She had stepped into her office to try to catch her breath, not caring what the rest of the team thought at her response to the list of ships. Seeing the Enterprise on that list had pushed her into a primal, dark place, one where her reality enfolded upon itself, and all she could hear was a rushing of blood in her head as her vision blurred. But after a few seconds, she sucked in a breath as she realized that the Enterprise was not destroyed, but was merely (merely?) compromised, and therefore presumably on the way to a shipyard for refitting and repairs. And she had taken her padd and gone into her private office, all alone, closing the portal behind her. She was clammy and there was a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth, and distantly she realized that she was going to be sick.

Afterwards, she sat on the cool floor of her lavatory for several moments, resting her head and back against the wall, feeing the emptiness in her stomach since she had lost the meal she had recently consumed and telling herself that she was finished because there was nothing left, thank you very much. She knew that this physical reaction to the fear of loss was sadly familiar. Just a few years ago, she would have berated herself for her weakness, for caring too much, for allowing herself to want something so deeply knowing that it could still be pulled away in a heartbeat. But she wasn't about to let him go because she was afraid of loss.

With a swallow and a shaky sigh, she got up and rinsed her mouth out, glancing up at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She looked haggard, older, like she was already grieving - she knew what grieving looked like on her face.

With a sharply inhaled breath, she shook herself, shaking off the darkness, calculating in her head. If the Enterprise was headed to the closest shipyard, it would be in the Sol system within two days.

Two days. She could wait two days. And then she would go to Jean-Luc.

She transported onto the Enterprise, and immediately she was struck by the lack of sound. No engine movement, a minimum of ambient noise since so many systems had been taken offline, and only the gentle hum of life support was evident in the transporter room. The transporter chief at the terminal nodded at her, flicking his eyes down to her pips, straightening at the presence of an admiral. Beverly smiled gently at his surprise.

"At ease, chief. I'm just here to meet a…friend."

As she slowly walked through the darkened corridors she saw very few crew. Those she saw were working in teams or carrying equipment, presumably for repairs, and they spared her no glances. It was strange to be back on a ship that felt so lifeless. Her steps were muted, nearly silent.

She stepped into the lift, realizing that she didn't know exactly where he would be, but she trusted her instincts. The lift rattled a bit on its journey, unsettling her. Then the doors opened, revealing a deserted bridge. The viewer was offline, grey and blank, consoles were dark, some with cracked surfaces, and dark soot streaked up the side wall as if there had been a fire or explosion. Carefully, she stepped out of the lift, continuing to look around, and then she saw him sitting in the command chair, staring at the darkened screen ahead.

He heard the lift doors open and assumed it was another clean up crew, one that would ignore him like the others did, leaving him to his thoughts, his internal musings. But there was no conversation from the team, no sounds of movement or repairs beginning, and he turned and looked behind him.

Beverly was walking slowly down the ramp, looking straight at him.

Surprised, he stood carefully, still favoring his right side, meeting her gaze. Her face was neutral, nervous, and she was in uniform, the blue admiral's uniform, this time, the one that made her eyes simply radiant. She met him in the middle of the silent bridge, stopping right in front of him. All he could hear was the sound of her breathing; there were no chirps, no ambient noise. A touch of fresh mint in the air, cutting through the dust and hint of metallic smoke still lingering throughout the bridge.

"You're hurt," she murmured, eyes flicking from the gash on his forehead to his shoulder and arm that he held out carefully from his body. He noticed that her hand flicked towards a non-existent tricorder in the pocket of her smock that she wasn't wearing, and his mouth quirked up in a slight smile.

"I thought I'd wait to be treated by my favorite doctor," he quietly stated, and her eyes flicked back up to meet his. Merde, she was lovely. He was never going to leave her side again.

Her brows lifted in surprise, and he realized that he had spoken out loud. He smiled, then, fully, and took her hand and kissed the back of it, then turned it over and pressed his lips against her palm, closing his eyes in contentment at her presence, hearing her quiet sigh and he felt her fingers cup his cheek and gently caress his face. When he opened his eyes, she was gazing at him, and her eyes were rimmed in red, but she was smiling at him.

"Welcome home, Jean-Luc."