I Do pt 2b By Astra Only two choices, yet either one destined to change them forever. She leaned forward barely able to breathe, her hand in his, and whispered the words that would shape their future. ***** "Jean-Luc, I..." His eyes darkened. "You’re going to refuse me." He leaned closer, gripping her hand. "Beverly, why?" His voice cracked and he turned away, embarrassed. "That’s why." She whispered brokenly. "You can’t be honest, even now." She snapped the lid closed and held out the velvet box. "This is not what you really want, Jean-Luc. When will you realize that? How many more times will you make me the villain?" She rose, brushing past him, drawn to the viewport. She felt his anger and it burned her, filling her insides with darkness and pain. She heard him withdraw, the door closing between him, leaving her questions unanswered. ***** He avoided her for a few days, and she allowed it, needing the time to regain her equilibrium. It was harder this time, the solitary breakfasts and lonely nights too uncomfortable to pretend. She tried writing, another of her angst-ridden plays full of characters as tortured as her soul. This time the words wouldn’t come. Even her muse had abandoned her. Inside, the pain grew, a blackness that she couldn’t control. For the first time in a long time she questioned herself. ***** She invited him to her quarters for dinner, hoping for the chance to explain. She knew he wouldn’t want to hear, and probably wouldn’t accept what she had to say. But, for her own sanity, she had to try. He was distant and formal, barely speaking throughout dinner, and ready to leave after dessert. "Jean-Luc, I..." "Now what?" He snapped, his face flushed with anger, the pain still all too evident in his eyes. "Is this another brush off? More flirting and teasing to build up my hopes only to have you destroy me again." He was pacing now, something he rarely did in her presence. "It’s too late, Doctor. You’ve had your fun. I won’t be your plaything any longer." "Stop it!" She shrieked. "Just stop it." She closed in on him, her anger flushing her face pink. "For decades we’ve danced around each other. I’ve been everything you’ve wanted - your friend, your fantasy, your madonna. Always keeping myself just out of reach for you, never allowing you to soil yourself with the truth." She closed in on him, forcing him to take a step back, and then another, holding him captive with her anger. "I won’t be your whore, Jean-Luc, stealing pieces of you away from your real lover." She gestured around her, indicating the ship. "And you will never love me more than you love this." She stepped back, suddenly exhausted. "Now get out." He started to leave, anger and shock warring for control. It was only as the door opened and the bright lights of the corridor beckoned, that he faltered. It was the tiniest hint of rebellion, one undisciplined thought breaking free. He stopped. She was at the viewport again, looking small against the blackness. It compelled him to return, warning him; seducing him. "We’ve been friends a long time." He offered lamely. She straightened her back but didn’t respond. "Sometimes I think it’s been too long." Nothing. "I wasn’t being honest." He admitted at last, and she knew he was talking about his proposal. She relaxed just a little. Finally. "I haven’t always been a good friend. I know that. After Jack died..." "You went away." She whispered. "I never even said I was sorry for that. But," he touched her shoulder. "Please look at me. Please." There was a catch in his voice that made her turn, despite herself. G-d she was tired of being the strong one. "I am sorry I left you, Beverly. I know I hurt you. I know how you feel about being left..." "No you don’t." She cut him off. "Just because you read my psych profile doesn’t mean you know what I feel. It never did." She turned away again, not wanting to have this conversation, yet too far into it to stop. "That’s your problem, Jean-Luc. You project the feelings you want me to have, you almost demand them. I’m tired of it. I’m old, and I’m tired and I’m sick of these games. I’ve earned the right to have my own feelings, and you owe me the courtesy of allowing me to have them." She looked at him. "I will always be your friend, Jean-Luc Picard. But it’s up to you to decide if you want that friendship. You may find Beverly Crusher is not the woman you thought she was. You might not like her at all." She offered him a smile. "Or you may decide you like her better than your old friend." He managed a small, tight smile, and wished her a good evening. She watched him leave, feeling something she hadn’t felt in long time. It wouldn’t be easy, but she had a feeling it would be better than she had ever imagined. :::end:::