Beverly Crusher slowly stood as around her the other senior officers rose from the table and began to file out of the observation lounge. The revelations that Jean-Luc had just told them all about his peek twenty five years into a possible future courtesy of Q had been sobering for all of them, not least herself.

It had been remarkable to learn that in that future she had been serving on the first of an entirely new class of Starfleet medical ships, the Pasteur. She'd had her own command. Yet even as she marveled at these unexpected revelations, one fact stood out in stark relief.

Jean-Luc had been back on Earth.

The thought of it was so strange, so foreign, that she couldn't help but wonder what had happened in that timeline. Somehow, she'd always thought – always assumed – that they would remain together.

But 25 years is a long time, she mused. A lot of things could happen.

The captain's voice broke into her reverie. "Doctor, may I speak with you for a moment?"

She smiled at him and hung back as the last of her colleagues made their way out the door. "Of course."

He rose and rounded the table to draw close to her. "Have you ever had occasion to perform a level four neurographic scan of my brain?"

She frowned. "No. Why?" Where is this coming from? she wondered, a vague unease rising in her stomach.

Uncharacteristically he hesitated. "In the alternate timeline," he paused again and ran a hand over the greying fringe at the back of his head, "I was afflicted with a condition called Irumodic Syndrome. It was caused by an –"

"An abnormality in the parietal lobe," Beverly finished for him softly.

He gazed at her, pain lurking in his hazel eyes. "Yes."

Now the pieces easily fell into place. "And you want to know if you have that same abnormality in this timeline."

He nodded.

Irumodic Syndrome. Jean-Luc. No. The very idea that such a brilliant man could be robbed of his mind by a debilitating neurological disorder like IS sent an icy chill of horror down her spine. It was one of the 24th century's most dreaded diseases, that over time turned the sufferer's friends and loved ones into virtual strangers as the syndrome literally ate away at the brain's synaptic centers of self and memory.

It was no wonder he hadn't shared that particular revelation with the others.

Beverly set her jaw, finding it difficult to try to force her mind away from the possible implications and onto the practicalities of the here and now. "Well, a level four neurographic scan is very detailed and it takes a few hours to process all the data. We've never had reason to perform one – until now," she added meaningfully.

Jean-Luc nodded again. "I would like to schedule one within the next few days if possible, Doctor," he said. "Not necessarily right away, it isn't urgent."

"Why don't we do it now," she offered. It was late, and she had an early shift tomorrow, but this was too important to put off until a gap in their busy schedules happened to open.

He shook his head. "Not necessary, Doctor," he replied. "Thank you, but tomorrow or even the day after will be fine. As I said, it's not urgent."

She stared at him. Not urgent. Discovering whether he had a brain abnormality that could cause a life-altering and ultimately fatal disease wasn't urgent. It is to me. And as she gazed more closely into his eyes, she could see within them the anxiety that gave lie to his words. He was concerned. Worried, even. But as always he was being considerate of her time and other responsibilities.

Well, I'm not having it. Not this time. For reasons she refused to allow herself to examine too closely, finding out the truth was almost as important to her as it was to him. Knowing it would either bring them peace of mind, or else they would learn the worst and begin to deal with it.

"Let's do it now, Jean-Luc," she said in a tone that brooked no further argument. "You'll feel better. And so will I."

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