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He had the most unreasonable and improbable thought that maybe the rainstorm in La Barre had followed him. Maybe those storm clouds belonged to him, or maybe that was just self-pity. He'd always been the curator of his own pain, deciding when and how it should find him.
The rain found him once more.
It had been a long week.
Ironically, returning to his duties had brought him comfort. He was a man built backwards; tense when supposed to be relaxed and relaxed when supposed to be tense. His work, it calmed him. His usefulness, and maybe his indispensability to Starfleet, it grounded him. When his uniform was on, he knew who he was, and all miscalculations of time and actions fell within the boundaries of his duty.
The birth of young Wesley Crusher was the opposite. It was a reminder that when life veered off course, his ranking and duty was a boundary of safety. As long as he was in uniform, he could handle the mess. Starfleet brought him community. Delivering the child of his best friend while on shore leave, no rank to cushion any fall, reminded him that life outside of the force was just as chaotic and uncontrollable. It skewered the thought that if he ever needed reassurance that he could find calm predictability in life, he could find it. He couldn't; it was simply not there.
If life outside of Starfleet could be just as terrifying as life inside, it meant his choice to be in the crosshairs of fire wasn't really a choice at all. It was just a choice of which chaos to step inside of.
There was no such thing as a quiet life outside of Starfleet. Only moments of it, fleeting moments.
Four days ago, the Stargazer had been called away. In between the inconsequential upgrades and repairs, when the ship was functional, they were needed for a brief mission. Jean-Luc had stayed behind, having been requested at headquarters for delegations of some sort. He'd rendezvous with his ship later. For now, his first officer had the command.
Jack had been given no choice but to leave his wife and child. Jean-Luc had been given no choice but to stay.
An adjournment had been called in negotiations for the day, leaving him with little to do and few places to go. It didn't matter. There was only one place he wanted to be.
His stroll through the Starfleet housing district reminded him of his walk through the vineyards with Beverly. It looked similar, if rows of growing vines could be replaced with rows of identical homes. Off in the distance, a glowering black cloud hanging low in the sky. He walked towards it, relishing the strange sense of déjà vu that filled him.
He was alone this time. No bright, smiley, red-headed woman with a soft voice that filled the space between them with the perfect balance of conversation and agreeable silence.
He counted down the numbers on the houses in his head as he walked. 715, 713, 711. He wasn't sure what he was feeling. Dread wasn't the right word. 709, 707, 705. Apprehension was in there somewhere, but there was more under the surface. No, it was something else entirely. Something lingering just over the distance. 703, 701, 699. Surrender.
That was it. It felt like surrender.
Except, he didn't want to fight it. He was too tired. Instead, he gave way to it. Yielding to the fact that ever since that day in La Barre, a mere week ago, he felt as if he'd been living outside of his own body. The shock and awe of the entire situation hadn't rested yet, and his soul felt unsettled. Like being in search of something but he wasn't sure what it was or where to look.
They both could have died.
They both could have died.
Maybe all he was looking for was an answer. But he had a million questions and finding whatever answer it would take to calm him was like searching for a needle in a haystack.
They both could have died.
Why? Why would something like that be allowed to happen in this universe?
He found the question. Answer: unknown.
Answer: cruelty.
Answer: unfairness.
Answer: higher reasoning.
Answer: because it must.
Answer: to remind you that life is precious.
Answer: but they didn't die so shut up and get over it.
Answer: be grateful they didn't.
Answer: it shouldn't be allowed.
He'd get better answers from a Magic 8 Ball.
Even with a glass of something highly flammable before falling asleep, he still had a nightmare at least once per night now. It haunted and nauseated him to remember the feeling of such a small bone fracturing between his fingers. The crunch of the break, the capitulation of the bone. There was something almost biblical about it all. The same hand that brought life, helped birth it into this world, was a hand of violence.
It's just a bone and bones can be healed, he tried to tell himself. Oh, the nightmares did not like that response. After that, he'd woken up in many a cold sweat, witnessing his mind's rendition of just how violent that hand could be. Of just how lucky he was that they all walked away with as little of violence as the situation called for.
673. Jack and Beverly's home.
His legs felt like lead as he climbed the short set of steps to the door. Even before ringing the door chime, he could hear the sound of an infant crying from inside the house. Apprehension filled his stomach, burning under his ribs. He didn't want to intrude, but he also knew Beverly was alone. He rang the chime.
The sound of Wesley crying grew closer before the door opened, revealing a side of Beverly he had never seen before. Purple rings of exhaustion sat below her eyes. Her hair was half up and half down, flyaways in every direction. She had what could be days worth of spit-up on her shirt. Her bathrobe hung haphazardly off of her shoulders as she cradled the upset newborn in her arms.
And yet, all Jean-Luc could think about was his newfound revelation that the glow of radiance she'd had during her pregnancy hadn't faded in the slightest.
"Jean-Luc!" she blinked, trying to readjust her eyes to make sure she wasn't hallucinating him. "Wh-what are you doing here?"
He put his hands behind his back sheepishly. "I came to check in on you and see how you were holding up. Is this a bad time?"
"No, not at all," she shook her head, still seeming quite confused at his presence. She stepped aside, using the one arm that wasn't holding the baby to gesture for his entrance. "I'm sorry everything is a bit of a mess."
"No need to apologize," he said, following her to the living area. Blankets and bottles were strewn across just about every surface, and he was overwhelmed with guilt. She was struggling, doing this entirely on her own. "Could you use a second set of hands?"
She collapsed down on the couch, holding Wes in a position to burp him. She forewent the niceties of pretending that life was currently a breeze and that she was a natural at being a new mother. Her hand rose to the baby's back, patting in rhythmic increments as she tried to soothe him.
Jean-Luc sat in an adjacent chair, watching her with heartbroken eyes. She was alone at a time in her life where she should be most surrounded. He was overwhelmed with a sudden hatred towards Starfleet for asking him to stay back with the delegations. Had they not, then Jack wouldn't have been forced to leave early and command their vessel. Beverly would have her husband here, the person she needed the most.
"We've been home for five days and he's cried for the entirety of the last four of them," she laughed, her tone purely sardonic. "He was nursing fine at first. Then he decided not to nurse at all. So, we switched to formula. All of the formulas. We're trying just about everything the replicator can make, and he's tolerating almost none of them. There's one he does okay with, but by then, he's so overtired that he can't stop crying. Once he stops crying, he needs a diaper change and that makes him cry more." she laughed again, but it dissolved into a tired groan. "I haven't had a shower in days. I smell like death and spit-up, God knows I haven't slept either! I'm so tired I can hardly see straight. Yesterday, I spent five minutes rocking an empty blanket before I realized he was in his bassinet. Ugh, I'm sorry, Jean-Luc, I shouldn't unload on you like this."
He smiled softly at her. "On the contrary, I'm quite glad you did." His eyes trailed away from hers and fell onto Wesley whose wailing cries had turned into something of a whimper with every exhale. "How about I give it a try?"
Beverly stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. "Jean-Luc, you've said it yourself that you aren't good with children. Are you sure?"
He grinned at her. "I'm not good with children, that is true. Infants, however, are a little bit different." His eyes went back to hers, staring with hopefulness "Do you trust me?"
"Implicitly," she responded, sounding almost breathless at how fast the word came out.
He nodded his head towards the baby and outstretched his arms. He was careful to support the baby's neck, knowing it would be the first words out of her mouth telling him to do so. He couldn't help the small smile that curled on his lips as he took Wesley, placing the tiny infant body to rest on the tops of his legs. He stared down at the baby, feeling the silky softness of his dark brown hair in the palms of his hand. "Hello, Wesley," he said quietly, taking in the miraculous sight.
Beverly's child.
Wesley stopped crying, the redness of his face dissipating almost instantly. Finally, a peaceful silence took over the room. Beverly stared in amazement through heavy eyelids. Wesley's little legs kicked a few times before settling down, seemingly curious about the unfamiliar face staring back at him.
"Whatever you just did must've been witchcraft because I haven't seen him that content in… ever." Beverly sighed as she fully relaxed into the couch cushions.
Jean-Luc smiled at Beverly's comment, keeping his eyes glued to the baby. "I hear you're not allowing your mother a moment of peace," his baritone voice spoke hardly above a whisper. "Well, that just won't do, now will it? No. Because if she's overwhelmed, then so are you, little cadet. I propose that you and I spend some time together, getting to know each other, while you allow your mother to take a well-deserved hot shower and change into some comfortable and clean clothes. Maybe even a nap. How does that sound?"
"A shower sounds absolutely heavenly right now," she sighed. "He's been changed and fed… But I shouldn't. I- I can't. He's bound to start crying again soon and I can't abandon you with a hysterical baby so—"
"Beverly," he said, in the same voice he had been speaking to Wes with.
"Yes?"
"He and I will be just fine." he offered her a look of reassurance. He tried to convey nothing but pure adoration and kindness in his eyes. "If there is a dire and urgent issue, I will not hesitate to come find you. But if you trust me, I would like to be of some help to you."
Behind the exhaustion in her eyes was a look of someone who had just been offered a million dollars. "Thank you," she mouthed the words, darting off to the bathroom before Jean-Luc could change his mind.
He wouldn't have.
Jean-Luc's index finger pulled at the shoulder of the baby's onesie, providing a view of his clavicle. Nothing stood out, not even so much as a bruise. He traced his finger along the ridge of the bone, feeling nothing but smoothness in its path. As if it never even happened. But it did, and it was his fault. Maybe there was no physical evidence, but his nightmares would provide him all of the reminders he needed to prove what had happened.
From a few rooms over, he could hear the start of the water running in the shower.
"You didn't deserve what happened to you," he whispered, in case Beverly had not yet been too submersed in the falling water to hear him speak. "If there had been time, little cadet, I would've done anything to avoid what happened to you. You see, most people learn at some point that life comes with pain. However, I had truly never wanted to be the first one to teach you that. They say that a child born into a burning house thinks the whole world is on fire, and I'm sorry that I was the reason that the world was on fire for you, even if it was only for a short time."
The baby stared back at him, wide blue eyes that were more than likely to develop into a deep brown as he got older.
"Life saving measures are a part of my job, every day." Jean-Luc sighed. "There's always something that requires life to be balanced between happiness and pain, and often, those life saving measures cause that pain. But you, Wesley Crusher, shouldn't have felt it at all. You did nothing wrong. You hadn't hurt a soul. And yet, life did this to you. I did that to you. And though you won't remember any of this, I must apologize, because I will be the one doing the remembering. Although, that is for the best. If I must be the one to remember rather than you, that is much more sensible."
An outstretched hand grabbed a hold of Jean-Luc's finger, tiny but sharp fingernails digging into the flesh. "Aside from your unsettling entry into this world, you're a very lucky boy, Wes." Jean-Luc sighed. "You have a wonderful mother who loves you more than anything. A father who can't wait to show you the stars. I'm sure that you'll see it all. But you're going to have a wonderful life, little cadet. Your mother only has two years left of medical school. Maybe by then, she and your father will be able to accept a posting on a family vessel. Perhaps your father will even become a Captain in that time. Who's to say? What I do know is this; you are bound for greatness. It's in your blood. It's who you are. But none of that matters as long as you do the things that fill your heart with joy."
He stared down at the baby, feeling his lungs grow heavy as his emotions crept around the corner. "Don't make the same mistakes as me, Wesley. Don't run away from joy for fear that it will get the best of you. Allow it to get the best of you. Surrender to it."
A tear slipped down Jean-Luc's cheek. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to halt any more where that had come from. The tiny hand holding his finger relented its harsh grip, only cradling it now for comfort.
"Allow yourself to be honest about the things in this life that you want. Chase after them, and don't ever stop. Don't make my same mistake of selling yourself short, because one day, it could be too late to fix it. And when that day comes and you're faced with everything you'll never have, the pain of regret is astronomical. So, make a good life for yourself. This is only just the beginning for you."
The child yawned in Jean-Luc's lap, his eyes blinking slowly between attentive stares at the older man. Jean-Luc smiled softly, "Let's get you down for some rest, how does that sound?"
He carefully stood up, cradling the infant in his arms before gently placing him in the bassinet. Wesley stirred for a moment, but calmed as Jean-Luc's palm came to rest on his abdomen. The warm touch worked like a hypospray, calming him until he stopped squirming and drifted to sleep. "Now if only you could do that for your mother," he said, almost completely silent.
As he turned away from the bassinet, his eyes went to the mess of some empty, some half-full bottles on every surface, soiled burp cloths, and spit-up stained onesies. One by one, he collected the standard issue replicated bottles until his arms were full and disposed of them. The used linens went into the recyclers before he replicated a clean set of blankets and burp cloths. The several pacifiers he had collected from around the room had been washed and dried – saved due to the concern that perhaps the baby had grown accustomed to a specific one and he didn't want to face Beverly if he had been the one to dispose of it by accident.
He tidied up the rest of the room as quietly as possible, reorganizing the coffee table and adjusting the pillows back to their place on the couch. He wanted Beverly to feel as much relief as he could provide, even if it was just an organized environment. When he imagined himself in her shoes, alone with a newborn for the very first time, it ached deep in his chest.
He sat back down on the sofa, staring wistfully at the sleeping baby with Beverly's nose and Jack's eyes. Beverly's lips and Jack's chin. A perfect copy of the two of them.
"Witchcraft." Beverly whispered from across the room, wearing a soft smile and fresh clothes. Her hair was damp but brushed straight through and her bathrobe had been changed. "He's asleep, isn't he?" she asked, hardly audible and in entire disbelief.
Jean-Luc nodded and softly smiled, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of the baby's chest.
"And you cleaned up the horrible mess. Jean-Luc, you shouldn't have," she winced. "I don't deserve all this."
He frowned at that, standing up from his spot on the couch. He wasn't sure how to respond to her without stepping out of line. "Of course you do." he landed on the simplest response, knowing it wouldn't raise anymore humble rejections of kindness.
It takes a village… and yours isn't here.
"You're a saint," she said, keeping her voice as quiet as possible, trying not to wake the baby as she toed closer to the two of them. "That may have been the best shower of my entire life. Thank you," she collapsed on the couch where he had been sitting, blowing out a breath of tiredness.
"I'm happy I could be of help," he responded. "Now, how about that rest now that he's asleep?"
It was at that moment that he noticed another similarity between her and the baby; the way they fell asleep. Eyes heavily blinking, head tilting from side to side as if it would scare the sleep away. He fought back a grin at the sight.
"I shouldn't." she protested. "There's so much to do, I should look over some of my assignments while I have the peace and quiet. I'm determined not to fall behind, but the work is already piling up," she yawned, covering her mouth with her forearm.
"Beverly," he said, his deep tone only putting her to sleep further. He sat down beside her on the couch, grabbing the blanket from the back of the cushions and draped it over her legs. "You need rest more than anything right now. Please, for me? I'd even say you should sleep in your bed but I'm afraid that if the bassinet is moved, he'll wake. Lie down, just for a few minutes at least."
Instead of lying away from him, she did what he least expected and rested her head in his lap. "Five minutes," she mumbled, nuzzling her cheek against his thigh before settling.
Immediately, an angel and the devil appeared on his shoulders. However, he refused to play into his mind's little games. There would be no arguing with himself about how wrong this was. No agonizing about where the line was drawn and how far over it had been crossed. For now, he chose to enjoy a harmless moment. After all, he had just preached to Wesley about the importance of not running from joy; and despite the fact that this was a moment on borrowed time, it brought him joy.
It shouldn't. It wasn't his to enjoy. But just for today, after sleepless nights full of haunting dreams, he surrendered.
Beverly's breathing became as even as baby Wesley's, and she was unconscious in his lap almost instantly.
Surrender didn't have to be such a bad thing. Not when it looked like this. Not even as a placeholder for the man who was supposed to be in this exact spot instead of him. Surrender could look like stolen moments that would be buried away in his memory until the time came where he needed them in order to hang on. He'd argue the logistics on whether or not he was a horrible man later. For now, he felt himself surrender to his own exhaustion.
As he leaned his head back on the cushion, he ran a hand through her damp hair, brushing it away from her face. Small strokes of his fingertips against her scalp, and he had left the land of the living to join them in rest.
An hour had passed by the time he had woken up. He squinted his eyes, reading the time on the clock. Before he gave into the instinct to stand up, he felt the soft weight of Beverly's head in his lap. Through tired eyes, he looked down at her as she slept peacefully. For a split, gluttonous second, he allowed himself to cast his mind away to the possibility that somewhere out there, far away, was a life where this was his truth. In a parallel of another parallel, floating through a dimension yet to be discovered, he would be allowed to look down and not have to look back up out of guilt.
A life where he had chosen not to be so afraid of something so beautiful.
As carefully as possible, he tried to extricate himself from under her. He held her head, carefully laying it to rest as soon as he was on his feet. She hardly stirred from the disruption, only to readjust herself to lie more comfortably. He was about to step away when her hand reached out, gently touching his leg. When he looked down, he saw that her eyes were still closed, but her mouth was open to speak.
"You would make a wonderful father, Jean-Luc," she mumbled, instantly falling back to sleep before he had a chance to respond. He stood for a moment, dumbstruck and heart aching at her confession.
Eight words rang out in his mind, not one of them making sense to him. He wasn't sure where they had come from or whose voice was saying them, but it was with an intense barrage of emotions close behind.
You'll never recover from this kind of devotion.
Whose devotion, his or hers, it wasn't for him to decide. But whoever was speaking the words into his consciousness wasn't wrong – there was something devout between them. Maybe harmless, maybe not. It didn't matter anyway, he would never do anything to jeopardize his friendship with either Jack nor Beverly.
The devotion could exist; he'd carry it with all of his other burdens. It was fine, it only made the load a little heavier. But he'd carry it, and if he were to lay his burdens down, this devotion would be the last to be released. His cross to bear.
Once he was sure she was fully asleep, he leaned down and pressed a long and gentle kiss to her temple. He pulled the blanket up to cover the rest of her body, and allowed himself the moment to feel the warmth of her forehead against his cheek. Stolen moments, he wanted to steal them all. Instead, he rose back to his feet and turned to the bassinet.
Wesley slept just as soundly as his mother, content and peaceful, away from the world. "Goodbye, Wesley." he whispered, his throat constricting with the agony of all of his life's greatest regrets. Astronomical, as always.
When he stepped away from the bassinet, he turned once more to Beverly, taking in the sight of her serenely asleep. Something inside of him knew, despite his protesting soul, that this would be the last he saw of her for quite some time. His chest burned, it's been burning since he was something of a child and it never stopped. It burned because it must.
As his murmuring voice hitched, he tried to straighten his shoulders. "Goodbye, Beverly." With that, he quietly left the sleeping mother and child to the life they had without him in it.
It was raining outside when he departed.
"Sometimes I can hear my bones straining under the weight of all the lives I'm not living."
— Jonathan Safran Foer