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On Saturday morning, Jack steps out of his bedroom in his school uniform, and it takes all of Beverly’s will and then some to not fall to pieces on the spot.
It’s the nicest set of clothes he owns, even with the way its seams have started to come loose from how eager he usually is to escape it. Jack — her rebellious, roguish, little rascal of a son — has tied his tie of his own volition, in anticipation of today’s meeting.
The meeting Beverly can only hope actually happens.
But she doesn’t show any of that uncertainty on her face as she steps forward and brushes the lint off his shoulders. “You look very handsome,” she tells him.
He squirms at the compliment; the common language of teenage boys being fussed over by mothers. “Mom,” he groans, with a vowel sound a bit flatter than it used to be. “It’s not a big deal, I just… haven’t gotten around to laundry yet.”
Beverly smiles and pretends to believe him. “In that case, I can run a load back on the Eleos before I go. Are you ready?”
Jack nods. He’s clearly trying to maintain his usual glib, but the excitement shining in his eyes and the way he bounces for just a moment on the balls of his feet gives him away.
And that’s enough to tell Beverly that he is not entirely ready. Not yet. “Alright, then. But please, Jack, remember that if he doesn’t show, it’s got nothing to do with you. Can you do that?”
Her warning mellows Jack a bit. And it kills Beverly to squash some of the wide-eyed wonder still left in him, but… she’s never done this before.
If she is going to fail another son, the least she can do is calibrate his expectations accordingly. Make sure he has a shorter fall than Wesley’s, from where she left him up in the cosmos.
But Jack sets his jaw and gives a quick nod. “Yes. I understand. I promise, Mom.”
So Beverly forces herself to smile, and pulls Jack into a hug before any part of her can collapse.
⭑
They’ve chosen a nature reserve near Jack’s school as the setting for their experiment. It’s still empty enough in the early morning hours to provide solitude if things go south, but not to the point that they’re alone.
No more than they already are, at least.
Jack finds them a bench near the treeline, as though either of them will be able to function if they take a seat. Beverly tries to keep herself contained to a light sway, but Jack doesn’t bother to stop walking, and just paces a few meters back and forth to burn off his anxious energy.
Right, then. No turning back now. Beverly feels for the transmitter inside her pocket, and it materializes between her fingers. It always does, when she needs to feel its presence.
It gives her hope that this plan might actually work.
(Or maybe it will know that she’s not in any real danger — she’s crying wolf just to bring her sons together; violating the trust Wesley put in her when he gave her the disarmingly-futuristic transmitter and told her, in no uncertain terms, that it was ‘for emergencies only’ — and won’t.)
“Jack,” she calls out, before he can completely tread the grass beneath his feet out of existence. He comes to her when she offers a hand and holds it tight in his own, and Beverly allows herself only a moment to appreciate it before pressing the transmitter’s button.
The transmitter fades away, leaving Beverly empty-handed.
Jack’s eyes grow so wide Beverly’s almost surprised they don’t fall out. “Is it supposed to do that?” he asks, as though he expects her to have an answer.
And she should have one. She’s his mother. She —
“Mom?”
Beverly knows him before she sees him. She and Jack, so distracted by the vanishing transmitter, have completely missed the figure that now stands at the treeline… but it’s him. Wearing clothes she’s never seen before, and a beard she’s never known him to grow, and an expression of worry in his warm brown eyes — it’s Wesley.
In an instant, she’s rushing towards him, her earlier advice to Jack echoing only as a whisper in the back of her mind. When Wesley hugs her back, it quiets completely — he’s grown since she last saw him, probably appearing to push forty for her comfort more than his own, so it’s a different embrace than they’ve ever shared before, but somehow it’s still the same.
“Mom?” Wesley asks again, though he doesn’t try to let go. “Is everything alright? What’s wrong? How can I help?”
Ah. Yes.
As she pulls away, she feels a twinge of shame pluck at her heart. It’s less than she’d braced herself for — probably smothered by relief and love — but she tries to shape the echo into an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry to call you this way. There is no emergency.”
It doesn’t wipe the concern from Wesley’s face, though. “So why’d you send for me? It’s been years — you must have a good reason.”
“I do.” Beverly turns over her shoulder to beckon for Jack, who’s standing at an appropriately uncomfortable parade rest. “Your younger brother asked to meet you.”
“My… younger brother?”
“Yes.” Once Jack stands at her side, Beverly rests a hand on his shoulder and looks back to Wesley with a proud grin. Having both boys in front of her like this — she hadn’t even let herself dream of it being real! “This is my son, Jack.”
Wesley’s eyebrows shoot up. “Jack…”
“Crusher,” Beverly supplies.
And Wesley’s eyes tighten around the corners, but it blends flawlessly with the smile he offers his brother. “Hi, Jack,” he says. “I’m Wesley. How much did Mom tell you about me?”
Jack shrugs, still a little stiff. “Not too much. Just that you exist, and that you have an important time-job.”
“Oh, phew.” Wesley relaxes, and breathes a genuine sigh of relief. It coaxes a surprised laugh out of Jack, and Beverly’s heart sings. “Well, I don’t have long, but I should be able to stay for an hour or so. At least I don’t have to defend myself from any embarrassing childhood stories.”
“Well…” Jack starts, having loosened up a bit, “not very many, at least.”
“That just means Mom owes me stories of you, too!” Wesley argues, and Beverly can’t help the smile that’s taking over her face, her body, her soul.
“We’ve got plenty to talk about,” she agrees.