hello from the other side ( open )

[ethnobotany]

New Orleans Open

Nothing has really been good for Beverly in months. She's had patches of wonderful, good things, but overall, since the day she left sickbay on the Enterprise-E to the Borg, nothing has gone well. Not overall.

And now, just when she thought she was managing her flashbacks and nightmares again, she woke up one morning to find Fatima gone. So the guilt has set in. And the worry. And everything else. Fatima was like a daughter to her and Beverly misses her with every fiber of her being. A part of her is so angry with Q, beyond angry, Beyond something simple. She has never liked him. Not even once.

But right now? Beverly Cheryl Howard Crusher is 1000% done with Q. If he leaves them alone today, it would still be too late.

So, here she is in the holodeck today. Most people will come across her sitting by a trashcan of fire in the middle of a back alley. She's instructed the holodeck to make the fire big, so it's pretty much a bonfire. A contained bonfire, but a bonfire nonetheless.

Fire is calming to her. She loves the flickering lights, the way it smells.

Fire helps her cope.

Fire is real. Even when it isn't.

Orient Express Open

If New Orleans isn't the destination of choice, a visitor might open the holodeck doors to find themselves on a train. Right now, it's empty, but that might change. Beverly herself is on the train, with her back facing the front of it.

That may or may not be intentionally symbolic.

Whatever the case, she's curled up on one of the seats, her legs tucked up and her head resting against the window as she watches the world go by. On the seat between her and the wall is a PADD, the one she's been trying to use since Deanna made her suggestion. For now, it's enough to watch and think. Maybe she'll turn the actual story on sometime.

Five more minutes.

Five more minutes to mourn, to watch the back of the train, her life.

Five more minutes to feel guilt that she isn't there with Fatima, that she knows what Fatima will go back to but she isn't there to help.

Five more minutes to wonder about the version of Beverly Crusher who should be in this timeline and to feel guilt about that, too.

Five more minutes to feel numb.

Comments

Orient Express

[cridhe]

Cridhe knows something about 'five more minutes' and something about the Orient Express as well. She's been... monitoring things on the Enterprise. Especially the passenger list. And it hadn't taken a genius to figure out that Dr Crusher and Fatima had been close - even if she only saw them at a distance.

For her, people coming and going is old hat. She remembered people the Doctor was forced to forget. She grieved for them when he could not. But, she had her own regrets about this place. She hadn't gotten to see her Edwardian Doctor while he had been here nor Jack Harkness. She wishes she had.

She comes and sits down across from the doctor. Her voice was soft. More in explanation of her presence than to completely distract the other woman from her five minutes.

"There were many trains to take the name 'Orient Express'. The last one I was on was in space."

[ethnobotany]

Beverly is surprised at the newcomer, but not so distraught that she'll flee at any interruption. Instead, she shifts a little so she can see Cridhe better and offers a small smile. Or, well, more accurately, it's a slight upturn of the corners of her lips. An attempt at a smile.

"In space? Really? What was that one like?"

[cridhe]

She offers a small smile of her own.

"Well, it was in space and the rails were hyperspace ribbons. But overall, identical. Painstaking attention to detail. Except slightly bigger. Because, well, space needed to hold the equipment required to travel in space is bigger."

She looks confused and gestures to the PADD in the free seat.

"Which is strange, when you think about it. You can make an entire computer the size of a pad of paper, but can't figure out how to make engines any smaller than several decks - or train compartments, in this case."

New Orleans

[tea_earlgrey_hot]

The ship is now in orbit around Pacifica, and Picard has been seeing to his schedule. Meetings aboard, meetings on the planet; his schedule has not been lax for some time now, but even more so now, of course. Irregardless, even through all the bustling and uncertainty, it is never so much that he loses track of his Chief Medical Officer.

More so now than ever.

He enters the holodeck in his standard uniform, shoulders straight and countenance somber. The setting is not one he would have chosen, certainly, but he finds—much to his chagrin—that there is quite a lot about this Beverly Crusher he does not know.

(And yet, still, she is as familiar to him as a favored book, one whose pages are lovingly worn and creased, whose spine is never left to gather dust.)

It takes a few steps into the program for him to find her, sitting with her face to the flames. He watches for a moment before approaching, affecting the polite assurance of a ship's captain, but unable to completely rid his eyes of their friendly concern.

"I would say that this is an unusual choice of venue," he remarks, glancing around the alleyway. "It's certainly lacking in the charm of Bourbon Street."

[ethnobotany]

Another kind of guilt springs up at times, when Beverly is around Jean-Luc. Well, several, actually. She would never change their friendship, likely couldn't even if she wanted to, but she will always feel at least marginally guilty at points just for the simple fact that she is not the woman who should be here. Jean-Luc should be getting to know her, learning her as she learns him. Instead, he was thrust into a role, a friendship, that he may or may not want. Yes, Beverly will always be his Chief Medical Officer and she will never shirk that duty for anything. But at the same time... she worries for their friendship, for how she might be affecting him. And she worries about certain emotions she knows they both carry.

For right now, though, as she glances over at his very formal silhouette in the firelight, all she wants is a friend. She knows him, knows how he was at this stage of his life, knows well how much gentle nudging and outright pulling she'll have to do in order to get him to start relaxing. Better to start now.

"It was a leftover," she admits. "Fatima created the program for our... memorial, I guess. I decided I wanted to use it one last time in memory of her."

It is likely unsurprising that she is here now, if he pays any attention to the Displaced, which she has no doubt that he does. He also listens to her and she has told him before of Fatima. Perhaps not of what they have been through or that the young woman was like a daughter to her, but at least that they were close.

Eyeing the straight and somber way he holds himself, she half expects him to freeze that way. Instead of letting him, she opts to pat a space on the street right next to her. Dangerously close, yes, but that is the way of their relationship. Dangerously close.

"You don't have to stay standing the entire time, you know, Jean-Luc," she adds on, slipping the informal name in rather than a title. This is a time among best friends, not for a captain and his CMO. "I know you like firelight as much as I do."

[tea_earlgrey_hot]

He is perhaps not the man she knows now, as time and experience have a way of changing everyone. He would like to think he could still be, however. That, at the very least, there are shades of the friend and fellow officer she perhaps is truly longing for in him as he is now, and that with more time—however much time she may need—they can re-learn how to be more than simply tenuous friends.

He purses his lips, nodding slowly.

"She has truly gone, then?" he asks, though Beverly is not mistaken in his attention to these details. He knows very well that Ms. Merali's name did not come up in the last census, and that was well before the ship made port. No, the question is instead intended the way most of their conversations are — dutifully polite, but compassionate underneath. She won't have imagined the sympathy in his voice, or the slight furrow in his brow that betrays his concern.

He had the pleasure of making Fatima's acquaintance, but briefly. As choice members of his command crew will point out, most of his interactions with the Displaced are brief, and not appropriately so. He's aware that Beverly was particularly fond of Fatima, and the tightness in her shoulders and around her mouth tells him that she is not only sorry to see the girl go, but angry about it. He can only imagine why.

He looks surprised, momentarily, by the invitation, but there is little hesitation before he steps up to her, straightening his uniform. He smiles a little tightly as he takes a seat.

"I had not intended to," he fusses, though she may have caught him out. His eyes drift to the trashcan, a flame of a different color than the one seated beside him, something in his expression relaxing into a distant, wistful look. "Yes, I am fond of a decent fire. There is a strange sense of satisfaction to be had in building a fire with one's own hands, using it to light one's way, to warm our bodies, to cook our meals."

A simple way. He does not say it aloud, but a simple life. There is romance in that.

He rests his forearm against one bent knee, leaning back upon the palm of his right hand. He looks down, though his focus is unmistakably on Beverly. "You may be the only one between us who is trained in the medical field, Doctor, but I'd like to think I can diagnose when something is wrong."

It isn't just Fatima, he knows that much. He had hoped that after some time here she would start to feel at home again, but it is becoming more clear to him every day just how very much has gone wrong in the years they've been apart.

New Orleans

[tript]

When Trip entered the holodeck he remembered the scene from the memorial. The woman sitting beside the bonfire he recognized, having seen her at the memorial and in sickbay, although he hadn't spoken to her.

It brought up thoughts of his daughter, so he only managed a small smile as he came closer. "This seat taken?" He pointed to the area beside her where there wasn't a chair - but this was the holodeck, all he had to do was to ask the computer for one.

[ethnobotany]

With the arrival of someone else in her program, Beverly's face softens, though the tension throughout her body remains the same. She glances up at the voice, not immediately recognizing who it is, and then shakes her head.

"Not at all," she offers. "I hope you like fire. It seemed like that kind of a day."

But if it bothers him, she can tone it down. The beauties of the holodeck.

[tript]

He asked the computer for a chair and sat on it when it appeared. "I like controlled fire." Uncontrolled fire wreaked havoc, especially in his engine room.

"But fire makes you day better?" He sounded unsure about that. Candles, sure, but fire was a different beast. Even if it was in the holodeck where it couldn't do any damage.

New Orleans

[notalwaysstrong]

Mack knows that look.

He's seen it plenty of times, on other soldiers, on his team-mates, and, even, staring back at him in the mirror on occasion. It's the look of someone who has been through too much.

He approaches, making sure his footsteps can be heard, making sure his approach is visible. He knows Dr. Crusher is a doctor, but... Well, you could never be too careful, right? He walks up to the fire, close to Beverly, holding out his hands, feeling the simulated warmth against his palms before rubbing his hands against each other.

"I'm always amazed that it's actually warm."

[ethnobotany]

And this is one of her good days. Not her best, but certainly not her worst. At least she doesn't have that haunted look to her eyes, the bags under them that suggest she's lost sleep, or the tension that suggests she will fight or flee if cornered.

No, today she is simply tense, worn, her face drawn more into a line than her normal amiable smile because it's better than breaking apart like glass on stone.

She does, however, appreciate the fact that he is loud in his approach and he doesn't make any sudden movements. Maybe someday she will be able to handle those on a day-to-day basis again. Her lips tilt slightly upwards as he enjoys the simulated warmth of the fire.

"I guess it's a lot to get used to, isn't it?" she comments quietly. "A friend of mine had trouble getting used to the replicators spitting out food." A lot of that was because Zelien had denied them a decent supply of food for weeks on end and Fatima had been a prisoner of COMPASS for longer than Beverly.

Orient Express

[bob_fraser_rcmp]

"Never was a fan of Europe," he remarked, looking out the window, as if he'd been there a while.

[ethnobotany]

He may as well have been. Beverly is curled up on her seat and as long as she has that to herself, she'll be fine. "Why not?"

[bob_fraser_rcmp]

"Too small, too many people," he replied. "Can't go four months without seeing someone."

[oneahn_ayesh]

Ayesh had been planning on running her own program when she found a holodeck that wasn't locked, but one was already in session. She hesitated at the entry way. She could leave. She could find an empty area for her own program, and stay to herself.

But the councilors on her own version of this world had warned against that. Not that she cared what they thought, but she did not want those here thinking the same. Antisocial they called her. Old she called herself, though never aloud.

So she mastered herself and set off to find whoever was running the program. Perhaps they could be students for her class. No one had showed up the last time. The fire drew her. She understood holodeck, understood that no matter what she felt, the fire was not real. The heat was not real. But the light was. She secured her knapsack, feeling a box's edge press into the small of her back.

She had experience with unsmoking flame long before Starfleet raided her tomb.

She strode over and sat beside the other woman, waiting to see if she would be spoken to, if she would be asked to leave. If not, she would speak, starting the conversation herself. Until then, she made a meditation of the flames.

[ethnobotany]

Next time she's doing something like this, Beverly will have to make a note to lock it. For now, she just glances over at the -- ensign, was it? -- who sits down beside her. Beverly isn't in the mood to ask her to leave, but the silence is nice. For a while, anyway.

"I take it you don't mind fire," she comments after a while.

[oneahn_ayesh]

"I understand it at this point, the parts that are needed, the pain of the burn. They are often they same," she said simply, turning to face the woman. "There is much we can learn from the flames, even those that are unreal."

Orient Express

[fishermansweater]

Finnick's time, recently, has been engaged with something happier than he'd ever imagined it could be: organizing his wedding to Annie. Now that the ship has reached Pacifica, there's a lot to do between now and the day of the wedding. Not so much, though, that he's not worried when Beverly's not in any of the places he'd usually find her.

Beverly's been helping them, offering them advice, and there are things he'd like to talk over with her. That, though, isn't the main thing in Finnick's mind when he goes looking for her, though.

He's worried about her, and while maybe he doesn't know any particular reason he should be concerned, he also knows that after what Beverly's been through, it's not always as simple as there being a reason. If she's just busy, he'll leave it, but ... he has a feeling.

That's why he steps onto the holodeck she's on and pauses, just inside the door.

This setting, at lest, is vaguely familiar to him, though it's not one he cares for. He recognizes that it's a train, and though he's not familiar with its precise layout, the opulence reminds him of only one thing: the tribute trains to and from the Capitol.

So it takes him a moment to say her name, quietly.

"Beverly?"

[ethnobotany]

If she knew about the trains, or if she remembered, Beverly never would have let Finnick come in here with her. At his voice, she starts slightly, lifting a hand beyond the seat she's sitting on.

"I'm back here," she calls, sitting up and shifting so she can see him next.

The Orient Express has always been fascinating to her. Right now, it isn't running the story part of the program and that's all right. She's enjoying just sitting and watching the world pass her by.

"I didn't expect you to come in here."

She'd thought he was too busy and that was fine. He's got enough going on right now to worry about her for just one day.

[fishermansweater]

He wouldn't have expected her to know. He hadn't drawn her any of the connections she'd have needed: between the Games and trips to the Capitol, between trips to the Capitol (or Annie's horrific victory tour) and the tribute trains, between those trips and the patrons who thought his fame and beauty meant he was theirs to have and never bothered to ask his thoughts about it.

The tribute trains marked those trips to the Capitol, with all their gilded-cage glamor and opulence that drove the power of the Capitol even further home to the tributes and mentors by their stark contrast to life in the districts.

So he pauses, just inside the holographic carriage, for a moment before he takes in enough differences to make him able to move forward.

He does look a little unsettled as he wanders over to Beverly, though.

"Haven't seen you around much today."

He says it with no accusation in his words, and his tone is soft. Soft enough to suggest what he really means: that he and Annie had been worried.

A little here, a little there

[themerlin]

Merlin had established a way of things, and that way extended even there, and then. Tea, and crumpets, and a nearby presence, never intruding unless approached, never demanding her attention, never making her acknowledge him. He had known loss, and this one, as fresh as it was, had touched him, too.

Fatima had been, the one time they had met, difficult, but he had seen in her a way that made him smile. And he had minded her wishes, and come not close at all.

Now, though, he wished he had, for he mourned her loss, not for himself, but for the one he was coming to care for more dearly. He had been a fool, and more than a fool.

For today, he was once again providing silent support, and hoping against hope, that it was enough.

[ethnobotany]

Merlin is fast becoming someone Beverly leans against when things turn upside down. A part of her doesn't want to lean too much because she doesn't think he needs that, but she is incredibly grateful that he is here regardless.

So, it is in Merlin's presence that she would throw another paper slip into the fire if they were in New Orleans. Instead, she's just enjoying the scenery of the Orient Express.

"I promise not to use your nightmare cure tonight," she jokes quietly, needing to bring some form of humor to a situation that is anything but.

[themerlin]

Merlin smiled, and waggled a finger at her. "Milady. You never need make such promise, not to me. Tis my honor to serve in this, and to aid thee. I grieve with thee, and I hold your words, and your health and happiness as very important." His words were gentle, but serious, even as he grinned at her. In truth, he cared for her, and he wished to help her all he could. And so he slipped from formal tongue to intimate easily around her, now.

"But mayhap this evening, instead, I might give you another gift. Have you ever thought what it would be like to fly? To truly know, for a short time, at least, the freedom from land, and the sheer joy of it?" His words were teasing as he continued. "Unless heights might disturb you...?"

Orient Express

[impossibilities]

It had been just a small question Grainne had wanted to ask the Doctor, and the door was open, but when Grainne saw Beverly sitting such, she almost backed out and left her to her peace. Almost.

She had intended on speaking, asking that question about some medical procedure she couldn't even think of now, but instead she walked forward and took a seat across from her. Something was decidedly wrong with her friend.

"Is this seat taken?" Grainne could recognize loss, and mourning, and remembered when she had been in those times... she had felt the loneliest and needed companionship most. Even if she was wrong, she would make this gesture. "I hope I'm not disturbing you, the door was open."

[ethnobotany]

Beverly hasn't minded most of the interruptions she's gotten so far, especially in New Orleans where mutual mourning was definitely better than doing it alone. The Orient Express is also her favorite and very much not something she minds sharing.

So when Grainne enters her line of sight, she manages a smile and motions towards the seat opposite her. "Please. How are you?"