A/N: If you're the type of person who likes to listen to author-recommend soundtracks while reading, I suggest listening to 'Unspoken' by The Tealeaves for this story.
The doctors told me there was no cure. Auroral plague was fatal, painful and incurable. She would lie in a hospital bed withering in agony before her death. She would not be allowed a traditional Betazoid funeral, with her final resting place being a furnace.
The last few hours were the worst. She clasped my hand through the quarantine field, gasping for air. It was heartbreaking to see her in such a condition, but also eye-opening. As a child I had always assumed parents would be around forever, always fussing over me.
But I learnt that lesson the hard way when Daddy never came home.
When I left the hospital that night I was numb. I had no children to break the news to. No husband to grieve with. No relatives to reminisce with.
No one to reinforce that Mother was never coming home.
Her last moments were peaceful. I sensed her pain subsiding as she breathed her last, her weeks of torment coming to an end. Too weak to speak, her last words were telepathic: "Goodbye, my little one."
Jean-Luc had been generous. I was granted a months' shore leave to settle my mother's affairs on Betazed, as well as personal recuperation. Despite his dislike for her, he was by my side at the funeral, allowing me to cry on his shoulder.
It was an unusual situation to be in. I had all the support I could've needed, yet six weeks on I was still weeping at the slightest reminder of her. Counselling others becomes difficult when the counsellor is the one crying.
Although he sounded kind, I could sense Jean-Luc was frustrated with my grief. I did not blame him; I wasn't performing to the best of my ability. After an examination from Beverly she relieved me of duty, due to mental exhaustion and trauma.
I did not leave my quarters for four days. I stared at her photo, now streaked with weeks-old tears. How many times I had laughed off her insistence of marriage; only then did I realise how helpful it would've been to have had a husband to cry with.
My doorbell startled me; I hastily wiped the tears from my eyes, but did not look up from her photo. "Come in."
The doors slid open. "You've been in here for a while," Will sat beside me, his arm around my shoulder. "You know it's okay for a counsellor to need counselling too, right?"
I nodded. "I never thought I would miss her calling me 'little one'."
"I never thought I would miss her harassing us," Will pulled me closer, tucking me under his chin. "..When my mother died, I remember wanting to give up all that I had just to see her again. For a long time I kept telling people about how well she was doing; I didn't understand that she was gone."
"I want her back, Will," My voice trembled. "I w-want to go and have her p-pull me into a hug and tell me about how Father used to sing to me a-and I want her to..to.."
A fresh wave of tears came rushing down my cheeks. I buried myself in Will's arms, sobbing into his uniform. "Why my mother, Will?! Why'd it have to be her? We have a damned cure for almost everything and yet they couldn't help her - I couldn't help her!"
Will allowed me to weep for a few more minutes. "Deanna?..Have you been eating?"
"..Why should I eat when Mother no longer can?"
Still tucked in his arms, Will helped me over to my dressers' mirror. At first I only saw how red my eyes were. It was a long time before I realised how much weight I'd lost.
It took a lot of persuasion to speak to Beverly about my status. She gave me a replicator plan to put the weight back on, as well as medication to help ease the depression.
Afterwards Will escorted me to my quarters. "..I don't care what time it is; if you need me, call me."
I attempted to smile. "Yes, Commander."
A brief silence followed. He pulled me in for a kiss, wiping tears away from my face.
I felt myself trembling. "..I forgot how much I miss that," I whispered, returning the kiss. "Or how much I needed it."
Will grinned. "Glad to hear I can help."