Four hours. It had taken four hours to stabilize Wesley. She rubbed her eyes, still fighting off the fatigue threatening to consume her. She couldn’t rest now. No, now she had to find out what the hell was doing this to her son and fix it! She tapped on her console and began searching through the readings they had taken on him.
After the fifth time through, Beverly gave up. The answers just weren’t there. But, then, where were they? She had to find them, had to find them soon.
A lithe, small-built woman moved into the frameway of her office.
“Yes, Alyssa?”
“Doctor, we think it would be best if you got some rest.”
“Oh?” Beverly asked, with an arched eyebrow. “And who is we?”
Alyssa looked down.
“The entire medical staff on duty right now.”
“I can’t leave now, Alyssa, and you can tell Dr. Selar so. There’s an explanation to this mystery, and I’m going to find it.”
“I don’t doubt that, Doctor, but starving yourself of sleep will only further dissipate your ability to concentrate. You’re doing more harm than good by not being able to work at 100% efficiency.”
“Efficiency? You have been talking to Dr. Selar.”
“Please, Doctor?”
“All right, all right,” Beverly finally conceded, throwing her hands up in surrender. “I’ll get some sleep.”
“At least five hours, and here’s a hypospray to make sure.”
Beverly looked at the small device. Alyssa must know, they all must know, how much this had affected her. She had never even been offered a sedative before. Her hand moved to grasp it and stuttered. She started to withdraw, but Alyssa grabbed her hand gently, turned it over, and placed the hypo into the palm of Beverly’s hand.
“Now get some sleep.”
“I’ll try,” she managed, a small smile forcing its way out as well.
^\/^\/^
The hypo lay full on the small table. Beverly was standing in her quarters, staring out at the stars. She still half expected Wesley to come charging through the room, late for something. Always late, always doing something. She walked into his room, noticing the disarray in which he had left the room today. Or yesterday. Or…she was too tired to think.
A small holo lay on the bed. She knew he had been working on something the past few weeks. She activated it and marveled at the complexity. It was a beautiful waterfall from the Great Smokies on the North American continent on Earth. Laurel Falls.
She remembered the day the four of them had gone there: herself, Jack, Wesley, and Jean-Luc. The water had gently roared above and below them. They sat in the middle, enjoying the splendor from both sides. That was, until they had started a water fight. She had gotten drenched…and…what had happened?
Beverly sat down on the bed. Why couldn’t she remember? Oh, that was it.
That was when I slipped on that stupid rock, she thought. She remembered falling, flailing her arms in case she could catch anything. She remembered seeing Jean-Luc, whose mind was flailing to stay collected. And then she remembered grabbing Jack’s arm, only to end up pulling him down with her. They had both fallen some 6 meters into the shallow water below.
I hit my head on a rock, and blacked out. The next thing I know, Wesley’s tending to me even at his tender age, and Jean-Luc’s pulling Jack out of the water. He had saved her first, but why? Jack was his best friend. Why would he have wanted to save me?
The door swished open, and Beverly bolted for the door, fooling herself for a moment that it just might be her son.
“Beverly, I thought your medical staff ordered you to get some sleep.”
“Not you too, Jean-Luc. I just can’t sleep, not now.”
“I believe that’s what the hypo is for.”
“How…Alyssa. I should have known she would send someone to check up on me.”
“So, Doctor, do I have to order you as well?”
“You’d…You wouldn’t dare.”
“Beverly, look. You’re haggard, worn, emotionally distraught, tired, and plain exhausted. Now I am ordering you to get some sleep.”
“Jean-Luc, I can’t. There’s no way.”
He walked past her and silently palmed the hypo, pretending instead to ponder the stars racing by.
“Beverly, please. Doing this to yourself won’t help Wesley.”
Beverly stood there, unable to face him.
“I know, I know it won’t. But there’s just something that won’t allow me to let this thing drop. Not now.”
“Beverly,” he said softly, causing her to turn around. “Sweet dreams.” And he injected her with the sedative.
“Jean…”
He caught her as she slumped to the floor. Gently he carried her to her bed and tucked her in.
^\/^\/^
He was floating, or flying, or somehing-ing. He could see a white cloud-like mist around him, lighted by deep blue lights. But he still couldn’t talk or touch or hear. Why couldn’t he? What was wrong with him?
^\/^\/^
He couldn’t concentrate on the report. Not with Beverly running herself ragged like she was so prone to do. Not with Wesley lying in Sickbay for no apparent reason. Not with him, sitting in his chair like a dullard, unable to do anything. The mission to the Zobias system was important, and as long as there was no imminent danger to the ship, Starfleet wasn’t going to let him off of it.
Picard brusquely tapped off the console. He needed rest as well. And yet, he laid in his bed a long while after, thinking about anything and everything that came to him. And he prayed that the Crusher name would survive for many years to come.
^\/^\/^
Alyssa entered Sickbay a bit weary-eyed. She had gotten six hours of sleep, enough to be back for another shift. She stopped dead as she saw Dr. Crusher back in her office, looking rested but no less tired.
“Doctor?”
“The Captain gave me my sedative, Alyssa. I got some rest.”
Alyssa nodded and headed to see to someone who had just walked in.
Beverly turned her mind back to the graphics in front of her. She had been meticulously going over every centimeter of her son’s body, searching for any anomalous readings. DNA checks, RNA checks, blood cells, proteins, amino acid content, brain wave patterns. Anything that might give a clue.
But nothing was yielding any clues, and all Beverly could tell for certain was that Wesley was deteriorating slowly. The tissues in his body were degrading, neural pathways were closing themselves off from the rest of the body, from the brain, and the constitution of his mind was faltering.
A small chirp announced that the DNA scan was ready for analysis once again, and she ran the slew of normal checks. When nothing came of it, Beverly went a level deeper. She spotted something unusual, nothing of consequence…or rather, nothing of consequence concerning her son’s condition. She triple-checked the readout, cross-referenced, analyzed, and came up with the same conclusion.
She folded her arms in front of her on the desk and laid her head down, both from mental fatigue and the knowledge that what she had just seen had turned her universe upside down. Not to mention her son’s.
^\/^\/^
He wasn’t floating anymore; he was being pulled towards something. He could feel the mist being pulled away from around him. Soft murmurs were coming to him, distorted by the haze still there. He tried to propel himself out of the gloomy sea he had been in. And the lights blinded him. The cloth rubbed against his body. And a voice came from his right.
“He’s awake.”
“Mom?” he tried to choke out, but only a semblance made its way past the gurgling he was emanating.
“It’s okay, Wesley.” He felt a soft, unsteady hand stroke back his hair.
He worked up enough saliva to lick his lips.
“Water?” he croaked.
Alyssa was beside him, lifting him gently, helping him to imbibe the cool, refreshing draught. He was set back down, and a million tests were run.
“Look for any changes in his metabolism…Check the cellular damage…”
The medical babble drifted into the background, and Wes set his mind to one thought: cellular damage. What had happened to him? He had been experimenting with the Kerlyn samples…He remembered adding the plasma…but what had happened next?
“Cellular damage has slowed but is still progressing.”
“Mom? Mom, what’s going on?”
Beverly shared a look with Alyssa.
“Wes, Captain Picard found you in the corridor outside of Science Lab 5…”
“I was working on a project…”
“Wes, you’ve been in a coma for sixteen hours. Now, there’s signs of cellular damage, and I think it’s deeply affected your neural systems and…”
“Mom, when can I get…” Wesley tried to sit up. “I don’t need a restraining field, Mom.”
Beverly pretended to check the readings on the console behind him.
“Wes, there is no restraining field.” Beverly’s voice cracked as she fought to keep her eyes dry.
“But, I can’t move…”
“I know, Wes. I know.” She had failed at her fight, and the tears ran freely down her face.
Wes wanted to run, run as fast as he ever had in his life. He wanted to escape the hindrance trapping him lying there, the thing caging him in the present.
But the only thing that could escape was the tears.
^\/^\/^
Three weeks had passed. Three horrible, miserable, agonizing weeks since he had abandoned the mists and formed a new world for himself.
Geordi had constructed him a fairly maneuverable personal air car, similar to the one Admiral Jameson had used. With this, he could move around the ship. But, unlike Jameson, Wesley relied on the chair for everything except his thoughts. His ears, his eyes, his voice all depended on the chair. Even his heart was under constant stimulation. The neural pathways had all degraded steadily over the past three weeks, but he wouldn’t be put into stasis; it just wasn’t an option to him. And so everything came to him in synthesized, mechanical tones.
Wes moved down the corridor slowly. He had been warned against overexertion as it would cause an increased output of the circuits. The link to his brain was virtually direct. If it failed, everything else failed with it. It was almost akin to being in the nether-universe of the Traveler were thought became reality. As long as Wesley thought he was alive, and told his body he was alive, he would be alive.
The doors slid open before him, and he entered Ten-Forward. There was a small crowd, the usual size that gathered throughout the day. A few glances followed Wesley as he moved towards the windows. He needed to escape those glares and the pity filling them.
“Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you, Guinan,” said the air car.
“Well, if you change your mind…” And she left. Guinan was a help. The warm enigmatic smile she greeted everyone with had still been in place. At least something in his life had not changed.
The past few days, on the other hand, had nearly bored Wesley to death.
For starters, he had been replaced at CONN by order of nearly every senior officer there was, all claiming it would overexert his link.
Not like I really do anything anyways.
Then, all his scientific projects had been quarantined as Geordi suspected a connection between them and his accident.
Not to mention that this damn car won’t let me do anything. Wesley mentally kicked the side of the car, willing it to leave him be. But it remained fixated, supporting his frail body. He wanted to disappear, meld into the bulkhead as he normally did, but the glances and looks wouldn’t allow that. He was a display item to the patrons, and he despised the robber of his privacy.
“Hello, Wes. Mind if I join you?”
“Have a seat, Counselor.”
Deanna Troi sat down on a small couch-like bench not too far away.
“How are you holding up?”
“Fine.”
“Your mother tells me that you’ve been handling your treatment sessions with an aire of indifference.”
“It’s not like they actually do anything.”
“You know, Wes, sometimes the most powerful healer can be the mind.”
Deanna felt a wave of remorse and depression and instantly knew her words had been a mistake.
“Then I guess I don’t have much of a chance.”
The air car whirled as Wesley moved to leave Ten-Forward.
“Wes, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“Keep your pity, Counselor. I get enough of it from everyone else on this ship,” he stated, making it loud enough that all gawkers in the room instantly found something ashamedly interesting to look at on the tables in front of them.
Deanna cursed herself as she took a seat at the bar.
“Something wrong, Counselor?”
“I just don’t know how to help him, Guinan. And Beverly’s running herself ragged trying to find a miracle cure. Not to mention the Captain.”
“The Captain?”
Deanna nodded solemnly.
“He regards Wesley as the son he never had. A lot of us do. I don’t know what this would do to him.”
“Sounds like you’ve got quite a problem. Can I get you anything?”
“Guinan, didn’t you just hear what I said?”
“Of course, but I am the bartender.”
A slight smile fleeted over Deanna’s face.
“Perhaps you should stop trying to help him. He doesn’t need sympathy or pity right now. Right now he needs something to focus on. Everything’s been taken away from him. I’d be pretty bored right about now if I were him.”
Deanna noted the time and made to leave for an appointment.
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Have you ever known me not to be?” questioned Guinan.
Deanna paused.
“No, and I think you need to work on that.” And with that, she left as Guinan turned her attention to another customer.
^\/^\/^
Jean-Luc sat in his quarters, trying to soothe his nerves with some Mozart. But it wasn’t helping. All he could think of was his past and all the mistakes he had made; how one mistake had nearly cost him his life and now one mistake might be costing Wesley his.
He told the computer to shut off the music as the years came floating back at him, enveloping him in a riptide of memories. Everything around him echoed his thoughts, and he decided it was not the place to be at the moment.
^\/^\/^
Picard practically stormed through the doors.
“Give me some of the real stuff.”
Guinan, who had reappeared shortly after Picard had walked in, silently poured a glass for the man she had known for many years. He hadn’t come for an ear to listen to him. He had come for some of the Aldebran whiskey she kept behind the bar. He could have asked the computer in his room for something else, something stronger. She wondered as to why he came here. Maybe he just couldn’t stay in his quarters a moment longer.
He downed the first glass set before him and waited for another. Guinan obliged him silently. He downed that one as well. The music was floating away by the time he was downing his third drink. He ordered a lighter poison and headed towards the portals. He was trying to step through them, to walk into another place.
He sat down at one of the various tables and sipped his drink. The stars began to bleed into linear rainbows before his eyes. He set his glass down, allowing the lighted table to turn his half-empty glass into liquid fire.
The music started to waft back into his mind, like a mild breeze from one of the many days he had spent in the vineyards in LaBarre, and the portal opened.
Picard found himself walking through the vineyards in the late summer. The last day he would walk here for a long time. Maurice Picard had been resilient against Jean-Luc’s decision to go to Starfleet; his brother, Robert, was against it as well. Busy already learning the details of tending the vines, Robert scorned his brother continually for choosing to join Starfleet. Jean-Luc felt a tinge of remorse nearly 45 years old, despite the fact that he and his brother had now resolved things.
Picard found another portal as he took another drink. Beverly. And Jack. Two of his best friends. He had killed one, loved another. Why Beverly? The one woman he would always feel separate from, the one woman from whom he distanced himself in his mind. The look of pain and sorrow on her and her son’s faces had driven an emotional chasm between them all. Beverly’s own feelings had only made the chasm wider. At least that was what Picard supposed.
Jean-Luc held his drink, waiting for the next portal to open.
^\/^\/^
A figure stirred in Ten-Forward but it wasn’t Jean-Luc Picard, and it wasn’t Guinan. It was Wesley Crusher. He had come in the late of night to escape himself as well.
Slowly he moved away from the portal. He maneuvered and took in the empty, or rather almost empty Ten-Forward. His cognitive abilities slipped away from him in a manner that confused him, for this reaction had nothing to do with the slow deterioration of his mind. He saw Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship Enterprise sitting near the windows in a half-coherent drunken stupor. After a moment, his mind focused and he regained his voice.
“Captain?” came the mechanical question, cold on both pairs of ears.
The figure before him stirred. Cloudy, disorientated eyes stared at the young ensign.
“Captain, are you all right?” Each word took a little more out of Wesley as the mechanized words echoed off the walls.
Picard downed the last of his drink and stood, straightening his uniform. His left leg braced him as he stumbled in his movements.
“Yes, Misser Crusher, I am fine.” And then he strode out of Ten-Forward, only stumbling once or twice.
Wesley turned again and stared out through the stars. The Captain’s words had been just the slightest bit slurred, the slightest bit halted, but enough to be out of character for him.
His eyes focused on the glaring stars and shut them out. Wesley turned from the portals, allowing the doors to that other world to shut.
^\/^\/^
He was confounded by his own behavior. He had gotten drunk before, but never out of a desire to escape something. He knew that didn’t work. Or, at least, now he knew.
His past had circled him in a dim halo ever since he had washed the first of that Aldebran whiskey down his throat. The past was determined, but now there was something that stood in its way.
A young face, a face that held a maturity beyond its years. It was a maturity bred into the boy by the unfair hand dealt him years ago. A face that now held nothing but emptiness, masking the torrents of emotions running strong and swift beneath it. This held the past back for awhile, as the present played a new game in Picard’s head.
Why hadn’t he ever suspected? That answer was simple. There really was no reason to suspect anything. Nothing had ever happened between them, nothing much anyways. Why now? After all these years? He had missed so much! Damn her for not telling him! Why hadn’t she told him? Did she even know?
Yes, she had to know. There was no way she could not know; she had carried him. And yet…he had to be sure.
Perhaps today he would find out.
^\/^\/^