"I'm sure," Peripherally I sense hesitancy in her voice as I ascend the stairs of the transporter pad. "I'm sure you'll be hearing from us in the near future. Jean Luc," she hesitates again. "I'm sorry about all of this…"
My eyes dart to her as she and her husband manipulate the controls on the console. "Home?" Chakotay asks absentmindedly.
"Yes," Wesley answers before Jean Luc. Home is about the only word he can fathom. Home, family, safety, and rest – those are his mantras. He's tired and it's all over him from the near emaciated shoulders, the slump in his spine, to the dark circles under his eyes. Jean Luc too, and I suppose myself included – we're all tired.
"Thank you," Are the last words I hear from a brandy smooth voice before the beam systematically disassembles each of our atoms before replacing them back in intimately familiar and warm territory. Home.
I should be elated; it's finally over. Jack is dead. The program has been shut down. Guilty parties have been recognised and are being brought to justice. And, we're free. Jean Luc, Wesley, Saoirse, Aaron – we're all safe. But I have this niggling, itching, scratching feeling of frustration that's seething through my every pore. I'm angry as hell with my son and husband for not telling me whatever the hell plan they had back there. They must have had a reason – that's what I keep trying to convince myself. Somehow, though, that banality just isn't cutting it this time.
"I'm going to bed," Wesley yawns as he shuffles up the front yard. "Don't wake me up." It's the first time any of us have spoken to one another since we left San Francisco.
I dumbly watch his form disappear into the house before I follow suite, leaving Jean Luc alone in the yard.
He knows I'm seething so he doesn't follow me. He doesn't try to take my hand, or apologize, or stop me. He lets me go. It hits me as I climb the rough-hewn stone steps to the front door that this is the first time that we've fought. Yes, there was Caldos. But this is different; my fiery temper hasn't bitten him since we were aboard the Enterprise.
The house is still in shambles – a far cry from the comfortable order it usually finds itself in. Books are haphazardly placed on shelves, blankets lie listlessly unfolded over the arms of the sofa, and dishes lay un-recycled in the sink. I roll my eyes as I sluggishly ignore all of it as I mount the stairs, drawn by the soft, dulcet call of tangled white sheets.
Even the bedroom has taken on a shameful mien of hysteria. Dirty clothes are strewn over the cool polished hardwood; shirts and pants peek naughtily out of the bureau. Jean Luc, I smile wryly, is going to have a field day with this mess when he's together enough to register any of it.
My concern, however, is not with the maelstrom of the bedroom, the state of the bathroom, the clothing that needs to go into the recycler, or the dishes that need to be cleared from the kitchen counters and sink. Right now, all I want is to bury myself beneath this pile of sheets and blankets and, just for a while, forget that any of this happened.
My hands move to my side, grabbing at the billowing tunic and pulling it over my head. "Owch! Shit!" This damn shirt always catches on my hair! A few masterful yanks and tugs, a loss of a few strands of hair, and the garment is discarded, joining its fallen comrades on the floor.
"Beverly," In all my fussing, I barely heard him make his way into the house and up the stairs.
"What?" I snap, my hands aimlessly fumbling with the closure of my jeans. I feel his eyes on my back, boring into me. "What, Jean Luc," I grit, letting the jeans fall to join its friend the tunic.
He's still silent and his reticence is incensing. "Jean Luc," I spin around, regarding him full on. "What?" I shout with my hands raised in frustration.
He drops his gaze, hiding the beginnings of a smile. "Jean Luc Picard, I swear if you're laughing at me you can goddamn sleep on the couch," No you know what? "You can sleep on the couch anyway!" A pillow hits his squarely in the stomach, riveting his attention back to me.
"Beverly," he chides, letting the pillow fall as he moves closer to me.
"Don't you 'Beverly,' me, Jean Luc. What the hell were you thinking back there?!" I'm outraged. "Not telling me?!" I push past him and head into the bathroom. "How could you keep any of that from me?" My hand smashes against the door as I intend to slam it, but his reflexes are too quick and his body insinuates itself in the doorframe.
"Beverly," he grabs my arm not before I shake it off. "Please," he breathes, "Let me explain."
"Explain?" I mirror. "You're goddamn right, you're going to explain and you'd better have a good explanation or…" Or what? I can feel my chest heaving, my face flushing, and butterflies of absolute rage flying about in my stomach.
"Beverly," he walks closer to me, seemingly taking advantage of my momentary consternation. "I'm sorry," He whispers. "But…"
Big hot tears build behind my eyes and before I can rebuke them, they coming spilling over my lashes. Sobs then start to wrack my body. "Beverly," his gentle voice whispers again. "Beverly," It's as smooth as silk, erotic and seductive. But no, I remind myself; you're angry.
"Why, Jean Luc?" I step away, letting my back fall against the thick glass of the large shower. "Why didn't you tell me? I was terrified!"
"I know," He looks down, avoiding my gaze. "Wesley – he made the plan with Kathryn when she brought Owen a few days ago…"
My eyes shoot up, boring into his. "Wesley and Kathryn?"
"Yes, when they went into the kitchen together," he rubs his eyes before continuing. "Kathryn and her husband, up until today, were still part of Starfleet. They found out that Jack was still alive so she and Wes concocted the plan – Owen was implicit."
"So," I turn away, pacing the cool bathroom tile. "You knew that Jack would be there? You knew that all of that would happen? Owen," I look up, realization dawning. "He didn't betray us at all? He was really helping us?"
"I think he felt guilty," he corrects himself: "I know he felt guilty about what happened last year with the Academy. He's been under a cloud for a while now."
"He took an awfully big chance," my admiration for Owen floods my heart. He risked his life for us. If this plan – whatever it is – had gone south, he'd have been killed as well.
But that still doesn't answer my question. I stop dead in front of him, resolute even just in my bra and underwear. I can feel the heat rolling off of his body. His eyes match mine and blaze with an anachronous bearing of arousal. "Why didn't you tell me about any of this, Jean Luc?" I whisper. "I thought we were going to die."
"I know," a large hand moves cautiously to sit on the small of my waist. "We thought… I knew Jack would know if he didn't smell fear off of you," He sighs, meeting my eyes again. "If you knew going in that Jack was going to die regardless-"
"You played me, Jean Luc." I stare, "You all played me."
His eyes are open; his motives lay bare and unclouded. "We just wanted this to be over, Beverly. I wanted the threats to end; I wanted to come back to our life. So-"
Intuitively, I know why Jean Luc did what he did. In fact, under other circumstances I would have lauded his tactics; I would have praised him with clever handling of the situation. But right now, I look away; right now I feel used, like a chess pawn. "I'm sorry," he croaks as the understanding of how much he hurts me bundles in his own throat. "Beverly, I'm so sorry."
I pull away, leaving the bathroom as I heed my previous desire to climb into those white, downy comforters. "Beverly," his hand catches my bony wrist as he forcefully tugs me to himself. "Beverly, please," my hair slaps him squarely in the face as he pulls me to him. "Beverly, I'm so sorry. Please," he begs in earnest. "Forgive me."
My body crashes flush against his under the weight of his pull. I feel every pane of his body – every bulging muscle depresses itself on my breast. Even his growing arousal indents my leg. I should be furious with him. My Howard temper is goading me to keep up the fight. But for some purpose, every reason that I have to be angry with him – though all those reasons are still valid – seem to fade away in the growing light of dawn that seeps through these big windows. Golden rays warm my bare skin and start to evaporate my anger.
Unconsciously I move closer to him. Of its own accord, my leg presses against him drawing a muffled groan as he buries his face in my hair. It would be easy to fall into bed, to let his body cover mine, to let him lead me over and over until I can't breathe. "Beverly," he breaks my reverie with my name.
I nod, encouraging him to continue his thought.
"I really am sorry," I feel a silent tear, not one of my own, amble down my shoulder and snake a path down my arm.
My arms tighten around his thinner frame. "I know." His penitence, his closeness, sends a burning desire through my body. This desire, though, is not one for sex, but for nearness.
Automatically, my hands move to his sides and mirror their earlier action as they peel off his shirt, letting it fall of its own accord on top of my own. Without eying him, without making any sort of contact, my hands move to his pants, deftly undo the closure, and allow them to drop as well. My eyes rise to his, "Come to bed, Jean Luc," I whisper softly. "I'm tired."
Yay! Becca got her act together and posted another chapter.
Linds: Alright, girl. You don't have to pay attention in class anymore. I've got your back.
Martin: Here is your chapter, Martinator. Thanks as always for the nudge. A good nudge always gets Becca to do your bidding - I think you've got that by now.
Meg: Listen, I would not go rogue on you. I would not forget you like that! Sorry it took me so long to post this chapter. Please forgive me (said in squeaky sorry voice). Love all the ideas for the new story. I'm running it over in my head every day, though I haven't committed anything to paper yet. But I will!
Mels: Ecoute-moi, chica, I am super glad that you liked the last chapter. I thought it was a fitting way to end the whole Jack saga. And I took everyone's request to have Jack find out that Wes changed his last name. I liked that touch. Alright so as my next story goes - on the record here - I have not started to write it. I feel like when classes start, though, my writing is going to be a lot more frequent. Usually my inspiration comes when I'm procrastinating. I don't know why - this is just how the mind of Becca functions.
Alex: So, so glad that you've been reading and keeping up! Thanks for writing to me :). Makes me happy. Tell me what ye think of this one. I'll post another soon hopefully :).
Sharkissel: Aww thanks Sharky (that's my new nickname for you... since I give them to people... just be glad it's not schmee or pooper). I hope you like this chapter too :).
Sashsters: I know. This story is like the gift that keeps on giving. At this point it's also like the never ending story... which has to be remedied like this week. People have been on me to get this chapter up but I was so glad to hear from you last night and you defos gave me the impetus to put this one up today - so thank you my lovely friend.