Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any of it's characters.
A/N: Got some details wrong probably but whatever also Wesley is 17 or 18 or even 16 cuz idk what timeline makes sense, I just really wanted to write this. Please review but only nice things please.
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"Well, that's that I suppose." Picard said, bringing the meeting to a close. Uninspired faces muttered farewells as they rose and left the briefing room. Wesley sat slightly stunned, his mouth unknowingly agape.
"Ok.." he said under his breath like a question, surprised at the lack of interest about the events that had been most impactful to him. He walked slowly down to ten forward as he looked down to the skin on his right hand, while his left held a pad full of scramblings and a sloppy mission report. He tucked it under his arm and felt the texture of his palm that he'd withheld from a dermal regenerator.
It didn't effect his work so he didn't care. What did effect his work however, was the drifting thoughts and memories that prevailed over duty. Back to the beginning he'd wander, in his mind only now and his sole concern apparently.
(flash back begins)
His white finger tips gripped the dusty copper cliff he sat upon. Tufts of tall green grass speckled the land, hanging above water so deeply blue as it created blinding reflections of the sun that shone on its surface. As the hours deepened, the sun resided behind clouds of black.
A tempest beckoned him up and outward. He envisioned his bodies weight falling from him as his feet dangled above the ripples and current. He'd pass dry sand and boundary, meeting the tumultuous waves that threatened his weakness with its omnipotence. The storm might not have made it to land to meet him, and so he felt he must initiate the introduction. He would come into the crux of the hardest rain under the blackest cloud where he'd find seclusion in the pandemonium and say, "I am the one who watches you each break of day and begs to join the life within your clutches that tempts me with sanctuary. You are the asylum that coaxes me passed the shore and into your emotionless yet passionionate waters and winds."
He envied it's self loyalty and consistency. It's lack of caution around anything or anyone else. Unbridled hunger, erupting with rage that ate ships and men in it's unquenchable bloodlust. Unconquerable, and wholly without responsibility. Unlike him in every way except the fury that sat on the oceans surface and was likewise buried in his chest.
He nearly fell as he was perched on the edge of the hanging rocks that pushed him away from the freezing salt air he needed to feel on his cheeks and in his throat. He'd sat here since 0500 hours. His pulse ran slow, almost still. His stomach growled, and suddenly he was walking back in search of something warm. The village their mission sent them to was much like one that would have existed on Earth, Japan specifically, in the early 1800's. The villagers depended on the marina theyd built their town around, and it was lovely.
These foreign guest quarters were like his own on the enterprise though much more primitive and a much less celestial view. Coping with new traditions of obscure cultures sometimes proved intolerable, though other times like this, a quite gratifying experience. He moved to the sink, stiffening his arms as he gripped the edges, thinking about his next step.
"Oh yea, food.." he mumbled. The empty cupboards sent him out into the night where he found a merciful shop owner, a little passed closed. His sleeves protected his hands from the hot bowl of mysterious stew. His eyes wandered his worried mind more than the cobblestone beneath his feet. The scraping of gravel bellowed through the empty street, other than the sound of tired birds, staying up late to circle the profitless sea and coo.
His cheeks were tight with frigid air. His nose freezing and his ears stinging from the constant frozen breeze. His eyes watered and the air on this planet made his throat hurt. He could only imagine what sort of a mouthful Picard and Riker were holding back right now. They were probably being served a nice little meal right now in their own room. Or perhaps they were forgotten too. He knew they were invited here but also that this mission was to be done stealthily. Either way, he was grateful for the heat that he could feel down his throat and in his belly.
Most of the landing party was placed sporadically throughout the small village-like city. They were to simply observe the behavior of the people to find out who was spreading the drug that was causing more than a disturbance in the community. They were very morally evolved and substances of any kind were just not a part of their culture. They also didn't know how it was being spread but they did know what it did. It was a very stealth effect that took a subtle creep upon your impulses and ran away with them. You'd find yourself chasing deep desires without trepidation.
Though Wesley hadn't known, but it had entered not only his system but three other crewman that had consumed any kind of spice. All spices were sold from the single marketplace and circulated all throughout. Theyd find the guilty party and discover their intentions but right now it's 12 hours before they'd have a clue and Wesley was starting to boil. At the first odd feeling he stopped in his tracks. Food resting unchewed in his mouth as he sprawled a hand over his chest and looked at the half empty bowl he now seriously questioned. He tossed it in an abandoned fire that weezed in an oil drum.
He fanned the fire and stood sleepless in its mellow flame as he watched the ocean swell some more. The glow of a purple-red sun reflected upon it, reminding Wesley of the planets brief nights. He sulked a bit, thinking he had more time and grieving the missed sleep. His gaze followed the buoys to the ship yard and his feircly quick step shocked him awake. He was practically running with an oddly clear plan in mind. A ship caught his attention and he hid below deck just as its crew began to board. The sun hadnt risen like thought as black storm clouds began to erupt.
His heart dropped as he heard the order screamed to shove off. A small moment of clarity overcame him as he pulled at the hair on his head in stress and self hating confusion. The sound of boots hitting the steps made him freeze, his fingers releasing their grip and his breath coming to a halt. The door swung just as he took a running step. His eyes pierced Wesleys chest, the anger steaming from his mouth in a cloud of vapor. He grabbed him by the collar and yelled something about a stow away. He tossed him into the brig as he laughed at him. A few other men trickled down to see what the man was yelling about.
Wesleys mind was on the phaser he'd left on the bed. One of the men, a skinny shifty creature, commented on the luminescent turquoise irises apparently in Wesleys eyes, calling him a foreigner and basically a freak. Wesley figured he'd heard wrong but in fact it was a side effect. He shared the rusty cell with piles of coal. He was shoved into it just as the door slammed closed on him. His hands protected his body from the fall but they bled against the jagged edges. The men's laughter stopped as they heard an uproar of commands above deck that Wesley desperately tried to decifer. They ran back up the stairs, leaving the wooden door swinging open, back and forth.
He could hear the panic in each stomp above his head. His heart slammed into the walls of his chest, beating so hard his vision was blurry. He rubbed his face, snapping himself out of it. His nose and cheeks even redder now and the tears in his eyes just convenient. His hair a mess, going all different directions and the black coal dust smeared across his cheek.
As the door continued to fly open and shut he pressed his face to the bars, listening for any words he could make out. But the metal was cold and he couldn't understand anything. He slumped his tense shoulders back down realizing it was probably in his head. The calm went as quickly as it came when he saw water spilling down the steps.
"HEY!" he screamed hoarsley. He pleaded for someone to take a moment to unlock his cell as he heard the sound of bodies hitting the water. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried, but suddenly he was overwhelmed by the emotions he'd normally have but they were ten times stronger. Something was wrong with him since he'd been out walking that night, he knew that much. But now only the circumstance at hand occupied his mind.
The water was up to his knees as he scrambled looking for any kind of exit. His head barely fit through the port hole in which he swore violently under his breath. The oak slipped beneath his gripless fingertips. A final and brutal toss of the ship was enough to turn it on its side for good. Wesleys face knocked into the steel rim before his back crashed against the bars and the wall became the ceiling. He spit blood that pulsed from the right side of his mouth where he was now missing a tooth.
Water now climbing his neck, he began to question how he came to be in this position. What had caused his inhibitions to desert him and leave such hubris in its absence? It didn't matter now, he was most likely lying in his resting place. So why was he so calm? He pondered the idea and realized he had faced his mortality so many times and always came out unscathed. He felt almost impervious to death, if that made any sense. He took three deep breaths and held the last one before he was overtaken.
As the ship sank, it fell apart upon rocks, sending Wesley out into the deep. His weightless body vanished from the yellow green light of dying lanterns. His long legs were the last to fall to the sand. It was soft and warm against the nearly frozen water that stung so cold he was nearly unconscious. He dug his hands into it, grappling at the last shred of light before he'd succumb to eternal dark. He had pictured this before oddly enough. Though not quite so cold and not so scared. In fact it was a feeling that went far beyond panic, a feeling that he'd been proved wrong and there wasn't going to be a miracle. He also had the strange notion that he'd have no craving for breath.
"Idiot.." was the last thought before he gave in. His head fell against the sea floor while blood floated from his mouth, up toward the light. Wesleys deluded mind thought more hopelessly than normal, or he'd have thought about the likelihood that Picard and the crew knew his location and had gathered upon the scene with the rest of the small town. Riker was half way down to him when he had already casted his faith into the same grave as his optimism. He held the boy by his arms, looking for the source of blood and a sign of life. He propelled them off and up to the surface. It was so incredibly deep, the only way he made it was with such absolute determination. Buckets of rain pelted the waves above them.
His chest swelled with anguish and unreleased sobs he used pride to suppress. He yanked him feircly on to the shore by his wrist, dragging the rest of him through the sand and foam. Ice fragments formed on Wesleys clothes and in his hair. Blood still flowed down his chin making Rikers tears much harder to suppress. Anybody else had no such kind of effect on him, though Wesley was so young and never asked for all that came with the job he was set up for, almost forcibly obligated to do. Confidentially, he felt resonsible for the boy. He pulled Wesley into his chest, wrapping his enormous arms around him, swallowing the lump of pride in his throat and letting his emotion flow off his face into Wesleys uniform.
The crew had run up to them as they came ashore, watching the scene unfold in horror and anxiety. So much fear drove any thought of treatment or resuscitation out of their thoughts. Wesleys hands faintly grabbed his own wrists behind Rikers back as he coughed the water from his lungs. His head stayed resting on his shoulder as he took his time opening his eyes. Thick vapor blew from his lips, rising into the cloud they sat in. His skin pricked white by the chill. His torso red with blood scrambling to keep him warm. The luminescence of his irises shocked the crew beyond reason. Now the dots were connecting and worry faded as his lucidity returned.
Now Wesley was back on duty left studying his scars and floating from place to place with his thoughts to carry him. A fog of memory sat above his head, distracting him into an absent-minded state. He found himself staying up late these past couple nights. Tonight, he stood alone in engineering trying to catch up. He was shocked by someone else's presence shuffling towards him. Riker stood in front of Wesley, bags under his eyes. They exchanged a pitiful look that said they'd both been thinking about it. For lack of the right words, Wesley plopped back down into his seat.
Rikers mutual feelings sat him down next to Wesley, chin in hand watching Wesley work. They shared conversation like brothers, no formality or courtesy, and it wasn't expected. He ended his work with a sigh as he stood slowly, rolling his head for the ache in his neck. Riker stretched his back with a yawn while Wesley gathered his things.
"Well.." Wesley said, dropping his shoulders in a pause to look him in the eye. "Night."
Riker nodded. They stood for a moment before Riker shrugged and pulled Wesley into a hug. Wesley smiled while they slapped eachother on the back to avoid it being too mushy. Riker pushed him away roughly with a sweet grin and a good night. Wesley looked down at the belongings in his hands while Riker walked away. He looked back up to the ceiling with a heavy sigh, very ready for sleep. He turned to leave as well, intent on just that, touching the archway above the door on his way for no purpose in the world. Down the corridor he came to a conclusion. He was lured by the sea because he found comfort in what they had in common and was envious by what they didn't. But now that he'd been a victim of it, he was starting to hate them both. But nothing about the ocean had changed, it was just as he knew it was before. Though he was not so confined as he had sentience and the will to extinguish the rage that burned within. He needn't feel fury at his circumstances nor feel that he could not change them. His thoughts halted as his nose began to drip. No wonder he felt so warm and his feet felt extra heavy. What a perfect excuse not to come into work tomorrow.