Thanks a million guys (esp Lindsay) for giving me some good pointers. I hope that the story fits the bill! If there's anything that you want to see or happen, give me a shout out and I'll see what I can do! Thanks guys for leaving reviews. Love hearing from you :) - Becca
The link with Hope terminates and it's just the two of us again. I breathe easier knowing that Saoirse and Aaron are okay. But, my relief is almost forgotten when I'm once again hit by the crude reality that Wesley's missing – and dubiously missing at that. Suddenly, breathing again becomes laboured and oxygen seems in short supply.
I let my head fall into my palms as I try to hold back the tears. My efforts and the pressure I'm exerting on my eyelids is useless, however, as familiar tears spring forth and lamentably colour my eyes and decorate my cheeks. I'm not paying attention to the other occupant in the room until I hear receding footsteps. "Jean Luc?"
There's no answer as footfall sounds on the staircase, indicating a sprinting pace to the second floor landing. In a second, I'm up and out of my seat and running after him. "Jean Luc, where are you going?"
From the middle of the stairs I hear rummaging coming from the direction of Wesley's bedroom. "Jean Luc, what's going on? What are you doing?"
The desk is by the window and he's tearing into anything that might be relevant. There are just mostly papers, homework and notes, messily arranged all over the top. The bed is still unmade and I saunter over to its edge. Tears are in high production as I uselessly pick up the still-dented, recently slept-in pillow and breathe in the scent. The soft grey fabric absorbs the wetness of my sadness and apprehension as my nose annihilates any residual molecule of him.
"There's got to be something here!" His temper is getting the better of him. "Damnit, Beverly!" With that his arms have flung all the papers, decorations, and padds off the top of the desk. Surrounded by confusion, his tears similarly join mine. "Damnit, Beverly, Damnit," he cries, his shoulders shaking. His face falls into his hands, and his whole torso turns inward, doubles over, and cringes. Now, his body convulses in sadness and helplessness.
In a second, my need to be near him and impart any strength, draw any strength… anything from or to him becomes unbearable. I drop the pillow and hurry over fallen papers and belongings to embrace him. The movement and the crash of my body against his are stark and nearly violet. My body against his is a catalyst and he grasps me with a death-grip. "Where is he, Beverly? Oh, God…"
His tears only encourage more of my own and our collective moisture mingles and follows twin tracks down our cheeks and neck as we hold one another as closely as space permits. "I don't know." I repeat that statement over and over. I feel helpless, unaided, powerless... It's too much for us; first Ronin, now this. On the Enterprise we were able to weather conflict after conflict, and enemy after enemy with a practiced ease. But now, our defences are down. There's no protective shielding and no weapons array to protect us. We're completely vulnerable and we have no idea what do.
"He's my son, Beverly. My son is missing and I don't know what to do." He sobs into my hair and repeats over and over.
I don't say anything in response. There's nothing else to say. We're heartbroken. I keep thinking that perhaps this is a crude dream and we're going to wake up and everything's going to be right. But, intuitively, I know this isn't a dream. And with that knowledge I cleave his solid, warm body even tighter.
We stand in silence punctuated by sobs before he disentangles himself from me. I fully see him now: a broken, sad, vulnerable man. But then, out of the ashes like a triumphant, perseverant phoenix, determination flashes across his face. "I've got to go. I've got to find him."