Author's note: This is my first submission ever. The story was originally written in German over a period of 20 years. I began writing the story in 1996 and run out of ideas after a few chapters. It lay dormant for about 15 years until 2017 when I decided to finally give the story a specific direction. Afterwards I translated it into English. Since English isn't my first language the story might be a bit stilted at times. So I hope it is understandable anyway. Feedback is appreciated.
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I.
Wesley Crusher cursed silently. Being back on his way to Earth, the interferences he experienced hurled his shuttle effortlessly back and forth in space as he was shaken in his seat. He clutched at the armrests of his chair so convulsively that his knuckles went white. He was aware that there could be subspace distortions and theta-band interferences in this sector all the times and had adjusted accordingly to turbulence, but he didn't expect them to be so violent.
Sweat ran down his forehead and gathered in his brows but right now he couldn't do anything to get the shuttle back under his control. He knew that he wasn't allowed relax his grip for a second, otherwise he would probably be thrown across the shuttle. In his mind, he was slapping himself for not putting on his seat-belt before the start. He decided to catch up on this neglect as soon as the interference eased down. For the moment, however everything was contradicting a stabilization of the situation.
There was a slight vibration inside as the shuttle met another subspace distortion and was ripped around. Wesley's hands were sweaty and he had to be careful not to slip off the armrests. He feared that it would not take much longer for the outer shell of the shuttle to break and thus give way to the subspace disturbances. Mentally, he had almost finished with his life when the interferences suddenly stopped.
Wesley didn't dare to move as he didn't trust the apparent peace. He spent nearly two minutes in motionless rigidity, and then finally released the armrest he had clung to. Slowly and carefully, he bent to the navigation console to see how far he had gotten off course. He raised his eyebrows in astonishment as he realized he was not too far from his initial course despite the bumpy journey. With trembling fingers, he began to enter a course correction, and then he slowly and tensely dropped back into his seat. The illogical apprehension impelled him that the shuttle would immediately rejoin for an uncontrolled battle with distortions and interferences if he moved more quickly.
Just as he sighed with relief, another theta-band wave reappeared. Wesley recognized the impending disaster approaching and frantically tried to fasten the seat-belt, but he wasn't fast enough. The wave hit the shuttle with full force on the side and Wesley was thrown out of his seat by the impact. He bounced his head against the navigation console and slid to the floor. For a moment, Wesley lay drowsily, waiting for the interference to subside. He raised his hand to his forehead and fumbled for the spot that had made a very unpleasant acquaintance with the navigation console.
When he touched the wound, he noticed a centimeter-long crack and flinched when he felt a throbbing pain. Quickly he withdrew his fingers and looked at them. His fingertips were red and he felt the blood oozing from the gaping wound, running down his cheek. For the moment, however, he had no time dealing with his injury, but he had to take care of a course correction. Groaning, he pulled himself up and entered the new coordinates. At the same time, he began scanning the sector for further turbulence, but found no more. Meanwhile, the subspace distortions had stopped. Exhausted, Wesley dropped into his chair and took a deep breath. A raging headache reminded him of his wound on his forehead. He fished a handkerchief out of the pocket of his pants and pressed it against the sore spot to stop the bleeding.
Wesley sighed. He hadn't imagine his flight back to Earth being so nerve-wracking. After he had been notified on the crash and destruction of the Enterprise, he hadn't hesitated for a second and decided to return to Earth to see his mother. The thought that everything could have been much worse made him shudder. He had not seen his mother for almost a full year, and it seemed to him an eternity had passed since his last visit. Only half an hour separated him from her, but now he could hardly wait to see her again. The early death of his father welded him and his mother together very closely and Wesley had always been very proud of their close relationship. The distance over millions of light-years couldn't separate them, but the idea that she suddenly wouldn't be there anymore was very hard on him and he was glad that nothing worse had happened in the accident.
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Beverly Crusher entered her temporary office in the medical department of Starfleet Headquarters and dropped into her chair. She stretched her long legs until her joints complained with an audible crack. She had just finished a lung transplant, which was usually a routine procedure, but had become more complicated as the surgery progressed. For four hours, she and her team worked hard to keep the patient alive and complete the operation. A break was well deserved.
She glanced at the chronometer on her computer, wondering if Wesley had already arrived. Even though she didn't like to admit it, she had missed him more than she would ever disclose. She didn't want to be one of those kind of mothers who clung too much to their children, meddling with their lives. While she couldn't blame herself in this regard, it still took some time for her to accept Wesley's decision to drop his training on Starfleet to stay with the Traveler on Darvon V. It hadn't been easy, especially at the beginning, getting used to the fact that she no longer knew what her son was doing and that he was gone for good. During this time, Jean-Luc Picard proved to be a very special friend who was always there when she needed him. He turned out to be a sensitive and understanding listener, and though he himself was childless, he seemed to understand her all too well. Wesley had always been more to him than just Beverly's son, and he felt somewhat responsible for him after Jack's death, though he'd never admit he had developed paternal feelings for Wesley over the years. Beverly was aware of the fact, but she never commented on it so as not to embarrass him, though she knew he was looking forward to seeing Wesley as much as she did.
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Starfleet's headquarters spread under him like a rug. Wesley landed the shuttle on the fleet's landing pad, grabbed his luggage, and got out. The sun was shining straight into his face and he squinted as he headed for the block where the officers' quarters were housed.
On the way, several officers nodded with a friendly smile when they recognized him. For a moment, Wesley paused and stared thoughtfully at the building, which adjoined directly to the officers' quarters. He remembered Starfleet Academy with mixed feelings. He had spent many happy hours there, but a horrible accident in which a cadet had been killed by his negligence ended his happy memories. With an audible sigh, Wesley tore his eyes away and entered the compound. He searched for the quarters of his mother, and after a few minutes of wandering, he finally found them. Beverly had disclosed the access code to her quarters to him, in case she shouldn't be back when he arrived. Unsuccessfully Wesley operated the door chime several times and ultimately gained access to the room by means of the code.
Actually, Wesley hadn't expected his mother to be at her place at this time of day, but disappointment still stirred in him. He put down his luggage while his eyes brushed over a mirror. He flinched when he spotted the wound on his forehead, which he thought was much smaller. The bleeding had stopped, but instead pus was escaping from the wound. It was not a pretty sight and Wesley decided to seek the professional help of his mother.
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Beverly sat at her desk, head resting on her hands, and listlessly studied some of the medical information of her last patient. The day had stressed her; she felt burned out and beaten. An entire report had wandered across the screen without her having consciously acknowledged it. She also didn't notice when the entrance door to sickbay opened and someone entered her office. Only a throat clearing noise made her startle.
She lifted her eyes and her exhaustion was blown away when she recognized her son. She jumped up, walked around her desk, and a second later Beverly and Wesley were in each other's arms.
"Wesley!" she exclaimed. "It's so good that you're finally back." She pulled him close to her body, hugging him fiercely.
"Hi, Mom. I've missed you too." He clung to her as well and only now did he realize how much this was true.
For some time, they just stood there, enjoying each other's closeness. When Beverly finally loosened her grip, she noticed the wound on his forehead.
"What happened to you?" she gasped, while she assessed the severity of the injury with a practiced look.
First, Wesley didn't know what she was talking about. The joyful reunion had made him virtually forgotten the wound, and he was almost used to the dull throb behind his forehead.
"Oh," Wesley said, trying to sound harmless. "I just hit myself on the navigation console."
Beverly shook her head reproachfully. "Weren't you wearing a seat-belt? I told you that there may be turbulences in some sectors."
Wesley's embarrassment increased suddenly. He had never been able to fool his mother.
"Yes, yes," he replied grudgingly, grimacing. "I wanted to do it, but somehow I just didn't have the time."
Beverly sighed silently and saved Wesley another comment; he was already punished enough anyway. She put her son in the nearest chair and fetched a tricorder to take a closer look at the wound.
"Be careful," Wesley said as she approached the device. Beverly raised an eyebrow in astonishment. "I always am," she answered, shaking her head.
She scanned the wound, but to Wesley's relief found no serious injury.
"It looks worse than it is," she reassured. "You have just a mild concussion."
Slightly tensed, he watched as his mother fished on her desk for a protoplaser to treat his wound. While he knew the treatment was not painful, he still expected a burning sensation as Beverly switched on the device to treat his injury. Out of pure reflex, he jerked back. Beverly smiled indulgently at his reaction, put her hand under his chin and turned his head back into her direction. After a few seconds, she deactivated the protoplaser and looked at her son's forehead. The laceration didn't exist anymore. Only a pink line remained, which faded over time and fused with the rest of the skin.
"Done," she announced after a few seconds. "Do you still feel any pain?"
He shook his head and wanted to get up, but by doing so, he felt an immense pressure behind his forehead and for a short time, he felt light-headed. He dropped back onto the chair.
"Phew," he groaned and closed his eyes.
Beverly had just turned to put the protoplaser aside. She cast a worried look back.
"What's wrong?" she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm not sure," Wesley replied. "I suddenly felt dizzy."
Beverly nodded knowingly. "That's due to the concussion. You shouldn't do any fast movements for some time. Do you have headache?"
"Yes, a little," he admitted meekly. Beverly gave him a compassionate look.
"Then stay put for a while. I'll get you something for the pain."
She turned and left her office. When she returned, she held a hypospray in her hands.
"That's Areosal. The effect should be immediate," she said, pressing the injector against his carotid artery.
The device unleashed its contents with a faint hiss, and almost at the same moment Wesley felt the pain subsiding. He sighed in relief.
"Better?" his mother asked. Wesley nodded gratefully.
"Yes, much better. Thank you." He got up and was pleased to note that the dizziness didn't occur this time.
"How long until you're finished here?" he asked.
"About an hour," she replied. "Assuming no other unannounced patient comes in," she added with a smile, stroking his hair in a motherly gesture.
Wesley accepted the touch with equanimity. "Then I don't want to disturb you anymore. I'll be waiting for you in your quarters."
Beverly accompanied her son to the door, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "I'm really glad you're home."
Before he turned around and stalked away, he gave her a beaming smile that made up for her stressful day, which fortunately for the most part lay behind her.