'm the 'tower of strength' for the whole 
ship." She said the words as if they had a bitter taste. "Keeping up 
appearances only adds to it."
	Will sat beside her, disregarding her wish for him to leave. "What 
you need to do," he said quietly, resting his hand on her shoulder in 
comforting her, "is to talk this problem through with someone. We all turn 
to you for our crises. I wish you knew enough to turn to us for yours."
	She turned away from him, and covered her face with her hand. 
"Please, just go. I won't be very much longer, I promise."
	Reluctantly, he said, "All right, but at the very least, take your 
communicator. So you can get back." She hadn't really considered that in 
her rush to leave without being detected, and with the slightest suggestion of 
a smile, she took it from his palm and pinned it to her bosom.
	"You'll be okay?" he asked.
	She nodded, covertly blotting a tear in the corner of her eye. As 
he stood and left her to be alone, an instanteous change of heart caused 
her to call to him: "Well... if you really want to stay... I suppose I *could* 
use a shoulder to cry on..." He returned to her side and wrapped an arm 
around her as she let loose a torrent of tears.
	"I feel like a blubbering baby," she managed apologetically between 
sobs.
	"Sometimes blubbering like a baby is the best medicine for life's 
ups and downs. Lets you get on with your life." He placed a consolatory 
kiss on the top of her head and smoothed her hair down as the tears flowed.
He was surprised to feel tears coming from his own eyes, and he dabbed them 
away. 
	The tears began to cease a few minutes later, and she took in a 
deep breath, clearing her eyes. She stood to straighten and dust off 
her airy white dress, and he followed. She offered him a genuine smile. "I 
feel so much better. Maybe that was what I needed all along, not some silly 
traditional Betazoid trance." She laughed lightly at the thought, wiping her 
cheeks dry. "Thank you, Imzadi." She took his hands in her own.
	They looked at each other, secure enough in their deep friendship 
and affection for one another not to need any more words. It seemed that they 
might even become romantic when the inevitable chirp of Riker's communicator 
sounded. "Captain Picard to Commander Riker."
	He turned away and tapped it, eminating disappointment enough 
for her to read, saying, "Riker here."
	"Report. Any luck finding our counselor?"
	"I'm... with her now, Captain. Consider her found." 
	The captain replied, "Oh... well...  very good. Tell her she's needed 
in Dr. Crusher's quarters at her convenience."
	"Of course. We'll be right up. Riker out."
	Deanna looked to him. "Dr. Crusher? Did something happen to her?"
	"She sustained an injury that has caused her to lose some of her 
memory. She's going to be fine. We just think it's a good idea for her to 
talk to you."
	"What was I thinking? How could I have left like that?" Deanna became 
very upset again. "I don't know what came over me! How could I be so selfish 
to just ignore my duty like that? They need me, and I've just tossed 
them aside! How horrible and callous of me!"
	Will followed her aimless pace and grabbed her arm, angry at her 
for putting her own feelings so far behind those of others. "Whatever guilt 
you're laying on yourself, stop it. You're not made of stone. That's what 
endears you to us all. Everybody knows that even you need time to release 
it all, too. All you do is pick up where you left off."
	After a pause, she sighed, breaking the almost tangible tension. 
"You're right. You've just convinced me that this time off was deserved, even 
if I do catch hell from the captain for it." She smiled again. 
	With a flash of teeth, Riker ordered, "Two to beam up."

	At the vast and infinitely dark table in the observation lounge, 
the lone figure of the captain sat with a cup of hot tea, deep in thought, 
peering out of the window at the blue-green jewel before his eyes. 
He was interrupted suddenly by the tweedle of the door. "Come."
	In came the counselor and the commander, both looking serious. 
"Commander Riker has filled me in about Dr. Crusher on the way here," said she.
Deanna and Will sat on either side of Picard; folding her hands and looking 
every inch 'recovered', she commanded their attention. "It is my firm 
belief that she is subconsciously blocking all memories that include 
those closest to her, those she cares about most, as a reaction against the 
unfortunate deaths of those children. If you aren't able to care about anybody,
you can't be hurt by their loss. That is what is keeping the treatments from 
working as well."
	The two men shot each other a glance of concurral. "What can be 
done about it, Counselor?" queried the captain.
	"I can begin by speaking with her. I can't promise a thing more 
until I see her."
	They all rose as if it were planned. Riker said, "Well, go and give 
it a shot."

	Beverly Crusher sat, dressed in a linen nightgown and robe, at her 
console, studying very carefully a photograph of herself and the son she 
could not remember. They were having a wonderful time, indicated by the 
broad laugh they both seem to have been caught in. "Why?" she muttered to 
herself. "Why isn't there anything for my mind to latch on to?" Tears 
welled in her eyes and she turned off the console with a jab of impatience.
	The chime on her door sounded, making her jump. "Come in," she 
called.
	A woman entered exuding a great sense of warmth and care. The 
friendly smile on her lips indicated to Beverly that this dark-haired woman 
must have been close to her, although no memory of their friendship existed 
any more. "Hello, Beverly," she said, her voice kind and trustworthy. "I know 
you don't remember me. I'm Deanna Troi, and I am the ship's counselor. You used 
to come to me whenever something troubled you. Would you like to talk?"
	Beverly stood, and proceeded to pace the floor in front of Deanna, 
who had taken a seat on the couch. "I can't remember anyone that I'm 
supposed to care about, and medically there's no reason for it. That's the 
problem in a nutshell. What's wrong with me? Am I crazy?"
	"Beverly, please, come and sit. It won't help for you to get all 
riled up. Sit and relax." With a glance that only made the pain more 
apparent, Beverly sat beside Deanna. "Now, you've tried situational 
therapy?"
	"Yes," was the curt response.
	"And it has failed?"
	"It would seem that way."
	"Let's see. Maybe there's some situation you've not yet 
encountered, one that would trigger everything. You've had contact with all 
of the senior bridge officers?"
	"You're the last, and I'm sorry to report that there's still 
nothing. Not a spark with any of you."
	"Not even the captain? He and yourself were close friends." Beverly 
shook her head. "What about Wesley, your son?"
	"Not a thing, not a thing."
	Deanna shifted in her seat. "Okay, what about places? Have you gone 
back to Sickbay? Ten-Forward?"
	"My medical knowledge has pretty much returned, and I haven't had 
the physical strength to get down to Ten-Forward. Besides, I'm not up to 
socializing-- I hear it's a popular place to wind down."
	"*That's* an understatement," quipped Deanna, and was glad to see 
Beverly amused by it. "I guess that means you haven't gone back to the Main 
Bridge either." The doctor nodded.
	Deanna paused, phrasing very carefully in her head the last of her 
questions, the one she was sure was the key to it all. "Beverly," she began 
tenderly, "what about your deceased husband, Jack Crusher? Have you re-read 
his personnel file, looked at pictures of him, listened to his or your 
personal log entries of the time?"
	Deanna had hit a nerve: Beverly was very slow to answer, and she 
began to wring her hands restlessly, her eyes elusive. "N-no."
	"Why not?"
	In a voice that was barely audible, she confessed, "I'm afraid."
	"You? *Afraid*?" The counselor offered her support with a smile. 
"That isn't the Dr. Crusher I know." Deanna stood, taking Beverly's hand 
with her to pull her off of the couch, towards the console. "The only way 
for you to fully recover from this is to do that very thing. Come with me."
	It was like taking a dog for a walk that didn't want to go. 
"Please. I'm not ready for this yet."
	"You are more than ready, and you know it will work. What are you 
afraid of, that you're human? It's the only way to get those memories back." 
Deanna sat her down in the chair facing the console; her unwillingness was 
fading as reality set in. "Ask for it, ask for the files on Jack Crusher."
	Clearing her throat, Beverly began, her voice tremulous: "Computer, 
give me a visual image of J-Jack Crusher."
	A gasp came from her lips as the handsome face of Jack Crusher 
appeared on the screen, a wide grin seemingly in place just for her, brown eyes 
twinkling. Her fingers reached up and touched the screen where his cheek
was. She muttered, a trickle of memories returning, "Stargazer..."
	Deanna intervened. "Computer, play the last personal log 
recorded by Jack Crusher."
	The computer replied bluntly, "Access to that file is restricted to 
Doctor Beverly Crusher."
	Glancing to the ceiling with a gaze intense enough to burn, Beverly 
said, "Doctor Beverly Crusher, hereby giving authorization."
	She turned back to the console, where Jack, alive and in the flesh, 
smiled to her. She was mesmerised. The cool voice of the commander began to 
speak in an entry that was clearly meant for Beverly's eyes only. Deanna felt 
it appropriate to turn away.
	"Bev, honey. Hope those studies are going as well as always. You're 
going to head up Starfleet Medical someday, I just know it." He paused to 
look away off-screen. "This is just to tell you again how much I miss and
love you and Wesley, and when this mission ends I can't wait to return to you 
so I can just hold you again. Until then, you only have these words of my 
complete love and devotion, as few as they are." Beverly just stared 
glassy-eyed, mouth open and dry, not uttering a sound. "I've got to go, Picard 
is waiting in his ready-room for me; you know how he can be when he doesn't 
want me to do something." He winked. "Give Wes a kiss for me. Bye." The log 
had been recorded only hours before his death. 
	As if she were physically struck by some unseen force, she doubled 
over with relentless sobs as she cried out over and over again: 
"JackohJackohJackohJack..." Her hands were still on the screen, fingertips 
white from the pressure she exerted. Probing Beverly's mind, Deanna found that 
her memories were rushing back at a mind-boggling rate, overwhelming 
her. Deanna quickly got out.
	The counselor pried Beverly away and brought her to sit on the floor, 
placing her arms around the disconsolate doctor. There was nothing more to 
be said. Simply put, the one person she had loved the most had died an 
untimely death. That one person was never fully grieved for, as Beverly had 
been far too busy with her medical studies and with her young son to even give 
it a thought. Now, finally, came the release of it all on a grand scale. It 
was like someone had taken a weight from her chest, and she was able to breathe 
at last.
	Out of the blue came Wesley, racing into the quarters. Hearing his 
call for her, Beverly looked up to him with red, swollen eyes. "Wesley," she 
said, her voice choked with tears, stretching her arms out to embrace him 
fully. Deanna backed away to let him comfort his mother.
	With a great feeling of satisfaction, she said to herself, "My work 
here is done."

	The following morning, the Enterprise made all the necessary 
preparations to break from orbiting the Earth one week after her arrival, 
making sure that all crew were present and accounted for, that there were no 
unwanted guests as well, and running diagnostics, just to be sure, on every 
vital system. In the middle of all of this chaos, Captain Picard found himself 
wanting to check up on Doctor Crusher one last time before departing. He had 
not seen her since her extremely emotional recovery, and a small part of him 
needed to be reassured that he was in fact still someone in her past. She was 
too important to him to have their relationship forgotten.
	The computer indicated to him that she was in Holodeck 3, running 
the updated and modified 'The Outing' program. He smiled to himself and 
left his ready-room to join her.
	The doors of Holodeck 3 swooshed open, and Jean-Luc stepped onto 
the grassy bank of the newly added stream, which flowed by with a relaxing 
babble. It meandered across the land; at its most acute bend it came about 
three meters away from the campsite, glinting like diamonds in the sun. At 
the campsite, there were two sleeping units that showed signs of recent 
use, and the fire sent up a thin line of smoke from its dying embers. On 
the opposite bank was a thick forest of mighty pines, whose aroma lightly 
filled the air.
	Beverly Crusher sat on the edge of the stream dressed in typical 
camping gear, her jean legs rolled up to the knees, her feet dangling into 
the clear, warm water. She was so in thought that his prescence was still 
unnoticed; he walked near to her and said, "Dr. Crusher."
	She turned at the waist to look at him with the open smile he had 
always known. Recognition, usually taken for granted, came with welcome 
from her hazel eyes. "How good it is to hear that, and *know* it, 
Jean-Luc. Come and sit beside me." She indicated a lovely patch of green 
next to her.
	"That's quite all right," he returned, squinting in the sun. "I 
can't stay. I just came to see how you're doing." He stood as if he were 
at attention, feeling kind of awkward at interrupting her peace.
	She pursued the issue: "Come on. You don't have to get your feet 
wet or anything, although it does feel awfully good." She splashed her 
feet, as if to prove a point.
	Her playfulness was charming, and it won him over. He was even 
persuaded enough to remove his boots, roll up his pant cuffs and stick his 
feet in the water. She was right, it did feel great, but he didn't want her 
think she'd totally won, and commented, "*You're* feeling better, all right."
	She winked like a little leprechaun, and they both laughed.
	"May I ask, what happened exactly in your bathroom that you fell? 
Did you become dizzy, did you feel faint?"
	She shrugged coyly. "I'm almost embarrassed to say... If you can 
believe it, I slipped coming out of the bathtub. In this day and age of 
matter transporters and photon torpedoes..." She chuckled. "I guess you 
were the one who found me in there, huh?" He nodded. "I *know* I can thank you
for being a gentleman." 
	"Of course, Beverly."
	She smiled inwardly. Was that a blush staining his cheeks?
	After a moment of purely basking in the sun, she said, completely 
changing the course of the conversation, "I brought Wesley here last 
night. He loved it. We had a great time, roasting marshmallows, 
telling scary stories, even talking about Jack, and crying a little, too. 
It's been a long time since we've done anything of the sort. It was really 
nice... kind of put everything into perspective." She leaned back and 
rested on the palms of her hands, tilting her head to one side, her reddish 
hair shining as it swayed with the breeze. It was good to see her back in 
health, and happy.
	Not wanting to cloud over this deserved state of well-being, he still 
had one thing that he had to clear up. Unsurely, Jean-Luc asked, "Doctor...
*Beverly*..."
	As he turned his head to look to her, their eyes met. In an eerie 
sort of way, it seemed she knew what he was about to ask. For that he was 
silently grateful. "Jean-Luc, I once cursed you for letting my dear Jack go 
to his death. That, however, was my most immediate, immature answer. There 
was no way you could know what was going to happen, no way at all. It would be 
foolish of me to bear such an unfounded grudge. And it would be foolish of 
*you* to still feel guilty. You have always been a fine and more than capable 
captain. When Jack wanted to do something, there was just no stopping him.
You did what you could." She sat forward again, digging her fingers into 
the cool earth. "You've become such a dear friend and such an important 
confidante of mine in the time we've served together. Be assured, if you 
didn't realize it already, that as Jack was your friend, so am I." She stopped,
a look of sudden amusement on her face. "If he were alive, I think he'd be 
sitting here right along with us, kicking his feet in the water."
	In the spirit of this renewed comraderie, Jean-Luc put his hand on
hers, giving it a couple good pats. "Yes, I believe he would, and 
undoubtedly he would be trying to get water all over my uniform, just to 
test my patience as only he could," he said, smiling.
	"What, like this?" She kicked up a good splash, spraying the both 
of them with a fair amount of water. She laughed heartily as he shot her a 
good-natured look of infuriation.
	He repeated, "You can be *such* a devil sometimes," wiping the 
droplets from his jersey and pants with a grin.

	"Let it go, Geordi. Just let it go."
	Geordi LaForge looked to his hands as he felt a tear in his eye. He 
told himself that what he and little Kieran had shared was very special 
and irreplacable, but now she was gone, and he had to accept it. He 
would cry now and again for her; most likely, he would smile when he 
thought of her cherubic face and bell-like laughter. He looked to Deanna 
across the table and straightened proudly, telling her that very thing.
"I have only good things to remember about her. I'm sad that she's gone, 
but strangely enough, I don't feel I *have* to weep. I keep hearing her voice 
tell me, 'Don't cry, ya big baby,' and I feel like laughing." 
	Yet the tears betrayed his words, and from behind the metallic 
VISOR they began to roll down his cheeks. Deanna grasped his hand with both of 
hers. She said to him gently, knowing with every fiber of her being there 
weren't truer words:
	"Everything will be all right."
_______________________________________________________________________________
copyright 1992 by sandra guzdek. usual disclaimers about paramount, etc.

and remember, plagiarism is a big word for thievery, 
which is a big word (but not as big as the first) for stealing. 
(but passing it around as mine is o.k.)