AN: Here we are, another piece to this one. Some of the chapters are flowing differently than my original plan, so I'm not certain of the final chapter count (it may be a touch shorter than anticipated).
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
The dizzying whirlwind of colors confused his senses as Jean-Luc swam in a sea of shimmering lights and shifting colors, but little else of consequence.
Something had happened. There had been an explosion. A death—his own? Jean-Luc couldn't fully remember it. He couldn't fully grasp it. He'd been trying to stop Soran, but he wasn't sure if he had succeeded. It was close enough to touch—the memory of it all—but slowly drifting out of reach, and Jean-Luc was starting to feel the warm, comfortable, drifting sensation of dozing off in a warm bath. He wasn't sure he cared, really, to find out the truth. He wasn't sure it mattered. He closed his eyes against the quickly and constantly changing colored lights and drifted off.
Before Jean-Luc opened his eyes, he smelled the scent of pine and cinnamon. He smelled a wood fire burning, and he smelled good food that he wouldn't have tried to name. He felt wrapped in the warmth of the moment.
When he opened his eyes, he was in a house—a house he'd never been in before, but one he was happy to be in now. It was beautiful, like everything he'd ever imagined his home and hearth could be, if he were ever a man who lived such a life. Jean-Luc relished the euphoria that seemed to simply flow through him.
"Jean-Luc…"
"Papa!"
The voices came from another room of the house. Then, there came the pattering of feet on the floor—the slap of soles. He heard laughter that sounded like music—laughter that was familiar and foreign, all at the same time.
"Don't run! Don't run! You'll fall and Papa's home. He isn't going anywhere!"
Papa was home. The thought barely had time to register for Jean-Luc before children came running into the room. All of them were all smiles. All of them were happy to see him. Two boys and three little girls—all ranging from a boy of easily eight to a little girl that was barely old enough to be sturdy on her feet with short red hair tied back with a navy ribbon that matched the dress she wore.
Jean-Luc barely had time to sit forward on the sofa, where he found himself, before his arms were filled with laughing, happy children, all vying for his attention—and all of them calling him Papa with enough affection that he could have been drowned in it.
To die like this, he thought briefly, would be to die happy. That was how he felt.
"George…Aurelie…help your papa into his slippers. He's had a long day, and he'd like to relax."
Jean-Luc's stomach flipped. It twisted like it might tie itself into a knot. Even overwhelmed with the sleepy feeling of absolute peace that he felt, there was a flutter of anxiousness as he glanced up. She leaned against the doorframe and looked on the scene of Jean-Luc, his lap overflowing with children, the youngest of which was hugging his neck and peppering his face with kisses, with a smile.
"Beverly," he breathed out.
She laughed.
"Who were you expecting, Jean-Luc?" She asked, her familiar teasing tone evident.
George and Aurelie, or at least he assumed them to be the children that Beverly had commanded to help him off with his shoes, had followed her orders. They put comfortable slippers on his feet like he was a king and Aurelie—the spitting image of her mother—wrapped thin, cool fingers around Jean-Luc's hand.
"Papa—I'm making bread for you, Papa. Mama's helping. Come and see. We'll put it in the oven soon."
"Papa—may we open our presents?" The smallest of the two boys asked. "May we? Just one, Papa, tonight. Please—may we?"
Jean-Luc's chest swelled and his eyes prickled.
"I'm Papa," he mused, accidentally saying it out loud. The children, rather than finding it odd, found it hysterical.
"Are you feeling well, Jean-Luc?" Beverly asked, straightening up from her position where she'd leaned comfortably against the door frame. She was wearing a pretty house dress—not something he would normally see Beverly wearing—and if he wasn't mistaken, there was evidence that the smallest girl hanging about his neck would not be the youngest in the household for long.
Jean-Luc stood, bringing the youngest to his hip. She didn't release her hold on him, and the clutch of children cheered to have their papa on his feet and moving with them in the direction of who he instinctively knew was their mother.
"Beverly…" Jean-Luc said, his chest aching.
Beverly laughed quietly, but he sensed some concern. She stepped toward him. Her hand touched his face. She felt real. She felt entirely real—as real as the children in his arms. He had made these children with her. They had created these lives.
"You don't feel like you have a fever," Beverly said.
He caught her hand and turned it. He pressed a kiss to her palm. She curled her fingers over his and he kissed them. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her skin and, this close to her, smelling the scent of her perfume and the particular fragrance of her body that he knew well. He opened his eyes to take her in. She was beautiful—as beautiful as always—but she seemed especially so as she stood before him right now. Close to her, he was certain that she carried another eventual addition to this household—one that had, at best, another two or three months to grow. He glanced at her left hand. The rings there were unmistakable. His mother's ring. He had kept it since it had been given to him, Robert taking his grandmother's ring, so that he could put it on the finger of a would-be wife, if he were ever to take one.
"You're my wife," Jean-Luc said.
Beverly smiled.
"And you're my husband," she said, raising an eyebrow in question. "Jean-Luc—did you bump your head at work today?"
"I think I did," he said. "I'm fine, Beverly. I'm—better than fine. I'm…wonderful. I just…you're my wife and…these are my children?"
"I certainly hope so," Beverly said with a laugh.
"They're all my…all my beautiful little children?" Jean-Luc asked. He looked at the girl, barely more than a baby, that hung around his neck and cuddled him. "She's my…"
"Emilie," Beverly said. "Jean-Luc…"
"But she's not the youngest of our brood…no…there's more to come," Jean-Luc said. He reached a hand out toward Beverly, and she guided it to her belly without hesitation. Jean-Luc's heart skipped a beat when he felt, beneath her skin, the movement of the child there. His breathing came to him a bit ragged.
"I hope you're not changing your mind," Beverly teased. "It's a little late to say that six isn't the perfect number we thought it was."
"All of this for me," Jean-Luc said. "For us. To share." He touched her face. It was warm and solid, and as real as the kick of his son or daughter. He pulled her toward him and she came, meeting him with an enthusiastic kiss. It felt like her kiss. He deepened it. She kissed him like she always did when he prompted her for more—without reservation. "You're mine," he breathed out when the kiss broke. "This is all mine."
She smiled at him.
"Are you sure you don't want to lie down?" She asked. "The children have been anxious for you to get home, but…if you need to rest…"
"I'm fine," he assured her. "I'll be fine. It's just…"
"How hard did you hit your head, Jean-Luc?" Beverly asked. "Did someone look at it?" She reached to try to examine him, and he caught her wrist. He didn't know if he'd hit his head or not. He didn't know what was happening, where he was, or how he got here.
He wasn't sure that he cared, at all, about any of the details. He simply didn't want to lose what he had now.
"Please—let me help you with…whatever you're doing," Jean-Luc said. "Should you be on your feet…with the baby and all?"
Beverly furrowed her brow at him, and she ran her hand over her belly.
"This is hardly my first baby, Jean-Luc," she said with a laugh. "If you'll recall, I was working the morning of Emilie's birth. Right up until an hour before she was born."
"Of course, you were," Jean-Luc said. "I would expect nothing less. But—I'd like to help…if I could."
"Your brother and Marie will be here soon," Beverly said. "Marie will help me while you and Robert entertain the children. Wesley said he'd try to come tomorrow, but…you know how busy he is these days."
"Robert is coming?" Jean-Luc asked.
"It's a Christmas tradition, Jean-Luc," Beverly said. "I'm really worried about you…"
"Don't be, please," Jean-Luc interrupted.
"Papa—may we open a present tonight?" The youngest boy asked, tugging at Jean-Luc's pant-leg.
"Paul—your papa doesn't feel well," Beverly scolded. "If you don't stop begging for presents, there might not be a single one under the tree for you tomorrow morning."
Jean-Luc leaned down and touched Paul's little face. It was practically like looking at his younger self in the mirror. Paul must have been born just before Emilie, whom Jean-Luc still held in his arms…and Emilie would have been born not terribly long before the conception of the baby who had been very eager to nudge a foot against his or her papa's hand.
"Let me help your mother with dinner," Jean-Luc said. "You and your brothers and sisters can help to set the table for the meal. When we're finished, and your…" He hesitated. It couldn't be true. Robert and Marie couldn't be coming to dinner with René, and yet Beverly insisted they were—Beverly, who was Jean-Luc's wife and mother to this beautiful brood of blossoming Picards. "When we're finished, and your cousin is here, we'll open presents."
"One each," Beverly said, her tone making it clear that there was no room for negotiation. "And you won't ask for more or there won't be a single present for any of you."
"One each," Jean-Luc said, ruffling Paul's hair and winking at the boy. Paul smiled at him and wrapped around him in a hug.
"Picard…"
Jean-Luc felt like he'd been splashed with ice water while being the warmest that he'd ever been. The voice was familiar, but it didn't belong here. Nothing belonged here…nothing else, and no one else, and nothing that might remind him of what he already knew—this wasn't real.
Jean-Luc looked over his shoulder.
As if from out of a dream, an old-fashioned carousel had appeared in the corner of their otherwise very-normal, although very perfect, living room, and Guinan sat sideways upon a reminiscently Victorian horse and made slow circles in silence. Each time she came to be in front of him, she held his eyes.
Neither Beverly nor Jean-Luc's beautiful children saw her. Nobody noticed the carousel. Beverly started toward the kitchen, where Jean-Luc had promised to help her with dinner—a dinner that smelled so wonderful already, a dinner that he'd share with his entire family—and where he had fully planned to sneak a few sweet kisses, to the delight of their children, as he hoped to win her favor later that evening in the luxuriously comfortable bed that he was sure they shared together…a bed where, perhaps, all their children had been conceived in love and dedication to one another.
Jean-Luc's heart ached and his stomach sank.
He kissed the side of Emilie's little face and put her down. He moved her hand into her brother's hand.
"Children—go help your mother. Get started with the table, and I'll be there shortly. Go on."
Jean-Luc watched them go. He watched all his beautiful little children go…disappearing into the kitchen with giggles and holiday excitement. He heard Beverly, in the kitchen, directing them over the clatter of dishes and the noise of children being children. His heart ached to follow them.
Instead, he turned back and walked toward Guinan. The carousel had stopped turning, but she still sat upon the Victorian horse and stared at him. Now, she wore a smile—the soothing kind that he equated with bad news or sympathy over illness or injury.
"How did you get here?" He asked.
"I'm not really here," Guinan said. "I am only a ghost of myself."
"Like some ghost of Christmas past?" He asked, sitting on a horse near her.
"You could say that," she said. "I'm an echo. Once you've entered the Nexus, a part of you always remains here—a shadow, an echo."
"Is this the past or the future?"
"It's nothing, and it's everything," Guinan said. "The time is out of joint, Picard. The Nexus does that, here and there, inside and out."
"This is the Nexus…" He mused. The question was rhetorical, and Guinan—whatever shade of her this was before him—must have known that, but she nodded her head. "And all of this? Is it just a dream?"
"It's as real as the Nexus can make it," Guinan offered. "What you see here is your heart's greatest desire. That's what the Nexus does. It gives you just that—your heart's greatest desire brought to life."
"I'm a papa," Jean-Luc said. "Did you see all my beautiful children?"
Guinan hummed.
"Soon to be six, if I counted correctly, and there isn't another Picard tucked away somewhere," Guinan mused. "If you wished hard enough, I'm certain that the one Doctor Crusher is carrying could be twins or…who knows?"
"My brother and nephew restored to me," Jean-Luc mused.
"A second chance," Guinan offered, "at everything you regret not saying or doing. The family you never had."
Jean-Luc's chest ached. His throat ached. His arms and body felt suddenly cold and empty from the warmth that he'd felt only moments before as little Emilie snuggled tightly against her papa's body—her papa whom she clearly loved dearly.
"Beverly is my wife…" Jean-Luc mused. "The mother to my children."
"This is just a projection, Picard. It's your dream in three dimensions."
"But it's still only a dream," Jean-Luc said. "That's what you're saying. I can't stay here."
"You can stay here, if that's what you really want," Guinan said. "You have control of your dream here. The time is out of joint, Picard. The Nexus makes it move fluidly—forward and backward. You can go back, if you want. Witness the birth of each of your children. Go forward and meet your grandchildren."
"But it isn't real," Jean-Luc said.
"Only within the Nexus," Guinan said.
"If I leave here…what happens to them?"
"The same thing that happens whenever you leave any dream," Guinan said with a shrug. "They remain here, in the Nexus, as just what they are…"
"Shadows…" Jean-Luc said. He laughed to himself. "If we shadows have offended, think but this, and all is mended, that you have but slumbered here, while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, no more yielding but a dream…"
He frowned at Guinan and shook his head gently. Everything within him ached, and it ached for visions and shadows. It ached for dreams. Guinan nodded her head knowingly.
"The Nexus gives you what would be your greatest joy," she said. "And you see why nobody wants to leave it. The good news is that…you know what you want now, Picard. And—maybe all of it isn't within reach, but…"
"You're suggesting that I go back," Jean-Luc said. "Seek the reality instead of the dream."
"As I've said before," Guinan said, "the time is out of joint. You can go back to any time you wish—though I cannot guarantee that the time will be exactly as it should be—and you can still stop Soran."
"And, then, I'll be free to pursue whatever it is I wish to have in life," Jean-Luc said.
"You always were," Guinan offered. "But—yes."
Jean-Luc heard the sounds of his happy family in the kitchen. He heard Beverly's laughter, loud and happy, as she shared some wonderful moment with their little ones.
"But…Beverly…"
"That isn't really her, Picard. It never will be. The real Beverly is out there. All you have to do is go after her, you know."
Jean-Luc laughed to himself.
"All I have to do is…escape the Nexus, stop Soran, and convince her that she wants to spend her life with me."
"Piece of cake, as they say," Guinan said with a laugh. "You can stay, Picard, and nobody here would blame you. Live for all eternity in the dream. Or…you can make the reality what you want it to be, and truly live it—out there."
"Will you help me?" Jean-Luc asked.
"I can't," Guinan said. "Remember—I'm an echo. I'm already there, aboard the Enterprise, doing what I can to help out there. It's up to you to do the rest. I do know someone who can help you, though, if you want to go back to what's out there."
"Papa—come and see the bread I'm making," little Aurelie said, appearing in the doorway. "Come and see—and Charlotte's made an awful mess, but mama isn't cross. Come and see, Papa!"
Jean-Luc smiled at his daughter—the vision of a dream.
"You go ahead," he said. "Help your mother set the table. Go on, now, Aurelie. I'll only be a while."
She smiled at him and nodded her head.
"OK, Papa," she said, turning and trotting off again.
Jean-Luc watched her for a moment, and then he looked back at Guinan.
"Out there—is the Enterprise OK?" He asked.
"She's—grounded," Guinan said. She didn't clarify, and Jean-Luc didn't press.
"The planet?" Jean-Luc asked.
"It didn't explode like we thought it might," Guinan said. "But—there is significant damage. It may never be entirely inhabitable again."
"And Beverly—is she hurt?" Jean-Luc asked.
"She's hurt that you're gone," Guinan offered.
"Will this Beverly know that I'm gone?" Jean-Luc asked.
"No," Guinan said. "She'll know only joy. The echo of you will remain. The real Beverly, however…"
"Tell me what I need to know," Jean-Luc said to Guinan.