Mornings were like waking up in a familiar dream: Wesley at age two, when he had just begun sleeping in his own bedroom, slipping into Beverly and Jack's room every morning and sitting cross-legged at their feet, his little toes touching the tips of theirs. He would sit there and talk to them at length about whatever came to his mind, which at that age was some nonsensical babble, sometimes singing nursery rhymes, until either Jack or Beverly grudgingly woke up to make him breakfast.
Beverly assumed it was morning, but really it could have been any point in the day. She had lost track of the cyclical nature of time and had begun to only perceive it as one continuous stream that she dipped in and out of occasionally. The sound of Wesley's voice never failed to wake her. She would drift towards it, taking a few seconds to parse reality from the memories and dreams that whispered in her mind.
"Mom, we made a lot of progress today. Yesterday, Data had recreated the cure for the fourth time, and it stayed stable for the second time. We have to run some more tests before we can try it on you, but I think we're gonna get it! But... we're due to dock at the Starbase in just about 48 hours. If we haven't made a breakthrough and experienced some success by then, the Enterprise has to leave us behind. If that happens, Data can't help me anymore, and I have no idea if their researchers and computers will be able to continue the work as efficiently. I don't know if they'll even let me help. And… I don't want you to get separated from the life you lead here. But I can see it already—the moment that separates then and now. Just like when dad died… and when we transferred here, when I left for the Acadamy, when I left the Academy," he stopped to chuckle and the sound sent a calming sensation through Beverly. Ah, yes. It was Jack's turn to make breakfast. She could always hear them laughing in the kitchen. And she could sleep for a little while longer... Wesley's continued to speak but his words faded as she slipped back out of consciousness.
She was woken sharply by new smells entering the room. New, but familiar: Butter. Soap. Tea. Jean-Luc. Her heartbeat quickened. It was breakfast time. He always kept their breakfast date, even when she couldn't be the best conversationalist. It was comforting to hear him talk about everything happening on the ship. She could imagine herself back in the observation deck, or the bridge, or his ready room with a cup of tea. She could imagine that she had the chance to see those things again, and carry on as they were. But she knew what was happening. She had studied the patients in depth. She had long suspected that they may be conscious in immobile states. She loved Wesley and trusted Data but she couldn't know for sure that they could make it in time; it was all there but she knew how disorderly and indecipherable her notes were, and how fragile her solution really was. The moment she began to lose motor control, she knew she only had about a month to live. Some days, listening to Wesley, she was filled with hope. She pictured her and Jean-Luc in his quarters, the half-eaten food spread out between them. She could see his awkward smile so perfectly.
But sometimes when she heard the sound of Will's voice when he talked to her, sensed Diana's emotional distress, she became afraid that they would reach the Starbase and she would have to listen to their goodbyes without being able to say out loud how deeply she cared for them. At times she imagined her hands reaching out and grasping for them but felt nothing and her whole being was clenched in excruciating pain.
Most of the time, she wanted to cry. She felt it fill up her throat and drown her brain, but her tear ducts remained dry and barren. Instead she was locked in place as everyone hovered above her, whispered secrets and laid bare honest truths that she couldn't comfort or return.
She couldn't silence Jean-Luc with a look or a dismissive gesture. She couldn't change the subject when he treaded territories she wasn't ready for. She had kept their relationship in check even as it threatened to burst, like an overstuffed suitcase that she had to sit on in order to zip shut. Now she was unable to stifle all the feelings that came spilling out of him, flooding her with its warmth until she thought she might dissolve.
She felt she might be dissolving anyway. Her mind drifted from her body, stretching the thread that tethered her to her physical form. As she floated above the weight of reality and sensation, she began to find bits of lost time scattered in the void.
First there was the lost time with her son. She heard his voice, deeper and more substantial than before, but pictured him at various ages between six and eighteen. In reality, he would be nearing twenty-four only having seen her a handful of times in the years between. Then, unwillingly, she began to picture Jack. Wesley's voice just sounded so much like his, sometimes she would imagine the three of them sitting on a couch together, Jack telling her about his recent mission as Wesley slept with his head on Jack's lap and his little legs curled up on Beverly's. She used to often dream about the life they might have had together, saw Jack's shadow at every significant event. She couldn't fit all of those lost moments in her arms if she tried. She willed herself to pass by them, even as they crackled loudly under her feet like dried leaves.
Other small regrets prodded at her as she navigated the silence. She held them in her hands and promised each of them that if she made it out of here, if she could interact with the world around her once more, she would not forget them. She allowed herself to be lost in this process, as always dancing around the brightest collection of memories and emotions even as it flickered in her peripheral vision, threatening to scald her with its heat.
Then of course, she heard her name, tiptoeing into her ears like a thief disguised in soft, deep tones.
"Beverly."
She felt herself being sucked back into her body, ripped out of her solitary haven and onto the cool surface of the biobed. Reality rushed in with force, the ambient hum of the ship's core enveloping her. She felt his hand gently brush her forehead, grazing the tips of her hair, tracing she shape of her eyebrow. It was a touch she had become accustomed to in the past… how long had it been? What time was it?
"Beverly… I am fortunate to have caught you alone. This rarely happens. It seems you have a great number of friends on this ship."
She felt strangely relieved to hear those words. She could no longer be sure how much time passed between visitors. She was vaguely aware that sometimes she was simply unable to distinguish the real voices from the imaginary ones. She felt alone even when she was not.
"I was dining alone in my ready room when some old thoughts began to disturb me. I had to wait until it was time for Data to assume his night shift before I came to see you, but I spent the rest of my evening feeling very troubled. Do you…" he sighed and took her hand between both his. Everything except the texture of his fingerprints disappeared. "Do you remember when I took on Sarek's emotions years ago? You were the only one by my side when it happened. At that time, I was so tormented, so broken up that I couldn't distinguish his pain from mine. But now, as the years pass and I grow older and, I hope, wiser, I am able to look back on that night and begin to parse the emotions that were purely his and the ones that we shared in common. Yet here we are, Beverly, what seems like a lifetime later, and I feel like I have learned nothing from such a significant experience."
There it was—the softness in his voice that crumbled all of the fragile parts inside her. It somehow slipped through the tiny cracks in the walls she had built against his kindness, his strength, and his attractiveness. It was longing and affection all blended into one liquid that dripped into her thoughts, trickling into the pool she tried to keep hidden in the back of her mind until it overflowed and filled her from her ears to the tips of her toes. The unspoken word tumbled out in the chaos and fluttered in her chest, rattling her ribcage with its need to come out.
"Beverly… it's only when you probably can't even understand me that I can say these things out loud. When you were awake… did I tell you how much I value our friendship? When I am with you, I feel more myself than when I am alone. I saw in Sarek's turmoil some part of me… how sometimes I give too little, keep too much to myself. The way we hesitate at each step, always hold back some parts of ourselves. But now that we are here… and you may not…" Jean-Luc's voice faltered slightly. It didn't quite crack, but its usual steadiness wavered momentarily. "… I feel this deep regret. Was I there when you needed me? Beverly… Did I love you enough?"
There it was, bitter and mournful. Beverly had never once heard the word uttered in a happy context between them. She could picture it clearly by the way his voice trailed off and his hands squeezed hers more tightly. She knew his eyes were filling up with tears he didn't want to admit to and that he was squeezing them shut, clenching his teeth and pulling himself back together. She wanted to touch his cheek and tell him it was okay, that she could hear every word and that he shouldn't be afraid to cry because she was afraid too, and that she was sorry she never said any of these things out loud either even though she felt them too, every day. He had always loved her more than enough, but she shut herself up, as though her acknowledgment was the only thing that could make it real.
Beverly's whole body became tense, the words screaming inside her skull. Everything was swollen and aching with tears but she lay bound by her own flesh, her eyes painfully dry. Unable to break through the barrier between them, she crawled desperately away from his voice until she reached a dark, empty corner in a secluded part of her mind. She tiptoed through the hallways of her childhood, back into a small bed that smelled like simpler days. She could hear her grandmother humming in the kitchen as she pulled the quilt over her head and waited for sleep to take her.
"It's been nearly eight hours since we administered the treatment. Do you think it's working?"
Lieutenant Ogawa's voice woke Beverly slowly.
"If she's not responsive in the next 6 hours, we'll have to leave her behind on the Starbase." Will Riker. Beverly got the sense that there were many people gathered around her. She could hear the fabrics of their clothing brush against each other, and feel their warmth surround her.
"It will take her a little while to get her motor abilities back. Even if she is awake, she might not be able to move for a bit…" Wesley explained. "I wish she would open her eyes soon, though..." She could hear the anxiety in his voice. She wanted to reach out and comfort him, but her body felt leaden.
"I'm worried. In the last 24 hours, I haven't been able to get any emotional readings for her. They had been weakening for several days, but I felt like she had actually slipped into an unconscious coma." Deanna was standing somewhere next to Will.
"That may be an indication of her condition advancing." Data, his voice actually sounding slightly concerned. "There is no way to tell if Doctor Crusher's antidote will work this far into the infection's progress."
A tense silence passed around Beverly as she tried to parse the information she was hearing. They had done it. But it was true, her condition had been worsening. Yet here she was, conscious again. But her body felt so heavy… but her body felt. The bounds that were holding her down felt looser somehow. She struggled against them but couldn't manage movement. She relaxed for a moment.
"I… feel something faint from her now, though." Deanna leaned in closer. "Beverly? Are you awake?"
Deanna. She tried to project her feelings as strongly as possible onto her friend's presence.
"Yes, yes… She's reacting to me. I can feel her mind again. This is progress!" She could hear some relief in Deanna's voice.
"Mom… can you hear us? Come on… try to open your eyes… please?" She felt a gentle hand on her forehead. Its shape was familiar. She tried her hardest to move towards the faint light that she had almost forgotten about—the sickbay lights behind her eyelids. Slowly, she peeled open her dry, stiff eyelids. The world blinded her for a moment. The sickbay lights were bright and painful. And then Wesley's face came into focus and her mouth twitched into something very near a smile. She parted her lips to try to say something—he was looking at Will and hadn't noticed her yet—but they were dry and her mouth was parched. Her voice refused to come out but she let out a shaky rasp. Wesley looked down sharply and then she saw his face fill with relief.
"Mom!" All eyes in the room were now fixed on her. Data stepped aside and she heard the chirp of his communicator. She didn't catch what he was muttering because she was too busy looking into all the faces she didn't think she would see again. "Mom… Don't try to talk yet. Your vocal cords have been out of use for some time."
She was just beginning to relax, basking in the sight of her friends when she heard the door hiss open. The sounds and smells she had come to recognize immediately flooded her. He all but pushed Will aside to stand next to Wesley. He froze under her gaze. Everyone else faded away. She tried to move towards him but instead just twitched her arms and jerked her shoulders slightly, still too weak to do anything more. She tried to speak but could only manage a hoarse whisper that sounded something like "Jean-Luc…"
Jean-Luc momentarily lost sight of boundaries and professionalism and any reservations. To everyone's surprise he leaned forward and collected her shoulders into his arms and held her tightly, cradling her head in his hand. She pressed her face into his uniform, inhaling the smell of Starfleet regulation soap mixed with old books and bergamot.
"I was afraid I wouldn't see your eyes again." He whispered into her hair, barely audible.
All of the tears suddenly found their ways to her eyes and spilled out. It was the most relief she had felt in a long time. She wanted to tell them all so many things, but she couldn't manage to find the words. There was no rush, though. She had time now.
This is not the ending, I promise.