Thanks for reading and reviewing everybody! Here it is; I hope you like it! Enjoy. -Becca

The air in the corridor is stifling, redolent with the distinct odor of too many in a confined area. Body against body, the sheer closeness of everyone gathered, waiting for a glimpse of Jean Luc, creates a sea of flesh that I'm struggling to navigate. A hand leads me, anchors me, though, as Wesley charts a course for the courtroom.

What should be a two-minute walk is slowly drawn into what seems like hours. I'm getting frustrated and feeling compressed by hundreds of eager, chatting forms is only heightening the tickling inundation of butterflies in my stomach and that familiar anxiety already coursing through my veins and arteries.

Before I see the open door, I feel the new source of air on my face and in seconds I'm pulled through into quiet stillness as the doors shut behind me. Momentarily, the juxtaposition of noise and quiet, heat and cool, leaves me bewildered. I scan through the stark dimness, looking, searching…

"Mrs. Picard?" Why isn't he here?

"Um," I'm suddenly confused. "Yes?"

An imposing, dark Vulcan rises from the seat at the head of the courtroom. Shrouded in the darkness of his robes, he initially blends into the duskiness of the cavernous chamber.

"Where is my husband?" Wesley grabs my hand a little tighter when he perceives the desperation insinuating itself in my voice.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Picard, we had to move him. Obviously," he motions to the corridor. "There are many who are not satisfied with the ver-"

"Where is he?" It's not a question; it's a demand. I've already spent the last few hours squirming and torturing myself. The knowledge that he's been acquitted isn't nearly enough to calm me. The itch in my arms is persistent and tells me to make specific, discernable confirmation; like a typical scientist, I need palpable physical evidence of his safety before any true peace can be had.

One long arm motions gracefully to the door at the head of the room, "Please." Typically Vulcan and lissome, his steps before us are soft and calculated.

Wesley picks up his pace to come alongside our guide, "Excuse me, but, uh, what happened?"

The Vulcan looks down and states plainly, without emotion, as he enters the code to the door. "The Judge dismissed the case based on the evidence."

"So that's it?" Wesley's right: it does sound too good to be true even if it's what we were all anticipating.

"Precisely." He seems almost annoyed. "It was obvious, even before the trial began, that he was innocent."

But Wesley is true to his nature: precocious and needing the full picture before allowing himself any emotional entanglement. "Has the court made a decision yet on how to prosecute the Daystrom Institute?" His voice grows firmer, "Are the people who are responsible for all of this going to be brought to justice?"

"Mister Crusher," The mention of the name brings a noticeable shudder that courses through Wesley's entire form.

The Vulcan halts his steps with a twinge of typical Vulcan passive aggressive panache, "I am sorry that I do not have any further answers for you. It was not two hours ago that the evidence was revealed and not fifteen minutes ago that the verdict was made. I simply do not have responses to your queries at this time."

"But," he looks away with a sigh. "I am sure that the persons who are responsible for all of these terrible evils will be brought to justice, regardless of their rank or notoriety."

Wesley seems satisfied as he smiles and holds up his hands, "That's all I wanted to know."

If Vulcans could roll their eyes, this one would. "Please," he motions again. "Follow me."

Wesley resumes his tight grip on my hand. His palms are sweating against mine, an ode to his excitement and, more likely, to his relief. As we traverse the long, sonorous corridor behind the courtroom, our collective anticipation builds and builds; I feel like I'm crawling out of my skin and my legs can't seem to keep up with my commands.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the highly reflective goromite lining the austere walls of the building. Oh God, I think to myself, I look awful! And on that note: so does Wesley. Fresh bruise-like circles line my under eyes, making me look older and tired. My hair looks greasy and like it hasn't been brushed in days as fly-aways stick out every which way. My face looks too thin, gaunt, and pale, starkly accenting my already-prominent cheekbones. The jeans I'm wearing seem to hang off of me, erasing any hint of feminine curvaceousness. I really hope Jean Lu-

"Here," The Vulcan's steps come to an abrupt halt, leaving the force of inertia to topple me into Wesley's shoulders.

This new room is similarly dim; no windows line the walls or the ceiling. More poorly illuminated sconces try their best to give some semblance of light into this dreary chasmal chamber.

"Beverly? Wes?" His rumbling, distinct baritone is broken, tired, but hopeful and laced with unimaginable relief.

Out of the shadows, there he is.

Within a fraction of a second, the air leaves me, "Jean Luc!"

In two paces I'm crushed against him, shaking in utter relief. "Oh, Jean Luc!" I hold him tighter than I ever have, crushing the wind out of his lungs as I fit my face snugly against the skin of his neck. My own tears of joy pour forth, stream down his chest, and adorn him as if he's being baptised.

"Beverly," He says my name over and over again like an invocation, his own tears embellishing my hair. "Beverly. I was so worried."

I laugh at the ridiculousness of his admission and step back, still remaining in the safety of his embrace. "You were worried?!" My hand moves up to swat his chest, "Who's the one who admitted the three counts of murder and almost ended up with the death penalty?"

"Well…" He smiles abashedly, belaying the underlying gravity of what could have very well happened.

I snake my other hand up over his warm, solidly muscled chest, up to his visage, and allow it to linger over the smooth lines of his face. I admire every crease and every angle, as I again memorise the fine architecture of the man that I love. I bow my head and lean against him. "I know why you did it, Jean Luc Picard, but you if ever pull a stunt like that again…" I smirk, "I'll break both your legs...slowly."

A wide grin tugs at his austere features, "Acknowledged."

We allow ourselves to revel for a moment more. But, our celebration is incontestably inadequate. "Wes?" He looks away from me and slowly disengages himself. "Wesley?"

I've never seen a smile so big on Wesley's face as he moves in closer to Jean Luc. "It's good to-" The air is crushed from his chest before he can finish his sentence.

"Thank you, Wesley. Thank you." Jean Luc holds him tightly as if he's the essence of his very life. Cachinnating in pure, unadulterated alleviation, "A little bird tells me that this was all your doing".

"Well…" Wesley moves back and looks bashfully down at the floor with a red blush that creeps all the way up his pale neck. "I did have a lot of help..."

In a moment of tenderness that I've never seen one man display to another, Jean Luc raises Wesley's gaze to meet his own. "You saved me, Wesley. Thank you."

Wesley's smile and collected demeanor instantaneously erupt into sobs, expressing days of pent up fear, nightmarish horror, and now relief as he again moves into Jean Luc's still open arms. "I couldn't let them…" He gulps for precious oxygen amid the spasms of emotion. "I couldn't let them take you. Not after everything that's happened. Not after…" his voice cracks and more tears pour forth from my own eyes at the pure love that Wesley has, and has had, for this man. "Just not after I've had the chance to love you. I just couldn't lose you…"

"I know, Wes. I know." He soothes, a large hand rubbing circles on his back. "It's alright." He steps back and properly regards him. "I love you, Wesley. I've always loved you, even if sometimes I didn't show it, and I'm so proud to call you my son."

He nods his head as he's fixated on the trail of tears that he's left on Jean Luc's shirt, "I'm proud." He meets his soft regard, "To call you my father."

After a long moment of silence, "Ahem!" Two men emerge from the shadows and break the moment. "I'm sorry," The shorter of the two begins. "But we have to discuss what happens from here…"