AN: This is a continuation of the non-canon, a/u DE-TACHED series of stories which are the sequel to the novel ATTACHED MEANT. Though it is not necessary to have read all of those stories, a lot of the peripheral characters and plot lines would be easier to understand if you did.
At the end of ATTACHED MEANT, Jean-Luc and Beverly were married on board the Enterprise. Will Riker became the Enterprise's new captain as both Jean-Luc and Beverly were promoted to the Admiralty. And just about everything that had happened after the episode "Attached" no longer applies.
The DE-TACHED series covers their life afterwards. After a long honeymoon, they returned to Earth to live in the house that Jean-Luc inherited from his wealthy Aunt Adele. Along the way they had twins – a boy named William Robert and a girl named Deanna Marie, better known as Billy Bob or Warp Speed and Anna. The twins, thanks to a little Q connivance and left over effects from the Kesprytt, have telepathic abilities more akin to Betazeds than to humans. As a result, the twins have a Betazed nanny named Ryllis, not to mention Lwaxanna Troi-Wiley as their godmother. Lwaxana is also married to the head of Starfleet, Winston Holt Wiley.
Jean-Luc is now the Superintendent of Starfleet Academy. His chief personal assistant is a no-nonsense cousin of Wiley named Mildred Krebs. Wesley Crusher graduated from the Academy and is researching at U.P. as well as working as an aide to Admiral Wiley. Will and Deanna have finally married and are expecting a baby of their own.
Beverly was the Rear-Admiral in charge of the new Federation hospital ship fleet. Their life together was everything that they had imagined, and what their friends had wished for them.
But Q had prophesized that Jean-Luc would divorce Beverly. And so Jean-Luc did…
Not that I have forgotten my P/C roots, but the course of true love cannot run smoothly all the time. I've basically had the plot to this novel in my head for more than fifteen years. It took me a while to realize that it would fit in with all the ATTACHED MEANT sequels. So never fear, lovers will end up in the arms for which they were destined. Just not right away for where would be the fun in that?
Oh, some of our VOYAGER friends will be showing up too, though this is primarily a TNG novel which is why I really did not list this as a crossover story.
Though at times intense, the sex, violence and language are not too explicit. So if you're old enough to watch a James Bond film, you're old enough to read my efforts.
As always, Please let me know what you think.
All the usual disclaimers apply. Paramount's property - but fandom's playground.
DETACHED:
Jean-Luc: His Story
Chapter 1:
The Land of the Living
He wandered about the main room of the bedroom suite, trailing his fingertips over the navy velvet back of what had once been his favorite reading arm chair. He deliberately ignored looking to his left at their bed, even as he slowly walked around the room for the last time. Even now, after all this time - two years, eight months, two weeks and one day - there were just certain things that he could not force himself to face.
Mentally sighing, and wishing with all of his heart that the servo cleaning bot had not been quite so diligent in keeping these rooms clean and tidy, he moved slowly toward the large closet cum dressing room that he had once
shared - albeit it was a decidedly unequal sharing - with his wife. The twenty percent that had become his allotted space still was fairly full with items that he just could not bring himself to have moved to his new, replacement bedroom suite down the opposite end of the family floor corridor. These items had all hung in this closet, untouched for years. The pain of the ghosts that they could resurrect were still too devastating to his fragile psyche.
He stared at the worn grey robe. And then he chuckled to himself. "Ah, mon coeur, I am finally wearing a new robe…" But his words did not belie the bitterness and sorrowfulness that were his almost-constant companions.
He dared not look at her clothes.
Steeling himself, he entered the large bathroom and then opened the door to the linen closet. Taping a code into a security lock and then confirming his I.D. with a retina scan, a shelf moved aside and a door swung open revealing the interior of a safe. With great regret, he reached within and pulled out a tray containing all of the safe's contents. On it was an open jewelry box. He was disconcerted to note that this tray at least, had some dust. The bot had not cleaned in the safe after all.
And then he was shocked to see his wife's engagement ring. His granmere's beautiful, antique sapphire ring surrounded by seed pearls and diamonds was in plain sight, resting on a ring stand.
He reacted to the pain that stabbed through his body as if the sight of the ring were a personal, physical assault.
I thought that she took it! I thought that she was wearing it when she left…
When the raw pain subsided a little, he picked the ring up and crushed it into his palm forcing the prongs to pierce his flesh. Finally, when this pain convinced him that the ring was real, he released the ring and placed it back.
His eyes inspected the rest of the open tray. And then he saw even greater sorrow. Her platinum wedding band was threaded onto a fairly long platinum fine chain, laying on a corner of the tray. His brain froze. Impossible! And his heart broke again at the sight of the ring; wave after thundering wave of grief battered against the fragments of his desiccated albeit mechanical organ.
He simply could not comprehend how these rings came to be here…
Of course, as a Starfleet Admiral on standard duty, no one - not even admirals - were supposed to wear personal jewelry. Usually his wife had her rings on a chain under her duty jacket in order to comply with this regulation…
He picked up the chain and was surprised to see the wedding band fall back onto the tray. And then he understood. She'd been in a rush that day. She must have broken the chain, and simply did not have the time or the inclination to have replicated a replacement...
Grimacing, he closed the lid to the box, held everything tightly against his breast, pivoted and then walked quickly out of the suite, forcing his eyes into looking straight forward.
Mildred was there, dressed in grey, standing in the middle of the long hall way. Her tired eyes took in his expression, and they reflected an echoing sadness. She could not offer him any comfort. He would never accept it from her - at least, not today.
"Put this in the vault," he tersely commanded. He handed the box to her.
The lady who was Jean-Luc Picard's private assistant and dear friend, nodded her acquiescence.
"Do it," he ordered. And then he swiftly walked away without looking back.
Mildred didn't need any further instructions. She waited until the admiral had gone out of sight down the far stairway before she tapped her com badge. "All right, Commander S'Rock. Send the moving teams and everybody else on up."
=/\= =/\= =/\=
Mildred knocked on the golden oak archaic door and waited. And waited. Finally, she heard him utter the command to enter. She swung the door open and stepped inside.
He was seated behind an antique Provencal wood platte desk. There were many padds scattered or stacked on the desk. And in the half-power lighting of the room, she could see the glow of a view screen turned on. He was the very picture of a very busy man seated at work in his personal home office. And Mildred would bet every credit that she owned that he had not done a lick of work since he had entered this room five hours ago.
Without being asked, she plopped herself down onto the only empty chair in this small office. And then she had glanced about. It was too dark in here for her purposes. "Computer, lights eighty percent."
She expected to hear an expletive, or at the very least be on the receiving end of one of his annoyed glares. Instead, he ignored her actions.
Her eyes widened as she observed what had captured his attention. For sitting on the bleached oak wood desk directly in front of him was a rectangular display box, holding many, many awards and medals.
Perhaps he had glanced at her and noted her observation, for then he spoke by way of explanation; almost distantly, as if the effort to move his lips was taxing the last of his strength. "Beverly's medals."
Mildred nodded, not even noticing a few stray tears that leaked onto her cheeks.
He made a noise that almost sounded like a chuckle - if it had been coming from anyone other than him. "I think that Beverly actually had more awards and commendations than I do. And considering how many times her superior officers put her on report…"
"They weren't…," Mildred interrupted.
"Weren't what?"
"Her superiors, Jean-Luc."
"Mildred, I put Beverly on report several times on board the Enterprise."
"Like I said…"
This time the sound he made most definitely was a chuckle.
And with this noise, Mildred began to relax.
He raised his head, and actually smiled for a nanosecond. "Where did you put her things?"
"Everything right now is in storage in the second sub-basement. I tried to label the boxes of stuff that I knew belonged to you, in case you want anything…" Her voice trailed off as she saw him wince as if the mere thought of things in storage was a source of more pain.
"No, I…" It looked to Mildred as if he had to physically push himself to continue to speak. "One day, Anna and William might wish to look at their mother's things." He stiffened. "Only after they are old enough to decide, will I consider donating…"
Mildred stood and leaned across the desk to lightly touch his hand. "Whatever you say, Jean-Luc." She straightened and then forged onward. "You have to be here for breakfast in the morning," she also announced, and correctly interpreted his questioning look. "Marie is coming to take the twins to LaBarre. I promised them that their new bedrooms would indeed be ready when they came back."
His eyes widened in disbelief.
She bristled. "I really came in to tell you that the contractors say that the work of converting all the areas into two bedroom suites and playroom for the twins with an additional guest bedroom will take two weeks."
He harrumphed at that statement. For he knew all too well the habits of contractors that specialized in historic, old Arts and Crafts mansions like Picard House. "I'm sure that they specifically told you which two weeks…"
"Jean-Luc, do you think any contractor of sound mind would want to cross me - after the last incident?"
Not even Jean-Luc had the nerve to try and cross Mildred over any incident, so he just blindly shook his head. Then he looked at the antique figural bronze d'ore clock of Asteria, quietly ticking away on the bookcase to the right of him and asked, "The twins are in bed?"
"I'm sure that Ryllis has put them there by now, but I doubt that they are asleep." Her voice softened, as if not to infer any criticism of his recent actions. "I'm sure that they would love to have their father come and say goodnight to them."
An instinctive protest almost crossed his lips, but then he thought better of it. For he knew how often since the day that Beverly had disappeared, he had missed bedtime with Anna and William. "Yes, you are right. I'll be up in a moment."
Having won that concession from him, she nodded and slipped out of the room, well aware that his focus had returned to Beverly's medals. A moment later she heard a drawer soundly shut. Smiling to herself, Mildred went to make sure that the twins would be awake when their Papa made his appearance.
It may be only by baby steps and teeny bounds, but Jean-Luc Picard was finally on his way back to the land of the living…
=/\= =/\= =/\=
"I did as you requested," the somewhat officious man reminded his client as he handed the man a padd. "Affix your thumbprint, and you will be officially and legally divorced from Beverly Howard Crusher Picard as of sixteen hundred hours of this day's date."
Jean-Luc Picard nodded slightly in numb acceptance, before he took the padd and pressed his thumbprint against it.
It is done…
"Irreconcilable differences," the attorney continued.
"We never had any," Jean-Luc muttered to himself before he placed the padd on the glossy aluminum desk in this law office. Jean-Luc was not quite used to dealing with civilian lawyers. But in the matter of his marriage to Beverly, he did not wish to use a Starfleet lawyer for he was too well aware of all the gossip that had been circulating about his relationship with Beverly and the way that she had disappeared. And he wished to add no more fuel to that particular fire.
Rollin Hand, Esquire, handed the padd to an office bot to be filed away. The tall, gaunt, grey-haired man then pulled from an open desk drawer a bottle of Jameson's pot still whiskey. He pulled out two cut crystal low ball glasses, and without bothering to ask, he poured a double shot into each. He shoved one glass toward his client. "Admiral Picard, off the record, I would like to ask you a question, if I may."
Deciding that his need for the drink was greater than his annoyance over this man's presumptiveness, Jean-Luc reached for the whiskey, and then muttered, "Ask."
The elderly man sat back down, and took a sip of his liquid gold before proceeding. "Why?" He took another sip before he added, "The divorce."
"I beg your pardon?" Jean-Luc stiffened as he put down his untouched drink.
"I've been a friend of Phillipa Louvois for years. She told me that the crew and passengers of the K'Tosh are going to be finally, legally, declared dead in four months." The curious lawyer leaned back in his chair, observed this client finally taking a sip of his best and most expensive Irish whiskey, and waited.
It had been a long time since Jean-Luc Picard had tasted this quality of smooth Irish liquid. He savored it for a moment as if he was surprised by the superiority of it, and then, almost as if his thoughts were privately amusing, he explained. "A long time ago, a demi-god in his own mind prophesized a future life in which I would divorce Beverly. At the time I could not even imagine being married to Beverly Crusher much less being foolish enough to divorce the lady." He took a longer sip before continuing. "Fates change. Now, I find that I would prefer to be divorced from my wife than to be legally declared a widower." He put down his glass, and looked away, as if gazing at distant memory. "Call it a conceit of mine. In my mind, I know that Beverly is gone. But my soul cannot accept the cold finality of those words. So, I would rather be divorced." He looked over at this man that he barely knew. And Jean-Luc saw understanding in the man's expression. He chuckled aloud. This surprised the lawyer. "That same, semi-omnipotent god also predicted that one day Beverly and I would dance at our granddaughter's wedding." Jean-Luc finished his drink and stood. "On the off chance that this prediction might come to pass, I cannot in my heart refer to Beverly as 'dead'…"
Rollin nodded sympathetically. "I understand. Occasionally, when I share a drink with her, Mildred has mentioned semi-omnipotent beings to me in the past. And how much of a pain in the ass they can be - especially when it comes to Federation legalities."
Jean-Luc smiled. He wasn't that surprised that this man would casually drop Mildred's name. After all, it had been Mildred Krebs who had recommended this lawyer over the Picard family mandataire of Roche et Gaultier, to handle the finality of the marriage of Jean-Luc Picard to Beverly Howard Crusher Picard. Rollin Hand understood Federation legalities far better than those attorneys for Château Picard.
"Mr. Hand," Jean-Luc extended his hand, "may I call upon you again when I have need for non-Starfleet legal expertise?"
"Of course, Admiral. It is an honor and a privilege to be of service to you." The man shook the admiral's hand. "And even if you have need of Starfleet expertise, my firm has several former JAG attorney officers."
With a brief nod of acceptance, Jean-Luc walked out of the office finally accepting the necessity of having to start a brave, lonely, new life without Beverly.
=/\= =/\= =/\=
Somehow Jean-Luc managed to survive. And create a semblance of a so-called 'normal' life. Not that the sorrow ever went away. The loss of Beverly when the Vulcan science ship upon which she had been travelling, the K'Tosh, inexplicably disappeared without a trace over three years ago, still was a dagger's wound - a raw, ever-bleeding grievous injury - to his heart. With every breath he missed her. But there were his children. Anna and William were the main reason as to why he had never gone insane with his grief. His twins were his lifeline. His link to sanity…
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#A.N. After you've stopped cursing me, there is a lot more to come. I have pretty much finished Jean-Luc's half of the story entitled "His Story". Then will come Beverly's story labeled "Her Story" for this is not an ST version of "The Ghost and Mr. Muir…". "Her Story" will be a separate novel I think since I am not quite in the category of writers such as Ke Roth or Princepen when it comes to writing epic opuses.