Christmas Miracles By: BonC Jr. 1. Temporal Rift Earth Date: December 23, 2372 Jean-Luc Picard sat quietly, overlooking the snow covered grapevines that rested peacefully in the hills around his home. Winter had always been a quiet season, with much less to do than, say, spring or summer. During the winter, his family, much like the wine they had created in the previous months, sat and aged slowly. Not this month. The Enterprise-E had been on one tedious mission after another, the Federation wanting nothing more than to flaunt its finest for the first year or so of the ship's life. In fact, the only thing that caused a break from the tedious monotony was the recent Borg incursion, which was why the Enterprise has come home for a few weeks. 'Nine months since the commission and the Enterprise comes limping home in need of a complete refit. Command must LOVE me right now.' He looked at the chronometer, just as a sudden afterthought, and gawked at the time. The senior staff was due to arrive for Christmas in an hour and he hadn't started on the night's dinner!! Jean-Luc jumped from his seat and sprinted to the kitchen like a bat out of hell, trying to figure out just how in the name of that aforementioned place he was going to cook for seven in under sixty minutes. ~~~~~~~~~~ 2. Ergness, in her strange state Beverly was probably the quietest on the shuttle, though a pensive mood had settled over all of the bridge crew. Riker was piloting with Data, and he was quietly bantering back and forth with Deanna about some stupid thing. Worf was in the small dining area in the shuttle, and had pushed table and chairs aside to practice his MoQ'Bara. Data was silent as a mouse, except when he and Geordi found something to discuss about Engineering. The Borg incident had left both shaken, but had given them much to talk about. That left Beverly, laying on her bunk, hugging her pillow, her long red curls tossed over her face in a restless sleep. *There's no way to get out of here, you know that don't you?* Beverly looked deep into Jean-Luc's blackening eyes. *Jean-Luc Picard, you had better not be giving up, because I'm sure as hell not ready to do that.* She picked up the lethal type 9 phaser, newly issued by Starfleet, which lay discarded and unwanted by Picard's feet. She wiped her eyes, to clear away the few tears she'd needed to shed. *Beverly, we can't kid ourselves anymore. This is hopeless.* Jean-Luc pulled his badly scraped knees to his chest and hung his head. And he cried. He cried like a child who had been beaten. He was a child that had been beaten. Beverly was fuming. She was so angry at him for throwing a way everything they had worked up to. *If you're not going to get your ass of the ground and take some responsibility for your life, then you deserve to die.* She turned from him, ice running in her veins, and walked away from him. She squeezed her eyes shut, as hard as possible. She took a deep breath, then quickly sat up, spitting out her hair. She hadn't realized it was in her face. She leaned against the wall, an unattractive frown deeply lined in her face. She couldn't seem to do anything these days, especially sleep. Too many memories. There was an itch in the back of her mind she could never seem to get scratched. She wasn't even looking forward to seeing Jean-Luc again, that was the biggest blow. In fact, she wanted to be as far from him as possible. ~~~~~~~~~~ 3. Alexis The shuttle landed on the sweeping lawn of the Picard estate, twenty minutes behind schedule, tardiness which, for once, Jean-Luc appreciated as it had given him the needed time to finish dinner. He walked slowly out the front door to greet his officers who disembarked with care-shuttle rides tended to stiffen the joints. "Captain," Deanna greeted him warmly. She hugged him, something new since his last adventure with Q and the fate of the human race. He'd become more intimate, more open with his staff on this new ship. They were, after all, both his friends and his entire family now. Will eyed him suspiciously. "Now there's something I never thought I'd see..." he said deadpan. Picard quickly looked himself over; nothing seemed to be out of place. "...Jean-Luc Picard in an *apron*!" Picard smiled sheepishly and quickly reached behind his back to untie the strings holding the "Commander-in-Chef" apron on as the group moved indoors, away from the sharp winter air. They gathered in the den, the warmest room in the house around the great fireplace. It was one of the few antiquities that Jean-Luc had always loved about this house, the fireplace that still burned real wood. Nothing could replace the smell, the scent, the intoxication of the fire. He gazed around at the faces, the people he'd become so close to, and his eyes settled (as they always seemed to) on Beverly's face. She was staring intently into the fire, but he'd noticed her unusual silence. Beverly gazed into the flames, watching them leap and fade. The logs threw glowing sparks into the air that rained down as only dry ash. As hard as she tried to fight it, her mind drifted back... He followed, doggedly, as she marched off down the hall. She was right, of course, it did no good to give up. But it was so hard to keep going, so hard to press on when his entire body wanted to lay down and die. It was cold and his teeth chattered silently; his whole body shook and he could not control it. He traipsed on. After twenty minutes of silently wending her way through the dark caverns, Beverly stopped to rest. She knew that Jean-Luc had followed but had not stopped to look back fearing that, like Lot's wife, looking back might mean never again going forward. She wasn't sure she could make it, but she knew she had to try. Jean-Luc sunk down on the ground beside her, shivering. *I'm so cold,* he said. She said nothing. *Beverly,* his voice was a plea and a cry and a quiet scream, *I don't think I can make it.* She turned to him, the anger warming her icy body. *Jean-Luc, you _can_ make it. You have to.* *It's too hard,* he begged. *Look at me, Jean-Luc!* She practically spat the words at him, trying desperately to shatter his self-pity. And, for the first time, he did. He saw the long bright gash that ran across her forehead and the bruises and the dark circles under her eyes. He looked down and noticed that her hands were trembling from the cold and the lacerations that ran up and down her arms under the places where her uniform had been torn away. He gazed helplessly back at her icy stare. *You can make it Jean-Luc. We both can.* ~~~~~~~~~~ 4. Baud ...After about two hours of sitting around the fire drinking wine and having many sparse discussions, Picard mentioned something about dessert. "Dessert?" Deanna piped up. "Yes Counselor, I stopped by the Bakery in town and picked up a triple chocolate cake." "I'll go get it Captain if you tell me where you put it." "It's in the kitchen. Would you like some help?" "I think Beverly would suffice in helping me with the task." Beverly knew this was a feeble attempt by her friend to see why she was acting so distant. As Beverly lifted herself off the chair and walked towards the kitchen she heard Will call from behind, "Make sure Deanna doesn't get her hands on that cake, or else there won't be anything left for the rest of us." "Ha Ha Commander!" Deanna retorted as she walked through the dining room and into the kitchen. Beverly wanted to make this as quick as possible, so she quickly grabbed the silverware and plates and headed for the cake, but before she could reach it, Deanna intercepted her by the arm and pulled her towards a small table that faced the window. "Not so fast Beverly" "Counselor, I appreciate your concern, but to be blunt, it's none of your concern." "Beverly, I am your friend, and I know that you are hurting. I don't know why you are hurting, but I do know it has something to do with the Captain, and his concern is just as great as mine." "Deanna, do you always have to go empathic on me?" "Beverly, I just want you both to be happy, and I can see that you two need to sort some things out. You know, the Captain did offer for us to stay the night. I have work to do in the morning, but you could stay here with the Captain. I'm sure he'd be very pleased to have you, plus it will give you the chance to *talk*." "Deanna... I just don't think I'm ready to share my feelings. I don't even know what they are yet. I do know I'm angry with him though." "Well, you can talk to him about it." "No, I'm not ready." "Well, don't blame me when your kicking yourself over it later. Don't throw it away Beverly. You two have something special that shouldn't be taken for granted." "I note your concern counselor." "Now let's eat cake!!" After dessert, Yawns were becoming contagious amongst the group. Deanna stood and announced, "I think it's time to go. I for one have work to do in the morning." "Me too." Will chimed in, "I think the only lucky ones here are the Captain and Beverly." As the group headed out to the shuttle Deanna got in first, then quickly announced, "Beverly, I think I forgot my Padd on the table in the den. Would you mind getting it for me?" "Sure. Hold on a minute." Jean-Luc called to Beverly's retreating form, "I'll help you look for it Doctor." As the reached the den, Neither could find the Padd. They looked between the cushions, under the couch, on all the shelves, and even in the kitchen. Finally they both decided it was a lost cause, and they headed out to tell Deanna of it's missing identity. As they reached the door, Beverly gasped as she looked out, "they're gone!" "Don't worry Doctor, you never know what those crazy officers will do. I have plenty of room if you'd like to stay Doctor. If not, then there's a hotel about a mile from here. I could run you up there real fast if you'd like." "That's okay Jean-Luc, I'll stay here." she said as she avoided his eyes... ~~~~~~~~~~ 5. Temporal Rift Jean-Luc looked over to the woman sitting silently across from him. She had her eyes lowered, focused on the book she held in her hand. "A Christmas Carol," if he recognized the cover. She had been avoiding conversation all evening, dodging every attempt at communication. He wanted to know what was going on with her, what she had done for the past few weeks. He missed their normal breakfasts together, their occasional dinner. Bluntly, he missed *her*. He racked his brain for another icebreaker, having exhausted his entire list that evening, but then thought the better of it. There was no reason to believe that she would react to any more words. He decided to try something else. "Beverly, let's go for a walk." She looked up from her book, eyes open wide. "N-now? Jean-Luc, it's 10:30. We'd freeze before we got ten feet from the door." 'Oh my god. I can't take a *walk* with him. Not now, not like this . . .' "Why not? We have coats, don't we?" 'No, this can't be happening!!' Beverly was scared to death to take a walk with him. She knew he was looking for the reason behind her melancholy mood, and she knew he was concerned enough about her that he wasn't going to give up until he knew. But she had the chance of avoiding the subject if she went along. If she refused, he would not gently pull it out of her, he'd simply rip whatever he wanted to know out of her, and that would be too painful. He watched her sit in silence, thinking the whole thing over. What was so hard about deciding to walk or not? He didn't want to wait anymore. He grabbed he wrists and pulled her away from the sofa. "Come on, Beverly. Maybe some air will do us both some good." The chill wind threw Beverly's hair into a mess about her face. She was freezing, even though she wore a turtleneck, with a sweater on top of that, a light jacket over the sweater, and a parka over it all. Cold . . . *Jean-Luc, you can do it. Give me your hand.* Beverly fought the urge to look down. Any glimpse of the blackness below her would have sent her into it. She looked at her companion instead. Jean-Luc knew she was making a huge effort for him, yet he was still paralyzed. He knew they were not going to make it, and that the energy they were using to escape was wasted energy. But he took one look into Beverly's intense eyes and found the courage to go on. Beverly saw his expression change from fear to determination, saw him begin to reach out to her. She didn't see the movement behind him, as a shadowy figure raised his blaster and fired. She felt a sudden blast of cold envelop her body, then felt blackness surround her. But she could still feel the cold, and it was wet, icy, and VERY real. And she couldn't breathe. ~~~~~~~~~~ 6. Erg "Jean-Luc!" she managed to choke out, reaching for him. He turned to look at her... "NO!" Beverly shrieked. She leapt away from Jean-Luc, pushing him roughly. "What's the matter?" His eyes darkened as he looked at her. She searched his face rapidly for truth... but found none. He was not smiling, and his face looked so metallic... "Are you afraid of this?" She didn't wait to see what was under his jacket... Beverly screamed as she fell to the floor. "Jean-Luc, please stop!" But his hand fell down upon her again. She could feel the blood dripping down her cheek from his blows. "Please, Jean-Luc, please stop!!" Her cries became quiet and urgent, but pathetic and hopeless. She saw his hand raise again. "Beverly?" His voice was suddenly so gentle. It was so real, so full of love, so sweet. She was holding her breath. "What is the matter? You look as though you're living nightmares," he whispered, keeping his slight distance to keep from stifling her. She suddenly burst into tears and collapsed to the ground, the icy snow cruelly sinking in to her thin dress. She folded up neatly, sobbing like a terrified child. She had no strength left to stand. Jean-Luc stood, staring down at her for a moment. What had she become that he had not seen? Slowly he dropped down beside her. He ran a hand across her back, resting it on her waist. She did not react. He put his hand on top of her forehead, lifting it off the frozen ground, and kissed her silken auburn head. He felt no need to sit up again, so he simply held her, keeping her warm in the chilling air, keeping her safe from the terrifying struggle in her mind. Beverly had never been more glad to have him there in her life. Not more glad to have him there when Jack died, even. She needed him so badly it was tearing her up inside. He just didn't understand what he had done to her, how he had ripped her mind apart inside. Before she had fallen to the ground, she had been snapping out of memory after memory. Each fictional implant the Borg had laid in her to corrupt her mind tortured her, and would as long as she lived. Oh, so many doctors, psychiatrists, counselors, even herbalists and naturalists had tried to remove them, ease them, bury them, but they remained, keeping her distanced from the one man she had loved to the very essence of her soul. Even Jack had never shared a love so deep with her, though his love was special, too. How could she tell Jean-Luc about this torture without explaining why they hurt her so bad? What would he do if she did tell him? ~~~~~~~~~~ 7. Admiral TAG Could she even tell him? She remembered the last time she had gone to him for comfort, and what his brand of comfort entailed. At first it had seemed so right, so warm and loving, but when she tried to pull back, to stop, he would not let her. Twenty years was too long to ask any man to wait. And over the course of the long night, he had almost convinced her that this was what she had wanted, too, but in the morning came sanity and the knowledge that he had... What? He had what? And when? *Oh god, no, not another one of the Borg memories.* Everything that had been between them had been twisted and perverted. Could she ever let him touch her, hold her without the false memories tearing her apart? She pushed away from him, though the haven of his arms was all she wanted. She needed to talk to someone, but who? She couldn't tell him only half the story, and she couldn't tell him the whole story either. If she talked to Deanna, it would go on her Starfleet record. Who would want a CMO no longer capable of distinguishing fantasy from reality? She couldn't go on like this alone, but she couldn't confide in anyone else. If only she had some family with whom to speak. She remembered the way Jean-Luc had been so cold to Wesley, berating him for his choice to leave Starfleet, pushing him so far away that he had never come back to this plane of existence. She remembered Jean-Luc, at the cemetery on Caldos, whispering at her to kill Ronin. And she remembered weeks of frantic digging through the Stargazer's logs, following the data trail, to see if Jean-Luc were really as innocent of Jack's death as he had claimed. *No!* None of this was real. The only things real were the snow and the cold, and the bewildered look on Jean-Luc's face. "Beverly, what's wrong? You must tell me." If only she could... "Beverly, you must. It's tearing you apart. I can't watch this." She laughed, bitterly. He couldn't watch? Who had it been who had dragged her through the darkened ship, pulling at her arm, deaf to her pleas? Who had forced her down into that chair, and swung the cap down onto her head, stood watching as the probes entered her scalp, no anesthetic to deaden the pain, and watched, watched as her brain was rewired, her past and her memories violated? Who had stood there and watched, with just the faintest trace of a smile? Who had murmured sweet words of encouragement as everything she was and everything she held dear was ripped from her for daring to claim part of the man the Borg claimed as their own? And he was watching her now, as he had then... The next thing she knew, she was sitting in a high-backed bed, snuggled between a warm quilt and Jean-Luc. He pressed a cup of wine to her lips, urging her drink. She had fainted outside, and he had half-carried, half-dragged her inside to warm up and recuperate. "Tell me what's wrong," he whispered in that low, ragged voice which always before had made her do exactly as he wanted. "I can't." She angrily brushed away the tears spilling down her cheeks. "Beverly, please. If there's still anything between us, any trust.." (*Say it...*) "any love..." He moved even closer to her, a hand in her hair, and all she could see was the dark, endless interior of the ship, and running. He caught at her arm, turned her toward him, his face ghostly pale in the half light, cold and loveless. And then she knew, there was no more Jean-Luc, there was only "Locutus..." Jean-Luc backed up, off the bed, away from the viper's nest it had become, horrified. Three syllables, and she had destroyed both their worlds. "Locutus..." ~~~~~~~~~~ 8. Temporal Rift He shook his head frantically. How could he, even as Locutus, have lost control enough to ever hurt Beverly? How HAD he hurt her-he couldn't remember anything. A tingling in the back of his mind-which had been there all along-made itself known. He recognized *this* as the still active link to the collective. The tingling began to form itself into memories, but they weren't his. He knew they were Beverly's and he knew that... ...he was watching from a distance. He was in Engineering, next to what was once the warp core, looking out at the rest of the room. He saw himself, as Locutus, standing beside the Borg Queen. They were watching, the Queen smiling, as Beverly Crusher ceased to exist and the Collective slowly inhabited her. Staring in horror, Jean-Luc saw the wires claw their way beneath her skin, , creating a hideous pattern of black lines that showed through, leaving her perfect porcelain face as pale as San Francisco fog. And then the pain hit him. He knew this pain. It was the same he felt during his own assimilation, as his limbs were re-grafted and wired and his torso was cut apart, then given mechanical replacements. The same pain of cords wrapping themselves around his brain and embedding themselves in his scalp. All of this, and he started to hear screaming . . . but not from Engineering . . . it was in his head. It was barely audible at first, then it cut itself off, and then came back in an intense volume. And it was then that he recognized it. The terrified mental screams of Beverly Crusher's fading consciousness were enough to send him into blackness . . . . . . . . . . "Jean-Luc, wake up. Please wake up." His head hurt like the Four Horsemen had put on a parade. He couldn't remember where he was, or what had happened, but he recognized Beverly's voice. And that caused everything to come back to him. He looked up into her tortured eyes and saw the slight relief showing through there. Beverly's beautiful face was clouded by pain and terror. He turned away, unable to look her in the eye. This was HIS fault, and he knew it. And he knew he would never forgive himself. ~~~~~~~~~~ 9. Alexis She saw the darkness flash across his face before he turned his head away. She knew that he knew. But somehow, instead of being comforting, it only increased her pain-and her fear. Her hands started to tremble in the warm entrance hall of the Picard home where she had dragged his limp body. It was warm in the house, a fire roaring beyond the stone hearth in the den, but she was cold. Her whole body began to shake. She sat back against the wall, rocking back and forth, curled in a tight ball and hugging her knees to her chest to quell the trembling. Jean-Luc felt her hands slip from his face, but he did not turn to look at Beverly. He couldn't bring himself to. He heard a wail, pitiful and strained, and, not for the first time since he had become Locutus, cursed his own mind. Not again. He could not stand to watch that happen again... It took him what seemed forever to realize that the noise was not only inside of his head, but out. It was coming from the woman, flesh and blood, who had been watching over him. Fearfully he twisted his neck until he could see her palsied form. His first impulse was to gather her in his arms. He moved towards her to do so before he remembered what had happened the last time he tried to touch her. And so, miserable and afraid, Jean-Luc watched her weep. He didn't know what else to do. Beverly finally cried herself to sleep. Only then did Jean-Luc dare to move towards her. He laid her on the couch in the den and covered her with the afghan that had been a permanent fixture in the family home for generations. He laid down on the floor a few meters away, desperately longing to hold her and yet earnestly fearful of her reaction. Her words still echoed in his brain, "Locutus." In that one simple phrase was the summation of all his fears. Slowly his head grew heavy and he drifted into uneasy sleep. His dreams were vivid, too real, as though they were memories of actual events-but they were not his own. *The part of the Borg that was Beverly was screaming. Screaming and struggling in vain against the artificial invaders. 'Jean-Luc, help! Please, I can't...' Locutus watched dispassionately from across the room as the woman was consumed, transformed, improved. Resistance was futile. She, like all the others, would succumb and add her own gifts to the power of the Collective. The assimilation was nearly complete. The dream darkened and shifted. *He was running down a cold stone passageway, pushing through the heavy darkness. Ahead of him was a Borg urging him on, pushing him forward. He cried out in pain. The Borg turned around, but he felt no fear as it drew near him. In the dim half-light of the cavernous place, the Borg was indistinguishable until close enough to touch him. The face was, had once been, that of Beverly. It was half masked by the implants of the Borg and bruised from blows across the exposed skin. They eyepiece of the Borg was firmly inserted and the red laser cast a tiny dot of light onto his face, making him blink. She approached him, however, with the gentleness of his Beverly. "Jean-Luc," it was her voice, not the ringing metal song of the Collective. "You can do this. You have to." He again cried out as the pain ripped through his body. She reached out a hand to steady him. The hand was covered with the black suit of the Borg. Slowly she helped him lower himself to the ground. She moved a step away and sat down herself, the fatigue stretching her face tight. As he watched, she set out to continue the painful task she had begun earlier. He watched her rip the Borg implants, twisting and tearing them from her body with only her hands and teeth. He remembered how much it had hurt to have them removed on the _Enterprise_, in surgery, under anesthetic. He could not imagine her pain. ~~~~~~~~~ 10. Ergness (with a little Temporal Interference) She watched him writhe on the floor beside her, lost in a mad fury of betraying dreams. Sweat dripped down his face, which he held in his hands, seeming to clutch the haunting pictures which ate him. She did nothing..... Morning did not come happily. With consciousness came recollections. When Jean-Luc awoke, his first impulse was to check on Beverly, but an empty couch and a folded afghan greeted him instead. He leapt from the ground, staggering only slightly from the pain a night's sleep on the floor had provided him. He moved towards the kitchen, her presence there hinted by the occasional clang of a pan and an extremely appetizing aroma wafting from it. "Good morning." She didn't turn around. Why would she? There was nothing that she wanted to see. "Not really. Can I help?" Jean-Luc paralleled himself to her, joining her at the sink. He sighed heavily. "You could wash these if you like." Beverly gestured towards the mountain of dishes left from the previous evening. The old-fashioned house had not been furnished with a replicator, pertaining to the explicit instructions left by Robert in his will. He began to rinse them off, going slowly and methodically, scraping minuscule particles from it. Entire eras existed and ceased to exist in the silence which stretched between them. It was so long.... "DAMNIT!! I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE!!" Jean-Luc suddenly screamed, flinging a plate across the room. It met one of the bay windows with a deafening crash. "Jean-Luc." She was crying again. "Don't, Jean-Luc, I need your strength. Don't let go. Jean-Luc-" she choked back her sobs-"hold on to me!" Her shoulders shook violently as her arms folded over her face in a pitiful attempt to discourage her onslaught of tears. She fell against the counter, expecting to feel his arms wrap around her, hoping to feel them, praying to feel them... but they did not. Jean-Luc looked hard and long at this broken woman. He saw no trace of the woman he loved. She was such a stranger to him now. He couldn't see any of her left in the wasted body before him. "I see nothing to hold onto," he stated, a look of terrified stoicness on his face. Beverly slowly turned to look at him. She shook her head and backed away from the counter. "Oh, Jean-Luc. What have you done?" Her pace quickened and she was soon out of the house, auburn hair streaming behind her like a trail of blood being shed into the sky, like a flag of defeat whipping in the wind. He remained fixed in that spot. What HAD he done?! This was all his fault. If only he'd kept control of his mind instead of succumbing to the influence of the Borg Collective. Then this never would have happened. That tingling returned again, and with it came an icy chill... He found himself back on deck sixteen, standing in the middle of a corridor intersection. He could see himself coming from one end of the hallway, murder written on his face and in his eyes. On the other end of the corridor stood the Borg Queen...holding Beverly captive. "Welcome, Locutus. I see you got our little message." 'Message? Oh, I got your message. You conniving witch, how could I MISS it?!' The Borg knew everything about Jean-Luc Picard. They knew the captain that hated losing his ships, his crew...who would gladly give himself up to save an officer under his command. They also knew the man, knew the weakness that was his love for his best friend. It was as simple as putting two and two together. The Borg tracked her down, specifically going after her, because their queen wanted Jean-Luc Picard so broken that he wouldn't have the will to resist her again. And their message had been very clear. They'd made the struggle just messy enough to make Picard explode in fury. "Enough of this. I know I'm the one you want. I will give myself to the collective if and ONLY if you let Dr. Crusher go." "No, Jean-Luc!!" Beverly struggled against the iron grip of her captor, not caring if resistance was futile. She did not want to see Jean-Luc hurt. Picard never saw the Borg attack. One of the drones grabbed him from behind and pulled him around. Then inserted the circuits into his veins... Jean-Luc watched as he was assimilated, the wires winding themselves through his veins and arteries, under his shin, taking control of his mind, one memory at a time... Beverly desperately tried to get free, to get to Picard, but the grip was relentless and held her fast. She could do nothing but watch as her dear Jean-Luc was taken over again, but continued her struggle. "Jean-Luc, no!! Fight them. Fight this! Please, stay with me!!!" The grip let go, and Beverly feel to his side. Picard opened his eyes, immediately focusing on Beverly's face, hovering over him, looking very frightened. "Jean-Luc...are you all right?" He remained silent and sat up. "Jean-Luc...?" The Borg Queen smiled, then gestured to engineering. Locutus very obediently stood and, dragging Beverly with him, made his way to engineering..... Picard left the house, anxious to set the whole matter straight, although he already knew she'd heard every one of his memories. She looked up into the gray winter sky, tears streaming down her cheeks. Through the strange new connection they shared, she had seen and heard everything. And now she remembered. Jean-Luc had been willing to give himself up to save her. He decided to take the gamble that, if he did submit, the Borg would release her. Unfortunately, he had lost the gamble. In the end, it had been his will and determination to let her survive that saved not only the both of them, but all of humanity. Now, knowing the truth, and certain that it was real, she could set aside the pain she felt. Beverly could feel him coming. Of course, his maniacal screaming of her name gave her a bit of a clue as well. The fresh air had cooled her off and dimmed her harsh feelings. Watching the snow fall and small winter birds dive about had lifted a bit of blackness from her heart and cleared her mind enough for her to hear that small revelation. It left a little room for mischief. "Beverly!! BEVERLY!!" Jean-Luc's voice was getting raspier and raspier. He hurried down the barely visible road, feet sinking into nearly a foot of snow. He rounded the bend at the end of the road and- WHAP!! "AGH!" Jean-Luc stumbled backwards as an enormous snow ball slammed into his face. He fell back into the snow. He heard a familiar giggle come running towards him. Beverly laughed heartily at him as she prepared another ball from behind a nearer tree. Jean-Luc let her be for a moment, listening to the laugh. Was there a familiar note to it? "Hold your fire!" he shouted, leaping from the ground. He brushed himself off and turned to face her. She folded her arms behind her back and sauntered up to him, grinning from ear to ear. "You look a lot better, Beverly." He smiled back at her, loving every minute of it. "So do you. You know what?" She paused for a moment, looking at him. "I think I'm all right, now that I know what was real about the whole episode." She took a deep breath of the crisp winter air and looked high up to the tree tops. Jean-Luc watched her from a couple feet away. He watched the way her long body stood, more relaxed. He watched the way her long neck met her jaw line in a smooth, elegant line. He watched the way her sapphire eyes sparkled in the sunlight-her eyes! They were sparkling! "You know what?" He stepped closer to her. "I think you're okay now, too." He leaned in towards her.... *Locutus of Borg, resistance is futile* *Locutus of Borg, so is conformity* (a smile from Jean-Luc) *Beverly Crusher, feeling is irrelevant* *Who the hell cares* (a smile from Beverly) .... to be met by another wet mass of snow and a shrill laugh. He tackled her and knocked her to the ground, grabbing handfuls of snow and pelting her with them. But soon he fell, too, on top of her, and as their laughter subsided and their smiles remained, only truth had room to be in their minds. Pain, anger, hatred, fear, all of these were pushed out by another feeling. A dominant feeling over all others. A deep, passionate, *true* love. "Let's never do this again." "Aye, Captain. Merry Christmas, Jean-Luc." "Merry Christmas, darling." Christmas Miracles By: BONC Jr.