"Jean Luc!" He's out and practically running down the hall, descending the stairs. "Jean Luc!" I catch up with him midflight, grabbing his arm and forcing him to face me. "Jean Luc, you don't even know where to look! Where are you going?"
He shakes his head, cheeks glistening with moisture in the morning light peeking through the windows. "I…" his eyes dart as though he's thinking quickly. "I don't know, Beverly." His respirations start to slow, "I can't just sit here though." He leans back against the banister, "It would be one thing if he told Hope where he was going… if it wasn't this rushed affair."
I nod my head as I try to remain as completely calm as I can. "I know. I don't know what to think. Does he have any enemies? What, I mean what could be going on?"
The ceiling becomes his new focus. After a few more moments of silence, "I really don't know, Beverly." He shakes his head, "He's well liked at the college. We haven't heard from Starfleet so I don't think it's that. But, where could he be going and why wouldn't he tell us?"
Suddenly something dawns on me, "Do you think that he meant to be back before we got here? Maybe he just didn't want Hope to know, but he didn't intend on telling us either…"
"Perhaps," he whispers. "But what could he possibly be hiding from us and at this point, we were almost due back. You'd think that if he were going to play that off, he'd be back a good bit before we came in order to complete the deception..."
My hand reverts to its new normal position at my aching temple, "But if that was the case…" I'm thinking, "he wouldn't have made it so painfully suspicious when he dropped the kids off with Hope!"
He nods, "That is what I was thinking."
Frustration chews at the both of us, "So where would we even look, Jean Luc? He could be anywhere!"
We're at our wits end as we slowly amble down the remained of the steps. My mind is running through all the possible scenarios as his hand leads me to the couch where we resume our previous positions. "Would he be at college?"
He shakes his head in defeat, "I really don't know, Beverly."
"Who should we call? Do you think Sophie would know anything? She helped Wes out the last time…" It's such a long shot.
The warm grip on my fingers tightens. He smirks nervously, "I had nearly forgotten about, Sophie… but no. I don't think she'd know anything. Wes hasn't spoken to her – at least I don't think – since he left the Academy."
Stillness settles amongst the tension and we wait, hands clasped, white with strain. What do we wait for? We don't know. We're waiting for a miracle. We're waiting for him to walk through the door and tell us everything's fine; that he just had to run to campus to check on something in his lab. We're waiting to figure out what to do…