AN: This is another little episode rewrite from my project.
I own nothing from Star Trek.
I hope you enjoy! If you do, please do let me know!
111
Jean-Luc was on the verge of losing everything: his ship, his crew, his life…his family.
In a twist of irony that wasn't lost on him, the thing that hurt the most was losing his family.
Jean-Luc Picard would have never identified himself as a family man. In fact, he was more something of an anti-family man. There wasn't room in a starship captain's life for family and home. There wasn't time and enough excess energy and attention for a wife and children.
That was, of course, until Beverly Crusher had admitted that she felt the same for him that he felt for her—that he had felt for her since practically the moment that he'd laid eyes on her, though he never would have admitted that while she was married to his best friend, Jack—and she'd absolved him from any guilt that he felt over having been Jack's commanding officer at the time of his death and, essentially, leaving her a widow.
Their relationship was still somewhat new, according to some, and it had progressed quickly. That, of course, was mostly what people thought because they didn't know that Jean-Luc's heart had spent all these years loving Beverly. It hardly needed too much time to settle into things, once the groundwork was laid.
They'd dated in what some called a whirlwind relationship—confessing their feelings to each other to Starfleet and essentially begging both forgiveness and the permission to remain in their professional positions with the understanding, of course, that they would have to be professional when on duty—and they'd married soon after in a simple and private ceremony aboard the ship.
They hadn't even had a honeymoon yet—not a proper one.
It looked like, now, they would never have the opportunity to do so.
The lack of a proper honeymoon, however, hadn't stopped them from working on their marriage. Jean-Luc had become a family man practically overnight, dedicating what little free time he had to his wife and the son she'd had with Jack. Jean-Luc was determined to be the best stepfather he could be to Wesley. After all, it was the only thing that he could really to do for Jack, and he still felt a little like he had things to make up for regarding Jack's death and the circumstances of his family.
In record time, too, they had come to discover that they were expecting a brand-new little Picard. The baby in question was so new that anyone who didn't know of its existence would think only that Beverly's uniform was a bit too tight for her, and that she ought to consider replicating another a size up, if she wasn't driven to bring her weight back down to what it had been before.
The little one couldn't yet be felt by Jean-Luc, though he did spend a decent amount of the quiet time that he spent with his wife resting a palm over the slight show of their child and hoping for the day that he could detect its existence. Beverly, however, had reported that she could sense the gentle fluttering of the littlest Picard—and, soon, she was sure the baby would put on a special performance for its papa.
The whole of the Enterprise knew about the baby, of course. Jean-Luc had always thought that he'd never be a family man. He'd thought that he'd certainly never be a father. But, once he had seemed destined to have all those things, he'd found that he wanted to embrace them. He'd been anxious to share the news, and Beverly hadn't asked him to wait.
Now, it seemed, he may never feel their little one move.
They may never make it to the day when they welcomed the child, and he learned how to be a father—beyond what little practice Wesley allowed him at his age—and Jean-Luc found himself able to say that a starship captain truly could have it all.
Jean-Luc was on the verge of losing everything.
And it felt, honestly, as though it was slowly shredding everything inside of him.
All he could do, though, was maintain the best outward appearance that he could. By remaining calm and steadfast—or at least appearing to be so—in the face of death, he could help to keep those around him calm. It was the last thing that he could give to any of them.
When the power finally ran out, they would all die.
The truth was, they would all die before that. As the power slowly shut down to one piece of the ship or another, and as different supports gave out, they would all slowly start succumbing to one death or another. Those who were more sensitive to temperature might go that way. Those who had breathing problems or required very specific oxygen concentrations might go that way.
In the end, they would all go.
And the only positive that Jean-Luc could find, when he thought about it all, was that, at least, the pain inside of him would end when, finally, he lost his life.
At least, he thought, he would go first. At least he could hopefully count on Beverly to stay below, tending to the families as they slowly let go of their lives, and he wouldn't have to see her go. He would go before her. He would know, of course, in his heart that she was following him, but at least he would die still knowing that she continued to exist in this world. It was, perhaps, the greatest bit of selfishness that Jean-Luc could allow himself at the moment.
"I've diverted the reserve power to the family decks. They'll last longest. Is there anything else we can do, Doctor?" Jean-Luc said, finding Beverly down among the members of the crew's families.
Beverly finished what she was doing, and she followed him as he gestured toward a semi-private corner to have a moment alone with her.
Beverly hugged herself, perhaps out of anxiety, and perhaps from the cold. As the temperatures all over the ship continued to drop, everyone was starting to feel the chill.
"There's nothing to do now but wait, Jean-Luc, and try to keep everyone as calm as possible," Beverly said.
Jean-Luc nodded his head.
"We're allowing everyone that isn't essential to spend as much time as possible with their families," Jean-Luc said.
"The decks will be crowded," Beverly said.
"Good for warmth," Jean-Luc said.
"Bad for oxygen," Beverly said.
"It will give out, eventually, at any rate," Jean-Luc said.
"Oxygen levels are already noticeably lower," Beverly said. Jean-Luc nodded his understanding.
"Keep them as comfortable as you can," Jean-Luc said. "I suppose it's as you say—that's all that can be done now. Where's Wesley?"
Beverly sighed.
"He's in his room in our quarters…his quarters, now," she said.
"I understand," Jean-Luc said softly, dismissing her need to explain that she sometimes still slipped up and referred to her old quarters—the ones she occupied before their marriage, and which Wesley still occupied—as her quarters.
She gave him only a slightly apologetic look with her eyes, which he tried to erase with a look of his own, and she sighed again.
"I was tempted to give him a sedative," she said.
Jean-Luc's chest ached. This felt like a fresh burst of pain—something like a punch to the sternum.
Beverly was probably far less concerned with her own loss of life than she was with the loss of her children's lives—both of them.
Despite being on duty, and despite the belief that they had to maintain professionalism, Jean-Luc touched Beverly's face tenderly. He wished he could erase her worry and her sorrow. He would carry all of it, for her, if such a thing were possible.
Instead, he simply leaned and quickly and softly touched his lips to hers. She tried to deepen the kiss, but he pulled back, aware of the proximity of an audience. Immediately, he wondered if that were a move that he would regret for the rest of his life—however short that might end up being.
"You shouldn't give him a sedative," Jean-Luc said. "Especially if he has requested otherwise."
"I know, but he's my son. I love him," Beverly said.
Jean-Luc tried to reassure her with a smile, knowing that nothing he could say or do would actually help her.
"I know, Beverly, but he has the right to meet death awake," Jean-Luc said.
Jean-Luc saw the flash of anger across her features—a flash that would have, perhaps, amused him any other time.
"Is that a male perspective?" She challenged.
"Rubbish," Jean-Luc responded equally as quickly as she'd met him with the sharp remark. He reached his hand out and massaged her shoulder. She relaxed slowly. "You are angry at the situation, Beverly. Not me. And I accept that. If releasing some of your frustration on me will help you to be more comfortable, I will accept anything that you need me to. But—you are not angry at me."
Beverly sighed again and softened.
"No," she said, her voice catching slightly. "I'm not angry at you, Jean-Luc. And if it were just us…"
"I understand," Jean-Luc said. "Better than you may even believe that I might." He lowered his voice and leaned his head, pressing his forehead to hers. He kept his voice barely above a whisper, maintaining what little privacy they could hope to have. "My sadness is more than you might imagine or even believe. Our little one…"
"No movement for an hour, at least," Beverly said.
"You don't think…" Jean-Luc said, his throat catching.
They would all die. There was no way around it. Still, somehow, he wanted to believe that he might be the first to go. He might never have to face the loss of his family.
Beverly sensed that, perhaps, or else she was being genuine. She gave him a reassuring smile.
"I've been busy," she said. "The baby always sleeps the best when I'm busy."
Jean-Luc nodded his head.
"You will—return to Wesley's quarters?" Jean-Luc asked. "Or—stay here with the families…"
He dared not say "until the end," because he couldn't face the end for Beverly.
"I'll be on the bridge," Beverly said. "I'm the Chief Medical Officer. It's my place to be on the bridge, doing what I can for the senior officers until the end. My team will handle things here."
"And if I ordered you to stay below?" Jean-Luc asked.
She raised an eyebrow at him and gave him that smile—one of the many that he would want to hold onto forever, one that he hoped his mind's eye showed him in his final seconds.
"Then, I would disobey your orders, Captain," Beverly said. "And I would gladly face my punishment later."
"I couldn't bare to see you…" Jean-Luc said. He stopped.
"And what about me, and what I could bare?" Beverly challenged.
"I think we both know that, in many ways, you are the stronger of us," Jean-Luc admitted.
Beverly accepted his words and nodded gently.
"Then—I will just have to hold on, Jean-Luc, for you," Beverly said. "But—I will be there."
Jean-Luc nodded his acceptance.
"Fine," he said. "I am returning to the bridge."
"I'll make sure everything here is as well-done as it can be, and that everyone is as prepared as I can help them be," Beverly said. "Then, I'll be there."
"Am I permitted to say, despite the fact that we are not quite alone, that…I love you, Beverly?"
"If you aren't, I'll accept my punishment for public displays of affection, later, as well," Beverly said. She pulled him to her and kissed him with meaning. He was short of breath when the kiss broke, and he wasn't prepared to blame that on environmental factors. "I love you, Jean-Luc," she said, when he brushed a finger against her face and tried to commit it solidly to memory, so that he could hold onto it as everything else went dark.
He pressed a palm to her belly.
She laughed quietly—the kind of insincere laugh he'd learned that she sometimes used to try to make herself appear and sound more positive than she genuinely felt. She covered his hand with her own.
"Fear not," she said. "The child is only sleeping."
111
Jean-Luc floated up from what felt like a heavy dream. As he slowly became aware of his body again, he became aware, first, of the weight of it. Then, the weight seemed to lessen. He felt cold, but he breathed in and felt, for the first time in some time, that his lungs filled as they should.
Slowly, his brain felt less foggy.
"Beverly…"
He didn't say it. He didn't have the presence of mind, perhaps, or even the ability to say it, but his mind said it.
He turned and found her, reclined in the seat beside him, clearly coming back around but unable to fully pull herself up yet. Her strength, like his, would come back slowly as she got more oxygen.
She sat up enough to reach him. She touched his face and turned it fully toward him. She smiled at him, softly, and he believed this smile.
"Not a moment too soon, Jean. I mean, Captain," she said.
Jean-Luc smiled at her. They were alive. And since he'd rerouted the power from this area, if they were alive, they hadn't lost life support, entirely, on the lower decks where the families and everyone else would have been waiting for the end.
Jean-Luc wasn't going to lose his life, his ship, or his family.
"Thank the heavens," he said, returning Beverly's smile.
Around him, everyone was coming back into consciousness from where they'd started the slow descent toward a final slumber. Soon, everyone the ship would be awake again. There would be a debriefing. There would be resolution—and life as usual.
But, for just one moment, everyone was thankful for their lives and the lives of those around them—family, even where blood wasn't concerned.
Beverly sat up and found her tricorder.
"The baby?" Jean-Luc asked, indulging his own concerns for one moment longer, before he turned his attention fully back to being the captain.
Beverly scanned herself and smiled before showing him the readout on the tricorder screen.
"I'll keep a check on things, but…the baby is only sleeping," Beverly said with a smile.
"Permit me to—break protocol once more?" Jean-Luc asked, teasing.
"I don't think anyone will object," Beverly said.
She leaned toward him as he moved toward her, accepting the kiss he offered. There would be time for more. Now, it seemed, there would be time for everything else. There would be a future for all of them.
In the moment, though, the kiss would say all that Jean-Luc needed it to say.
He was glad to keep the things most precious to him—and he was glad, deep down, that he had been so unmistakably shown what those things were.
Now, of course, his challenge was the challenge of every man—to never take any of it for granted again.