Author’s note: This story was originally published in the July 1995 fanzine Involution 8, Orion Press. I have made a few changes here and there, but the story is essentially the same. I realize that the Picard/Crusher relationship has changed a great deal since that final season, so please consider this a trip back to an earlier time.

Disclaimer: Star Trek TNG and its characters are property of CBS/Paramount. No infringement intended.

Note: This story occurs after the episode “Attached,” during which Jean-Luc Picard and Beverly Crusher shared each others’ thoughts and emotions because of the cortical monitor implanted by the aliens.

A New Tradition

by mizvoy

(yes, I write TNG stories, too)
A soft melody invaded the sleeping mind of Doctor Beverly Crusher and was immediately incorporated into her dream. Far from her duties as chief medical officer on the Enterprise, Crusher dreamed that she was humming the tune as she walked along the orchards and fields of her childhood home. It was a perfect spring day. The branches of the trees were so heavily laden with blossoms that they almost drooped to the ground from the weight, and the bees gathered nectar with a buzz so loud that it sounded like . . . a computer-generated alarm.

Crusher groaned and opened one eye slightly. “Okay, okay, computer, I hear you. I’m getting up.”

She ignored the remainder of the computer’s routine morning program as she mechanically went through her stretching exercises. Her mind was already focused on the work she had to do that day—a dozen routine physicals, another study of the tantalizing molds from Endusan, an exercise session with Deanna Troi, and a month’s worth of paperwork. She wondered who the masochist was at Command that actually read all of those routine reports. Even when she’d been head of Starfleet Medical, she hadn’t been able to find out. The best she could get was a vague reference to statistical computer analysis.

The only event she really looked forward to was her brief morning breakfast with her friend and captain, Jean-Luc Picard. More and more she felt she could be her true self with him and find acceptance forbearance, even appreciation. And it had only taken seven years for them to get to this point.

She had just stepped out of the sonic shower when the intercom chirped. “Picard to Crusher.”

“Crusher here,” she replied. She could tell from the tone of his voice that he was speaking to her from a duty station and not the privacy of his quarters. She wondered if she would have to forego the rest of her morning ritual because of a medical emergency; she could feel a rush of adrenaline.

Picard wasted no time on civilities. “I’ve been up awhile and have already eaten. I’ll see you at the staff meeting later.”

“Very well, Captain. Is that all?”

“That’s all, Doctor. Picard out.”

Crusher took a few moments to breathe deeply and regain her control. Was it her imagination or had he seemed more distant than usual? She found his moods and attitudes a puzzle, but not one that really deserved a great deal of attention. With a shrug, she ordered some breakfast and put her mind to the mountains of work awaiting her. Maybe she could read him better at the morning “dump,” as the staff called the brief early meeting.

“I had something unusual happen this morning,” said ship’s counselor Deanna Troi four hours later, as she and Beverly Crusher worked out in the gym. “Captain Picard came to see me.”

“What’s unusual about that?” Crusher asked.

“When he wants to talk to me about a problem, he nearly always has me come to the ready room. This time he just ‘dropped by,’ to use his words. As if he normally wanders around the lower decks.”

Crusher frowned. Discussions between Counselor Troi and a crew member, even the captain, were never discussed casually with a third person. In fact, Troi only told her about such meetings if they indicated a serious physical or mental deficiency that might interfere with the patient’s performance of duty. Even though Picard had seemed his usual businesslike self at the dump, the captain could easily conceal such a problem. There were always his recurring Bord nightmares, or perhaps a classified message from Command that he was mulling over.

“Can we talk about it?”

The counselor’s dark eyes glittered as she smiled. “I don’t think I’m betraying any confidences, if that’s what you mean. He seemed quite distracted, in fact, and a few light years away from his duties on the ship. He talked about mythology.”

Crusher smiled as she remembered how many times, especially at breakfast, he had regaled her with his stories of parallel mythology, recounting in gleeful detail a comparison of similar myths that occurred on planets hundreds of light years away from each other. It was such a common subject that she immediately felt better.

“That’s not an unusual topic with him,” she admitted. “In fact, he’s considered writing a paper on it.”

The two women continued to work out silently for a few minutes as Crusher tried to repress the urge to pursue the topic. Finally she had to ask. “What was the archetypal myth this time?”

Troi stopped momentarily as she recalled the list. “The Vulcan story of King S’Stargh. The Betazoid myth of the covetous brother-in-law. The K’Tangan’s ‘Weeping Widow.” The Biblical account of David and Bathsheba.” She frowned. “There were others, but they slip my mind.”

“The only one I know is the one about David and Bathsheba,” Crusher mused. “Didn’t it have something to do with an illicit affair?”

Deanna Troi picked up a towel and dried her face. “More than that, Beverly. In each story a leader falls in love with another man’s wife and then sends her husband to certain death so she can be free to marry him. Naturally, they all end up with the culprit paying dearly for his sin, either through divine punishment, social ostracism, or personal guilt.”

Crusher froze. “Not Jack. He’s not feeling guilty about Jack’s death again, is he?”

“I didn’t have the heart to ask him,” the counselor admitted. “His mind melds with Sarek and Spock have enhanced his ability to shield his emotions from me, and his discussion was so academic and impersonal that I couldn’t bring myself to ask.”

“But that’s it, isn’t it?” her friend asked, refusing to be put off. At Troi’s reluctant nod, Crusher absently picked up her towel land headed for the door. “Thanks for the work-out, Deanna.” She paused as the door opened and looked back over her shoulder. “And for the information.”

Beverly Crusher was lost in thought as she made her way back to her quarters for a quick lunch before the afternoon’s work began. She could have eaten a sawdust sandwich for as much attention as she paid to her food.

The question she kept asking herself was why Jean-Luc would suddenly start feeling guilty about Jack again, especially after their recent shared consciousness. He had told her what a relief it was for him to know, for sure, that she didn’t blame him for Jack’s death, that she’d accepted what had happened as the accident that it truly was. In Jean-Luc’s and Jack’s locations had been switched that day, Jean-Luc would have made the very same decision jack had made.

What had surprised Crusher the most about their recent shared consciousness was how little she had known before about the true workings of the captain’s mind. For an articulate man who was obviously in touch with his own emotions, Jean-Luc Picard had been a blank tablet to her. She could still feel the shock of finding out, after twenty years of friendship and seven years of a close working relationship, that he had been in love with her from the first! The realization that his guilt over Jack’s death had more to do with Beverly’s sudden availability than with any action he had taken, or failed to take, to save Jack’s life had been a relief to her as well. She had always been uneasy about the reasons behind his continued feelings of guilt.

The fact was that she had never believed that anything or anyone could have saved Jack. And she had known that Picard, of all people, would have done everything humanly possible to save him. Perhaps she needed to remind him of that later, at the end of the day. She made a mental note to talk to him as she made her way back to her office.

Stardates were invented to provide the Federation with a common calendar for social, commercial, and diplomatic convenience. Even so, most planetary populations continued to use their own calendars and clocks, all of which were based on the movements of their suns, moons, and stars, while the less meaningful stardates were used only by interstellar traders and travelers, and Federation and Starfleet personnel, and then only when absolutely necessary.

On Starships, however, stardates were used almost exclusively. Starfleet personnel had come to depend on a computer program to track the calendars of their home planets, simply having the computer remind them of important dates, such as birthdays, anniversaries, or religious or planetary holidays, so that appropriate greetings or ceremonies could be performed. The rest of the time, stardates worked well enough.

Night watch had begun before Beverly Crusher finished her last report and sent it off to Command where she suspected it would disappear into the abyss of some computer core never to be seen again. The usual daytime bustle of Sickbay had settled down to its evening calm, the lights dimmed, the voices softened. Of all the duty stations on the ship, only three—the bridge, Engineering, and Sickbay—had their own distinctive, round-the-clock sounds. Crusher could tell the time of day by the sounds alone, and she could tell that she’d worked too late once again. It would be well past dinner time in Ten-Forward. Another solitary meal.

She remembered her decision to talk to the captain and tapped her commbadge. “Dr. Crusher to Captain Picard.”

A pause. Crusher immediately regretted not checking the time before calling him. Was he asleep?

“Picard here. Is something wrong, Doctor?”

“No, sir,” she stammered, feeling as embarrassed as a girl. “I just wanted to stop by and see you if it isn’t too late.”

Another pause. Crusher felt her stomach tighten.

“Of course, Beverly,” he said, obviously a little surprised. “Stop by my quarters at your convenience.”

“I’ll be there shortly. Crusher out.” She sat at her desk staring at her blank view screen, trying to figure out how she could broach the subject. Been feeling guilty about my husband’s death, again? That wouldn’t work. Deanna says you’ve been fixating on myths about men who are sent to their deaths so their commanders could have their wives. No, that would be worse. Sent anyone’s husband to his death recently? There had to be a better way.

A tiny chirp on the view screen announced the arrival of a subspace message. Crusher knew better than to hope that it would be from her son, Wesley, a cadet at Starfleet Academy. He must be immersed in mid-terms, and she had just sent a hefty transfer of credits into his account to help him finish out the semester. What else would a young man want from his mother but money?

She was, therefore, surprised to see Wesley’s face appear on the screen. She asked the computer to freeze the image so she could study his features. There was very little of Jack in his face or build, yet she could see in his eyes the same brilliance, daring, even bravado that had caught her heart. There was some of her own sense of humor and humanity there, as well. She didn’t realize how much she missed him.

“Hi, Mom. Sorry you’re so far out that we can’t really talk, but, if I’ve figured right, this should arrive right on time.” For what? his mother wondered. “Mid-terms are driving me crazy, especially in Admiral Brand’s class. Every time she looks at me I wonder if she’s thinking about the Nova squadron hearing, about my being held back a year, about the way I very nearly ended my Starfleet career before it began. Sometimes I get so caught up in it that I have a hard time answering questions in class or even doing my homework. It was a big mistake to take a class from her.

“I finally went to see a counselor about it, and he convinced me to talk to the admiral. She said she understood exactly how I felt, and that she admired me for carrying on in the face of the humiliation and embarrassment I must feel! She said that when she looks at me she sees someone who is willing to accept responsibility for my actions and carry on. That I’ve shown great maturity and perseverance.

“Well, I feel a lot better. To have to look at her face every day and remember the biggest mistake of my life and an accident that took my best friend’s life was just too much to bear. Now, maybe, I can think of her as someone who not only understands, but has forgiven me for what I did. I just wish I could make things right for Josh’s family.”

He stopped talking a moment and smiled into the screen. “I can just imagine what you’d say to me, Mom. That on today of all days I need to remember that my dad would be proud of me no matter what I do and that you love me no matter what, too. We used to always spend this day together, and I miss that. I just wanted you to know that I’m thinking of you today. I’ll keep in touch. I love you, Mom. Wesley out.”

The screen went black, and Crusher could see the reflection of her surprised face looking back at her.

“Computer, what month and day is this on the Terran calendar?”

“The twenty-first day of October.”

Suddenly, everything slid into place. Jean-Luc’s cancellation of their breakfast, his fascination with those particular myths, the way he’d given her so much privacy, all because this was the anniversary of Jack’s death. She must have slept through the reminder when the computer awakened her this morning. At least she now knew exactly what to do.

The door to the captain’s quarters opened and Beverly Crusher swooped

Into the room before Picard could say a word.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, “but I had to listen to a message from Wes and then stop by my quarters on the way.”

Picard gestured for her to sit down. “How’s Wesley doing?”

“He’s still haunted by the death of his friend, Josh. I don’t imagine he’ll ever get over it.”

“Probably not,” Picard agreed as he sat down across from her and studied his hands. “I just hope he learns to live with it.”

“Even though Nova squadron was wrong to try that maneuver, Josh’s death was an accident that could have happened to any of them. They didn’t plot to kill Josh, to murder him.” Crusher leaned toward Picard. “Jean-Luc, it could just as easily have been you who was killed instead of Jack.”

“Mon dieu,” he murmured, burying his face in his hands. “Why can’t I put Jack’s death behind me once and for all?”

“Maybe because my presence reminds you of what happened every single day.” Crusher set a small bag on the coffee table and pulled out a bottle of champagne. “For years, Wes and I spent this day together on a picnic and I’d tell him everything I could remember about his father. But now, with him so far away and so grown up, I need a new tradition.”

She poured two glasses of the wine and held one out to him. “Jack once told me that if he was ever in trouble, he knew that you and I were two people he could count on to help him. But he also knew there might come a time, sooner or later, when no one could help him. Neither one of us could save him that day, jean-Luc, but he wouldn’t want us to feel guilty after all these years. Life goes on. I’m happy, and I want you to be happy, too.”

The captain took the champagne and admired its ceaseless effervescence in the light, his face softening into a smile. “Did I ever tell you the story about the first time Jack and I went on an away mission together?”

“Is that when you crash landed a shuttle on an uninhabited moon?”

Picard smiled. “That was part of it.”

“Jack mentioned it, but not in any detail.” Crusher settled back in her chair with great anticipation. Jack had always laughed mysteriously about the mission and had refused to tell her the whole story.

“We were selected to make a supply run to replace the things we couldn’t replicate on the ship. It was considered a plum assignment because we didn’t get to visit starbases all that often, and this time we could even bring back some things we wanted for ourselves.

“Jack and I were on our way back when we started having problems with the shuttle. Nothing life-threatening, but we had to put down on the closest habitable surface to wait for help. The moon we found was barely acceptable, so arid that it barely had enough moisture in its atmosphere to keep our lungs from shriveling. We landed safely, activated our rescue beacon, and tried to figure out how long it would take for the ship to find us.

“Of course, we didn’t dare open the hatch and lose what little moisture we had, and we quickly realized that the meager store of water on board would have to be preserved for climate control.” He laughed louder. “That left us with the case of champagne I’d picked up.”

“But Jack hated champagne. The bubbles made him—.“ She paused a moment to choose her words carefully. “It gave him gas.”

“I know what it gave him, Beverly, from personal experience. Can you imagine spending seventy-two hours in a shuttle with someone with that problem?” They laughed. “Recycling the air over and over again to maintain the moisture?” they laughed until they were forced to put their glasses on the table and wipe the tears from their eyes. “I’ve never felt quite the same about champagne since!”

When they had recovered their composure a few minutes later, Picard finished his wine and shook his head. “I can’t tell you how mercilessly I teased Jack about champagne from that day forward. Once we were on the Stargazer I made sure it was served at every formal event and then asked him to give the toast. I always complimented him publicly for creating an unforgettable atmosphere!”

Beverly smiled. “I think he enjoyed giving the toasts. I know he enjoyed being teased. He often wrote me of the various pranks the crew played on each other, and seemed to enjoy the best those that were at his expense.”

“It was hard on everyone when he died.” Picard rolled the empty glass between his hands, his eyes staring off into space. “You know, a day never went by that he didn’t mention you and Wesley to me. He wrote you so often that when the crewmen relieved him, they said, ‘Tell Beverly hello.’ I have no doubt in my mind that his very last thought was of you.”

“That’s good to know,” she whispered. “And it’s good to know that the crew liked him so well.”

“Oh, yes. He was everyone’s friend. We all missed him.”

They were silent a long while. Beverly refilled their glasses, at last, and said, “I’m glad that Jack and I had you as our best friend, Jean-Luc.”

“So am I, Beverly,” Picard agreed, feeling much better. “So am I.”

“And I’m happy to start this new tradition–remembering Jack with you.”

“A tradition with champagne,” he replied, giving her a wink. “Always with champagne.”