The Last Dance
By Coral

Disclaimer: Trek belongs to Paramount
Note: This popped into my head at about 3am whilst thinking about the spoilers for Star Trek X...

[criticise] [read more rubbish]

She's slipping away, and they all know it. As I hover over her bedside, reluctant to leave her for even a moment in case it's The Moment, their voices are muted and their movements subdued. There is no question in their mind but that their patient will slip away soon. It won't be painful, they say, she will simply drift away, leaving an empty shell where there was once vitality and life.

Life.

Maybe it's her flame red hair, though now peppered with grey, or her endless compassion, or her limitless energy that makes me think of life whenever I see her; or maybe it's the life she brought to me, often without even realising the effect she was having. It's hard for me to watch as that life starts to slip away from her grasp, leaving like a secret lover with the dawn, after a long, indulgent night of love. She loved life.

I remember the first time I saw her. A beautiful young woman standing a few paces behind Jack, watching with an indulgent smile resting on her delicate features as we hugged and slapped each other on the back, laughing raucously as we exchanged stories of our latest missions. She captured my attention and imagination from that moment, but there was no time to act upon the giddy impulses of youth as Jack became more and more interested himself, and as those feelings were so obviously returned by her. Although I don't think I'd give up the wonderful friendship we eventually developed for anything, I often wonder what would have happened had things gone differently.

Would I still be here watching her lose her hold on life in a sterile, cold sickbay?

Sterile. Cold. I could never have used those words about sickbay on the Enterprise. She brought life to a place that saw far, far too much death. Even as she mourned the loss of those under her care, she was a walking, breathing celebration of life, her compassion touching everyone who entered sickbay, whether directly or indirectly. There was no one on the Enterprise who didn't feel that caring touch at least once in their life, be it as physician or friend. She had a way of effortlessly combining the two roles which was exquisite, and unique. I've never been into another sickbay, either before or since, that so blatantly promised life.

Her vitality was never so evident, though, as in her performing. She could have been a professional actor or dancer, had not that incredible compassion guided her to help people instead. Though, in her own way, she still reached out through her performing, setting up an amateur dramatics society aboard the Enterprise, helping to draw people like Barclay out of their shells, teaching Data to dance, and the infamous Samba Incident that averted a diplomatic disaster and quite likely saved my career. I've followed her life from a distance ever since we said goodbye, although I doubt she knows, as I never chose to make my presence known, and I know that she has changed very little.

Her biosigns are growing fainter. I can almost picture her own face turned up to mine, a mixture of frustration and wearyness on it - "I'm losing her, Jean Luc, there's nothing more I can do" - as I watch in helpess frustration.

The memory of her voice brings back more memories. Our night around the campfire on Kesprytt. Our last goodbye. "Save the last dance for me, Jean Luc," she had said, a twinkle in her eye and a playful smile on her lips; the last time I saw her in life. One week, one shuttlecraft later, and I was dead.

The flat whine of the biomonitor draws my attention as one of the nurses confirms its readout. "We've lost her," the woman says - *you've* lost her, I mentally correct. I've found her. And, yes, I turn and there she is, standing beside me with look of confusion and curiousity.

"Jean Luc? What - what is this?" She looks almost scared of the answer, and I remember my own death; the sense of helplessness and the lost feeling.

"This," I say, stepping towards her, taking one of her hands in mine and assuming the waltz position, "This is the Last Dance, Beverly."

=/\=End=/\=

"Oh I know, that the music's fine like sparklin' wine
Go and have your fun, dance and sing
But while we're apart don't give your heart to anyone
And don't forget who's takin' you home
And in who's arms you're gonna be
Oh, darlin', save the last dance for me"