AN: So, this one will be a few chapters. It's a sort of different take on the triad (so a different triad universe). I am really playing fast and loose with canon here, and I'm changing the timeline, etc. It's just for fun, so please keep that in mind.
I own nothing from Star Trek.
I hope you enjoy! If you do, please do let me know! (Also, please be aware that this first chapter really sets up backstory, but there will be a lot more character interaction going forward.)
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"Hold together…hold together…" Beverly coaxed. She laughed to herself when her latest feat of engineering—or rigging, as the case may be—worked. She felt a wave of satisfaction roll through her. "We don't need anybody, Baby."
Of course, that wasn't entirely true, but it was what Beverly had begun to tell herself. It would, she imagined, become her mantra throughout the rest of her life.
She was Beverly Crusher, and she was completely independent. She didn't need anybody. Anyone in the world could rely on her, when they needed her, but she…well…it was all bullshit, anyway, and she knew it.
Still, it was a comforting mantra sometimes.
"Just you and me, Kid," she teased, patting her abdomen. The "kid" in question was a baby that Beverly hadn't even carried eight full weeks yet. Already, though, she loved the child fiercely, and she would do anything to be sure that her baby made it—not just through the pregnancy. Her baby had to make it through everything.
And, if her child left her, she would let them go…for their own good, and as she'd done with Wesley…but she hoped that they wouldn't leave her. At least, she hoped they wouldn't leave her as thoroughly as it often felt that Wesley had.
Beverly did need others, but she was almost afraid to even admit that to herself, especially since it seemed as though she was at least a little doomed to be alone.
Many could argue that her current solitude and isolation was of her own making. They wouldn't be entirely wrong, of course, but she'd made the only decision that she'd felt like she could. She'd done what she felt like she had to do to save the child she carried.
She wasn't exactly sure the Eleos was the greatest safe haven imaginable, but it would have to do. For now, at least, the tiny little Phoenix class ship was home, and Beverly was determined to fix it up as much as she could and to learn how to make the repairs that it required, hopefully making it much better than it had been when the Mariposas—a medical group affiliated with the Fenris Rangers—had given it to Beverly as a vessel from which she could operate, and on which she could find refuge.
Beverly's baby was the child of no other than Jean-Luc Picard—Starfleet captain and, at times, it seemed, target for nearly every individual with a grudge or even a completely irrational desire to cause harm, be they human or some other species.
Jean-Luc Picard was also practically allergic to commitment and grounded domestic life, married to his job and duty, dedicated to his ship and crew, and not a fan of children.
He also happened to be the greatest love of Beverly's life, but that was neither here nor there.
She had been entirely certain they were breaking up—again. Their relationship had been on again and off again for so long that it was almost comical. In fact, Jean-Luc had laughed, more than once, when they talked about the "last time" that they'd gotten involved—or re-involved—only to end up breaking up once more, usually because of the same kinds of hurdles that they seemed to never quite get over.
Beverly loved Jean-Luc, and she had no doubt that Jean-Luc loved her. She wasn't sure, though, if Jean-Luc could love her enough. She wasn't sure if he could love her more than Starfleet and the stars. And she wasn't sure if she could ask him to love her like that—not given how much she did love him.
Their last night together was supposed to be just that. It was a last night. It was a memory. She was supposed to take away, from that final night spent holding each other, nothing more than the wonderful memories of the last time that she made love to the man that she loved so dearly. She'd been sure that they would continue to work together, but she'd determined, then, that she wasn't going to let them get re-involved. Five times, after all, was really enough. What kind of record was she going for, after all?
She hadn't known that she'd be carrying away the little fugitive that had clearly "boarded" without permission.
Now, of course, she wouldn't change a thing, but all the blood had felt like it ran out of her body and to her feet when she'd first read "pregnant" on the tricorder. She'd already known, somehow. Something deep down in her had seemed to know so early—too early, really, from a medical perspective. Still, she'd slid down the wall and tucked her head between her knees when she'd first read the tricorder. She'd sat there, a long time, and simply got her bearings.
First, she'd realized that she couldn't stand the idea of Jean-Luc being with her only because of some feeling of obligation or duty. She couldn't stand knowing, or even believing, that he might resent her for his loss of freedom.
Then, she'd realized that Jean-Luc Picard's child would spend its entire life with a target on its back. Everyone that had some reason to go after Jean-Luc would turn to his child. They would use the child as a way to manipulate him in ways that they couldn't when it had only been himself at risk.
Beverly couldn't let that happen. She couldn't lose her child.
And to avoid that loss, she'd made the choice to, essentially, forsake all others in her life. She'd made the choice to lose them, in order to save her child.
It had been the hardest choice she'd ever made.
Beverly had immediately resigned her commission with Starfleet. She'd packed up what she had. She'd left without saying anything to anyone that she knew, and she'd ignored all communications since. She might, someday, be in touch, but she wasn't ready yet. She hadn't yet decided how much communication and contact was safe.
She'd signed on, immediately, with the Mariposas, and she'd started a new life—of sorts.
The Fenris Rangers and the Mariposas operated together. The Rangers handled what Beverly typically thought of as practically hopeless situations, and hopeless situations often came with medical tragedies that, more often than not, were almost as hopeless as the situations themselves.
Most of the people who worked with the Mariposas were stationed in general areas of need. They moved from one place to another, as the need arose, but they tended to have areas that were designated to them. They would remain in one place for however long it took to handle certain situations.
One of their common jobs was setting up medical camps in different locations. Often, the places where they offered care were little more than tent cities, but they were more than the people they were helping had before their arrival.
Still, the nature of those practices—particularly the fact that they tended to stay in the same area or very close to it—made Beverly uncomfortable. Few people knew that she was pregnant. Those who did, didn't know who was the father of her child, and most hadn't asked. If they had asked, Beverly either avoided the question or lied and said that her overwhelming desire for motherhood had driven her to seek nontraditional methods for conceiving a child. She'd left them to muddle through that, since few would ask questions beyond that.
Beverly worried, though, that staying in one place would make her vulnerable. It would make her child vulnerable. The only way she could stay in one place would be if she found a place that she believed was a true safe haven, and she hadn't found that yet.
She had a somewhat irrational fear that people knew—or would figure out—that Jean-Luc was the father of her baby, and she felt that she had to constantly be on guard against that happening or against the attack that she'd feared since she'd first realized that any child of Jean-Luc's might become a target.
Of course, she hadn't explained her fear in so many words to the Mariposas or the Rangers, and nobody had really asked for an in-depth explanation. Most of the people involved in both organizations were running from something or, at the very least, hiding something. Few people asked too many probing questions.
Beverly had been given the Eleos, and she'd been given the job to function as an "on-call" ship working directly under the Fenris Rangers. She ran the entire ship by herself—from communications to engineering. There was a learning curve, of course, but Beverly was actually feeling quite proud of her own adaptability.
"Alright—now let's repair that loose panel," Beverly said to the baby that she spoke to all the time, despite the fact that she knew that it couldn't yet hear her. She gathered up what she needed from her toolkit and started toward the panel that she'd ignored a thousand times now. She was stopped, though, when her communication chip chirped. "Shit," she murmured. It was the Rangers. She knew that without even answering—it was her Ranger communication chip, after all.
"Come in," she said, activating it.
"Crusher, you're in the area," a familiar voice said. Beverly smiled to herself. She wasn't entirely alone, perhaps. She was, at the very least, getting to know some of the people with whom she worked.
"Mirah?" She asked.
"Beverly," Mirah said, as way of a confirmation. Mirah was a Borandonite, and she'd worked with the Rangers for as long as the organization had been in action. Beverly was fond of the woman, and she often ended up crossing paths with her. "You have nothing else in progress."
Borandonites had a tendency to make all their questions sound like statements. This made them very good at command positions.
"What is it this time, Mirah?" Beverly asked.
"You know about the Romulan unrest," Mirah said.
Beverly nearly laughed. They were all calling it the Romulan unrest, but that was an absolutely ridiculous name for what was currently happening.
There was about to be a supernova that would destroy Romulus and the surrounding planets. This was an event that would cause chaos under the best conditions, but the current conditions were anything but the best. The Federation had promised the Romulan Empire the means to move its people to safety. However, just a few days before, there had been a problem on Mars in which the synthetic beings that worked there had turned rogue. In a series of events, the Romulan rescue armada had been destroyed, among other things, and Starfleet had essentially made the announcement that they would no longer be able to help the Romulans.
Some Romulans, of course, would still be able to save themselves. They were leaving in every kind of vessel possible. Anyone sympathetic to Romulans and willing to try to stop the destruction of the species, essentially, was joining forces to move Romulans to safety, where they might create new colonies.
The leaders of the Romulan Empire, however, seemed to find this the perfect moment to collectively lose their reason and sanity. They had attacked many vessels that had come to help. There had been reports of attacks on individuals who had come to offer aid and rescue. There were even reports that they were turning on each other.
Staring death in the face caused individuals to act quite unpredictably.
"I've heard about it," Beverly said, somewhat teasing with the Borandonite that laughed—at least in the way that Borandonites laughed.
"On the colony of Mirtok III, the Rangers were called in because the Tal Shiar had begun slaying their own people," Mirah said.
"Par for the course, these days," Beverly said. She wasn't making light of the situation, really. She'd been called about a number of these situations since absolute chaos had broken out. Very few of the people she'd been called to treat had survived. Those that had were being transferred to the safety of the fledgling colonies where they had a chance to regain their health with the help of their own people. Treating Romulans, after all, was difficult for a variety of reasons.
"On Mirtok III, they were slaying the 'less desirables,'" Mirah said. "Children and elderly, mostly. They were lessening the population for the good of the strong."
"Fewer Romulans means more available space on each transport ship," Beverly filled in. Without waiting for more information from Mirah, she'd already set in a course for Mirtok III. They would never save all the Romulans, but Beverly couldn't let herself simply stand by and wait for the loss of so many lives. She liked keeping involved and busy. It wasn't much, but—at least until the supernova—she could feel like she was doing something to save as many lives as possible. "Survivors?"
"Some of the Tal Shiar's own turned in this attack," Mirah said. "Many of them didn't survive, but we have a handful of survivors."
"I've already set in a course," Beverly said.
"Beverly—it's not good," Mirah said.
Beverly nodded, even though Mirah couldn't see her.
"But it'll be better once I'm there," she said. "Keep as many of them breathing as you can. Reach out to transports to move the stable ones to the Romulan colonies. My ETA is less than fifteen minutes."
