Jean-Luc forced his mind into a professional mode, despite the fear growing inside him. Dressed. First he needed to get dressed. And then he needed to get someone to watch the children while he went to sickbay. Although it was the middle of the night, he instinctively reached for his uniform, and, shedding his pajamas, he quickly pulled it on, then pushed his feet into his boots. As he was silently debating whom to call for the children, the door chime sounded.

"Come," he intoned striding into the lounge area as the door slid open.

Alyssa stood on the other side.

"Selar is with Beverly, but I thought you might need someone to stay with the children."

Jean-Luc gave her a grateful smile. "Thank you, Alyssa. I'm sure they're still sleeping, but if they should wake…"

"I'll explain carefully. Don't worry." She reached out and took his hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze. "You go be with her."

~vVv~

Five minutes later, he walked into sickbay to find it a flurry of motion: Selar and several other members of the medical staff surrounded the central biobed – so many of them that he couldn't even see Beverly. He stood, frozen, by the main entrance, and then blinked when he saw someone step out of Beverly's office, not registering who it was at first. Not until the voice and the touch on his arm…

"Jean-Luc…."

He looked to his left. Deanna.

"Alyssa contacted me."

He shook his head. "I didn't want to wake you and Will."

She gave him a soft half-smile. "Don't worry about us. We're fine. My mother is going to come stay at our place so Will can go to your cabin. That way Alyssa can come back here."

Another shake of his head, his mouth a grim line. "Deanna, no…"

She wrapped her hand more firmly around his arm. "That's what families do," she whispered, leaning closer and placing a gentle kiss on his cheek, then pulling him into the office. "Let's sit… I know Selar will come talk to us soon."

~vVv~

Soon was almost a half hour later, and both Selar and Julian Bashir, who had transported over from DS9, came to speak with them. Julian leaned against the side of the desk while Selar stood beside him.

"What's wrong with her?" Jean-Luc questioned, looking from one to the other.

Julian glanced up at Selar, and the Vulcan nodded – unspoken permission for him to proceed.

"Beverly's contracted Sythrellian Fever. It's a very rare illness, usually found within the Bolian population, although it can affect all species."

"The Bolian freighter?"

Julian nodded. "Apparently one of the crew is carrying the virus. I have my staff scanning for it now. A person can transmit the virus without showing any effects. And it's a very fast-acting illness – symptoms can appear within hours of exposure."

"Has anyone else been affected?"

He shook his head.

And Jean-Luc looked up at Selar then back to Julian. "Why only Beverly?"

"We don't know. Some individuals are more susceptible than others."

"And the cure?"

Julian hesitated, sharing another long look with Selar.

Jean-Luc looked up at the Vulcan again. "Doctor Selar?"

"There is no known cure at this time, Captain. The illness simply has to run its course."

"And then she'll recover?"

Selar was silent.

"Doctor?"

"Sythrellian Fever has a sixty-five percent recovery rate," Selar said quietly.

And there was silence for several long moments, the expression on Jean-Luc's face growing harder, his hands tightening into fists.

"Captain, we're doing everything we can for her, but…she's slipped into a coma, and…" Julian looked over at Deanna. "I'm afraid all we can do is wait."

~vVv~

Will had never known that Lwaxana Troi could enter a room quietly, but she came into their cabin almost imperceptibly less than ten minutes after Deanna had contacted her, waking her from a sound sleep.

Will was sitting on the couch, holding Lucy against his shoulder, one large hand patting her back. Deanna had been nursing her when Alyssa had contacted them about Beverly. And now, Will was lulling her back to sleep with the gentle tapping – a time-worn rhythm that had soothed all of their children in the middle of the night.

"You seem to have that perfected," Lwaxana said softly as she crossed the room and sat down beside him.

Will gave her a tired smile. "I've had a lot of practice."

Lwaxana reached over, and he carefully transferred the baby into her arms. Lucy yawned, but didn't open her eyes.

Will pushed himself to his feet and looked down at his mother-in-law. "Thank you for coming."

"Of course. Have you heard anything about Beverly?"

He shook his head, running a hand down over his beard. "Not yet. But I'll let you know when I do hear something." He glanced toward the bedrooms. "If the kids wake up…"

"I'll tell them not to worry." She held Lucy in one arm and reached a hand out to Will. He took it, and she squeezed his fingers. "Beverly will be fine."

And Will nodded. But neither of them could be sure.

~vVv~

He was sitting on the edge of the chair in front of Beverly's office desk – just where she'd left him fifteen minutes earlier. His eyes were closed, but he opened them as soon as she stepped through the door. His gaze asked the question his lips could not form.

Deanna shook her head. "She's still in a coma."

His shoulders dropped and his chin fell against his chest. Deanna went to him and knelt beside his chair. She wrapped her hands around his upper arms, but he pulled away, straightening, his face and eyes neutral, devoid of emotion. And she could feel the all too familiar mental barriers. Only this time, they were stronger than ever before – impenetrable, unyielding.

"Jean-Luc, don't... Don't cut yourself off from your feelings." She tried to brush her fingers over his cheek, but he pushed her hand away.

"I'm all right," he murmured, "but...thank you for your concern. I... I'd better go see about the children." He stood up, but then looked furtively around the small office, as if not sure what to do next.

Deanna stood also. "Do you want to see her?"

He glanced over at her. "No," he answered abruptly. "No... I... the children," he mumbled and turned toward the door.

He took a step, and then his hand went out and grasped the door frame, and he sagged against the glass wall, his shoulders shaking.

Deanna was at his side immediately, her arm wrapping around his back. "It's all right," she whispered. "It's all right."

Jean-Luc pressed his face to the wall, the tears trailing down his cheeks. He couldn't stop them, couldn't stop the shudders that ran through his body, couldn't stop the pain that engulfed him. Beverly… Her name echoed in his mind. Beverly… He couldn't lose her. They couldn't lose her. Didn't she know? Couldn't she feel what he was feeling?

"I... I need her." His voice shook with the sobs.

"I know," Deanna soothed, drawing him away from the wall, allowing his head to fall to her shoulder. "I know. And she knows." She wanted to tell him that Beverly would come back to him, but the medical staff wasn't sure. Her condition was serious, precarious.

And no matter how much she wanted to, Deanna wouldn't give the man in her arms any false hopes. Nor would he believe them, even if she did. All she could give him was just this: a shoulder to cry on.

~vVv~

He allowed her to hold him until the tears passed and he gained control of his emotions. And as he pulled away from Deanna's arms, he pulled the mantle of captain firmly back into place.

"I need to check on the children," he murmured, turning toward the door.

Deanna touched her hand to his upper arm. "Will's with them. They'll be fine." She closed her fingers around him. "You need to see her, Jean-Luc."

He looked down at the floor, shook his head. "She won't know I'm there."

"But you'll know."

And Deanna led him down the short hall to the private room where they'd moved Beverly. At the door, Jean-Luc hesitated, peering into the half-darkness. He could hear her labored breathing, slow and ragged, caused by the buildup of fluid in her lungs. And he knew that her fever was still high. He felt Deanna's hand slide down his arm, her fingers wrapping around his, squeezing gently. And he let her pull him further into the room, let her draw him closer to the edge of the bed, the edge of the precipice…

For that is what he felt as he stood gazing down at the flushed, fevered face of the woman he loved… On the edge of a cliff, a dark chasm… And he couldn't fall. He was the captain; he had a ship to attend. But more than that… He was a father, and his children needed him… Especially if they lost her…

And he gripped Deanna's hand, hard, drawing strength from her, steadying his own uneven breathing. And with his other hand, he reached out, touched his fingers to Beverly's forehead, felt the heat of her skin, allowed his fingers to brush down gently over the limp red-gold strands of hair. Then he leaned over and pressed his lips to her cheek, whispered in her ear, "I love you."

~vVv~

"Uncle Will?"

The small voice came from the opposite side of the room, and Will looked up from the desk computer to find Andrew standing in the doorway. He sat back in his chair, motioning for him to come closer. Just like his own children, Andrew still wore a nightshirt for pajamas, and the ends billowed around his knees as he crossed the room. When he reached his uncle, Will pulled him up into his lap. At any other time, he felt sure that Andrew would have resisted – after all, he was eight, too old to be held – but in the middle of the night, Will knew better – never too old to be held – especially when you woke to find your parents missing and your uncle in their place.

"Where's Mama and Papa?" Andrew breathed softly, letting his head fall onto Will's broad shoulder.

And Will sighed. He'd been silently rehearsing what he would tell the children when they woke, but now all the words that had seemed proper and appropriate no longer seemed right – they just felt heavy and awkward as he began to explain.

"Remember your mother went to help the doctors on the space station?"

Andrew nodded. "She said there was an explosion on a ship. Lots of people were hurt."

"That's right. And Doctor Selar and your mother went to help." He hesitated. "But when she came back, she became sick, and she had to go to sickbay."

Andrew looked up, and Will could see the tears quickly forming in his eyes. "Sick? How?"

Will rubbed his hand soothingly over the boy's back, patting gently. "She has a high fever, but Doctor Selar and Doctor Bashir are doing everything they can to help her. And Papa's with her, and Aunt Deanna."

"Is she gonna be all right?"

And Will knew that he couldn't lie to him – he wanted to – wanted to tell him that everything would be just fine – wanted to believe that himself. But he couldn't. And he knew that Jean-Luc wouldn't want him to.

He pulled Andrew closer into his embrace. "We hope she'll be all right, Andrew. But we just have to wait."

~vVv~

"You need some rest," Deanna insisted as she walked with him through the corridors heading toward his cabin. Both of her hands were wrapped firmly around his right arm, and she leaned into him, her body flush against his side – both comfort and support.

And he didn't pull away. He allowed the contact – needed it, as he thought of the children and what he would say if they were awake.

"I can talk to them," Deanna said softly, knowing what he was thinking.

"She's never been this sick before." He sighed. "And they've never…even been without her, except for…" And his voice trailed off, remembering.

And Deanna remembered, too: the typhoid fever epidemic that had broken out in Cutter Gap two years ago. Thankfully, none of them had developed the illness, but Beverly had worked tirelessly alongside Neill MacNeill for almost a month to help treat the dozens who had. During those weeks, she was rarely home, spending most of her nights at the mission house or in the homes of patients who needed her.

"She was worried about being around the children – afraid that she could somehow expose them to the bacteria." He shook his head. "It was easier for her to stay in the village – closer to those who needed her…"

"That's just who she is," Deanna observed, clutching his arm tighter. "But she was strong then, and she's strong now." They reached the cabin door, hesitated before entering. "You have to believe that, Jean-Luc."

And he nodded at her words; he did believe. He'd always known how strong Beverly Crusher was – had seen that strength from the very beginning of their friendship, had seen it all too clearly when Jack died – and in all their years on the Enterprise and then on the mountain, that strength had held fast and secure.

And now he had to hold to that belief.

Deanna reached out and activated the door, pulled him quietly into the familiar dimness of his quarters. As his eyes adjusted to the faint light, he saw Will sitting at his desk with Andrew asleep on his lap, the boy's head cradled against his chest.

"Margaret and Walker?" he whispered.

Will shook his head. "Never woke up. Just Andrew."

Jean-Luc went over and knelt beside them, placed his hand on his son's back. "Andrew?" He spoke softly, gently shaking him awake.

The boy's eyes half opened sleepily, then grew wider when he saw who it was. "Papa?" he breathed, reaching out and looping his arms around Jean-Luc's neck. "Where's Mama?"

"She's still in sickbay."

Andrew slid from Will's lap, and Jean-Luc pulled him closer, holding him securely in his arms as he stood, the boy's legs wrapping around his waist.

"Is she all right?" he sighed as his head fell onto his father's shoulder.

Jean-Luc patted his back as he headed toward his bedroom. "She's…resting for now. Why don't you come sleep with me for a while?" And he looked back at Deanna, as if asking the counselor's permission.

And she managed an encouraging smile. "That sounds like a good idea. You both get some rest." She crossed the room and joined him. "Will can stay here while I go back to sickbay, but first I'll help change the sheets on your bed since you have your hands full." She knew he wouldn't want Andrew sleeping on the same sheets that Beverly had slept on for fear of him catching her illness.

Jean-Luc started to protest, but she shook her head, her expression soft and determined all at the same time. He glanced toward Will, only to see the same look mirrored on his face. And he nodded in understanding and, following Deanna, carried Andrew into the bedroom.

He watched as she quickly stripped the bed of the rumpled sheets, then remade it with fresh linen from the recycler. He felt Andrew falling asleep in his arms, the gentle rise and fall of his breathing slowing against his chest, his son's breath warm on his skin where his face was burrowed against his neck.

He realized that he had not held Andrew like this in a long time. At eight, he was almost too big to be held, and on the mountain, Jean-Luc's weak left side had often prevented him from holding the older children for long periods of time. He could securely hold a small child with his right arm, but carrying Andrew or Margaret had been difficult as they'd grown bigger. With those thoughts, he tightened his arms around his son, holding him close.

When Deanna was done, he sat on the edge and laid Andrew down on Beverly's side of the bed, looked back up at the counselor.

"Do you need anything?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head, rubbing a large hand over his son's back as he answered. "We'll be fine."

And Deanna rubbed her hand along his shoulders, up over his cheek. "Rest, Jean-Luc. I'll let you know if there's any change." She pressed a kiss to his forehead, then turned and left.

Jean-Luc sighed, getting up from the bed and going around to his side. He pushed off his boots, but didn't remove his uniform. Carefully, he stretched out on top of the blankets, turning onto his side, smiling softly as Andrew shifted in his sleep and pushed against him, his head pillowed on his father's upper arm.

He gazed at his son for several long minutes, picking out the features that belonged to Beverly – the eyes and nose, the line of his chin – before finally closing his eyes and sleeping.

~vVv~