And everyday we said hello, but never touched at all
He was in his paper, I was in my room
How was I to know he thought I hung the moon
Part, The First
The day had been long, but neither extremely good or bad, hard or easy. A day, like any other day, slotted away. Her files checked and double checked, both her own and those of her whole counseling team. Her log for the day made and saved. She hadn't yet found her sleep clothes, but she'd sat down, brush in hand, as she turned the comm on and told the computer to call Beverly.
A conversation with Beverly before bed, one that didn't have to be work or checking in, and could be all at once for both of them, too, and whatever else it needed or wanted to be would be nice. A perfect foot note to end it all, and send her to sleep.
Deanna yawned, and started brushing the bottom of her curls, as the comm connected, and a voice said, "There's my Durango."
[ locked to Deanna & Ian Troi ]
Part, The Middle
After the call ended, Deanna sat for there staring at the off screen. First, convincing herself any of it had been real, and then, after that, after trying to stack it up next to everything else bizarre, but still real, that had happened since Q commandeered The Enterprise, tried to commit everything to memory, like it was sand slipping through her fingers already.
His voice. His smile. The way he moved.
She didn't know how long she sat there, or how many times she reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek, or when exactly she'd finally pushed up and left her quarters. Needing to talk to Beverly. Or Will. Whichever she happened to get to first. Someone else. Someone other than her own head.
[ ** Open to All As She Walks ]
Part, The Last
Deanna stopped at Beverly's door, still dazed, still in her work clothes. Her fingers pressed the chime, and she said, as though hearing her voice from so far away, "It's Deanna."
[ locked to
BFF Beverly ]