The park was bathed in brilliant sunlight and today he could hear children playing nearby, their laughter punctuating the air—a stark contrast to the weight of anxious anticipation he felt in his chest. He focussed on the sounds, so many now that the weather had turned warmer and the days longer.
He knew the exact moment that she arrived. The world around them began to fade—the children, the trees, the distant skyline of London—not dissolving, but blurring into insignificance. It was just them now, existing in this suspended moment.
Their time together progressed as it always did, idle conversation, soft smiles, and always a physical connection. Her hair, her cheek, his hands running from her nape to her elbows. He placed light kisses over her cheeks and brow, feathering her eyelids and making her smile softly before gently capturing her lips with his own. They were both breathing heavily when he released her, his hands having somehow migrated to the soft tissue of her breasts, her nipples straining against his palms.
"I wish…" he hesitated, breathing softly against her hairline, "I wish that we could go back to the way we were."
She leaned in closer, her forehead now resting against his. "We both know life doesn't work that way, Jean-Luc. It isn't as if the way we were was perfect either."
"I know."
"Tell me about the vineyard," she urged, having sensed the heavy fog of sorrow that enveloped him and wanting to somehow lift it.
"It's… peaceful," he began, searching for words that wouldn't betray the cracks in his composure. "Well… life with Laris and Zhaban has been anything but peaceful lately," he muttered.
"Who are Laris and Zhaban?"
"Just… They live with me, at the chateau, caretakers of a sort, my caretakers if you ask them," he snorted.
"Jean-Luc Picard needs caretakers now," she said slowly, her concern and confusion obvious.
He hadn't wanted to get into any of this now. This was their time, and he was loath to mar their time together here which had become a lifeline of sorts. Yet, if there was even a small chance that any part of this was real, he had to take it, didn't he? He snorted softly and squeezed her hand tightly within his own. Beverly had once said that-
"What's that smile for?" He looked over to find her gaze questioning, one eyebrow raised in amused inquiry.
"The bright side of a black hole."
"Ahhh. You remember that?" she asked, obviously pleased. "So, Mr. Optimism has an unsolvable puzzle, then? Or is it an impossible situation?"
"Something like that," he smiled ruefully.
"Anything that I can help you with?"
"Not if you're merely a figment of my imagination," he muttered beneath his breath.
"Jean-Luc-"
"Beverly, what do you know about a red door?" Her reaction was immediate. He could feel her arms tense beneath his fingers.
"What did you say?" she breathed out somewhat unsteadily.
"Beverly, when… when I leave or, when you leave," he fumbled. It was becoming all mixed up in his mind and he could see that he was upsetting her. He should have better prepared how to broach this conversation with her. It had never been his intention to upset her, but now that he'd begun, something was compelling him to throw caution to the wind. "Jack… Every night when we part, I dream of Jack. He… I visit him, in his bedroom," he said slowly, thinking of his almost nightly visits with the boy. "Beverly, what does Jack have to do with this?"
"Jean-Luc, how do you know about the door? How do you know about Jack?" Her voice rose and cracked on the boy's name, and he felt the familiar stretching of the scene around him. Then the light began to dissolve into fragmented darkness, unravelling like a spool of thread, revealing glimpses of light. He blinked against the change from brilliant light to low-lit shadows, his heart pounding as the landscape shifted once more.
As the room around him slowly revolved into existence he was stunned. There were no shelves topped with starships, no nightstand with stories featuring Mr. Hill, no bed, and no- He jerked back as a hand connected with his forearm. Barely stifling a scream, he turned in time to see Jack's startled face.
"I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't mean to frighten you."
"It's ok. I shouldn't have crept up on you." Picard was examining the space around them, surprised at the clutter surrounding the small area lined with several pillows and a blanket, where Jack was currently nesting. He sat somewhat awkwardly on the blanket across from the boy.
Jack resembled a small bird surrounded by all sorts of things; boxes, what looked like an old lamp, and perhaps a costume trunk. His mind stilled suddenly as he caught sight of another type of trunk, one that was just as old as the first one he'd spotted.
Shivers chased their way down his spine. His fingers moved to trace the name displayed prominently on the side of the case: Jack R. Crusher. He'd suspected, had begun to suspect, but there had always been some niggle of doubt. To see what was surely proof that-
Swallowing hard he asked, "Jack… Whose things are these?"
"Mum doesn't mind. She lets me play up here. It's my fort," he insisted hurriedly, avoiding answering the question.
Picard's eyes returned to the trunk, insistent questions all clamouring impatiently in his head. Then he took in the entirety of the… room? No, the walls were made of fabric, perhaps blankets attached to the roof and stretched and somehow secured to the furniture or boxes? He had to proceed with caution, he counselled himself. He didn't yet know exactly what the boy knew.
"In the middle of the night?" The boy remained tight-lipped, so he asked, "Why are we here and not in your room?"
"It's safer here, It's my place and I can… I mean it's-"
"You've found a way to… defend it?" Jack's eyes lit up and he nodded. Clever boy. "Could you perhaps teach me how to build a place like this?"
"Maybe," he shrugged, settling a pillow into position behind his back.
"And this place… It's a real place, isn't it? So, where are we, Jack?"
"I told you, we're in my f-"
"Yes, and a fine fort it is too…. But where is your fort?"
"At my house, of course. In the attic," he retorted with just a touch of brisk impatience. Picard smiled somewhat ruefully. He'd walked himself right into that one, and the boy was cagey.
He opened his mouth to reword his question but instead felt all of the muscles in his face fall, then slacken as the boy raised a single eyebrow at him in a slightly haughty look of disdain. He sucked in a lungful of air, the sound harsh even to his own ears. He knew that eyebrow. "Why do you want to know?" Jack asked suspiciously.
"Jack," he finally managed. "I think… that it is fair to say that we have been sharing dreams, communicating while unconscious. Wouldn't you agree?"
The boy maintained his silence. Willing to hear me out, he thought, but unwilling to volunteer any information. The boy was intelligent and discerning. A warmth washed over him, and it took him a moment to recognise that it was pride that he was feeling. It had been so long since he'd felt pride in anything that he'd truly forgotten the sensation.
"Jack, I appreciate your hesitation, understand that your… your mother must hav-"
"I'm not to speak to strangers, especially if they're asking questions."
"Yes but…. I don't think that I am truly a stranger. Do you?" Jack stared at him, his fingers moving instinctively to his lower lip and kneading the flesh there.
"Are you Captain Picard?" he finally asked. "From the Enterprise? From my stories?"
"Admiral actually," he heard himself say pompously then closed his eyes, wincing at his own ingrained arrogance.
"That's even better," Jack nodded seriously. "You can help us then, right? You're a hero. Like in my stories."
"And do you need help, Jack?" The boy nodded seriously. "With the door? With whoever's behind the door?" He couldn't name her yet. He didn't want to expose the boy to the dread and fear that would surely follow. Ever if he could at all avoid it.
"I…. That's Mum, merde." he said suddenly. "I have to go now."
"Jack…" Picard didn't even have time to respond to his use of the French expletive. Beverly had picked it up during their years together and he could only imagine…
"Mum will be upset that I'm not in bed. I'll see you again tonight, right? Wait, no… Tomorrow night?" His mind finally made the connection - Beverly, having woken from their dream, had probably gone to check on Jack. He could only assume that the boy had been suffering nightmares just as he had. Finding his bed empty…
"Of course. Of course, you will." he promised with no hesitation.
Jack pushed off of the pillow and up onto his knees, leaning his small body towards Picard, looping his arms around his neck until their foreheads touched, somehow confident that this show of affection would be welcome.
Jean-Luc closed his eyes, shivering slightly as he felt the boy's mind brush his own.
"I know you now," Jack sighed contentedly. "Will you come for us?"
"Yes," he replied. "Yes, Jack. I'll come." His low voice was unsteady, ragged with restrained emotion.
"Promise?" Suddenly the hands he'd placed reassuringly on the boy's solid little back met with less resistance.
"I promise. Jack," he said urgently, "I need you to tell your mother. Tell her what's happening, do you und-"
Unbelievably, he had slept in. Jack had disappeared, taking the attic fort with him, and he had apparently drifted into a perfectly normal and restful sleep for the first time in weeks.
He dressed hurriedly and headed downstairs as soon as he woke, but it was already 10h00 and likely far too late to start searching the streets of London for some unknown address. They would have already left for the day. No matter, he thought. For the first time in a long time, he had a purpose, a goal, a mission. One that he cared very deeply about. Any surfacing doubts that this could all be a product of his overclocked brain were brutally forced aside. If he permitted himself to be diverted, he would no doubt sink back into despondency and inertia. He simply would not allow it.
He was rummaging through the closet in the entryway off the kitchen when he sensed her presence. It was raining in London. He'd checked just in case he was forced to wait- There it is, he thought, grabbing the rain slicker triumphantly before turning to face her.
"Zhaban has made us some tea since you missed breakfast. You slept well, then?" He'd been hoping to avoid a conversation this morning. Of all the mornings to sleep in. He grunted a non-reply, knowing that she wouldn't leave it no matter what response he gave.
"You took the inhibitor the doctor prescribed, then?"
"Laris," he sighed, "while I appreciate your concern, this is really none of your bus-"
"That's where you're wrong," she said forcefully. "Security is my business. Your security is my business."
"This is personal. It's bad enough that you're lying in wait-"
"As it turns out, I have no need to lie in wait, no need to spy or skulk, only a set of ears with which to hear your nightly screams and moans," she spat out determinedly. "Now. Are you going to tell us what is going on, or do I have to set a vigil outside your bedroom door and interrogate you when you're at your most vulnerable." There was almost a full minute of silence before he responded stiltedly.
"Yes, Laris. As I told you last night, your doctor prescribed a neuro-inhibitor. No, I did not, nor am I planning on, taking it. Ever"
"So, you've unilaterally decided to disregard the doctor's diagnosis and prescribed treatment, then." At this point Zhaban had appeared in the doorway to the kitchen and stood watching them both silently.
"I've made the tea." They both followed him into the kitchen where silence reigned for what felt like an eternity until Zhaban broke it.
"Like my wife, I am becoming concerned about your behaviour, old man. I do not think it too intrusive to request a recounting of your visit with the doctor. We are concerned with your physical and mental well being, Jean-Luc."
Hearing it put like that he felt distinctly childish. Not knowing exactly where to start, he decided to begin at the beginning. "About 2 years before we lost the Enterprise D, so about a decade ago, I experienced a sort of glimpse into my possible future thanks to-"
"Q," Laris interjected.
"Did you go through every personal and mission log of my entire career?" he accused waspishly. Her only response was an unrepentantly sly smile. Zhaban looked on indulgently, patiently waiting for Picard to get to the point.
"Then, as you no doubt already know, it was always a possibility that I would develop Irumodic Syndrome." About to launch into an explanation he caught Zhaban's amused glance and instead muttered under his breath about an unbelievable invasion of his privacy by interfering Romulans.
"But there was no evidence of IS found after the incident," concluded Laris, deftly avoiding any mention of the Crusher woman, knowing that it would almost certainly spell the end of this little tête-à-tête.
"No. Nothing. No defect or potential for a defect in the temporal lobe whatsoever."
"But now Doctor Kolar has found evidence of IS?" Laris asked bluntly.
"Yes. It… yes. But I do not believe that the nightmares, the dreams are being triggered by the Irumodic Syndrome."
"You believe that the diagnosis is incorrect?" Zhaban asked with equanimity.
"Yes… No... I don't know. I think… I think that I have been sharing dreams with…. with Beverly Crusher and…. and her son." Laris looked at him delicately. Zhaban's calm expression had not altered at all.
"I know, the IS diagnosis… but…. This is real…. It feels so real," he whispered. "I need to go to London. See for myself if there is any possibility that what I have been experiencing might have some basis in reality." Looking at his determined face they both knew it would be useless to attempt to change his mind.
"At least allow us to accompany you," Laris suggested, attempting a different tack.
"No!" he said forcefully. Given what had driven her to hide herself away, he didn't think suddenly turning up on her doorstep with a pair of Romulans in tow wouldn't cause her to simply vanish into thin air. "No, Laris," he added more gently. "While I appreciate the offer, this is something I must do on my own. Thank you for the tea, Zhaban."
"Don't forget this," Laris called after him. He turned back and accepted the rain slicker then, turning on his heel, left the room.