When I think back 2 years ago, longer even, I remember being able to push myself well past the boundaries of exhaustion. I've said before that compared to my post on the Enterprise and the duties therein, my job with the practice in Yakima is busier. I have more patients, and a lot more falls on my shoulders personally. However, what is missing from my life here is the unbearable exhaustion that long hours and the bodily taxation that being in space brought not only on one's psyche, but one's physical body as well.

To me, it's interesting how easily it is to grow unaccustomed to that lifestyle of spurts of calm intermixed with gargantuan surges of pure adrenaline. Now, however, I'm being savagely reminded. It's been days since I've properly slept. More than that, I'm terribly anaemic due to the residual effects of the Pur'pard. The three of us have been hunted, chased, caged, and liberated all in the span of 48 hours and at the moment my body is failing to cope.

I just have to laugh at myself as I sit in Hope's study. Jean Luc and Wesley are actively researching and communicating with Data through the console. I, however, am falling asleep. My head keeps lolling onto Jean Luc's shoulder. I want to stay awake and help in any way that I can, but my eyelids refuse to stay open. I try though, because I'm not being completely truthful with myself. I try not to sleep because I'm afraid of where my dreams will bring me.

When my eyes close and usher me into darkness, I'm brought back to the gloomy, aphotic halls of the Daystrom Institute. There was that sheer terror in the pit of my stomach that I felt every time I passed through them. Those feelings brought unbearable dread and uncertainty.

A warm hand, though, and a soft kiss from the solid body next to me comfort me. "Wesley," I hear him say. "I'll be right back; I'm going to put your mother to bed."

"No, no," I croak, trying to feign actual attention.

I hear a laugh and a smile in his own tired voice, "Nonsense, Beverly, come on."

I move to get up, to climb the flight of stairs to Hope's guest bedroom, but he'll have none of it as I'm once again dexterously swept into his arms. I don't argue, however; I'm just too tired. "Jean Luc," I whisper against his neck.

"Mmm?" I feel the soft bed beneath me, ushering me into a state of restfulness. But I don't want him to leave me just yet so I grab his hand before he leaves.

"I love you." Saying those three words is like breathing to me. And now, even in a half conscious state, I intuitively know how important they are. Any time that I say them could be the very last.

His weight settles against me on the bed and his head indents on our shared pillow. "Shh," He coos, "Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." And with the safety of that knowledge and the assurance that for at least another day he'll be with me, I allow the darkness to engulf me.

/

"Beverly!" I hear Hope calling from the foyer. "Beverly!"

I walk towards her, "Hope, what? I'm just in the kitchen."

"Oh," she hastily kisses my cheek. "Listen, I've got to run. Gregg already left for work and took the boys to school. We'll be back around 6." She turns around, grabbing her coat and before fumbling in her purse for her jingling set of keys. "You know the drill," she turns back to me. "Don't go out, don't answer the home communicator-"

I roll my eyes and smile. "Hope, I know. Go to work!"

She stops and grins before opening the door. "I can't wait for all this to be over. We miss you at the practice… your patients miss you and everyone keeps asking about you."

I hold back tears of both frustration and wistfulness. "I know. I miss everyone too… Hopefully this'll all blow over soon and everything can go back to normal."

She hugs me one last time then opens the door, the cool morning air gracing my face and rusting my hair. "It will," she promises. "See you later."

/

I smile at what I see when I walk into the study: Jean Luc and Wesley obviously did not make it to bed last night and as a result, the both of them are propped up, sitting and leaning against one another on the study couch. Wesley's mouth is open, trailing a very ungraceful trail of saliva on Jean Luc's sullied shirt collar. I laugh because I'm conflicted as to whether or not I should let them stay like that. Wesley will be fine; but Jean Luc isn't young anymore and his back isn't going to thank him for that strange, contorted angle.

After a few seconds' deliberation, my doctor's conscience drags me to cross the room to rouse them from their light languor. I tug subtly on his shoulder. "Jean Luc?"

Apparently, the adrenaline is still full well coursing through his veins when he jumps up with a start, "Wha - what?"

I can't help but stifle a giggle; his reaction reminds me of the time that I told him that I was pregnant with Saoirse. "Nothing," I shake my head. "Just that, your back isn't going to thank you for sleeping on that couch."

He rubs his eyes, "Oh, right. Thank you." He turns to his left and nudges the shoulder of the sleeping boy. "Wesley, wake up. It's morning." The sleeping brick, though, doesn't rouse. "Wesley," He says a little louder.

With another nudge, "Ugh, Dad, stop. Please," he pushes his hand away. "I'm up."

I smile at their banter. "So, what was the verdict with Data?"

"Data," Jean Luc rubs his eyes. "Thankfully is in orbit. Apparently 6 months ago, he transferred to the Titan with Will."

"Will stayed in Starfleet?"

Wesley pats his eyes, sweeping away the collected eye-dust. "Apparently. He and Deanna didn't resign after the wedding – they went back and Data and Geordi requested a transfer. All four of them are on the Titan."

"And Worf?" I breathe a sigh of relief that we still have friends in Starfleet. Is it…is it shallow that my first thought was relief that we still have friends in high places?

Jean Luc indicates the negative. "No; he and Miles O'Brien are still on Deep Space 9."

"So…?"

"So," Wesley gets up and resumes his spot in front of the brightly lit console. "I remembered a few years ago that Geordi was able to access files from the Daystrom Institute on the Enterprise. I don't know if you remember, but Geordi created a holo-program using the Daystrom's personnel files on Dr. Leah Brahms."

I nod. "I remember... I also remember how taken poor Geordi was with that holoprogram!"

We all share a laugh; poor Geordi never had much luck in his love life… "Well," Wes continues. "Like I said, he used the Daystrom's files to do that. And Data confirmed what I had suspected – all Starfleet ships have access to the Daystrom Database."

Jean Luc takes a sigh and continues. "Well, eh, when we were at the Daystrom Institute, I noticed that there were monitors, which led me to suspect that everything they did was being recorded."

Wesley agrees, "They definitely did. I'm remembering more and more of what Savet said when I was in the dark room. He was telling someone to record the session. He said he was looking for something and if whomever he was talking to found it, they should alert him immediately."

I think I know where this is going. "But, if they did record everything, they're not going to upload that information to their shared database!"

Wesley shakes his head, "That's why we have Data. He said Geordi would help as well, and since Will knows about the situation, he's allowing them to spend as much of their duty time as possible on it."

"Well that's fine," I concede gratefully. "But, what does Data intend to do?"

Wesley smiles deviously as he sits back in his chair. "Hack into the Daystrom's computer database."

"Excuse me," I shake my head indicating my confusion. "'Hack'?"

"It's an old 21st Century term. It means that Data is going to access restricted files somewhat illegally."

"How? Those files would almost surely be completely inaccessible!"

Wesley rolls his eyes, "That's the point of hacking, Mom: to gain access to files that we aren't supposed to see."

"Oh right." Suddenly I feel quite stupid… "But videos aren't going to be enough."

Jean Luc speaks softly and solemnly. "They will be if they recorded the murder of Ron Gerhardt and the Traveller."

"Do you really think they would have recorded that?"

"Of course," Wes states. "They were fastidious in every aspect. Everything was recorded with painstaking precision. I'm sure of it. Plus," he smiles hopefully. "Who knows what else Data is going to find…"

Jean Luc looks over at Wes and mirrors his blithe grin, "Maybe he'll come across some clues as to who 'they' are."