Past, Present, Future

by the ramblin rose

Jean-Luc wasn't going to squander any other opportunities for happiness—life was too short and too precious for that.

AN: Has this been done a thousand times? Yes. Have I done variations of it? Yes. Will I do more? Probably so. I watched "The Inner Light" last night, and I just needed to write this. There's no real merit to it beyond that. It's just for fun. There may be other pieces added to it in the future. Beverly is present in emotion and discussion in this first piece, but she is not physically present.

I own nothing from Star Trek.

I hope you enjoy! If you do, please do let me know!

111

Half their home was in boxes and bags. Their home—because it was their home. The Château had only rarely truly felt like Jean-Luc's home—he'd always preferred, really, to make his home elsewhere, but it had become home. Laris made it home for him and, it seemed, she was set on making it even more so a home.

But that would come later. For now, a temporary home awaited them on Chaltok IV, where Laris would work in conjunction with Starfleet and the Romulan colony there to establish diplomatic security.

For now, the Château would stand empty—the vineyard still occupied by the workers that would come in and out each day and keep it going—and wait for their return.

While it waited, furniture would be covered in sheets and drop cloths to keep the dust off. Things that needed to be cleaned or repaired would be sent off for just that. A cleaning crew would come through for a truly thorough and deep clean, so that they would come home to find the place in even better shape than Laris' nearly tireless efforts kept it.

And, when they came home, they would turn their attention to the future in a very real way.

The guest room closest to their room would no longer be a guest room. It would get a fresh coat of paint and a brand-new rug in soft colors. It would get new furniture—small, delicate furniture. For the first time in his life—his real life—Jean-Luc would stand in the middle of a nursery and know that it would someday belong to his progeny.

Jean-Luc sat at his desk and rearranged items, choosing what he would bring to their small space on Chaltok IV—what he couldn't live without, for the time that they were gone—and what he would leave here for their return when Laris' job was done.

Jean-Luc heard the approach of Laris. Her footsteps, to him, had become familiar. Even with the hustle and bustle of people in and out of the Château doing one job or another, Jean-Luc could identify hers—especially when she wasn't trying to camouflage them to move secretly through the hallways.

He turned and smiled at her as she walked in the room. He held his arms out toward her, inviting her to come to him. Even though she wasn't one for too much smothering affection, as she called it, she indulged him from time to time.

This was one of those times. Laris came straight to him, arms open, and he let her step between his legs so that he could hug her close to him. She folded in tightly around him, for a moment, and he held her with his eyes closed.

"You're going to miss these things," Laris said, clearly referencing the items scattered around his desk—some of which were going in boxes for discarding or giving away. Jean-Luc had noticed, though, that since he'd started cleaning out his things, Laris had been moving more and more of them to "storage" instead of simply letting him remove items from his past.

"No," Jean-Luc said. "They are…just things. And trivial things, at that. Trinkets."

"Trinkets of a life well-lived," Laris said. She pulled out of the hug, but didn't pull far from him. She leaned on his desk, next to him. "Jean-Luc…I don't like you giving everything away."

He laughed to himself.

"I've hardly given anything away. You won't let me. Remember?"

"I don't want you giving away something you love," Laris said. "I don't want you to have regrets. Besides—I've heard things about humans and…when they begin to let go of all the things they loved in their lives…"

Jean-Luc felt his throat tighten. Laris was worried about him. She always worried about him. Sometimes, he teased her that the only person in the house that was rarely ever worried about was Laris, herself, and, for that reason, Jean-Luc had to make it his purpose to worry about her.

"I am hardly letting go of all the things I love in my life," Jean-Luc said. He reached his hand toward her and pulled her toward him again. Still somewhat leaning against the edge of the desk, she slid closer to him. "On the contrary. I am keeping the most important things."

He placed his hand on her abdomen. The tiny show there was nothing that anyone who didn't know Laris' body intimately would even notice. Jean-Luc knew it was there, though. He knew that the pants she was wearing were a little tighter than they ever had been before. He knew that she favored the pants with elastic, now, in a way that she hadn't. He knew that their little one, being half-Romulan, required a longer-than-human time to bake to perfection, as Laris teased the little one was doing, but he knew that it was there and it was slowly growing.

Laris smiled softly and placed her hand over Jean-Luc's.

"You can say what you want, Jean-Luc, but you can't fool me," Laris said. "You're going to miss the Château. You're going to miss your things—being surrounded by them. By coming with me to Chaltok-IV, I feel I'm asking a lot of you."

"Nonsense," Jean-Luc said quickly, dismissing her comment. "I'm looking forward to it. And—you don't know how long you'll be gone. I hardly want you there, alone, for so long."

"It may only be a couple of weeks," Laris said.

"And it may be months," Jean-Luc countered.

She smiled at him.

"I can take care of myself, Jean-Luc," she said, gently. She patted his hand, which he still hadn't moved from her small show of a tummy. "And the haedl."

Jean-Luc smiled at the Romulan word for baby—their pet name for the little one, whom they had kept largely a secret between them so far.

"I don't want to miss the haedl's life, Laris," Jean-Luc admitted. "Any of it."

Laris drew in a breath, hummed, and nodded her head. Her soft smile didn't fade. Jean-Luc could tell, though, that she wasn't entirely sold on the idea that he would be happy accompanying her to Chaltok IV and leaving behind—what? The house that they would return to? The house that would be far too large, and empty, and hollow feeling without her? The trinkets—because that's what they were—that would mean nothing if they were truly all he had left in his life?

Jean-Luc swallowed against the return of the earlier tightness in his throat.

"Because while you're running around setting up diplomatic security, I'm going to sip Saurian brandy and think about writing my memoir," he added, in an attempt to further convince her.

She stood up and walked around to the side of his desk. She leaned in toward him, her palms on the desk.

"Jean-Luc, you don't need to prove to me how ready you are for this. How in the present you are. The past matters, and that's okay," she said. She picked up an item from his desk—an item that he had actually found packed among his things a few years before. He'd been cleaning a few things out—or saying that he would do so—and he'd come back across it.

It had opened the door for some very honest communication between Laris and himself.

He reached and took the musical instrument from her hands. He held it and turned it around, looking at it. He'd studied it a thousand times before.

Once, although it had only happened like a dream, he'd lived another life—a full life. He'd been a husband, and a father, and even a grandfather. He'd known a life where he wasn't a starship captain chasing adventure among the stars. He'd been grounded, so to speak, and he'd enjoyed what others said made their lives full—things that he'd been afraid of, honestly, for most of his life, and things that he'd denied he'd ever know, want, or need.

He'd denied himself a full life out of fear; he realized now. He'd said no to marriage and children, and to a life that might have made him very happy. He'd been sure that he could have one or the other, never stopping to imagine that he might be able to have some mix of both, since he was still a man who struggled with a tendency to think in absolutes.

He had denied himself a chance at life with Beverly—the woman that, though she hadn't been the first he'd ever loved, had been the one he'd loved most and longest.

Even upon waking from the dream, with the taste of an entirely different life—a very happy one—still lingering on his tongue, he'd found himself too much a coward to tell her the truth. He ached to have that life with her, or at least the version of it that they could find for themselves among the stars.

But that was decades ago, and Beverly had left his life, completely and without looking back. Her message had been clear, and her silence had been deafening.

Laris knew about Jean-Luc's past lives, and his past loves. He knew about hers. They accepted each other, as they were now, and they looked forward to a future together.

This was about the future, and Jean-Luc was determined not to keep making the same mistakes that he'd made before.

"Laris, these things from my past…they are so dear to me." He looked at her, and she was still smiling softly. He couldn't help but mirror that tender smile. He loved her. She wasn't his first love. She wasn't Beverly, and she knew that. But she was the woman that he loved most in the world, now, and she was the woman to whom he had dedicated what was left of his life. She was the woman who was, at the moment, carrying his child. She had been a large part of his past, she was his present, and she was his future. "They're mementos of...dear friends, old and new. But they're memories. What matters now, Laris, is this. You. Me. The haedl. The life we're creating—in all ways."

"A point comes in a man's life when he looks to the past to define himself. Not just his future," Laris said.

Laris' smile faded and the crease between her brows appeared that often bothered Jean-Luc. It was a crease that said that she wasn't believing him entirely, despite the promise of truth in their house—a requirement in a Romulan home for a happy and peaceful life. Jean-Luc always worried when he saw that crease.

He always remembered the moment when he realized that Beverly was well and truly gone, and that she was never coming back. Jean-Luc's stomach tightened uncomfortably.

"Well, that's not going to be me," Jean-Luc said. "I am not a man who needs a legacy." He paused and reached for her again. She humored him and crossed back to where he was. He pressed a cheek briefly against her stomach, and she trailed gentle fingers around his face and head. "At least—I need no more legacy than I have here…than we'll take with us to Chaltok IV. Laris—I want a new adventure, with you, and with our child."

He swallowed. He had been the one running, perhaps, for his entire life. Now, he feared being left behind. He feared finding that someone had run from him—someone he couldn't bear to lose.

Jean-Luc didn't want to lose anymore.

"Laris…" Jean-Luc said, pulling out of the hug and looking up at her. She smiled at him, laughing low in her throat.

"Be still," she said, some teasing to her tone. "If you're that set on going to Chaltok IV with me, I won't argue. Besides—I do hate being alone, you know, and…they do say that my appetite for…for time spent between the two of us…will only grow as the little one does."

Jean-Luc smiled at her. He took her hand and kissed it, closing his eyes as he savored the simple softness of her skin against his lips.

"I can't wait to hold your hand as we walk along the beaches at sunset," he offered, "and, then, to hold you close as you drift off to sleep at night—to feel our haedl growing."

Laris drew in a deep breath and let it out with a contented sigh. He did love to hear those sounds from her—sounds of satisfaction and approval, proof that he was doing something right.

"Promises, promises," she teased.

"And I intend to keep every one," he assured her.

"I have a quick telemeeting," Laris said. "Then—what do you say we pack a small lunch and eat it in the vineyard? Enjoy some of our last days here for a while?"

"I'm almost done here," Jean-Luc said. "I'll pack something for us. Does the haedl request anything in particular?"

"Something sour," Laris said. "Oh—and…salty. But…something sweet, too, Jean-Luc."

He laughed and pressed his lips to her stomach before patting it gently.

"Papa will see that there's something in the basket for all tastes," he said. He accepted one last sweet kiss from Laris, and then he released her to go about her afternoon telemeeting and follow-up work. Then, he looked back at his desk. He picked up the instrument that he'd held earlier—a reminder of all that life could be, and how easy it was to squander opportunities and waste time.

There would be time to finish up here, once they'd had lunch and Laris was occupied with the work she often preferred to do in the late afternoon and evening.

Jean-Luc was going to pack a picnic. He wasn't going to squander any other opportunities for happiness—life was too short and too precious for that. He put the instrument down, and headed toward the kitchen with a song in his heart and a smile on his face. He meant what he said to Laris. He was looking forward to their future and a whole new adventure.

111

"Here you are…careful, it's a bit hot," Jean-Luc said, passing the mug of tea to Laris. "Gavaline tea."

"Thank you," she said, accepting the mug with a smile.

Jean-Luc took the seat across from her. They often sat here, like this, in the evenings and discussed their days. Sometimes, if they ran through whatever their days had to offer quickly, they turned to stories of their pasts or dreams of their future. Jean-Luc imagined that, on Chaltok IV, one of the first things they would do would be to establish a place in their new home—no matter how small the temporary place was—for sitting together and sharing whatever was on their minds.

Both of them, for different reasons, had been somewhat closed and secretive in what they jokingly called their past lives. Being open, now, and communicating was something that they actively worked to make a healthy part of their relationship.

"Well? What do you think?" Jean-Luc asked. He had shown Laris a coded transmission that he'd quite unexpectedly received to a twenty-year-old combadge.

Beverly had reached out to him, and nobody had heard from her in over twenty years.

"She's terrified, Jean-Luc. Clearly injured. There was blood, and…there's no telling how serious that last moment was. It looked like she lost consciousness. You said she was a doctor, right?"

"And a good one," Jean-Luc said. Everything inside him felt like it was churning, torn apart. He felt like his internal organs had all taken a run through a blender. Across from him, Laris sipped the tea that helped settle her stomach and helped her rest in the evenings.

"So—she was worried enough to reach out to you before tending to that wound," Laris said. "She was terrified, injured…and her first thought was contacting you."

"But I haven't spoken with her for…over 20 years. And neither has any other member of the old crew. She just cut us off." Laris watched him intently, studying everything about him—the way he moved, the sound of his voice. He knew her well. She didn't let anything slip by her observation. It had unnerved him once upon a time. Now, he simply accepted it as part of who she was. He sighed, feeling frustrated with everything. "So, why contact me now?"

Laris considered it a moment, sipping her tea. Her eyes drifted off to the side. They were clearly looking at nothing as she mentally put the pieces together.

"Well, you were close once. And when you were on the Enterprise, you trusted each other with your lives. You even tried to be lovers, didn't you?"

There was nothing accusatory in her tone. There was nothing that indicated hurt. Romulans weren't built that way. Jealousy existed in their species, of course, but it was different. It wasn't a purely negative emotion. It was simply another emotion, like any other, to be discussed and dealt with in the best way possible.

Laris had never shown any sign of jealousy, though, when Jean-Luc talked about his love for Beverly—and even for his sorrow over the fact that they hadn't had more, and that he hadn't been ready to commit to her more completely when it might have changed things.

"'Tried' is the operative word. You know that."

"But maybe you're the one person she still feels she can trust," Laris said. She put her cup to the side, on the little table beside her chair. She leaned toward Jean-Luc as she sat in her chair.

"But... to say 'no Starfleet,' Laris…" Jean-Luc said.

Laris sighed.

"Okay, so...as a former intelligence operative, here's what I'm seeing. This isn't paranoia. Her fear is genuine. This is a woman out of options, and she is asking you to help. Only you."

Jean-Luc heard her words. They were his own feelings; they were simply coming back to him in Laris's voice and in her words. He'd brought the transmission to her because that was what they did now. That was who they were. They were a team, and he didn't want to make decisions without her. He didn't even want to fully trust what he'd felt—the tugging sensation inside of him—without letting Laris at least weigh in on everything.

He saw the expression on her face, and it made his stomach sink.

He had come to her, wondering if he ought to leave tonight, even.

He wasn't even sure what he most hoped that Laris would say, but the moment she settled on her answer, he saw it in her eyes and on her face. His heart, he thought, cracked at least a little.

"Damn it," Laris hissed. She looked at him with big eyes. Sad eyes. His heart ached. "You have to go," she said sincerely and definitively. He could tell that she wasn't leaving him with room for discussion.

Leaving her, though, would mean leaving everything—their home, their plans for the future, their baby.

Jean-Luc couldn't bear the thought of truly leaving that. This leaving—whatever it might mean—had to be temporary. And, yet, he also knew, as well as Laris did, that there were no guarantees. There was no telling what had terrified Beverly enough to make her reach out to him as she had. There was no telling what he would find out there, or how it would affect him—and that was only considering the threat that he would face with Beverly.

That wasn't even considering the fact that they hadn't seen each other in over twenty years—and she was, well and truly, the one that got away in Jean-Luc's life, and Laris knew that.

Jean-Luc refused to think about that. He refused to even entertain that he might think and act in a way that would hurt Laris and ruin the life that he'd sworn he wanted to have here—the life that he swore he wouldn't miss out on…not when he'd ruined every other chance that he'd ever had at truly knowing such a thing.

"You need to go now," Laris said, her voice soft and not at all angry. "She needs you, and you don't know how long she can wait."

Jean-Luc wondered if an artificial heart, such as his was, that was only tied to the emotions that his brain could produce—very real, though still not quite the same as something entirely human—was actually capable of breaking. It felt, in the moment, like it might.

"I'll be back, in a few days. Maybe even less," Jean-Luc said, his voice gruff, even to his own ears, and catching on the lump in his throat.

Laris gave him a half-smile. He saw the tears dotting her lower lashes. She wouldn't shed them in front of him. She'd wait until she was in their bedroom, alone, to let them fall. That hurt him a great deal more than he might have been able to express. She didn't care for being alone. She enjoyed the openness of their relationship. She told him that often.

Yet, already, he could see the proof that she was holding back a piece of her herself—her hurt, no less—to lick her wounds alone, without him and when he was gone.

"Maybe even more," she said, trying to make her voice sound happier than Jean-Luc believed it could possibly be. He frowned at her.

"Laris…" He said, her name catching in his throat.

"Hey—these are the lives we chose," Laris said.

"What about this life?" Jean-Luc asked. "Isn't it possible to—choose a new life for oneself?"

Laris considered his words. She nodded her head gently.

"Perhaps," she said. "When one has neatly put away all the pieces of their old life. Jean-Luc…you've left part of a life unsorted. You have that so-called finished business to attend to. It's calling you, now. Your stars are calling you."

"And you?" Jean-Luc asked. "The haedl?"

Laris' smile was a bit more sincere.

"I can do just fine taking care of myself, Jean-Luc. And the haedl."

"That isn't what I meant," Jean-Luc countered.

"Oh—I think I know that," Laris said. "We have time. If you hurry, you should make it back in time to hold my hand, right? And…if you don't, well…"

"Laris…" Jean-Luc said. He couldn't find the words to say what he wanted. He couldn't find words that would express how conflicted he felt. She eased off her chair and into the space between them. Crouching down and taking a knee, she rested with her hands on his legs.

She was beautiful in the flickering glow of the firelight. She was precious to him. At the moment, he felt practically helpless to say all that to her—he had to believe that she simply knew it.

"Go to her, Jean-Luc," Laris said. "She needs you." She held up a hand, stopping him from speaking when he tried to speak again. "There is this great bar on Chaltok-IV, and you can watch the sunset from it. They have wonderful food, too, that I'm certain the haedl is going to enjoy. I'll save you a seat. And—if your Beverly should need it—I'll save her a seat, too. Traditionally, there are three in a Romulan trust bond, Jean-Luc. There's room for one more, if you should decide, together, that you have an interest in such things."

"I love you," Jean-Luc managed.

"I know that," Laris assured him. "I've known it for some time. That's the beautiful thing about love, Jean-Luc…it's not at all finite. Now—you go on, before it's too late. You can't get time back, once it's gone."

"That is, unfortunately, one of the things of which I'm most acutely aware," Jean-Luc said.

Laris smiled at him. She leaned up and touched his face. He gave her the kiss she sought, letting it linger. He didn't want their lips to part. She was the one who broke the kiss.

"You...mind yourself," Laris said.

"I will come back," Jean-Luc assured her, catching her hand as she rose. She stopped and turned back. He reached a hand up and pressed it against her belly. "I promise you that. If I can, I will come back."

"You just…see that you do," Laris said. "You'll find us. And—if you should bring her back with you, Jean-Luc? There's room enough, and love enough, for all…and that's the truth." She drew in a deep breath and sighed. She patted his fingers, as they still touched lightly against her belly. "There may be much more there, the next time you see us. I think—we'll go to bed now. You should go, Jean-Luc. Don't leave her waiting. She may not have time for that."

Jean-Luc reluctantly let Laris go. He heard her as she walked away. He listened to her footfalls in the hallway. He heard the door close as she reached their bedroom. He sat, for a moment, in silence in the darkness of the room.

The greatest tragedy of life, perhaps, was that there was never enough time for all the things that one loved and wanted to experience.

But Jean-Luc was determined to make the best of the time he had left, in every way possible.

He got up, and headed for the transporter pad. His bag was already packed. He knew Laris' heart well enough, after all, to know what she would say—the only thing that she could—when she saw Beverly's message.

He had to go to Beverly. He had to help her. And, then, he could enjoy the rest of his life and whatever new adventures that may bring.