Picard scrolled through the records from the other ship, organized with a familiar taxonomy, one that reflected his own research methods. At the forefront of the reports was the well-annotated research on the source of these rifts, these anomalies, and whether the Federation could stop more of them from appearing. The research was detailed, informative, yet inconclusive. He sensed the frustration, the edge of desperation, from the other Picard's notes and commentary.
But just as pressing was a portfolio of test results, lab work, and medical records of those who had gone into a rift and then returned. Sure enough, as the other captain had abruptly insinuated, there were profound concerns about those who had been through a rift and brought back. Concerns about phase shifting, DNA reorganization and eventual bodily deterioration.
Cellular deterioration turned this mystery into even more of a race against time. He pressed his fingertips against his lips, sitting there in his ready room, haunted with thoughts of Beverly. When she had been sitting there in the bathtub across from him, when she had been seated on the floor of the bedroom (their bedroom) in her robe, scrolling, sliding, thinking…she had known. Known that this was a possibility. And that was why Medical recalled her. They needed her, needed her mind, her direction, her research.
The records did give the Federation a hint as to what to look for in order to avoid the rifts, so Picard passed along the entire portfolio to Science and Engineering, and they began recalibrating the ship's course, redirecting the vessel past hotspots in the quadrant, testing, always testing.
He pushed himself to the limit, reading, researching, visiting with crew. These rifts had to be stopped. if a ship was unable to return, they would be lost. And if a ship did return, the entire crew was at risk. So Picard walked around the ship, meeting with departments, supporting morale, losing himself to the mystery, keeping his mind occupied, always occupied.
Nights were the most difficult, though. During the day, even as he kept himself occupied, he craved the solitude of his quarters, but once he arrived, the silence was nearly too much. After just a short amount of time with Beverly by his side, not having her present was disconcerting. Disturbing. Wretched. It felt like an obsession, an inability to stop thinking about her. It was love, but also something more.
He was thankful for the time they had together, but he had no intention of letting her go. He was ideating about a life with her, a calming life, a life of working beside her. Her in the farmhouse, or perhaps he would stay in San Francisco with her and he would rest as she worked at Medical. He wanted to abandon this ship, leave the mysteries to those better equipped to hurtle through space.
Was this depression? A depressive episode? Or was he simply finished with the stars for a while, ready to rest?
As she finished the surgery and looked down at her work (She did a damn good job if she said so herself. He was stable. Including his heart. His biological heart, not the artificial heart with the titanium valves…but of course she was covered in blood and gore, even with the stasis fields in place, and it wasn't her Jean-Luc's blood, but a slide of panic still fluttered in her throat and she pushed it down, because now was not the time) she stepped back and glanced up to see the other two doctors staring at her with wariness in their expressions and their stances.
"You're not our Doctor Picard," the man stated quietly, but firmly, hand drifting towards the phaser at his hip, not bothering to disguise his movement. Beverly arched an eyebrow at the name, but shook her head, grateful for the distraction, now that the medical crisis was averted. Hopefully these doctors didn't plan on incapacitating her, now that the patient was stable.
"No, I'm not. Can you get me home?" She realized that her throat was sore, tight and her shoulders ached with tension. How long have I been operating? The woman nodded, then tapped her comm badge. "Sickbay to Commander Riker. We've got another one."
The transporter beamed her back into her shuttle; apparently, this universe was able to use transporters through a rift. Intriguing - but the security implications were disastrous. However, she didn't have time to think about that. She looked down and opened her palm. Nestled within her hand was a memory chip that contained her counterpart's entire research portfolio. The doctors had given it to her carefully, discreetly, as they had waited for the transporter room to announce her imminent departure.
"Use this. It belonged – belongs – to Doctor Picard. She was working on this when she was taken." The female doctor had pressed it into her hand, and the male doctor nodded solemnly, seriously. Beverly had the realization that they were somehow putting themselves at extreme risk by giving her this memory chip.
Then she was whisked away with no warning, captured by a transporter beam, and the walls of her shuttle appeared around her.
She had never been so happy to arrive at Medical. Perhaps if she stayed on a planet, she wouldn't be thrown into another universe. But she was exhausted. Simply exhausted. She hadn't slept at all since being returned to her shuttle, too afraid of somehow being separated from her vessel again and sent somewhere else. So she filled up the time reading, creating models, delving into her counterpart's research.
Knowing she was basically useless until she had a night of rest, she had sent along the research and her progress, requesting a lab and a dedicated research team. And she docked her shuttle in San Francisco and went to her little apartment that she had maintained all these years at the edge of the city.
The air was cool and dry as she walked through the threshold. It had been years since she had been here. She dropped her swing pack on the clear surface of the kitchen table and stepped up to the window that looked out over the water.
The last time she had stood in front of a window, looking out onto a world, Jean-Luc had been beside her.
The strangled, quiet sob that had been resting in her chest since she left the planet rose up from her core. And leaning against the window, she began to weep.