(Around 2375)
It was the night of the Starfleet Admirals’ Ball - an annual occasion that many officers have come to loathe with the same intensity as geographical survey missions to out world planets.
The Enterprise had been made to return to Earth for minor repairs and debriefing after an encounter with several Tholian vessels, which meant that, for once, Captain Picard had no excuse that could possible justify an absence from the event, especially since this year’s chosen location was none other than Starbase One – a few seconds’ transport away. He had no alternative but to succumb, and attend for as short a time frame as was politely feasible.
On entering the simulated ballroom, Jean-Luc felt the dread he had been harbouring all week come to the surface, for in front of him lay the potential for the most terribly tedious night of his life. The huge room contained every admiral and prestigious captain in the fleet, all with the ability to make pointless small talk all evening: worse still, they could start discussing their careers. The buffet tables that bordered the room were laden with pretentious food such as caviar, quail’s eggs and Maldanian cheese fruit, not to mention the elaborately hideous floral decor.
As his eyes passed over these and settled on the opposite side of the room, every ball gown, every punch bowl paled into insignificance, for there stood the speech podium. He closed his eyes and sighed, wishing their Tholian friends could have beat up the engines a little more, so as to prevent his being here to witness yet another half hour long, monotonous speech about how Starfleet was great.
“Looks like fun,” said a sarcastic voice in his left ear, reminding him of the one aspect of the evening that he didn’t mind having to endure. He looked at Beverly, her arm through his, and felt compelled to smile. Of course he had been ecstatic when she first agreed to come along as his date, but now he was especially glad of her company, to keep him from going mad above all else...and to his eyes, she looked even more beautiful than her usual radiant self.
“Hmm,” he replied, trying to concentrate on the feeling of her beside him rather than Admiral Nechayev, who was fast approaching with a grin and a swish of her long skirt. God, how he hated that woman! He would have given his four golden rank pips to be out on the balcony with Doctor Crusher, rather than here, a sitting duck for his superiors. Again he looked to her for consolation, and found a reflection of his horrified expression in her eyes. Another sigh escaped him.
"Let’s get this over with shall we?” he said, then forced a smile in the admiral’s direction. It was going to be a long night.
Finally done, the captain aligned his knife and fork on his plate and pushed it back with a sigh of contentment. He wore a smile as he turned his gaze to her face.
“I think we shall be eating that one again, doctor,” he said, the formality of rank nothing more than a force of habit.
Beverly grinned back, a twinkle in her eye. “I’m glad you like it. It was one of my grandmother’s recipes.”
“Maybe you could give me the replicator code for it?”
The request was a usual comment; the pair often exchanged family recipes by way of program codes for their replicators. As she looked across at him Beverly shook her head slightly, in wonder at his expression. He looked at her like Jack once looked at her – like a husband would – and yet night after night, dinner after dinner, they would say goodnight and go their separate ways. She wished that for once they could be open about the meaning behind the way they looked at one another...then dinner would not end with ‘goodnight’...
“I’ll cook it for you one day,” she answered quietly, “for real.”
The gray of his eyes held her gaze as he nodded, the stood, carrying their two empty plates to the replicator. Left sitting at the table the doctor glanced around the room – the captain’s quarters.
Such a large cabin, she thought, really too big for one man. She supposed there were other captains who required the space, for wives and children. But so did lower ranking officers. Why one extra rank pip meant quarters twice the size was a mystery to her.
Then again, if you lived here, Beverly, you wouldn’t complain. And there were only two reasons why she would ever have the captain’s quarters as her own; a promotion, or...
“Beverly?” Jean-Luc returned to the table, two glasses brimming with ruby red wine in hand. She took hers gratefully, but upon looking in his eyes saw something a little unexpected: he was nervous. Her solicitous side came into action wondering what was wrong.
“Yes?”
He took his seat and continued. “I er...well...”Again Beverly watched with curiosity as he put the glass down without drinking from it and cleared his throat. “...I...I wanted to ask you something.”
“Go ahead.”
“It’s, er...well, I don’t know if you’ll think...I mean you don’t have to if you – “
“Jean-Luc,” she interrupted. “Just ask me. I don’t care what it is.”
With a sigh he nodded, the nervousness in his eyes diminished slightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be awkward. I just...I don’t want to appear too forward.”
Doctor Crusher felt her curiosity mount further. What’s he going to do, propose? Her heart suddenly lurched as she wondered what on Earth she would say if he did. When he spoke again it was with an air that suggested he was still rather anxious about the response he was to receive.
“Beverly...I wanted to ask you...to go to the Admiral’s ball with me. As...as my date.”
She froze. It wasn’t quite as momentous as “Will you marry me?” but it was just as unexpected and had quite the same effect. Jean-Luc had asked her on a date – a date involving dress uniforms and ball gowns and champagne, and dancing. Her eyes lit up.
“You’re serious?” she asked. Pinch me now.
“Why...well, yes,” he replied, looking more like his usual confident, refined self. In fact, in the candlelight, he looked wonderfully handsome, prompting visions of white and gold dress uniforms to materialize in Beverly’s mind. “It will probably be insufferably dull, but...it would be more tolerable if, at least, you were there to keep me sane. I think we might be able to enjoy ourselves.”
Listening to his description it didn’t sound like the most appealing of dates. Still, Beverly knew what it would mean to him if she went along. It would be one step closer to what they both wanted very badly, what she saw now burning behind his gray eyes and what she knew burned just as brightly behind her own, blue ones. There was no way in Gre’thor she wasn’t going with him.
“Of course I’ll go,” she said, never breaking eye contact. Then she added, in a conspiratorial tone, “Will there be music?”
The expression of horror that dawned on his face was swiftly culled by the gentleman he was, and replaced by a knowing smile.
“You know I can’t dance, Beverly. You can’t expect me to – “
“One dance. That’s all I ask.”
“But...” He sighed, and smiled at her. “All right. One and only one. Now...” he lifted his wine glass, untouched thus far, “...a toast.”
“To what?”
“Whatever you like.” His voice was quiet, sincere, and romantic. They raised their glasses in unison. Beverly caught the rich, fruity scent of the wine as she grinned across the table at him, wanting to say all manner of things. To you. To us. To love.
As the candlelight fluttered and flickered in the deep scarlet liquid, Beverly lifted it to her lips, mirroring his actions.
“To the Starfleet Ball, of course.”
Everyone but the good captain himself.
Jean-Luc had never truly enjoyed anything that involved dancing – the reason being that he could barely manage to keep in step, especially while attempting to talk, or flirt, with a woman. Every time a new song stuck up he made himself scarce, getting drinks or otherwise becoming suddenly very interested in the story an old acquaintance was telling. Finding the courage to ask Beverly here as his date had been hard enough, but he could not bring himself to dance with her. Not with The Dancing Doctor, or the woman he adored. It would be far too embarrassing an affair.
He stood, now, by a rather agitated Kathryn Janeway, who was avidly complaining about someone he had pretended to know of – not a word she said was making the journey from his ear to his brain, for he was not really listening, only interjecting at what sounded like appropriate points with “Hmmm” or “Yes”. Instead he looked over to where Beverly was, on the opposite side of the room, and sighed at the ache that surfaced in his heart.
Not only would her dancing skills far surpass his own, but, damn it, she looked gorgeous. When she had opened the door of her quarters earlier that evening so he could escort her here, his jaw had hit the deck so hard it smashed straight through and landed on the floor of the corridor below. He had to marvel at how every time he thought he couldn’t possibly love her any more passionately, she got his heart racing faster. The dress she wore was the exact same shade of blue as her eyes and flattered her elegant figure perfectly – it even, intentionally, he supposed, showed off just a hint of cleavage at the low neckline.
Then there was her hair, falling in beautiful, copper red waves over her shoulders...he longed to touch it, where it glowed like flames in the light from above...the ache in his heart threatened to burst out and fill his entire body with the agony it took to see her standing there alone, waiting for him, knowing he wasn’t coming.
Talking to her was bad enough, but having her body close enough to dance with her? He wouldn’t be able to stand it.
“Why won’t he dance with me?” she asked, her voice upset rather than angry. Her medical companion frowned, not taking his eyes off the chandelier above them.
“What?”
“Jean-Luc won’t dance with me.”
Julian gave her a funny look, perhaps because it was such an abrupt change of subject. Their previous conversation had been centered on the effects of leporazine when used in conjunction with hyvroxilated quint-ethyl metacetamine...and dancing partners really had nothing to do with that. Beverly supposed the expression of puzzlement might also be due to the feminine nature of discussing dates. Deanna would really have been a lot more use in the situation.
“Did you expect him to?” replied her fellow doctor after a pause.
“Well I am his date, aren’t I?”
Bashir chuckled, setting down his glass beside hers. “Yes, but really, doctor. He’s not a dancing sort of person. You know, from what I’ve learnt about him, I’m surprised he even asked you out.” He glanced around the room once more and smiled. “Another drink?”
Beverly returned the smile with a shake of her head. Charming as he was, she was reluctant to stay with Julian while the music and the evening kept on, leaving less and less time for the dance she had been promised. With a swift “no thank you” she moved off towards another corner of the room. Shooting a look at Jean-Luc she found him looking back at her. They exchanged a smile, but as the music changed again he became fascinated by what Janeway was saying. She heaved a sigh, a forlorn expression growing on her face.
When he’d asked her here she had hoped he would be a little more romantic. Sure, he’d got her drinks, and told her how wonderful she looked, but still...one dance could make all the difference. It appeared that tomorrow they would still be no more than best friends, like they had been for over thirty years. It wasn’t right. They wanted to be so much more than that.
The lights dimmed slightly as a distant clock struck eleven. Everybody went in search of his or her date, hoping for a dance to the slow, romantic piece the band had just begun. Beverly sighed again, and went to get another glass of champagne.
She raised her eyebrows a little. “You’re here with Doctor Crusher, aren’t you?”
The captain turned to face her with a start, as if he had forgotten their conversation entirely. “Sorry?”
“I said Beverly looks very nice.”
“Oh. Yes. I mean...yes, she does.”
“Have you danced with her yet?” she enquired, looking for the source of his distress. “I heard she’s a wonderful dancer.”
“Er...no. I mean yes, she is. Wonderful dancer, yes. But...no.”
Janeway grinned. She had always enjoyed matchmaking. It had been one of her strong suits at the academy.
“I know the feeling. Chakotay is refusing to dance with me.”
Jean-Luc sighed. “Actually I think I’m the one refusing.” His friend put on a mock surprised face, enjoying herself thoroughly.
“Why? She looks lovely, you said so yourself; and she can dance.”
“Exactly.” Kathryn couldn’t suppress her laughter at the remark. Picard frowned. “What?”
“Men.” His deadpan expression prompted elaboration, and she lost the facade. Her expression changed to one of sympathy and understanding. “You don’t have to be so nervous. Go talk to her.”
“But...”
“No buts. Go on, you owe her that much. I’ll find someone else to complain to.” With an amiable pat on the back she winked, and went off in Tuvok’s direction. Picard nodded to no-one in particular, then smiled, and turned to look for Beverly.
