And When We're Gone

Author's Note: This story was first published in 1992 in the fanzine Eridani 18.

Disclaimer: The crew of the Starship Enterprise doesn't belong to me.

The words and the music drifted through his mind, surrounded him and kept him safe somehow, wrapped up warm and secure in the memories they evoked. He'd sung to the children at bedtime, as he'd rocked them to sleep, Batai's head resting tired and heavy on his shoulder, Meribor's small body folded into the crook of his arm, her lisping voice singing in unison with his.

It was an old song. One he had learned as a boy, sung on many a camping trip while seated beside a blazing fire, with the sky black above him, and the stars aloft in their firmament. They had been the wonder then, the mystery in his young life, his desire to be among them the most important thing imaginable. And now, here they were, on the other side of the viewport, bright, shining pinpoints of light in the darkness of a lonely space. No longer did they fill the hollows in his soul, and he took the flute from his lips and realized how limited his imagination had been.

Carefully, he laid the instrument in the box, closed the lid, fastened it securely. He carried it into the next room and placed it on the bedside table, knowing that he would always want it nearby. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he allowed his fingertips to linger on the smooth, wooden surface of the box. It, in itself, was painfully familiar. Young Batai had made it the summer he'd turned twelve; the summer he was convinced that growing up to be a carpenter was all he wanted to do and be. He'd painted it the same blue-green of the cabinet in the dining room, only now the color was faded and worn from the years of handling. But had it really been years? Had it really been at all?

Sighing deeply, Picard drew his hand away, his tear-filled eyes slowly surveying the blurred outlines of his bedroom. The memory of this morning was coming back to him, not his memory of wrestling with Kamie on the living room floor, nor the sweetness of the child's high-pitched laughter, but of waking to the sound of his chronometer ringing insistently. His grey pajamas still lay at the foot of his bed, his dressing gown thrown carelessly over the arm of the chair, both exactly where he'd left them. He'd been in a hurry to reach the bridge, eager to complete the magnetic wave survey of the Parvenium system. Little did he know then, that he was on the edge of having all the time in the universe.

The enormity of his experience had not fully registered, he knew that. He still felt as if he were dreaming, still believed that if he closed his eyes and opened them again, he would be home, sitting in the white heat of the courtyard with Meribor beside him.

"This is home." He said the words out loud, the solid sound of them in the darkened room adding only slightly to their credibility. And he rubbed his hands against his knees and bedspread, as if to reassure himself that he, and the furniture, were actually real.

Yet, Eline had felt real, and Meribor, and Batai, and the wriggling bundle of energy that had been his grandson. Had they lived on that other world in another time, or had they merely existed in his mind?

The endless flood of questions and doubts were building into a headache, and Picard looked down at his pillow and longed to be able to sleep. Perhaps, he thought, glancing at his pajamas, if I put these on, I can rest. He pulled off his boots, dropped them on the floor, but as he began to remove his uniform, another memory came to him.

Despite her gentle smile, her concern was evident in her eyes and the crease of her forehead. She took his hand in both of hers, tugged at it gently. "Now, will you come to bed." There was a slight hint of exasperation in her tone.

Her words frightened him, and he stared at her, resisted. "Oh, I'll sleep here," he said nervously, trying to draw his hand from her grasp, while at the same time his other hand patted the chair possessively.

"Kamin, please, come with me."

"I've been sick," he protested, and this time he managed to pull his hand away. "I'll be tossing and turning. It wouldn't be fair to you." He gripped the arms of the chair, desperately needing something to hold onto at that moment. His mouth hardened into a thin line.

The woman leaned over, placed the palms of her hands against his chest. "Let me be the judge of that." One hand moved up to his shoulder, while the other stroked gently along the neckline of his shirt, her fingers soft and warm.

He tensed slightly at her touch. Then he saw the pendant on her necklace. "Where did you get this?" he murmured, taking hold of it, his eyes fastened to the small shape.

She knelt, steadied his hand in hers, stared at him disbelievingly. "Kamin, this is the first gift you ever gave me." The significance of it was evident in her voice.

He continued to gaze at it, almost trance-like, as if it held the key, the reason as to why he was here.

After several long moments, Eline took the pendant away, and closed her hand firmly around his. She stood up. "It's time to go to bed, dear." Her words were as firm as her grasp, and he looked up at her, suddenly too tired to argue any longer.

He nodded resignedly, rose from the chair and allowed her to lead him down a hall to what, apparently, was their bedroom. Like the rest of the house, it was a simple room: a bed with a table and chair next to it, a chest of drawers, a set of cabinets. He hesitated in the doorway, as if the act of entering this room would draw him irretrievably further into this unknown world.

"It's all right," Eline assured, rubbing her hand over his back. She walked him to the bed, eased him on to it.

He leaned against the pillows that were propped against the headboard, and he watched her as she went to the chest and took out a pair of pajamas. She moved as if she were a part of a dream, silent, graceful, at ease in these surroundings, at home here, accustomed to taking care of him.

She came back to the bed, and he reached out for the clothing she held.

"I can manage," he whispered.

She laughed softly. "You can barely hold your head up and keep your eyes open at the same time." And despite his weak resistance and obvious embarrassment, the woman removed his clothes and replaced them with the pajamas. She frowned at the look of irritation on his face. "And just who do you think has been dressing you for the past week?" she scolded gently, as she finished buttoning his shirt.

"You?" he queried uneasily, looking up at her with tired, hooded eyes.

She smiled, reached out and touched the back of his neck, her fingers massaging the taut muscles. "Dressing you, feeding you, bathing you. I've taken very good care of you, my darling, if I say so myself. Now, into bed."

She helped him settle in and pulled the covers up around his shoulders. Sitting beside him, she ran her hand lovingly over his cheeks and forehead. "Your fever's back," she sighed. "I'll get a damp cloth. It'll make you feel better."

She left him, and he tried to stay awake until she returned, afraid to close his eyes, not knowing where he'd be the next time he opened them. But he was exhausted, and sleep came instantly.

~vVv~

He woke, in the middle of the darkness, sure that it had all been a dream, only to find the coolness of Eline's body curled around the fevered heat of his back, her arm draped over his shoulder, the fingers of one hand touching the skin above his heart.

He shifted away from her, uncomfortable and embarrassed by the physical closeness.

"Kamin?" she murmured softly, opening her eyes, looking over at him in the dim shadow of the room. Reaching out, she rested her hand on his chest.

He swallowed, felt tears sting his eyes. "I'm still here," he said, his voice dull.

She smiled. "Of course, you're still here. This is your home."

He stared at the ceiling, began to tremble with the realization and fear that this was indeed his home, a home he could not leave.

"Are you cold?" Eline whispered as she snuggled closer.

The feel of her next to him reinforced the fact that this was not a dream; he stiffened, and gasped for breath, fighting the sobs that threatened to overwhelm him.

She wrapped her arms around his body, held him tenderly. "Shh, Kamin," she soothed, "everything's all right."

But it wasn't.

~vVv~

"Jean-Luc?" Someone was calling, bringing him back, crossing over from one place to the other, a soft voice taking hold of him and carrying him home.

He groaned, and his eyes fluttered open. "Eline?"

"No," the voice answered, "it's Beverly." A woman leaned over him.

He blinked several times, adjusted his eyes to the light of the room, then focused on her. "Beverly?"

She was sitting beside him, red hair framing her face, the blue of her eyes and uniform so very familiar. "It's me. I came by to check on you."

He pushed himself up in the bed, his breath coming in startled gasps. Quickly, he glanced around. It was his cabin on board the Enterprise, the muted grey walls and carpeted deck, a shelf with his books lined upon it, the entrance to the bathroom, silver light and shadow reflecting off the mirror above the vanity. He reached out and grabbed her arm, tightened his fingers around it.

Flesh and bone, real.

Crusher winced slightly, surprised at his reaction. But she placed her hand protectively over his. "I'm here, Jean-Luc," she smiled faintly, tenderly rubbing her thumb across his fingers.

He exhaled a sigh of relief, loosened his grip, stared at her self-consciously.

"I'm here, too," he whispered breathlessly.

"Yes, you are." Each word was a solid affirmation.

He nodded, looked down and saw that he was half undressed, realized that he must have fallen asleep in the process of taking off his uniform.

Crusher tugged at his sleeve. "Could you use some help?"

"Uh, no, I'm fine," he replied, suddenly embarrassed by the situation. He let go of her arm, swung his legs over the other side of the bed and got up. He stood there uncomfortably, pulling nervously at the shoulder of his uniform, not sure what to do next.

Crusher couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him quite so indecisive.

"Here." She took his pajamas, handed them to him. "Why don't you finish putting these on?"

He took them, blushed slightly.

She turned her back to him, and grinned. "I won't look, Jean-Luc. Scout's honor." She got up, took a few steps away from the bed. "I'll even keep my distance."

"Very funny, Beverly," he scowled, then quickly changed into the silk pajamas and slid under the blankets.

She looked over her shoulder. "All tucked in?"

"Yes, Doctor," he mumbled with a roll of his eyes.

She glanced at the floor where his uniform lay in a heap, then at his boots, kicked into the center of the room. She went and picked them up. "Really, Captain, I thought you were neater than this."

She turned around, and it was Eline, walking across the front patio.

"Don't forget these," she reminded him, as she picked up his shoes. "I won't put them away for you again." She clapped the soles of them together, a sharp noise in the peaceful night, then turned back toward the front door.

He looked away from his flute, just long enough to deliver an obedient "Yes, ma'am." He'd learned years ago who the true head of their household was.

Eline stopped, and smiled over at him, the love she felt shining plainly in her eyes.

"Jean-Luc?"

He blinked.

Crusher was standing next to his bed; she placed a hand against his cheek. "Are you all right?" Her words, her expression on her face, reminded him of Eline: always concerned, caring, worried about him, there after every dream and nightmare.

He pushed the memory away and nodded. "I'm just tired."

Her fingers rubbed along the line of his jaw, then over his ear, stroked the short, silvered hair at the back of his neck. "I'm not surprised." She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. "You get some sleep," she instructed, then started towards the door.

"Beverly?" His voice was low, hoarse, barely audible.

Yet she heard him, and she stopped, looked back. "Yes, Jean-Luc?"

He frowned, displeased with himself for what he was about to ask, but he asked it anyway. He had to. "Would... would you stay with me?" He shook his head, inhaled a deep breath. "I... I don't want to be alone."

Crusher smiled gently, knowing how difficult it was for him to allude to even the slightest fear. She came back to the bed, sat down beside him, took his hand in hers.

"Of course, I'll stay."

~vVv~

"He was exhausted. Fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He didn't tell me exactly where he'd been. Just out there... somewhere."

"We searched all over for him. I'm glad he was able to find his own way home."

"So am I. He's so confused, and frightened."

"I know."

"He doesn't make any sense. He keeps telling me that he doesn't belong here, that he's from somewhere else."

"Perhaps it's just the fever. When he gets better-"

"If he gets better."

The voices seemed to come from far away, drifting to him as if in a dream. Some words he heard and understood, and then others were faded, indistinct. But the tones were discernible, one high, one low, both gentle and concerned.

"He's been through a lot."

"More than we may ever know."

"It still doesn't make much sense."

"Doesn't it? They wanted to be remembered, as they were. Real, everyday people. People who laughed, and cried. They wanted someone to know who they'd been."

"I guess when you put it that way..."

He pulled the covers tighter around his shoulders, the soft velvet texture of the blanket brushing against his cheek. He rolled over, and gathered the hand sewn quilt closer to his chest.

"What if he stays this way, Batai?" The woman's voice was fervent.

"He won't."

"But you don't know that."

"Eline," the man said her name calmly, "Kamin will be fine. You'll see. But I can still go and get the doctor if you want."

"No, it'll only frighten him, and then he'll probably get upset with me afterwards."

"Don't you let him. Just remind him who the boss is around here." There was a moment's hesitation. "I'll be going now, but I'll come by tomorrow."

"Thank you, Batai. You're a good friend."

The voices ceased, and he groaned, ran his hand over his forehead, felt hot and cold at the same time. He kicked the quilt off the bed, but the softness of the blanket still covered him.

"He didn't want to be alone," the woman explained, her voice barely a whisper.

"That's understandable. I just stopped by to see how he was feeling."

"I think he's still very confused and frightened. But physically he's fine."

"You're taking good care of him, Beverly."

"Thanks, Will."

There was silence, and he shivered. Warm hands touched his shoulders, a cool cloth bathed his face, and the voice at his ear was soft, soothing. "Shh, just sleep."

~vVv~