She stood in the kitchen, looking out the window at the twin moons in the sky - one just a sliver, the other farther away but nearly full. Her water glass was on the counter, and she idly traced the rim with her finger. The first glimmers of dawn edged along the line of trees.
In a few moments, she would need to go back into the bedroom, where he was asleep, and pack her bag and prepare to leave. She needed to get to Medical, and he needed to go back to the Enterprise.
She had a bad feeling about what was ahead for the Federation.
The early morning light illuminated the bedroom; he had made the bed while she showered. She stepped into the bedroom, back in her red command uniform with the black placket. He was placing his own bag on the bed beside hers; he didn't look up at her, and she realized that he was being closed, careful.
His barriers had returned. It took her breath away for a moment, but then she realized that her own walls were up, too. They hadn't spoken to each other since the previous evening, when they had been intertwined with each other for…well. For a long time.
She slowly came over to him, stood next to him, looking down at their bags, side by side. She reached for his hand, thinking idly that it had been a long time since they had been in the same room and both been in uniform like they were now. His gentle kiss was sweet and sad, mirroring her inner turmoil.
He had been caught off guard by her desperate, needy hug as he had turned to enter his shuttlecraft. Their early morning together had been quiet, so quiet. He didn't know what to say to her, realizing that while they communicated so well without words, he was inarticulate when it came to making promises about an uncertain future.
Her nose was cold as she pressed it against his cheek, and when she drew back, he saw tears filling her eyes.
"Please don't cry. We'll be together soon," he murmured. And a flicker of something had crossed her face, quickly replaced by that slightly optimistic look she tended to muster in public, when she knew more about a situation than everyone else discussing it.
"I do love you, Jean-Luc. Be safe." And she had turned and entered her own shuttle, the hatch closing behind her, leaving him alone in the slowly falling snow, feeling like a piece of himself had just been broken off.
She tracked his shuttle in her viewer long after it had gone to warp. Should she had said more when they departed? What would she have said? Promises about how it would all work out? As always, there was no guarantee that he would make it to Earth in a timely manner. Making plans for the future just hurt her wounded, grieving heart.
With a sigh, she closed the tracker and gave her full attention to her own shuttle. The journey would be a welcome opportunity to order her thoughts; barring any complications, she would be at Medical in two days.
She woke up and knew that it had happened again. She had fallen asleep in her tidy little shuttle; she was waking up in a private surgery room, red sleeves covering her arms. A pair of red gloves were next to her head. It was all familiar somehow; she had regularly waited in a surgery room for away teams to return with their wounded. She saved time if she napped, or rested, right there in the room. Raising a hand, she felt the familiar red surgery cap containing her hair.
A quiet chirp, then figures materialized next to the bed – a mangled body on the floor and two doctors, who lifted the body onto the biobed. The woman called out. "He needs stabilized, Doctor-"
She stood. It was Jean-Luc. Or a Jean-Luc, at least. And his chest cavity had been scooped out as if a giant claw had removed half of his internal organs. It was not good. Underneath her professional focus that had snapped into place, an undercurrent of deep dread solidified.
So she began to work with the medical team to stabilize him, hoping that she would be able to stay in this universe until she ensured that this Jean-Luc would live. She would worry about getting home later.
As he stepped foot back onto the Enterprise after just a few uneventful hours on the shuttle, a part of him urged him to simply get back into the little roundabout and turn around and go to Earth. But…there was work to complete. And then he would be finished with the stars for a time, and he would go to Beverly, and they would be together.
The first officer was waiting for him with a smile, and Picard squared his shoulders and mustered up a pleasant expression in return.
This time, another damn ship slid into their universe. He hadn't been on the bridge more than half a shift when the sensors began to blare and energy spikes revealed an interloper. As he stood and ordered the intruder to appear on screen, he must have made a sound when the ship appeared. It was worn, dark, and askew in space.
A hail brought the sight of another Picard. A Picard with a scar around his exhausted eye, and a line of puckered skin from his neck into the collar of his torn uniform. Borg. The sparse crew on the bridge looked worn, brittle, but focused. Before he could speak, the other captain began.
"We know that we cannot stay here long; the medical effects will catch up with our crew. We are willing to share medical knowledge in return for supplies."
The exchange was short, perfunctory, seeing as the other Picard looked ready to collapse. And after signing off and watching the other ship disappear into a previously invisible anomaly with a full compliment of supplies from the Enterprise, Picard sat on the bridge, lost in thought. He rubbed his face, wondering what hardships existed in that other universe, and whether there was a severe medical crisis ahead for the Federation.