AN: Here we are, another piece for this story.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
It was the shockwave that shook Beverly out of her dream—at least that's what it seemed like. She slammed hard against the floor, the same as nearly everyone else, unable to stay upright when the ship nearly rolled entirely. Her head made contact with the floor hard enough that she saw shimmering lights and colors like the pieces of a kaleidoscope shifting into place as the wand is turned—an unusual effect, really, for even a hit hard enough to have cost her consciousness.
Lying there, gathering herself, the reality slid into place, one piece at a time.
The time was out of joint, and Beverly had been here before. She knew what was happening. She knew what she needed to do. This time, her knowledge of what needed to be done went beyond duty to the ship, its crew, and her people. She remembered the dangerous places where the saucer would be most compromised in the crash. She remembered the people that would be lost because they didn't know a console would blow or a support would collapse. She remembered those who had lost their own life or cost someone else theirs because panic got out of control.
Beverly pushed herself up, ignoring the aching throughout her own body, and fought against the bucking movements of the ship's floor as she got to work. There wasn't time to waste.
Somehow, they remembered. Others remembered. Not all of them, of course, that would be too simple. That would make too much sense. But there were some who remembered, as though they'd shared the same dream.
But it wasn't a dream. If it had been a dream, Deanna's lips wouldn't be as dry and cracked as they were the last time that Beverly saw her in their village, by the side of the water—a side effect of thirst and exposure to elements that were, evidently, quite harsh to the Betazoid physiology. There wouldn't be evidence of malnutrition and food allergies that Beverly had been unable to treat when she couldn't even guarantee what they were eating was non-toxic. There wouldn't be evidence of respiratory issues caused by the red dust that would come from the exploded star that would damage the planet on which they would find themselves stranded very soon.
They had gone back in time, but not entirely…not all of them. Not all the way.
Beverly put aside her confusion, her concern, and her fear. She did what she could do to prepare everyone for the crash that many of them knew was inevitable.
After doing all she could do, and finding herself in the corridor, as she knew she would, as the saucer section was going down, she felt the tug that was familiar—even though she thought, in a flash of something like irony, that it was strange that such an event could have any piece to it which felt familiar.
"Doctor Crusher—you have to get down. We're about to make impact. You can't help anyone, when they need it most, if you don't survive."
Beverly didn't argue, and she didn't hesitate. She took her position on the floor where Guinan offered her space. She exhaled, relaxed as best she could, and prepared for the impact that she knew would be coming. Guinan curled warmly over her and against her. Beverly felt her protection.
After the crash, Beverly was pleased to see that there were fewer bodies removed from the corridors than there had been after the first crash. She couldn't stop every casualty, but she had at least saved a few people, and she'd kept people from getting near the areas where the damage was the worst—areas where there might have even been new casualties without her knowledge of what was to come.
Gathered outside of the ship with their few beloved items that they could rescue from the wreckage of what had once been their home, Will regrouped the survivors and started to make commands that would take them to their village—or what was to become their village—this time planning to skip the pond they'd drank dry entirely, and go directly to where they knew the caves would offer them shelter.
Beverly prepared the more seriously injured to be moved, with the help of their comrades, and she tended what minor injuries she could while they waited to be ready to move. In the shade of the saucer, she dabbed at Deanna's lips where blood trickled down her chin.
"When we find the yellow plant again, I'll make some salve that will help heal this," Beverly said.
"There's no bother, Beverly," Deanna said, shaking her head. "It won't get any better. Whatever it is in the air is toxic. I can feel it. Like it's—drying me out from inside."
Beverly cupped her friend's face and brushed a finger over her cheekbone. Deanna didn't say what she said with any hint of sorrow or sadness. They'd been here long enough—or at least many of them felt that they had—that they'd accepted their fate, even though they truly couldn't imagine what that might be, and had accepted that they would likely die here—some sooner, rather than later.
"We will figure it out," Beverly assured Deanna. It was false assurance. Beverly knew it, and Deanna did, too.
"We better start moving everyone," Deanna said. "Before it gets too late and it's too dark to see where we're stepping." She laughed in spite of everything. "Especially since we have no idea when that'll happen."
"Deanna—we have a group that's panicking and doesn't remember the last crash," Will said, approaching them. "Do you think you could…?"
"I'll talk to them," Deanna assured him. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. There was little need for too much pomp and circumstance. Deanna patted his hand and gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine, Will," she told him.
He smiled just to have the little bit of reassurance that was no more based in fact than Beverly's declaration that, somehow, they would solve all their problems.
"Hey—the landing was smoother," he teased. "With enough practice, we might not even have to entirely abandon the ship."
Deanna rolled her eyes at him, but she did laugh before walking away and heading in the direction of the few people who were slightly hysterical, thanks to the fact that, in their realities, this was the first time they'd walked away from the crash.
Beverly felt a warm hand on her back, and she turned to find Guinan standing there. Beverly smiled at her.
"We lost fewer people this time," Beverly said. "It's not much, but I'll take what we can get."
"Thanks to you, Doctor," Guinan said with a wink.
"Not everyone remembers," Beverly said. "And—not just the ones that didn't survive the first time."
"No, they don't," Guinan said. "We can't understand the Nexus. Not entirely. It's beyond comprehension—even mine, before you ask."
Beverly laughed quietly at Guinan's teasing.
"Why do you think we went back to the crash, Guinan?" Beverly asked, looking around at landscape that, honestly, some part of her almost considered a home now.
Guinan looked around, too, shielding her eyes from the sun. The red haze to which they'd become accustomed was gone for now, and Beverly tried to remember if it had taken time to settle over them the last time that they'd crashed.
"Something's different this time," Beverly said. "I can't put my finger on it."
"Everything is different at all times," Guinan said. Beverly didn't disagree with her. She wasn't wrong, and it didn't matter what was different, really. Things would shift and change again soon.
"We've never gone back this far before," Beverly added, when Guinan didn't say anything.
"All I can say is…"
"The time is out of joint," Beverly said with a laugh. Guinan echoed it.
"Did any technology survive this time?" Guinan asked.
Beverly shook her head.
"It appears to be a total shutdown again," Beverly said. "No communications. Almost everything in the ship is destroyed. The structure is barely able to hold itself together. Just like before. Geordi is still picking around the ruins, but…"
"Ruins…" Guinan said, making it clear that the word marked the most important understanding out of what Beverly had said.
"Ruins," Beverly echoed.
"The baby is fine," Guinan said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement, and she sounded much more assured of what she said than anyone else had in a while.
"I don't have a tricorder," Beverly said, a sinking feeling inside of her making her wonder if it might be best for the baby that she carried, too tiny to really detect herself, if it were to simply not exist at all—rather than to be subject to all the unknowns that they faced and a future that, honestly, may very well be bleak and painful.
"You don't need one," Guinan said. "At least—not to know that the baby is fine. I can tell you that."
"You knew," Beverly said. "You knew about the baby at the first crash. But how? I didn't know. Did you see all this, Guinan?"
"I told you," Guinan said. "I can't see the future. The future is not linear. It's not what people expect it to be."
"It's like a kaleidoscope," Beverly said.
"The pattern is constantly shifting," Guinan said. "Impossible to predict."
"But you knew about my baby," Beverly said.
Guinan smiled at her.
"I'm empathic," she offered.
"Deanna didn't know," Beverly countered, glancing toward the people that moved away from them as they followed Will without question and without hesitation. Wesley called out to Beverly, and she raised a hand to wave at him and to send him on with Will—a promise that she would follow, when she was ready.
"Our abilities are different," Guinan said. "I recognized the presence of the young Picard, perhaps, at the moment that they first came into being on this plane. I felt it."
"Why?" Beverly asked.
Guinan shrugged.
"It's a gift," she said. "Possibly a useless one. I have a soft spot for the little thing, you could say. A baby means hope, in any species and in any time. It's a promise for a future—a real one, beyond what the Nexus creates for us."
"We don't know if any of us have a future here, Guinan," Beverly admitted. She put on a smile. "But we're not telling them that. Let's save them from the panic. Come on—at least this time, I know which plants to avoid."
111
Soran exploded with his own missile—the creation destroyed the creator.
Jean-Luc was blown backward by the force of the explosion, and every inch of him hurt where he'd slammed hard into the rocky cliff on which he and Kirk had fought against Soran for this moment of—was it victory? It was difficult to recall. Jean-Luc felt stunned by the impact of the fall and the explosion, and it took a moment to shake it off.
As he got to his feet, he felt almost like he was shaking off a dream. He wondered if he'd been briefly knocked unconscious and hadn't realized the passing of time.
Above him, near him but still impossibly far away, the Nexus flipped and turned in the sky—rolling like a flag in the wind. It would move on. It would move away. It would take with it all the dreams and visions that they'd all had while it was present.
For the briefest of moments, Jean-Luc felt a tinge of mourning at the loss of his second chance with his brother and nephew, at the loss of his family, and, even, at the loss of Kirk's second chance to avoid regret.
Soran's plan had failed, though, and Veridian III would be saved. The Enterprise was somewhere, grounded on the planet. She could still be saved, perhaps. At the very least, Jean-Luc's people might be saved.
Jean-Luc called out for Kirk, trying to figure out where he was. In the fight, he'd lost track of him. With the explosion, he'd been disoriented.
The bridge had fallen. All at once, and with a jolt, Jean-Luc recalled that. He ran to the edge where the remaining bits and pieces of the bridge were located. Looking down into the ravine, he saw what he didn't want to see, and then he hoped that the Nexus had a few more miracles to leave behind it before it drifted off.
Jean-Luc worked his way down the steep side of the rock as quickly as he could. He slid much of the way, unable to keep himself from sliding, and opting for sliding over full-out falling. When he reached the bottom—or nearly the bottom—he found himself on the same rocky surface as the fallen sections of the bridge. He worked his way over to the bridge and picked his way carefully among the broken pieces.
Jean-Luc's heart nearly stopped when he found Kirk's body, crumpled and trapped beneath the mangled bridge. He could move the bridge off of the man, he knew, but he was certain that in doing that, he would finish killing him—if he weren't already dead.
Jean-Luc moved as close as he could to try to gauge if there was life left in Kirk.
Blood ran from the corner of Kirk's mouth—proof of internal injury, as though the mangled bridge that trapped him might not have told Jean-Luc what he could expect from the man's injuries. Still, he was breathing and, sensing Jean-Luc's presence, he turned his head slightly in Jean-Luc's direction and smiled.
"Did we do it? Did we make a difference?" He asked. His voice was weak, but stronger than Jean-Luc might have expected. Something in Jean-Luc's gut wanted to tell the man to be quiet, and not to spend his energy or breath, but something else knew that there was no use. James Tiberius Kirk was dying, and they both knew it. He might as well die his way.
Jean-Luc smiled at Kirk, instead of scolding him.
"Oh, yes, we made a difference. You made a difference. Thank you."
Kirk looked genuinely pleased. He wetted his lips with his tongue.
"It's the least I could do for the Captain of the Enterprise," Kirk said.
"I'll move the bridge off of you," Jean-Luc said.
"I think we both know that won't be necessary," Kirk offered. Jean-Luc's stomach twisted. "Can you reach them? Your crew?"
Jean-Luc touched his combadge. There was no response.
"Communications must be damaged."
"Do you have a good engineer?" Kirk asked. He smiled. "A good engineer is worth the world. Scotty was the best."
Jean-Luc smiled and nodded.
"Geordi will have communications back in no time," Jean-Luc said. "If it's possible at all. If not, I'll have to reach them on foot."
"Don't let me slow you down," Kirk said, a hint of teasing in his tone.
Jean-Luc looked up and gestured toward the Nexus as it fluttered in the atmosphere above them.
"If the Nexus has taught me anything, it's that we have time," Jean-Luc said.
"There's never enough of it," Kirk said. "And, so often, we squander what we do have."
"I wish that there was some way that I could thank you," Jean-Luc said. "Some way that—I could give you…some happiness."
"It was fun," Kirk said. "You gave me that. If you want to thank me…"
"Anything I can do," Jean-Luc said, as reassurance that he wanted to do something for Kirk. Kirk smiled again, but Jean-Luc noted that the smile was weaker. He noticed that the light seemed to be fading, slightly, in Kirk's eyes.
"Thank me by—doing what I never did. Find your Antonia. Find Beverly. Love her. Live the life I didn't—I couldn't. And…don't take second chances for granted."
"I will," Jean-Luc assured him. "But—what could that possibly do for you."
"With a clan of six children…James Tiberius Kirk isn't such a bad name, you know, to choose which you like best, even as a middle name."
"It's not a bad name at all," Jean-Luc said, laughing to himself at Kirk's intended meaning. It was unclear if he meant what he said or not, but Jean-Luc wasn't rejecting the idea, even if offered in jest.
"If Beverly agrees, of course," Kirk said.
"Of course," Jean-Luc said. "I really do thank you…"
"It was the least I could do," Kirk said. He drew in a deep breath and let it out. Jean-Luc tensed, fearing it to be the last. It wasn't, but the breaths that followed were clearly not of the same quality as they had been before. "It was quite the adventure…" Kirk offered quietly.
It was the last thing he said.
"It was quite the adventure," Jean-Luc mused, recognizing the moment in which he was suddenly very much alone in the shadow of the Nexus—the dancing ribbon seeming to move away from him slowly. "Thank you for taking it with me."