The closing of the door behind Hope and Gregg is stark in its character of finality. We're going, it means. And we might not come back.

"Are you ready?" Jean Luc's gaze sweeps to his right as we turn our backs on the large stone home.

The lanky, skinny young man he calls his own son looks back, a shade of trepidation and not bravery discolours his cheeks. "I guess," he whispers. "I don't really know what to be ready for…"

I've always considered myself, Jean Luc, and certainly Wesley to be a little reckless and not a tad fearless. I think that's a trait of all Starfleet personnel in some way or another. We do outrageous things: we live in space for years on end, we brave impossible odds, we battle species so unlike our own. We live and die for an ideal. An ideal that, I fear, is quickly fading, if it hasn't already faded.

"Here," his father hands him a phaser, only to garner a questing gaze in response. "Take it, Wes."

"Dad," He tentatively traces the familiar grey armament. "Is this necessary?"

"Young man," a smile forces its way onto his cheeks. "Must you always be so difficult?"

The smile is contagious as it leaps its way onto Wesley as he grasps the grey weapon. "Aye, Sir."

"Beverly," He reaches back and takes my hand only to replace it with the same grey device. "Keep it on you," his eyes scan my billowing top. "Keep it concealed. I don't want Paris knowing how skeptical we are, though," He laughs, pocketing his own small device. "I think he has an idea."

"Where are we transporting from?" Wesley finishes stowing the bulky phaser and looks up. "Not from here, right?"

"No," Jean Luc settles in the car again, closing the door. "From the park."

Hope's driveway is long and with each meter covered, anticipation builds. "Why the park?" Wesley insinuates himself between us from the backseat as we pull onto the open road. "Why not from the house?"

"Because," Jean Luc regards him in the rearview mirror. "It's neutral and I didn't want Starfleet records to indicate that we transported from the house."

"What time?" He sighs, not wanting to do this as much as the rest of us.

"Twenty minutes."

"Jean Luc," I turn to him in a last moment of panic. "Are we sure this is a good idea? We have no idea what we're walking into."

"No," he switches his hand on the old-fashion wheel. "This is certainly not good idea-"

"But," Wesley cuts in, still sitting between us. "There's noth-"

Jean Luc pivots his body, taking his eye off the road momentarily, as he ruffles Wesley's messy brown hair. "Wesley, Beverly," He addresses us both calmly. "We don't have a choice. If we don't at least try this isn't going to go away." He breathes deeply as he refocuses himself. "Wesley, I don't know what is going to happen. Paris hasn't told us much of anything, but I don't want you doing anything impulsive. Don't leave your mother or myself unless I tell you to. Don't-"

"I know, Dad," He hangs his head.

The car ambles its way to the lot in front of Whitlow Park. With the turn of the old key he again turns his back to his son. "I love you, Wesley," he smiles. "Whatever happens this evening know that. And know that I am proud of you and that nothing has brought me more joy than being able to be your father and your friend."

A warm hand takes mine and tangles our fingers before he brings their combined warmth to his lips. "And I love you, Beverly," His gaze matches my own. "And we'll keep those plans – that's a promise."

Not a moment after we arrive in the center of Whitlow green, a shower of blue – that accustomed old haze – pulls apart atoms one by one before depositing them back in those old, familiar halls.

There's that familiar secondary sense of disorientation before the cool air associated with those sterile marble walls brushes my nostrils, bringing me back two years to where this all began.

"Good job, Owen," A cool, dolefully acquainted tenor rings through the room. "Well," a sharp face looks up at us. "It's good to see you again Johnny," He snarls.

He hangs his head, shaking it with the melancholy associated with his fears and anticipations being recognized. "Jack."

I'm back! More tomorrow. Now FFnet is not allowing me to see all your lovely messages for the last chapter but rest assured, I will respond to what I have in tomorrow's chapter!

Sorry to keep you all waiting! Thank you guys.

Reaganomics: Loved your last note! I know so many things hang in the balance and I'm excited to see what I'm going to write. I have a rough idea outlined, but I'll figure it out tomorrow morning

Tiffers: I know, get excited. Tomorrow I just might wrap this up and erase all anticipation! Maybe... If I'm feeling benevolent.

Linds: We all know it's just a matter of time until Jethro pulls a Homeward Bound and makes for the green coast of Galway :) Of course you'll just have to come with him

Martin: I don't want you to die! No! Okay I will not keep you in anticipation like that anymore!