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The shower of azure deposits us in yet another accustomed, yet disconnected place that both of us would have been well acquainted with not two years ago. Then, it was common, comfortable. Now, however, I feel on edge, antsy. For some reason, I'm looking over my shoulder, and I shouldn't be.
I can't stop agonizing over the look on my husband's face. He knows something that either I don't, or just isn't occurring to my muddled brain. He hasn't spoken to me since this morning. To say that I'm worried is an understatement, because I'm terrified.
Images of Wes run through my mind. What condition is he in? Who is holding him? Why did he leave? What did he mean he made a mistake?
The San Francisco transport station is, as always, hectic. If I wasn't holding his hand, I'd be lost in a sea of Vulcans, Naussicans, Bolians, Ferengi, humans, and a myriad of other species. The frenzy that my physical body is being squished amongst as we try to leave this place is only adding to my frustration and anxiety.
The door is in sight and soon enough we've pushed through the sea of people and the warm San Francisco air hits me with a fury. The strong sun assaults my eyes and the sudden onset of heat surrounding me is suffocating. I have no way of adjusting, however, as my hand is gripped even tighter and I'm yanked along through a barrage of busy people on the crowded sidewalk.
"Jean Luc!" I pull on his hand, begging him to stop. He doesn't. "Jean Luc! Stop!" I pull with a greater force and he falls back to me. I've disrupted the motion of traffic on the sidewalk with our sudden halt and people of all kinds are giving us sideways glances. Maybe they recognize Jean Luc, maybe they're morbidly intrigued by the frazzled redhead, who at this point looks like she just escaped the sanitarium.
For a moment he just stares at me before continuing at a slower pace as we make a path to get out of the way of traffic. I quicken my step to catch up to him. "Jean Luc," I lean in as close as I can while maintaining the resumption of the quick walking pace. "What's going on?"
He doesn't look at me. "When we cross," he hints at the crosswalk leading to a less busy sidewalk, "I'll explain."
More anticipation builds as we wait for the walk sign. When the signal turns, I can't tread fast enough to the other side. His gait slows, but his rigorous grasp of my hand remains steady. His gaze trained on our route he begins, "I don't know for sure, Beverly. But, eh, we've always known that Wesley is exceptional. He's," he looks over at me with a small grin, "very bright and he has certain talents that make him, well, sought after." He's quiet for a moment, trying to find the words to phrase what he has to say next. "Do you remember," he glances at me, "the Traveler?"
I wrack my brain, sorting through my memories, trying to remember the Traveler. Yes; tall man, nondescript, who we met on the Enterprise. "Yes. He and Wes became good friends… I remember." But then I remember something else. "Wes was able to manipulate those warp fields with such ease even though he'd never done it before; the Traveler likened him to a young Mozart; a prodigy." I pause, "Jean Luc do you think that this is about that?" Panic settles, "What's going on?"
He shakes his head and rubs his eyes with his free hand, "I don't know, Beverly, but I just think that this has something to do with that. As you know, Wes is doing work now with Ron Gerhardt and it's the same type of research that he was involved in at the Academy before he left. But, I've seen his work, visited his lab… he and I talk about what he's doing quite often when we're at school, and all I know is that it's very advanced. He and Ron are making some fantastic discoveries that, in my opinion, are pushing some critical boundaries of not only static warp fields, but also space and time."
He lets what he's said sink in and settle a moment before continuing, "I remember a few weeks ago, before we were leaving college one night, Wes told me that he'd been contacted by the Daystrom Institute..."
My stomach lurches, "Why?"
"He said that they'd offered him a position, but he immediately turned it down." He quickens in his pace, "And, well I thought that was a little odd. He'd been so-"
"Eager to work with them before he came to live with us." I finish.
He shrugs. "When I asked him why, he said that he was happy to stay in Seattle with us and work with Ron."
"Do you think that's the only reason?" I again look over at his worried expression.
"To be honest, Beverly, yes I do. I don't think he'd lie to us and he knows that we're supportive of whatever he wants to do. The Daystrom institute is very prestigious and if he wanted to leave home and UW, I don't think he'd hear any complaints from anyone!"
"But?" I ask before he transitions.
"But," he sighs, "If he was settled on staying home with us, why did he come here? Why was it such a hurried affair?"
"And why are they holding him?" I finish his series of questions.
He shakes his head. "I don't know. But, we're going to find out."