Chapter Text
Beverly stood numb as the other members of the away team stood around her, their voices muffled as if she were in a large glass case. It was almost too unbelievable to be true. It had been a perfectly normal away mission. Wesley had begged to come along. It was good experience, he explained, to see, firsthand, an aid mission. He’d need that as a Starfleet officer. Besides, what harm could come to him if his mom was there? Now, all Beverly could think about was her son, out there, somewhere , on that harsh planet, being beaten and abused by the terrorists they’d come to save others from in the first place.
“Beverly?”
Deanna’s voice sounded clearer than anyone else’s, cutting through the hum of everything around her.
“Beverly? Can you hear me?”
She nodded slowly, her gaze darting around as if she didn’t know where the voice was coming from.
She felt a hand on her back, guiding her further into the rundown house they were in and setting her down in a chair. She looked up. It was Riker.
“We’ve sent out a search party for Wesley. Captain Picard is trying to hail the terrorists as we speak.” He knelt down so he was at eye level with her, “We’ll find him, Beverly.”
She just stared ahead. How could she let this happen? There were always dangers involved when it came to living on a starship but she never knew he’d get involved in something like this. There was a lump in her throat and a deep feeling of failure that had settled in her stomach. She’d promised to protect him. She’d promised Jack she’d protect him.
Her breath started to get shallower as she felt a feeling of panic rise in her. The lights in the house were too bright. There were too many people talking. Too many people talking about her son and her failure. They didn’t get it. He was just another away team member to them. They didn’t really care about him. Not like she did.
She was shaking, her chest heaving. It wasn’t right. Her whole body trembled as the dull white noise that engulfed her head increased to a roar. Her gaze was glued onto her knees but it felt as if she was spinning rapidly, a dizzying speed that brought a horrible feeling of nausea into her stomach and bile into her throat. How could she call herself a doctor if she couldn’t even protect her son?
She let out a choked sob that she knew no one could hear over the roar. She was dry heaving, sobbing, screaming maybe. Noises were coming from places she couldn’t identify.
She felt a touch on her shoulder, a hand maybe. It felt feather-light, not strong enough to hold her down. She’d take whoever it was with her.
There was a voice too. Quiet in the maelstrom of noise. She couldn’t make it out. Was it Wesley? No. It couldn’t be.
“Beverly, you have to listen to me. Listen to my voice.”
It was Deanna. Deanna was a psychologist. She wasn’t a mother. She didn’t know what was wrong.
Beverly might’ve shouted at her. She didn’t know. There was too much noise.
She wanted to get up. To run away and find him herself. But she couldn’t. Her legs wouldn’t move. They were stuck to the ground and she was stuck to the chair and she couldn’t get up and–
She felt a slight pinch in her neck and a huge wave of exhaustion flooded her body.
No.
She couldn’t go to sleep now. She couldn’t lose consciousness. They were drugging her. They didn’t understand. She had to be up. She had to wait for him. To find him.
Her vision started to darken. It was all too much. She lost Jack. She couldn’t lose Wesley too. Not now. Not like this.