DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.

A/N: Hello Trekkies! This is my first Star Trek: Next Generation fanfic and I'm a little excited about it. I've been on fanfic for a year and 2 days now so I wanted to put up a fic to celebrate. Warning: this is for Picard and Crusher shippers (because OTP!), but even if you don't ship them please read anyway. Please take the time to read and review if you would be so kind. Feedback and constructive criticism is very welcome! Enjoy :) x

1.

If they were going to their deaths he didn't want to die alone. It was selfish, he knew that. But she had found her place in his heart and he wasn't going to let her die alone either. So he wrapped his arms tightly around her; two frozen harmonies intertwined in an unbreakable melody.

》》》》》

He shivered as her freezing hands crept across his skin, desperately trying to stem the blood that seeped out from the wound that spread at an angry angle across his chest. It was a deep incision; an injury he doubted he would recover from. It was painful, but not as painful as the thought that he would be leaving her alone.

She shook her head, fighting away the tears that threatened to fall.

"Beverly, stop."

In a way it was too late, but she couldn't let herself think about the prospect of losing him.

"No."

She wasn't going to let him die. Not now.

"Let me-" She pressed a hand to her forehead as a cough tore itself from her icy lungs. "Just… let me help."

He felt his artificial heart warm when he saw the soft determination in her eyes, the way her fingers trembled in the fading light... even though they both knew it was all in vain. He sighed in exasperation. "Beverly..."

With care and precision, the Doctor pressed the two sides of the wound inwards, sealing the deep hole that was embedded within. The motion caused him to groan.

"I'm sorry."

Picard attempted a smile. "You weren't the one who harpooned me."

They'd lost most of their equipment when they'd been separated from the Away Team 5 hours ago, and the only thing of use was a small med kit that Beverly had kept in her pocket. Picard was beginning to wonder whether braving an ice storm on the planet of Malvarma II had been a good idea after all.

He hissed when he saw the needle in her hand, the other trying to thread the cotton through. The thread missed, missed again as if it were trying to defy her steely determination. Beverly bit her lip, concentrating as her breath froze in the still air. She could do this. It was okay. Everything was going to be okay... It had to be.

He noticed her hands had stilled. She frowned bitterly; her voice came out as a whisper. "I don't have anything else."

"Hey." He lifted her chin gently, a groan emanating from the movement. "It's okay."

She nodded worriedly. The cold air had ravaged her nerves and she couldn't fully control her fingers as the needle pierced his skin. "This might sting a little."

》》》》》

The air was getting thinner and thinner, and it was quickly becoming difficult to breathe. The swirling winds howled outside like a wolf in the dead of the night, their icy fingers clawing at the stark blackness that was forever out of their reach. He shivered. The night was young and it would be morning before any thought of rescue could be entertained. He shifted uncomfortably, a deep sensation of unease gripping his mind until he felt her body meet his own, her back against his arm where she had fallen asleep. Relief momentarily stilled his worrisome thoughts. "Beverly?"

The sound of her voice floated towards him, soft as a feather's caress but laced with quiet concern. "What's wrong?"

It was enough to calm his fears, but he still felt guilty for putting her through this. Lifting his hand feebly, Picard reached out into the pitch black and summoned his weary voice. "Come here."

A moment's pause, and then he could hear her moving. He listened intently, straining in the morbid darkness as she lifted herself off the frozen ground beside him, pushing herself up on her elbows. He tilted his neck as her face came into view, a faint outline in the dark.

"No, don't move," Beverly said in a gentle, commanding tone. He almost smiled, but she did not return it. Her mind was preoccupied with anxiety. Wishing she would move closer, the Captain reflected on how often he had heard the Doctor use that commanding tone. Sometimes she hid behind it; sometimes she used it to get her own way. Picard raised his brows, sighed, realised she seemed to order him about a lot. What was more, he didn't seem to mind it at all.

A weight lay on his chest, her forehead pressed against him. It was hardly perceptible through the layers of material surrounding his body that swaddled him in warmth. Knowing there was no point in arguing with the Doctor, Picard still held fast to the knowledge that he shouldn't have allowed her take off the coat that was now purposefully wrapped around him.

"Doctor?" He nudged her arm carefully. "Are you alright?"

Her hand rested just above his injury, tenderly, as if to protect it.

"Beverly?"

She didn't reply.

Inch by inch, he wound his arm underneath her, pulling her up next to him so that she lay in the crook of his shoulder. She shivered and patted his arm, murmured something incomprehensible, but he understood it regardless. Don't waste your energy; stay still - something along those lines. He studied her face, squinting as he found the high rise of her cheekbones, the soft curves of her lips in the blackness as she journeyed to and from unconsciousness. He could make out the vicious mark that marred her cheek where an arrow had caught her skin, the blood frozen around it. She opened her eyes. "We shouldn't fall asleep," she rasped quietly. "If we let our body temperatures drop below-"

"Doctor..." He cut her off, interrupting her apprehensive remarks. "You needn't lecture me about the effects of hypothermia."

She nodded, her breath almost warm on his skin. "Are you in any pain?"

"A little," he replied truthfully, not wishing to lie to his loyal CMO. He had purposefully lied many times before, oh so many. And yet she saw through his facade every time, could see through the mask, could read his deepest emotions. He only wished that she could understand his true feelings right at that very moment.

"I'm afraid I don't have any painkillers," Beverly informed him with reluctance. "The cold should help to numb the pain, but you mustn't get too cold."

"Yes, dear," he whispered, tightening his grip on her waist. Picard bit his lip when he fully realised what he'd said, what he'd called her. But Beverly made no response. He wasn't entirely sure whether she had heard him.