A relieved exclamation ebbs from across the bedroom.
"What?" I look over my shoulder.
"This," he holds up a third phaser. "It's where I left it."
"Jean Luc," I turn back, circle the bed and sit on the edge closest to him. "Are you bringing that with us?"
He nods without looking at me. "We're all going with something." He states plainly as if I asked about the weather.
"Jean Luc," I shake my head. "You know we aren't going to be able to transport with phasers – they're always picked up by transport security." The thought of more trouble brings a shudder. "We don't want to draw anymore attention to ourselves."
"Beverly," he chastises, winking at me. "We're being beamed to Starfleet – we're not transporting through Yakima. And we're not going during normal working hours – our transport is being handled by Owen." But there's that extra twinkle in his eye. "And," He winks. "This phaser," the small device fits neatly and unassumingly in his hand. So small, it's unlike any other model that I've seen. Standard Starfleet phasers border on the definition of bulky. Effective, yes, but they are cumbersome and at times unwieldy. "I got on Tremus 8 – it's not detected by transport security scanners."
My hands flail in the air of their own accord, "I should have known!" I smile. "You think of everything. But…" the thought of bringing a phaser is unsettling. "Do you think we're really going to need them?"
"Well," he straightens, addressing my properly. "I certainly hope not. But I did learn a thing or two after all those years as a negotiator…"
"And that would be?" I smile.
"Always have a contingency plan," He kisses my cheek before setting the small weapon on the night table.
I pull back and look squarely at him. "You mean if…"
"If," he picks up. "Our suspicions of Owen Paris are confirmed. And more importantly – Jack and whatever else waits for us."
A shudder runs down my spine at the possibility. I pray to that unseen deity that I've become so accustomed to beseeching in these past months: Please, let this be the end of the deception, the end of the trouble. But a small part of me, that bedeviling officer half of my brain, tells me that perfidy is always a possibility when the stakes are so high.
"Beverly?" A warm heat source brushes against me, rustling the messy blankets on the unmade bed. "Where are you?" He smiles, and introduces bright blue to green-grey.
I shake myself out of the stupor, forcing my lips into a smile. But, nothing passes him. "Beverly," that soft voice whispers. "We've gotten out of dangerous situations before, we'll…" Not even he can finish that sentence. Yes – we've gotten out of situations before. But, it's like I told him last night: this time it's our family. So he finishes with the only consolation that he can offer: "We'll do our best, and trust and hope for the rest."
"Yes," I grab that warm hand lying across my thigh. Yes, that's all we can do.
Laughter sounds from the other side of the window, drawing both of our attentions and riveting us to that familiar source of glee. Saoirse and Wesley's mingled amusement. There she is, running happily through the verdant, aromatic lawn chasing Wesley who's running half heartedly to evade her tiny grasp.
So much love, I think, as I grasp that hand tighter, a warm chest pressing into my back as we admire our beautiful family. He's laughing with her, playfully taunting her as she races him. Lips brush my scalp, sending that delicious tickling feeling down my spine. Concurrently, amid the joy, an ache settles and tinges the moment. What if we never have this again? What if today ends and he leaves us?
"We can't lose them, Beverly," He feels it too. He knows.
"I know," A hot burning sensation forces my eyes, making them feel as though they're going to explode with sorrow and despondency at the million tiny, unforeseen yet harrowingly tumultuous possibilities.
In a spit second he moves to me, and I stir to meet him. My chest crushes against his. My breath mingles with his. The saltiness of our disquiet and our overwhelming love for our family melds into one coalescent solution. Silently, I promise myself that this is the last time that I cry. The tears, I think, only fuel my hopelessness and deepen my fears. So, I pull back, quieting myself and willing the deluge to still.
"We'll be back," I say in binding contract. "To sleep in this bed. To make love feverishly until neither of us can move," I smile.
So does he. "It's been a while since we did that," A hand moves down from my shoulder to the small of my waist, tickling the small nerve endings and sending anachronous shards of desire and lust down to my core.
"Yes," I look down before matching his gaze again. "Too long."
"But we will," He mirrors my promise confidently. "And we'll have to force each other to be quiet so as not to wake up Wesley," He emphasizes his name, promising that he'll come home with us.
"Yes," I look down, not able to contain my laughter. "But I'm already pretty sure he has an idea of what goes on in here…"
"Mmm," He laughs. "And now we've made the poor boy paranoid about every other room of the house!"
"If he only knew!" I wink with one hand holding his against my waist while the other snakes a trail up to the sparse, short hairs that adorn the back of his neck.
"Indeed," he whispers, his lips moving closer to mine and claiming them as his own. Just these moments, I think, as my tongue moves with his. These moments are what I love, what give me strength, what move me and goad me. Yes, promise myself – we'll have more of these.
/
"Beverly!" The door flies open and with a force disproportionate for such a small woman, Hope crushes me against her. "Beverly, we've been so worried!" She breathes. Sensing the turgidity in my form, though, she pulls back. "Beverly?"
"Hope," I hold her limply as I stand back.
"Beverly?" Her tone's changed as she looks past me, seeing Jean Luc and Wesley with Aaron and Saoirse. The meaning dawns on her. "No," She looks back. "Not again."
"Please, Hope," I beg. "We have to go and…" I look back at the two sleeping babies. "But," I correct. "We'll be back."
"I suppose…" She starts, eying her husband.
Gregg comes to the door but stays silent, already anticipating our needs as he moves to take Aaron. "We won't ask any questions, but," He winks back. "We're expecting a full debriefing when you get back." There's sureness in his voice – one that strongly urges us not to stay away.
"When?" She asks.
"Tomorrow," Jean Luc says. "Hopefully tomorrow."
Melsface: So sorry to keep you waiting, pooperdoo!I felt so bad when I got yer message :) Here ya go! Perhaps tomorrow I can actually finish this saga, eh?
Martinator: I'm so sorry, Schmee, that I didn't give you a name last time! Thank you thank you for goading me on, friend!
Linds: I shall see about this other story. Hmm? PS: I'm still coming to steal your cute little Jethro
LydiaSchmidia: I know. I don't even know what the whole Dr. Who thing is about. No one has been able to explain it to me. Oh well - it's most likely best because I get too fixated on things... which might be bad for me going into 3rd med?!
Megling: Yes, I shall get more scenes like that - at least one before I wrap this baby up. I'd like some more fluff because it's the best to write. I just have to get over the angst hump and then we can move into more of that :). What else should I throw in here?
Maxfactor: I don't even know! I have to work all these things out! Ahhhhh! So much for my small brain to process and my mind is exploding with what's going to happen. These next like two chapters are going to be a challenge...
Reaganomics: I know! I love this name for you. It's also a bomb economic outlook that I fully support :) Listen, I need some more questions. I've hit a wall :(
Sashsters: Oh goodness, you are the nicest person EVER for writing me such a nice long note. Hmm the story that you are proposing would be a lot of fun - I shall just have to find the inspiration and the time. I feel like all my good talent went into this one and now I'm fresh out. Maybe when I get bored with school in a few weeks and I'm craving distraction I'll start that one! You seriously are so lovely. Thank you.
To my unnamed guest: Thank you. I really appreciate that you like the way that I've written the characters. I've tried to keep them as much in character as I could - Jean Luc especially. He's a hard one to write, and getting to "know" Beverly and keep her in character has been a bit of a hurdle in and of itself. It's nice to know that you like the way that it's going and you enjoy the dialogue. So, Thank you it means a whole whole lot.