Dr. Beverly Crusher walked wearily towards her quarters after an exhausting day in sickbay. She was just passing the captain's quarters on her way to her own when she caught the faint strains of a hauntingly beautiful song wafting through the corridor. She paused for a minute outside the doors of the captain's cabin, listening. As she stood there, the song stopped abruptly.
Curiosity moved her hand to the door announcer. The doors parted, revealing Captain Jean-Luc Picard, who smiled when he saw his visitor. "Beverly. Come in. What brings you by?"
She entered the room and sat down on the couch, then pointed to the small flute in Picard's hand. "I was walking by, and I heard music. I stopped to listen, and was disappointed when it stopped. Was that you?"
He looked down at the flute in his hands self-consciously. With a shrug he set it on the small table in front of Beverly and sat next to her. "Yes. I'm surprised you weren't grateful that I stopped."
She leaned forward and picked up the small flute, caressing the smooth metal. "This is the flute that was in the Kataanian probe, isn't it?"
He nodded. "I try to play it when I have time. It helps me remember . . ." His voice trailed off, tinged ever so slightly with sadness.
Beverly laid a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. "I've never heard you play before, until tonight. Please play what you played earlier." She handed him the flute, now warm from her hand.
He looked down at the offered instrument, then at his best friend. He had never been able to say no to her, and this time was no different. He took the flute from her and settled it lightly against his lips, placing his fingers over the holes with a gentleness Beverly hadn't known he possessed.
With a barely perceptible intake of air, he began to play the melody Beverly had heard outside his cabin. She watched as his eyes drifted shut, his fingers finding their places instinctively. Beverly's eyes slowly closed as well as she allowed the music to wash over her, soothing her, erasing the tension that had built up through the long day.
When the song drifted to an end on a final, lingering note, Jean-Luc was surprised to find tears running down Beverly's face. With the same gentleness he had used with the flute, he reached up and tenderly brushed the salty wetness from her face. Her eyes fluttered open at his touch. "Jean-Luc, that was . . ." She didn't quite know how to describe the feelings, the emotions that the simple, beautiful song had stirred in her. "Thank you," was all she could manage to articulate.
He smiled softly, understanding perfectly. "That was Kamin's song," he told her, his voice a low rumble in the quiet of the room. "Now it's his and mine. I play it for him, and for me." Then, he reached over and took Beverly's hand, the flute between their joined hands. "And now I play it for you."
Beverly looked down at their hands, then back at him, her eyes shining with more tears. She leaned over and kissed him gently, promisingly. Then she pulled away and searched his eyes. In his gaze, she found warmth and understanding and love. The first two she could handle, and the third was something she was finally willing to try.
They shared the comfortable silence for a moment, and then the flute made its way back to Jean-Luc's lips. The ageless melody wrapped them in its warm embrace, and led them with tentative first steps to a place that they were at last ready to go to, together.