Reflections of Blue
a Star Trek: The Next Generation story
by Merlin Missy
copyright 1996, 2001
As per usual, everything belongs to Paramount. If they want this one, it's
theirs.
He'd always hated Autumn. On every world he'd ever set foot upon, there was
always a time for the closing of the year, when the green growing things turned
orange and red and brown and crumbled away to nothingness. The simple loss
of such beauty filled him with a brand of despondency he feared. From the
time he had been able to make such choices on his own, he'd never been
on-planet long enough to let the Autumn-feelings sink into him, to cast their
cold shadows across his soul.
Until now.
The trees here were descended from those imported from Earth; the same bright
colors of his childhood were at his feet now, drifting along in a breeze almost
blocked by the surrounding elms and oaks and pines. That was a blessing, at
least. The wind would never blow here too hard, and even the snow would be
somewhat blocked from this place. Perhaps she wouldn't get so cold out here
at night beneath the empty stars.
He felt the tears welling up inside of him again, and for the thousandth time in
the past week, pushed them into a deep place within himself. He had to be
strong now. For all of them.
Not for the first time, he saw the irony of the flowers placed lovingly around
the spot. Only one or two were still alive, to actually be planted. The rest had
been cut free of their roots to be set for an hour, a day, and then wither like the
leaves that were already forming a blanket over the freshly turned soil.
Someone had sent bluebells, of all things. Lilies he would have expected, and
roses. Bluebells had not been in his mental image of appropriate flowers, and
then his thoughts stopped cold. There were no flowers that were right for ...
this. Roses were for young love, and innocence, and faith. The crimson blush
of one caught his eye, and he recalled the slight blush to her cheek and her
petal-soft lips, and the bluebells were her eyes, wide and open and glimmering
with life.
He wondered how old she had been when the family had set aside this
particular plot. Her mother's grave, now grown cold these many years, lay
beside her own, the marker standing stiff against the sky, claiming a name, two
dates, a few bits of vital information, remarkably similar to her daughter's
marker.
The line of duty. They had thought to put that on the stone at least, for all the
universe to see. She'd died doing her job, just like any other of ten thousand
Starfleet officers. He'd seen far too many people die in his career, and every
one had been as bright and warm to someone as she had been to him. He
had separated himself from them, just enough so that he wouldn't have to feel
such pain. He'd never even imagined that the one person who meant more than
the universe itself could be so utterly selfish and leave him like this.
He felt the eyes of his friends on his back, remaining at a discrete, respectful
distance. It would be time to go soon. They understood this loss all too well,
felt it with him almost as deeply, but none of them could remain forever in a
graveyard. To even consider it would be to abandon the very hope of life.
They didn't have that kind of luxury.
Gently, he cleared the few scattered leaves that had already gathered away from
the grave. No use letting them pile up just yet. He'd be gone from this
Autumn-place soon, with the Autumn permanently within him. He'd go back to
the little life he had staked out on the ship, and he would attempt to piece back
together the shattered remnants of his soul. At least he would not be alone in
the process. Otherwise, he would quite certainly go mad. On second thought,
perhaps he would go mad anyway.
He stood, unaware that he had been kneeling for the better part of an hour. It
was time to leave the roses, knowing nothing anymore but that the reflection of
blue in a window would always bring to his mind thoughts of bluebells among
the false cheer of golden leaves.
He placed his hand against the headstone one last time. Cool marble. He'd
asked for it specifically when he'd first been able to think afterwards, and he'd
not been denied. He hoped that she liked it.
His vision blurred, and the tears began running down his cheeks, his nose,
making a small salty rain to splash upon the ground. He'd given the eulogy in a
quiet voice, unbreaking. He'd remained throughout the service and had
watched the burial and had listened to the pipes without letting himself give in
to the despair. He couldn't wait any longer.
Amazingly, to him, once he finally let them come, the tears lasted hardly longer
than a summer shower, washing him empty, leaving no room for self-blame,
for the thought "If only I had been there ... " Leaving him open to grieve her as
he should.
It was indeed time to leave. No one would blame him for staying a little
longer, but he could not justify it anymore to himself. He needed to return to
some semblance of life. Perhaps he'd even remember how to smile in a year or
two.
He knelt again, picked up one of the cut roses, and placed a kiss against the
center. He set it against the base of the stone, and turned away to meet the eyes
of those few who had waited with him during the vigil of the laying to rest of
one they had all loved. They had also said their goodbyes to her and he
wondered suddenly how different things might have been if it had been, by
some strange miracle, his own death instead of hers. He knew by experience
that fate was immutable, that there was no way to change what had already
happened, that had she not died, twenty others would have. What could he
possibly exchange to be worth such a high price?
A throat cleared. "If you'd like to wait, we can spend more time here."
"Thank you," he said softly, "but I think we should be going soon. It's not her
there. Not anymore."
But I wish she was here, he thought.
The others said nothing, merely told him with their eyes that they were with
him, that they understood. In a solemn group, they followed him silently back
to Felisa's house.
It was time to pick up Wesley from his great-grandmother, time to rebuild their
family, broken as it was, aboard the Stargazer, time to learn the impossible
task of living without her. It was time to go home.
The End