"Violets on a Wednesday" (1\1) TNG, R\T
From: xmasfrog@aol.com (Xmas Frog)

Title: "Violets on a Wednesday Afternoon"
Series: ST: The Next Generation (R\T)
Rating: G
Copyrights: To Paramount, etc.
Author's Notes: A little vignette. :o) Deanna learns that sometimes the little
things are what make life worth living. 

It had been one of those days.
Nothing unordinarily terrible had happened. But life just seemed. . . .
lethargic, somehow. As though the universe had slowed to a crawl and had
neither the energy to turn around and recede nor keep going and make it to the
finish line. What was the saying? Like a Wednesday afternoon? That vernacular
certainly fit the way Deanna felt perfectly. She didn't even think anymore,
just moved through the day with an instinct developed from habit. 
Troi had seen four patients before lunch. She would see four patients
after lunch. At 0700 hours, she had a senior staff meeting. She was halfway
between the day her duty shift for the month had started and the point when she
would get a day off. Nothing special. Just the same old thing. 
Was it her, or did the whole ship seem to need a hypo of adrenalin? Deanna
observed the crew as she passed them in the corridor. It was probably just her.
She smiled to several people she knew, nodded politely, continued on her way.
Everyone was absorbed in their routines-- herself included. Stopping at the
entrance to her quarters, she took in a deep breath and let it out slowly
before punching in the access code. The Counselor was fully prepared to whip up
a quick lunch, review her communiqués, and then head back to her office.
What she was not prepared for was what she saw next.
On her table was a huge bouquet of violets. Deanna's breath caught in her
throat, her pulse quickened as the thrill of the gift hit her. The delicate
blue and purple flowers rested in an ornate Greek vase, adorned with a large
bow. Who could they be from? She picked up the card lying near the flowers,
carefully reading the words scrawled on the interior. 

Thanks for being you.

Troi reread the card, confirming what her heart and mind already told her
to be true. How could he possibly have known? Unexpected tears sprang into her
eyes. She slid one of the tiny blossoms out and pressed it to her nose,
inhaling its sweet fragrance. Her hand traced the tapered shape of the vase.
The violets were abundant, reminding her of the violets she used to see at home
on Betazed. Some of the blossoms were even kissed with hints of silver. They
seemed to glow with utter serenity. Deanna leaned forward, enveloping her face
in their velvety petals. She breathed deeply. The aroma pervaded her senses,
seemed to open up all the dusty corners of her mind. 
Deanna grabbed at the table for support, feeling herself reel in a flood
of emotions. Feelings she thought she had under control, tucked away in the
most secret corners of her heart suddenly emerged with overwhelming intensity.
Her tears flowed openly, falling like dewdrops onto the violets. Grief, regret,
and undying love streamed over her, and then somehow. . . . Deanna felt her
soul awaken. She realized for the first time in a long time that she was alive.

Whatever had happened had happened because of him. She had found some part
of her that she had long ago forgotten existed. The violets. . . . seemed tiny
sprinkles of elysium from heaven above, physical pieces of joy to embrace and
find comfort in. All because of the violets. Violets, on a Wednesday afternoon.

Trembling, Deanna tucked a few of the small flowers into her hair and
decided to skip lunch, heading out the door instead. 
She once again traversed the Enterprise hallway, making her way to the
turbolift. For some reason, each person she passed suddenly seemed to glow with
an inner light. "Deck seventeen," she stated, and as an afterthought even added
"Please.." In a few short moments she had arrived at her destination, and Troi
stepped out into the empty hallway.
There was a kind of piety in her step as she walked forward, and Deanna
felt her heart flutter as it had so many times before when she came this way.
When she reached a certain spot she stopped, turned slowly, and faced an
utterly blank wall.
Blank except for the square commemorative service placard directly in the
wall's center. Deanna pressed her palm up against its smooth surface and
studied her tear-stained face reflected in the polished metal. She cleared her
mind and let herself drift away. . . . away from everything she was connected
to. Her world, her worries, her routines-- none of them mattered. There was
nothing but the gentle quietness, the darkness, the coolness of the void that
surrounded her. In her mind's eye, she saw the universe begin to take shape.
And it all centered around one single bit of happiness.
She wasn't sure how long she stood there, but after some point in time she
felt an inner peace settle over her entire being. The tranquility permeated her
very soul. Everything, everywhere, was right. She sensed someone approaching,
and as they drew nearer she realized it was Teekan, the Bolian keeper of the
Aroboredum. He stopped behind her but did not disturb her.
"Somehow I knew I'd find you here."
"You. . . .?" Deanna questioned softly, slightly puzzled. "No. Not I,"
Teekan replied, "he came to me shortly before-- well, he came to me and wrote
out at least a dozen messages, told me to send them to you with flowers
whenever I thought you needed them. Something just told me today was a good day
to begin." Both were silent, lost in the sudden memory. Deanna nodded, still
barely believing that even he could do this for her. She should have known that
nothing could ever come between them. The Bolian stayed a moment longer,
sensing that somehow the Counselor was in actuality somewhere else, and then
returned the same way he had come. 
Deanna sighed. She kissed her fingertips, and then tenderly pressed them
to the plaque. Imzadi. . . . . the first-- the last. The always. "Thank you,
Will," she murmured, "you always did know me better than anyone else." Deanna
wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back on her heels and smiling dimly at
the plaque. "Thanks for being you."