"What was that?" I'm still in shock.
A small cry sounds at Jean Luc's feet and I bend down and pick up the fussy baby, "shh, kitten. Shhh…"
I see Jean Luc's surprised expression as he turns to face me. "What in devil's name is going on at Starfleet?"
I open the top of my shirt and allow Saoirse to latch on. The motion is almost automatic as I replay the last few moment's events. "What do you think is going on? Owch!" I'm fully brought back to the here and now with a bite on my nipple. I smirk at the situation, but not before I notice my husband's far off look as he absently stares out the large window in front of us.
"Jean Luc," I touch his arm and bring him back to me, "what is it?"
"I don't know, Beverly. But, you saw that; that's not the Owen Paris I-"
Jean Luc's portable communicator lights up on the desk. When we were in Starfleet, we had comm. badges. All Starfleet personnel are required to wear a comm. badge. The device is small and is auto-programmed to your unique bio-signature. If ever you need to be contacted, you're called over your comm. badge. However, for civilian communication, we use small handheld commutations devices. In some cases they can serve as entertainment sources as well. However, our models are rudimentary.
"What is it, Jean Luc?"
"It's from Paris' aide. It says that Owen will contact us this evening" he shows me the simple message: will call at 2000 hours.-O.P.
I sit back against the chair in defeat, careful not to jostle the baby. "Why is everything with Starfleet so damn complicated? For all we know, a hostile alien species has overtaken the collective conscious of select members of the Starfleet admiralty!"
He chuckles at the memory it brings back, "Like the time Deanna, Data, and Miles O'Brien were taken over by the alleged ghosts of the USS Essex?"
We're both laughing now at the sheer ridiculousness of some of the situations we encountered on the Enterprise. However, the gravity of the situation soon rears its head again.
"Jean Luc, did you contact Wes again?"
He shakes his head. "I tried contacting him again an hour ago. I sent him a text, but I haven't heard a response."
"Did you ask him to come home tonight?"
He nods his head. We both want Wes home with us. He's nearly 23 years old now, but in light of the most recent situation, we're worried about him. There's no reason to be; he's not in any mortal danger as far as we know, but having him home with us makes both of us feel whole. His presence adds a sense of calm and unity to our family.
"Well," I sigh, "there's not much we can do here. Do you want to take a walk and then make some dinner? I don't think I have it in me to be in house any longer!"
/
It's only 1800 hours, but we're already nervous. Our food sits cold on the table. Honestly, we both looked on its preparation as something to keep us occupied rather than to eat. I look down at my lap, smiling at how much our current situation reminds me of some of my experiences as a student.
"So," I shove my plate away and look at him, "is this what you were like on the eve of an exam or a big event?"
He laughs, "Not as bad, but yes. In the hours leading up to a big test, I lost all focus. I couldn't touch a thing. I remember, in my final year before my final exam in Advanced Command and Battle Tactics, I stared at the wall for a full 3 hours. I couldn't eat; I couldn't rest. It was awful. What about you?"
I laugh, remembering at how nervous I would get before midterms and finals, "Oh Jean Luc I was terrible! Most of my classmates would be in the library until the moment that they had to leave to sit the exam. I, on the other hand, was absolutely useless. I figured that if I didn't know it the night before, there was no chance of me learning and integrating it that morning. Like you, I just stared at the wall."
His face lights up at a memory, "remember that one time you and I spent together before you went in to take your boards?"
"Of course. I remember that day exactly."
He's amused, "oh?"
"I was so distracted by you. You weren't wearing your uniform and you brought me coffee."
"I knew you were a little distracted. I never imagined it was because of my many charms" he smirks cheekily.
I throw my napkin, hitting him in the face, "yes well thanks to your and your charms I nearly failed those boards!"
I beam at the memory of my husband as a young boy. But my smile widens when I think of the man who he is now.
"What?" He whispers.
"You."
"Thinking about my charms?" He's such a cheeky little boy sometimes and I keep falling more and more in love with him. It scares, me sometimes, to be so in love with someone.
"The many."
We hear a small beep coming from the other room and he jumps up to answer it. "Do you think it's Wes?" I call from the dining room.
"Beverly," His voice is low, somber, and very serious.
"Jean Luc, what is it?" I saunter in the direction of his voice.
"It's another message from Admiral Paris."
I find him in the study again, waking the console.
"I don't like the way this feels, Beverly. There's something that's just not right about this. I hope that Owen has answers for us."
"Jean Luc, do you think we can trust him? I know that Owen is a good man, but we know from experience that no one is incorruptible."
He lets out a deep sigh and turns in earnest to me, " I think we can. I don't know whom else to turn to."
"I know. I thought things would finally be simple now! Starfleet is so damn complicated! I guess we'll just have to hear what he has to say."
So we wait in silence for the alert of the console.