Wesley Crusher felt like he was sixteen again, peering out into the bridge of the Enterprise from the turbolift. Riker had practically leapt to his feet at the sight of him. His beard had grown again.

"Commander."

"Wesley. Good to see you, though I wish it were under better circumstances." Riker approached Wesley, who hesitated a moment before stepping off the turbolift. He felt Counselor Troi follow close behind him. The lift closed. Wesley didn't need to ask how his mother was; the question burned through his eyes.

"She's stable." Riker squeezed his shoulder. "Come on, let's talk in the Captain's ready room. Worf, you have the bridge."

"Stable" wasn't quite the word Wesley was looking for. Neither Data nor Captain Picard could be seen on the bridge, and Riker's grip on his shoulder was a little too firm. The Counselor was already seated, chewing her lip and gazing out into the stars in a way that was really unsettling. All of these things were coming together in a chorus of alarm bells in Wesley's mind.

"Have a seat, Wesley." Riker motioned to the couch and Wesley's heart began beating a bit faster. He sat down reluctantly.

"Can I offer you something? You're old enough to have a drink, right?" Riker headed towards the replicator.

"I'm okay. Just tell me what's going on."

Riker sighed and stopped, staring at the replicator from a distance. "I wish I weren't on duty, I could use a drink myself." He doubled back and sat down on the couch next to Wesley. "Your mother is very dedicated. Too dedicated, at times."

"I know."

Riker explained as best as he could, and Wesley clenched his hands between his knees, staring at the fissures between his fingers until the shapes began to look unfamiliar.

"Mom's journal." He laughed in spite of himself. "I always saw her scribbling away in there. I tried reading over her shoulder a couple of times but it really is a complete scrawl." He shook his head. "I was only ever able to make out two words."

Riker turned away from Wesley and ran his hand absentmindedly over his beard. "Then I suppose you can't help Data with his translation then."

"Well... maybe. I haven't really had a chance to see it beyond a few glances before I was shooed away." Wesley smiled, relaxed his tight grip. "But... when I was young, Mom used to feel really bad about not being able to cook the old fashioned way. She didn't really have time, you know? But she really thought it was something parents should do for their kids sometimes. So every morning when she sent me to school with replicated food, she would write me these notes. They were little folded up pieces of paper that said something different every day. Sometimes it was a funny story or a joke, something that happened at work, or in her childhood, or a story about Dad... I got used to reading them. Nobody else could ever tell what they read; it was like our secret." His smile faded a bit. "When I got a little older the other kids started making fun of me, calling me a momma's boy. So I told her I didn't have time to read any of her stupid notes and she should just stop writing them."

Riker chuckled a little. "That's very like her. Maybe you can learn a few secrets out of her journal now. And Data will help."

"Yeah, I'll need his help for sure. I don't even know where to start with all her weird scientific short hand. One time I asked her for her old Organic Chemistry notes for an exam—couldn't read them at all. In the end I did pretty well anyway, and then pretended her notes got me through the test when I talked to her later. She just looked so happy when I asked her for help I couldn't tell her."

"I know, she told everyone about it."

The two of them shared a quiet laugh before Wesley's face became grave. "This is bad. We're already talking about her like she's... Where's Captain Picard?"

"You'll be seeing him soon. I expect he's still with her."

"Of course."

They found themselves staring at the empty captain's chair. It looked cold and forlorn.

Wesley squeezed his eyes shut. When was the last time he had seen her? What was the last thing she said? When was the last time she scolded him? He wanted a clear picture of her bright and lively, yelling at him to cut his hair, before he could see her lying in bed like a body in the morgue.

He felt Riker's hand on his shoulder again. It was gentle, reassuring. "Are you ready?"

Wesley nodded. They stood up together. As they approached the door, Riker asked casually, "What were the two words you read in her journal?"

"At the top of some of the pages. Dear Jack."

The first thing Wesley saw when he walked in was Captain Picard's back. He was hunched over on a stool, deep in thought, hands clasped between his knees not unlike Wesley in the ready room. His mother was obscured by the Captain's broad shoulders. One of her hands was held between his.

Wesley had an odd mixture of feelings when he saw them. He simultaneously wanted to tear across the room to join them and felt afraid to approach them. They seemed distant somehow.

He had often felt this way on the Enterprise. Before they boarded, in the absence of his father, Wesley had always felt that nobody knew his mother better than he did. But standing next to the Captain, her posture changed and the corners of her mouth twitched with unspoken secrets. The shadow of an unfamiliar Beverly cast itself between them. It was different from seeing her with any other men because it both ignited something new in her and drew out dormant parts of her that existed before Wesley. He suddenly felt a burst of childlike possessiveness that wanted to snatch her hand out of his grasp. He did in some ways love the Captain. He knew in the back of his mind that at the moment, Captain Picard understood his feelings better than anyone. But right now he was sitting in Wesley's seat.

"Captain Picard…"

The Captain came out of his reverie abruptly. He turned to Wesley at first with surprise, and then with immense relief. "I was afraid we wouldn't reach you."

"We got lucky."

Captain Picard gazed at Wesley for a long time, unsure what to say, before he finally collected himself. He quickly stood up and stepped aside, offering Wesley his seat. He looked smaller and older than Wesley had remembered.

"Did Will tell you about the journal?"

"Yes."

"Have you spoken to Deanna?"

"Not yet."

Wesley sat down on the stool, but the Captain remained standing next to him, unwilling to back away from the bed. "She can hear us."

Wesley looked into his mother's face for any signs of life. It was chillingly still. "Is she… conscious?"

"We're not sure. But… you should talk to her. Make sure she doesn't feel alone." Picard brushed her bangs as though he were touching a delicate archaeological find.

"Is that what you've been doing?" The words spilled out of Wesley before he could think about the implications. He didn't mean for it to sound like an accusation, but Captain Picard was very sensitive to any suggestion that he was putting anything before his duties.

Picard's hand retracted quickly and his face flushed, looking a bit wounded. "Just for a little while. I really must be returning to the bridge." Despite saying this, he made no moves towards the exit.

"Captain… what will happen if Data and I can't figure out the remedy before we reach the Starbase?" Wesley asked hesitantly.

"… Well she would have to remain there. Some of the Federation's best doctors are stationed there; she would be in good hands. You could, of course, stay with her. She has many friends there who would be more than happy to arrange something for you."

"And the Enterprise?"

"It would have to continue on its mission, of course."

In the silence that followed Wesley didn't have to be an empath to feel the pain that fell on them like a damp cloth at the suggestion.

"Decrease to Warp 4, sir. We've got this. It just might take a few extra days." Wesley was surprised at the confidence in his voice. Inside he was panicking. That old fear he felt every time his mother was sent out on an away mission gripped him once more. Yet looking at the way the Captain's eyebrows were drawn in, and how tightly his mouth was pressed, for the first time Wesley felt like he needed to be stronger and surer than the brilliant and distinguished Captain Picard.

The Captain nodded. He seemed stuck for a moment, searching his body for some way to convey comfort. He shifted his weight a few times and then finally settled on firmly grasping both of Wesley's shoulders. "Good luck, Wesley. If there's any man for this job, it's you."

With that the Captain finally, with some reluctance, left for the bridge. Wesley turned back to his mother. He needed a moment to breathe before he could start working. Everything happened so fast and now he was sitting before his mother's unconscious figure hardly able to believe it was real. He placed a hand on her stomach, feeling its warmth, remembering the way it felt against his cheek when he was barely taller than her waist.

"Hi, Mom. Long time no see." His voice came out shaky. "You can't tell, but my hair's gotten all shaggy again. You would hate it. I'm gonna try my best with your journal. You never let me get a good look at it before, but now I'm going to find out all your secrets, just wait. I have to be honest, though, now that you can't give me that stupid satisfied smirk. All those notes you wrote me when I was a kid… I know I've always said they were dumb and embarrassing. But really… sometimes when I'm out there by myself, eating some synthetic meal, I think about them. A lot of the important things I know about you and Dad were in those notes. I would read them over and over again under the table before I threw them out. I couldn't do anything for you back then. Sometimes you would stare at the door for so long. I'd do something dumb or break something just to snap you out of it because I was afraid that Dad was out there somewhere, calling for you and you were going to walk out and start running after him and disappear…" Wesley wasn't sure when he stopped making sense and started crying but he was gripping the sheet, gripping her hand, holding on to anything he could as though she was going to slip out of his reach at any moment.

Just as he was regaining the presence of mind to be thankful nobody was around, Wesley felt stiff arms wrap awkwardly around his shoulders.

"There, there." The voice was flat and mechanical.

Wesley looked up to find Data in the midst of offering him a very awkward hug.

"Data, I didn't even realize you were in here." Wesley started laughing through his tears.

"I was at the desk, studying your mother's journal." He started patting Wesley's back in a steady rhythm. "I heard you crying and thought I would offer comfort. Is this comforting you?"

Wesley turned and hugged Data back, still laughing. "Yes, Data. I feel much better."

"That is good. I am glad to see you again, Wesley. I am also glad you are feeling better, because we have much work to do."

"Yeah we do, Data."

The next several days were spent in constant work. Wesley would study his mother's journal, focusing on the diary entries which he was slowly becoming deft at reading. He would pull out important information about the infection from her personal narrative, and put them in notes for Data while he was on duty elsewhere. Members of the crew would drift in and out, talking to Beverly, recounting funny stories or telling her about their days. Then midway through the day, they would switch, Wesley getting some rest (or trying to, at least) while Data worked on deciphering the more scientific aspects of the journal, translating her shorthand, and working with live samples. The Captain expressly forbade anyone, even Wesley, to be present while Data was working. He wasn't willing to risk losing another member of his crew. Together, Wesley and Data were putting the pieces together, but it was painstakingly slow.

At night, after Data sanitized and closed up shop to begin the night shift, Wesley would sneak back in, refreshed from a nap and some food, maybe a drink with Guinan at Ten Forward. He would then spend all night poring over the diary, talking aloud to his mother to keep himself company, trying not to become discouraged. Before he knew it, the lights would come up again, another night passed. Very soon after, Captain Picard would enter, holding a cup of tea and a croissant in a napkin. They would greet each other and Wesley would pretend he had just arrived himself. If the Captain noted the dark circles, he said nothing. It would be hypocritical considering the shadows that rested under his own eyes. Then Wesley would continue working while the Captain talked to his mother. Sometimes Wesley felt intrusive, as though he was holding Captain Picard back by not giving them any privacy. But that kind of thing seemed trivial compared to his need to continue working.

On the sixth night at 0430 hours, Wesley Crusher was still wide awake at his mother's desk. In fact, his day was less than halfway done. He had successfully shifted his sleep cycle to clock his waking hours roughly between 1800 and 1200, ship time, though most of his "sleeping" hours were spent tossing and turning. He felt closer to his mother than he ever had before, privy to her most intimate thoughts. Sometimes he wanted to skip entire portions of it that were too personal, but he was too afraid he would miss something crucial.

Dear Jack,

I know I should be focused on helping these patients; I am determined to solve this before we reach the Starbase. But… Jean-Luc has been having trouble sleeping again. I find myself going to his quarters at late hours after I've exhausted my ability to work to find him awake. I should rest, I really should, but instead I'm up even later, drinking tea and talking about everything and nothing. Can you believe, Jean-Luc tries to drink Earl Grey in the middle of the night? I swap it out for mint or chamomile every night I visit. Last night, I didn't even make it back to my quarters. The herbal tea was doing its job and I was lounging on his couch and I don't know what we were even talking about but the next thing I knew the lights were on and Jean Luc was already replicating breakfast. He was very kind, but he's always very kind and I'm afraid I'm slipping. We've been toeing the line again, and I feel like waking up in his quarters was me stepping over it, even if nothing happened. My priorities are becoming muddled and I feel like I'm neglecting my work. And I feel like I'm forgetting you, Jack, and that makes me more afraid than any medical mystery. It was easier when Wesley was here. He looks so much like you and every year his voice sounds more like yours. But I've been alone for a while now… except for Jean-Luc. Sometimes on nights like last night, it feels like we're the only two people in this sector. It was the version of him that lives in my head that said it—"We've never needed a crew."

I can't think about this now, though. I'm so close to stabilizing this formula. I feel like I've been compromised. Today I will prescribe him a sleep aid, and tonight I will go straight to my quarters.

Love,
Beverly

As if summoned by her words, Captain Picard entered the room. Wesley froze; before 0500 hours was too early for him to be here, even under the circumstances. He really wasn't in the mood for a lecture. He grabbed the journal and ducked under the desk. He could smell the Earl Grey from where he was curled up between the drawers.

"Good morning, Beverly. It seems that I've actually beaten Wesley here this morning. All the better. I was beginning to suspect that he slept here." (Wesley crouched lower.) "He is very dedicated. I wish he rested more, as I'm sure you do as well."

Wesley snuck a peek around the desk drawers. Captain Picard was sitting on the stool, one hand holding his tea cup as it rested on his knee, the other playing with the fingers on one of his mother's hands.

"I still can't sleep well. I was worried about you all that week, you know. At first it was just a restless night or two. But then I'd find myself wondering what you were doing, how late you would be working. I'd lie awake waiting for you to show up at my door all in a fuss about my tea." He stopped to chuckle. Wesley felt very uncomfortable. He didn't feel like these parts of their relationship were something he was supposed to read or hear. Sure, he had always been aware of them. But these were moments meant to be shared by two people, and he was a voyeur.

"Tonight I was up thinking about the night we met. Jack told me about this amazing woman over dinner, and I thought he was exaggerating, like he always did about the women he was interested in. But when he introduced us… I couldn't take my eyes off of you. Do you remember? The younger ones in our crew were all going out before we left orbit, and you and your medical school friends joined us. When he introduced us, honestly…" he chuckled. "Your hair was so bright and you were wearing that green dress that made your eyes just…" he trailed off. "I must admit I admired you from afar but could barely get out two words to you all evening. Do you remember the end of the night? Jack had gotten so drunk—one last time before we were confined to synthehol for God knows how long. You and I were outside the bar on a bench and Jack was passed out. We talked for the first time. His head was on your lap, like it would be for years to come and you were stroking his hair absently as though you had been doing it your whole life. But you were looking at me. I don't even remember what we were talking about but when you laughed I thought, oh boy am I in trouble now. I wish we could go back to that moment. Maybe in another version of our lives, things would have turned out differently. I don't think I can bear to lose you both."

Wesley hoped that if he squeezed his eyes hard enough he would disappear. If he was discovered now, he and the Captain would never be able to face each other again. He tried to think about anything that would prevent him from listening in on the Captain's most private recollections. He was failing. All he could do was keep as still as possible.

"Beverly… Beverly I miss you." That's all Captain Picard could muster before falling into a heavy silence. Wesley chanced a peek around the desk. The first thing he saw was the cup of tea, almost empty, sitting on the floor by the stool. Picard was leaning over, clasping her hand and pressing his forehead against hers. Their closeness was unexpected, and Wesley felt the sudden need to hold his breath, as though even a slight shift in the atmosphere could break the tenuous thread that held them together in that moment.

Wesley sank back into the shadows of the desk. He held his mother's journal to his chest and waited. He wasn't sure how much time passed. He dozed, leaning his forehead against the cool metal of the drawers. When he awoke again the Captain was gone. Data was crouching before him.

"Wesley, this does not appear comfortable."

Wesley extracted himself from under the desk. His neck and shoulders were cramped. "No it's not, Data."

"Perhaps you should return to your quarters and rest. It is almost time for me to begin working in quarantine."

Wesley looked at the clock on one of the monitors and immediately swore. It was just past 1100. "Yeah, you're probably right. I wasted a lot of hours though."

"Your complexion and body language indicate that you are weary. Your thought processes will likely be more efficient if you rest."

"Alright, I get it."

"Did you learn anything of note in your readings?" Data motioned to the journal. Wesley set it on the table.

"Sort of."

Data tilted his head to one side, presumably to mimic curiosity.

"Don't worry about it, Data. Nothing important."

Wesley paused by his mother's bed on his way out. "Sorry, Mom. I didn't get as much work done as I wanted to today. But I'll be back soon. We're close, we really are. I just hope we're close enough." He brushed a brief kiss on her forehead, but then felt slightly awkward leaning over her after what he'd witnessed early that morning. He quickly straightened and walked out. A stiff drink and a long nap were in order.