Mid afternoon the following day found him sitting in his rented room, a cup of tea that had been meant to provide much needed hydration and comfort, untouched beside his elbow. He'd forgotten its existence.

He hadn't been able to sleep last night. Lying there on his back in a strange bed in an unfamiliar room on a foreign planet, his mind had not allowed him the escape that sleep normally provided. Perhaps it was the absence of the mind-numbing manual labour he'd employed to exhaust himself at the château… and perhaps not…

His mind had wandered from visions of Beverly, her long hair pulled back in a single braid which stretched the length of her back, to the boy he was trying to avoid thinking about. That way lay madness and heartache. Several times he did manage to slip almost unnoticed into sleep and one time during the night he'd awoken on his side, reaching for Beverly's warmth, certain that the last six years had been some kind of horrible mistake or cruel nightmare.

Yesterday when he'd turned up at the site where the locker was located, he'd found it locked and closed. He'd immediately looked up the business' schedule and noted the regular hours for the following day. This morning he was approaching the building just as lights flickered on inside the store front. He'd avoided arriving too early, not wanting to draw attention to himself. If his visit to Da'al went unnoticed for the most part, so much the better.

The locker had been placed in his name as Worf had requested of his source, and a simple retinal scan and DNA sample had provided him access to a small unit and the single PADD which was the only thing inside. He'd had to restrain himself from finding a convenient spot somewhere along the route between the locker location and his room to sit and devour the information inside. Ironically, once he made it into the room and secured the door, he set the PADD down on the suite's small table in the kitchenette, eyeing it warily.

Suddenly he didn't *want* to know what was on it. He wanted, in fact, to beam up to the shuttle and leave orbit and forget that any of this had happened. He wanted to keep his dreams and his daydreams of Beverly, just as she had been six years ago, intact and unblemished in his memory forever. *Coward,* he scolded himself. When had he become such a coward? He could argue that when it came to Beverly he had *always* been, but no more.

Neatly sidestepping the table, he took his time replicating tea and checking that the temperature in the room was just so. It would get very hot and humid very quickly as the morning wore on. Finally, he could no longer find anything else to distract him and so he sat at the table and powered up the PADD.

The first thing he noticed was that the files were grouped into subjects. The one that immediately drew his attention was marked visual media. He couldn't open it. He'd leave it until the end, he thought desperately. There were several other headings including "medical," "employment," and "history."

"Employment" he thought he could safely skip for now. It was obvious that she was working either as a physician or a researcher or both at the only medical complex in the small city. He decided to start with "medical," arguing with himself that he was *not* trying to avoid the file marked "history" nor the uncomfortable reality of her life over the last half decade that it contained. He knew it immediately for the lie that it was.

There were actual medical records inside the folder, but he decided not to question what an invasion of Beverly's privacy it was to go through them. The very first entry was a recounting of her arrival at the same hospital he'd sat outside yesterday, and the injuries she'd sustained in the crash. Lacerations, bruising, several broken ribs, and contusions…. Serious head trauma, swelling of the brain…. They'd induced a coma for several days.

Looking at the star date he ran a quick mental calculation. This was about a year after she'd left the Enterprise. So far there was no mention of the boy, so…. He swiped to the next record and there it was… An entry detailing her first day after they'd brought her out of the medically induced coma.

They'd noted that the mother had consented to breastfeed, and that, despite disorientation and confusion, and potential memory loss perhaps induced by head trauma sustained in the crash, mother and five-month-old son seemed to be on their way to reestablishing their bond in short order. They'd apparently been expressing her milk during the period that she was incapacitated, after confirming that she had been breastfeeding the baby.

Five months old… and she'd left the Enterprise just a bit less than a year before then. He released his pent-up breath. She'd been pregnant before leaving the ship. Whether she had known she was pregnant before making that decision, he still didn't know, but he was all but certain that the boy he'd seen yesterday was his son. His *son.* He didn't for a second believe that Beverly had been with anyone else during that time.

"My son," he whispered softly into the stillness of the room.

Never had he ever thought to say or even think those words, let alone to imagine having a child with Beverly. That meant that the boy was about five years old. He had a five-year-old son and didn't even know his name…. He had to assume that the boy had been uninjured in the crash, otherwise his records would also have been included in the dossier he'd been given. He returned his attention quickly to the rest of the medical records.

Physical therapy appointments to address her injuries, progress made, and lost, various treatments, drugs, and psychiatric techniques used in an attempt to restore her memory, details surrounding the development of her relationship with the baby. She'd obviously retained some things, he mused, medical knowledge, skills. He skimmed through months of records, but none relating the information he really wanted, all of it focussed on the medical side of what had happened to her.

Just before he closed out the file which had transitioned to records indicating that her case had been transferred to a specialist in long term rehabilitative care, he noticed a notation which detailed the inquiries that the staff had made to Terran and Federation authorities. He shook his head. He didn't understand why she'd not been located within that first year or 18 months after her departure then.

Throughout the files he had she was never referred to as Beverly Crusher. In the records of the days following her accident the staff immediately began to refer to her as Elspeth Aitken. He rose to fetch his own PADD in order to perform a search for "Elspeth Aitken '' and sat in shock holding the PADD loosely in his grip.

A picture of Beverly had immediately appeared along with an almost unbelievably detailed professional and personal history… He quickly checked the name "Beverly Crusher" and other than the photo (which had been replaced with a much older photo of Beverly he noticed immediately) none of her identifiers matched Beverly's *actual* information; DNA, retinal scans, prints… not a single one.

She had created an intricately detailed backstory for herself. Believable and verifiable medical education and certification, a family tree that of course had been pruned as one moved closer to the present day, until there was no one remaining but her and her son. He greedily scanned the information until he stumbled upon his son's name. Jack. His son was named Jack.

Emotion he could not ever hope to contain overwhelmed him and he pushed back the chair and stood, head hanging, and fisted fingers pressed down into the table until he had himself under control once again. That she'd named their son after the man who had been the thread that had bound them together since the beginning seemed, fitting somehow.

He tried to reorganise his thoughts. She'd somehow managed to supersede her Starfleet records. Her DNA, retinal scan, prints or identifiers of all kinds… none of it led back to Dr. Beverly Crusher. Instead, they all led to this minutely detailed but fabricated identity of Dr. Elspeth Aitken. He couldn't believe it… and yet he could.

Sitting back down once again he continued to glance through the records outlining her supposed family tree. The man listed as Jack's father had been recorded as having been struck down by Terrelian flu before the birth of his son. He checked "David Aitken" and found a detailed file for him as well, though he was sure that the man had never existed. He remembered Worf implying that Beverly might have had help when she'd left the Enterprise. He was now inclined to agree. Perhaps Wesley…

Bringing his thoughts back around to the present he turned over what he had learned in his mind. It was the perfect cover, a grieving widow looking to start over, to make a new life for herself and her infant son. Her supposed grief would make avoiding uncomfortable, prying questions easy as no one would dare pose them. He leaned back in his chair.

He could no longer deny it, even to himself. She had not been planning on returning, ever… Only the intervention of fate had allowed him to discover what had happened to her. Now that he knew for certain, he wasn't sure that he was better off knowing at all…

For good or ill, he finally decided, he needed to know the rest. Setting aside his personal PADD he once again pulled the PADD from the locker towards him and opened the "history" folder. At once he noticed that not only did this set of files contain factual information regarding Beverly's life and movements of the past five years since she'd arrived here, but also personal notes and the conclusions drawn during the investigation of Worf's agent.

There were notes and facts pertaining to her shopping and eating habits, Jack's play group then care group once Beverly had started working. There were even details regarding books and plays she'd read, music she'd listened to. He didn't like to think about how this information had been obtained, but he wasn't at all sorry to have it. He didn't need it, but then again, some part of him *did*.

Without warning, towards the end of the file, there amongst all of the minutiae of Beverly's life over the last 5 years, an address change. Six months ago, she had left staff provided lodgings at the hospital where she'd been doing research on the mitigation of UV damage in non-native humanoids.

They were living together… Beverly and the doctor. She'd never lived with *him,* not technically. He'd not allowed it, had redirected the conversation the one time she'd brought it up early in their on again off again relationship. The closest they'd come was when they'd both used the château as a sort of home base during the construction of the E when they were split between headquarters in San Francisco and off-world trips and varied assignments.

He didn't want to think about all of the implications of the fact that they were *living* together. Her and what he was already certain was his son…. She'd gone to the effort to reinvent her life in meticulous detail. She'd left without a word, with no intention of ever returning. She'd left without telling him…

No, if she'd known beforehand, Beverly would *never* have left without telling him she was pregnant…. Wouldn't she have, though? Why go to the trouble of creating such an elaborate false identity in the first place, Jean-Luc?

Thinking back to the last time he'd seen her, how they'd left it. He hadn't given her any reason to share the fact that she was pregnant with him, let alone any incentive to stay. He released a long, slow breath. This was what was meant by reaping what you'd sown…

He looked out the window of his room above the streets of Tecra. He would wait for the partner to contact him. He knew where she lived now and was fairly certain that she would not run. Of course she wouldn't. Her entire life was here. Her family.

It was as if there was a place deep inside him that was bruised and someone or something was applying pressure to that spot over and over. Just when he thought the pressure was easing, another random thought (What did his son call him, the partner?) would set it all off again.

Six months. Six. Months. Riker had come to see him six months ago and he'd wallowed in self pity instead of… He could have found her, them and instead….

Scrubbing his hand over his face and forehead he tried to shake off this morose sense of past failure and future doom. It had been one of the major issues between them even if she'd only ever guessed at his level of insecurity. His lack of confidence in relationships in general and with *her* specifically… Well, Jean-Luc, you've certainly succeeded in turning that into a self-fulfilling prophecy, haven't you?

He opened the last folder, stabbing at the icon with his finger, desperate to distract himself from his current thoughts. As the folder's contents revealed themselves, he had only one thought, that he should have opened this one first.

He had no idea how Worf's contact had managed to obtain all of these images, nor did he really care because, there before him was the entirety of the five years he'd missed with them since their arrival on Da'al. In opening up the folder he'd been dreading, he became irretrievably lost in the images of Beverly's life, of their son's life, filling up a place in him he hadn't even known was empty.

Here was infant Jack held securely by Beverly. Jack sitting, then standing while holding onto Beverly's outstretched hands. Jack and Beverly cuddling. Jack covered in some unrecognisable substance which made Picard literally laugh out loud, startling himself in the process. Jack with a group of Da'al children. It looked to be a celebration, perhaps his birthday. Beverly in her work uniform kneeling beside a Jack who was not that much younger than the boy he'd caught but a glimpse of yesterday.

As he moved through the images which were obviously in chronological order, he suddenly began to see photos of the three of them, Beverly, Jack and Dr. Zeneth. Mindlessly he reached out a finger and powered down the PADD. He would wait until 16h00 local time. If Zeneth hadn't contacted him by then, he would initiate contact himself. In the meantime, he had plans to put in place.

—-

That night their lovemaking had a desperate, despairing almost compulsive edge to it. Long after they would normally have fallen asleep, they lay wrapped tightly around each other, both silent, neither wanting to let go.

They'd not exactly fought earlier that evening after Jack had been put to bed. You couldn't get angry or fight with Jentar. He was always level-headed and calm, soft where she was hard, steady when she felt the world turn treacherous around her. He balanced her out. He liked to say that they were well suited… for a Da'al and a human. They hadn't fought, but they *had* talked, passionately on her part.

She'd finally realised after they'd returned home with Jack, that nothing would ever again be the same. Someone had finally come looking for her. She'd almost convinced herself that she wasn't really missing, that there was no one missing *her.*

She'd been contented and after years of struggling to fill the void inside her, her lack of identity, she had finally given in and had chosen to move on, resigned in the knowledge that she would never know who she was. And then this man had arrived, and everything had been turned on its head.

After they'd eaten Jentar had gone into his study and not emerged for quite some time. She knew that he'd been free all afternoon after their hastily abandoned lunch. Normally he would have picked up Jack early from care and spent the afternoon at home with him on the third day of the week. He'd instead spent several hours in his office waiting for her to finish up. She couldn't be certain what he was doing now, but she felt that it was somehow connected to the man from the park, a "Starfleet admiral" he'd told her.

By the time he'd come to find her where she was curled up pretending to read in the salon, her nerves were a lead ball in her stomach.

"We need to talk." She sat up straight, alerted by the serious look on his face.

"The man who came to see you today in the park..."

"The Starfleet admiral…"

"Yes. Elsie, I think you already know what I'm going to say." The Da'al's gift of telepathy was nothing as compared to true telepaths like Betazoids when attempting to read members of other species, but it was strong enough that he could read her mood accurately. Having known her for five years he could also rely on a fairly accurate interpretation of her body language to fill in any gaps.

"He *says* he's an admiral..." She was fidgeting with the embroidered pillow she'd placed on her lap and now hugged to her chest as if it were a shield.

"He is. I've spent most of the afternoon verifying who he is and trying to learn more about his motives, his intentions." He watched her carefully trying to gauge her reaction, but she continued to look down at the cushion, seemingly engrossed by the stitching.

"He is here looking for a Starfleet doctor that disappeared six years ago. Her name… *your* name… is Dr. Beverly Crusher." He could sense her tense up, feel her agitation. Before she could launch into an angry response designed to distract from having to deal with the real issue, he cut her off. He did know Elsie… Beverly… only too well.

"I've seen the records." He leaned over to place a finger on the PADD he'd placed on the low table in front of the sofa when he'd entered the room. "As much as I could find is here. I want to go through it together…". He gathered her fingers up from their spot on the pillow where they were at risk of tearing out the stitching, then pulled her chin around to face him. "I wouldn't ever make you do anything that wasn't necessary. Do you believe that?"

"Yes."

And so, they'd sat together, slowly working their way through the life of this Dr. Crusher. Discovering that she'd been not only orphaned but also widowed at such a young age left her feeling incredibly sad, but it was as if she were reading about the tragedies of someone else's life.

Her breath caught when she realised that she had an adult son out there… somewhere. This elicited a much more visceral response and she had to actively work at swallowing the tears. Where was this son now? Was he alright? Did he think his mother had died or abandoned him?

They skimmed through articles and public records of research achievements and professional accolades, and her role in the Enterprise's various missions. It was only when they reached articles from the five years preceding her arrival on Da'al that the information in the files once again caused an emotional reaction in her. What that reaction was, however, was a mystery to her. Maybe Jentar knew, could sense it, but she wasn't about to ask him, wasn't even sure she'd want to know.

Suddenly there was image after image of her in dress uniform or a sleek shimmering frock as she smiled towards the camera on the admiral's arm at some event or function. One shot in particular bothered her greatly. The photographer had caught them just turning to face one another and the expression on his face was almost too intimate to look upon. Looking into his eyes in that photograph felt like an invasion of his privacy and somehow, instinctively, she knew that he would view it as such.

There were a couple of articles detailing her disappearance from the Enterprise and a few more with updates on the status of the search, but that was it, the totality of this woman… *her* life.

"She left him…. She threw everything away and… and what? Assumed an entirely new identity? To escape him?"

"Elsie… You don't know that."

"You want me to go then? Is that what this little exercise was all about? You think I should just up and go with him?"

"You might not have much of a choice. Starfleet is looking for you…. We knew that something like this was a possibility… that this might happen."

"It has been *six* *years*!"

"Don't you want to know… *need* to know…? And what about Jack?"

"That's not fair. Using Jack against me like that simply isn't fair."

"Elsie… what's not fair is your son growing up never knowing who he is, where he comes from…"

"She had *already* made that choice! What do you think gives me the right…"

"You! Not her, *you.*" She turned away from him then, twisting her body and hiding her face. "You can't hide from this… I know what you're feeling, remember?"

She wanted to reiterate how unfair this all was, but realised he was right. She had always put her son first. It should be no different now. And if she were being honest with herself, which was what he was asking of her, she *did* want to know, *needed* to know…

She'd broken down crying then, unable to stem the flow of emotion pouring off of her. These were tears of fear, tears of despair and disappointment that life had once again ripped away her sense of security and even identity, just as she'd been coming to trust that things were finally alright now. Jentar held her and stroked her hair until she calmed then led her to their bedroom. Neither would manage much sleep that night.

Happier ~ Marshmello ft. Bastille

When the evening falls

And I'm left there with my thoughts

And the image of you being with someone else

Well, it's eating me up inside

But we ran our course, we pretended we're okay

Now if we jump together at least we can swim

Far away from the wreck we made

Then only for a minute

I want to change my mind

'Cause this just don't feel right to me

I wanna raise your spirits

I want to see you smile but

Know that means I'll have to leave