Fanfiction: To Change with Kings (1/2)
Title: To Change with Kings (1/2)
Author: L. C. Darius
Rating: NC-17 (this part general)
Pairing: Beverly Crusher/Jean-Luc Picard
Word Count: 7,324/14,360
Summary:The universe is a delicate thing, held together by tenuous threads. When even a single thread gets snagged, the universe itself can morph into something drastically different that it was intended to be. Something has tugged on the strings of the universe and Jean-Luc Picard can feel it. Things are not as they should be. In his efforts to set things right, he is thrust into the very place where his answers lie. But, just when he has the power to fix the universe, something comes along that makes him question whether that is truly what he wants after all. Rated NC-17 for smut. Thanks to Kristin for betaing!
Notes: This story was written for a Secret Santa exchange. My recipient asked for a serious story where Beverly and Jean-Luc's past played a role or an alternate universe story. I kind of combined the ideas and came up with this. Posted in two parts.
He was still in the escape pod when he came to. His head ached and his left arm was numb from the elbow down. The frosty air around him was both exhilarating and suffocating and he gasped for breath. As his eyesight came into focus, he realized that the front window of the pod was blanketed in whiteness. His brain was as numb as his arm, it seemed because it took him several moments to realize what it was: snow.
He tried to open the back door of the shuttle with no success. Craning his neck backwards to look over his shoulder, the reason became clear. The entire back of the pod was crumpled. It must have lost almost half a meter in length in the crash, he mused. In a burst of thought, he remembered the emergency hatch on the roof and jabbed his elbow into the hatch release, ducking as a load of snow fell through the new opening. Teeth chattering, he shook the snow off of his head, a wave of nausea washing over him. Some of the frozen precipitation slid down the back of his shirt but he paid it no attention, so cold already that it hadn’t made much of a difference.
Holding his injured arm limply at his side, he climbed onto his seat and hoisted himself out of the hole in the roof using the chair back to support most of his weight. It was a difficult task given his injury and once he was out, he had to lie back against the pod’s hull and catch his breath.
A cold breeze nearly bowled him over when he stood but he blinked against it and pressed into the wind. He was in a forest, trees stripped bare of their leaves by the wintery cold. The first few staggering steps were difficult, but after a few moments, he began to regain control of his gait.
He walked a ways through the woods, ducking under barren tree branches before he realized that he was being foolish. He was ambling aimlessly. At this rate, he would be hypothermic long before any help reached him. He was going to have to be proactive. Turning in a slow circle, he surveyed his surroundings. Up ahead he spotted a clearing, perhaps even the edge of the woods. Yes, it must be the edge. If he squinted he could just make out the shape of a building, and a large one at that. All he had to do was make it that far and perhaps he was saved.
And so he staggered on, feet numbing in his boots, which were most certainly not designed for extended periods in below-freezing temperatures. His head pounded with each step and he had to stop once or twice for fear that he was going to vomit. His vision blurred, but he pressed on.
Finally, after what seemed like hours but must only have been minutes, he came to the edge of the woods. The building he had spotted lay only a few meters away. To reach it, he had only to pass through a field of what looked to be little hills in the snow. They were odd little hills, though, arranged in neat, tidy rows. The archaeologist that usually inhabited part of his brain whispered to him that they were not a natural feature of the landscape, but his thinking was so dulled that he had almost reached the edifice before he realized that they were tombstones. His stomach roiled as he looked up at the stone building. He breathed a sigh of realization. It was a church.
Walking up to the side of the building, he used the thick stones to prop himself up. He traced the footprint of the structure to a set of stairs and pulled himself up using the wrought iron hand-railing. Fresh snow had begun to swirl around him by the time he pushed through the rustic wood door. He dragged himself up the center aisle and collapsed into a pew in the back row.
He could hardly remember the last time he’d been in a church. His Aunt Adele’s funeral, he imagined. He had been about twelve at the time. There had been stained glass, a series of panels depicting the great martyrs of France. It had frightened him at the time, emotionless faces on bodies twisted and contorted grotesquely. They had seemed unnatural but he had loved the way the sun shone through them, creating mosaic patterns of brightly-colored light on the chapel’s stone floor. If he closed his eyes, he was back there, the heavy scent of burning candles surrounding him, his father’s off-key voice droning out the long-forgotten words to some hymn or other. The lilting voices and the suffocating perfumed air and the dancing lights were enveloping him, drawing him down into their depths, into sleep until a loud bang jolted him into awareness.
His breath came in pants and he groaned at the sweaty sick feeling that rolled through him as he rolled over. Someone had lit a candle on the altar, one single flame burning in a little glass jar. Had it been there when he came in? He couldn’t remember, hadn’t noticed. His body had begun to tingle, heat flushing through his limbs as they thawed.
Then, suddenly, warm hands slid around his back, lifting him. In the absence of the hard wood of the pew beneath him, he slipped into blissful unconsciousness.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………............
The first conscious thought that drifted through his mind was that he was surrounded by warmth. It was almost stifling and he tried desperately to push off whatever was pressing down on him. A steady pair of hands settled themselves on his chest, gently pushing back against him and he could hear a soft shushing sound.
He opened his eyes and found himself staring at a roughly-hewn wooden ceiling. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he fought to take in enough oxygen. A thick woolen blanket covered him and a fluffy down comforter lay over that. Shifting, he confirmed his suspicion that he was quite naked beneath the covers.
The fingers that pressed against his chest, coaxing him to lie back against the pillow beneath his head were long and slender. They were the fingers of a woman. For the first time, he looked up.
"Beverly," he breathed.
She removed her hands from his chest. "I almost didn't believe it was you, Jean-Luc." She pressed her lips together and got to her feet. "It is, though, isn't it?"
"Yes." He nodded slightly, uncertain as to how his head would respond to the action. "It's me. What's left of me, anyway. How did I get here?"
"I was hoping you could tell me. I found you in the church."
That he remembered. "I was trying to get out of the snow. It was so cold. I...I crashed"
Beverly's face brightened in understanding. "That was you, then. I heard something. I wasn't sure what it was." The fire in the large stone fireplace crackled as she prodded the logs with a heavy iron poker. "You had a broken arm," she said, speaking more to the fire than to him, "and a concussion. You had me worried for a while there. I couldn't keep you conscious."
That explained the nausea and the blurred vision, then. A terrifying thought occurred to him. "How long have I been here?"
Beverly stood, brushing imaginary dirt from her hands and walked to the window. "Only a day and a half." Drawing the curtains apart, she peered out and Jean-Luc took the opportunity to really look at her for the first time.
The years since he had last seen her had been kind to her. Her hair was redder than he remembered and he wondered idly if she was dyeing it. Perhaps she had simply dyed it before. He didn't really know. It was wilder too, somehow, as though she had given up on taming it. It suited her, Jean-Luc thought.
"You know where you are, then." It wasn't a question or even a statement, but almost more of a regret.
Jean-Luc pushed himself upright, leaning against the back of the couch and keeping the blankets drawn to his chin. He didn't know where he was, through presumably, he should. Looking around and giving the matter a bit of thought, realization dawned.
"I'm on Caldos, aren't I?"
She nodded her response, gaze still fixed out the window. Jean-Luc wondered if it wasn't so much that she was looking at something as looking away from him. He couldn't say he blamed her; to say they hadn't parted on good terms was something of an understatement.
"Didn't you mean to come here?" She turned back to him, eyebrows creased in confusion.
Running a hand over his bare scalp, he tried to remember. "No, I don't think so. I've been on an archaeological expedition with an old professor of mine from the Academy. We were on an Yridian freighter headed for Kurl when the captain and his crew attacked us. Professor Galen was vaporized and I managed to get to an escape pod. They disabled the pod from their ship and I crash landed in the woods. I managed to make it to the church and that's the last thing I remember before I woke up here."
Beverly was silent for some time. "That's quite a story." She came to him and reached for his injured arm, un-wrapping the bandages. "I heard you had left Starfleet. I had a difficult time believing it. I've never even seen you out of uniform until yesterday."
He winced as her fingers pressed into the flesh of his forearm. It felt better than it had the day before but far from normal. “You said it was broken?”
“Transverse fracture. You were lucky-it’s healed up cleanly. I went ahead and knitted it back together for you. I hope that’s alright. It’ll be sore for a few days, but you should have full use of it already.” She still wouldn’t meet his eyes, but began massaging an ointment into the skin.
“Actually, I was planning on keeping the break, thanks.” She glanced up at him, disapproval evident. “What is that? Cucumber?”
She shook her head. “Comfrey. It’ll help the bone. Once this soaks in, I’m going to put some under the bandages, if that’s alright with you.”
“Yes.” He knew next to nothing about modern medicine, let alone herbs. He hadn’t though Beverly was familiar with the latter either but apparently he was wrong.
“I’ve taken care of the concussion with a cellular regenerator. How does your head feel? Any blurred vision or nausea?”
“No, it feels fine. Thank you.”
She gave him a little contented smile as she finished wrapping his arm. He stretched it slightly, testing his limits. The bandage was tight, but not overly so.
While he had been examining his arm, Beverly had made her way to the kitchen. It opened right into the living area and Jean-Luc shifted on the couch to see what she was doing. Her head was in a cabinet and he could hear her rummaging about. One mug sat on the counter and she was elbow deep in the cabinet looking for what he assumed must be a second mug. She succeeded and emerged with the mug.
“Tea?”
Jean-Luc stood, careful to wrap the blankets around himself. “That sounds lovely. Do you think I could get some clothing though?”
Beverly lifted a hand to her mouth, stifling a small laugh. “I’m sorry, Jean-Luc, I’d forgotten. It’s upstairs. I can go get it for you.”
It was the first time he’d seen her smile yet and it made him smile as well. They had been close, once. It bothered him that they weren’t anymore. He had thought they were friends, but perhaps he had been wrong. Or perhaps there was simply too much history between them. He filled the teapot Beverly had set on the counter with water, an awkward endeavor with his injured arm and the blanket to contend with, and put it on the stove. He was surprised to see that the stove was gas-run. He glanced about for matches and finally found a box nestled in a cabinet. He twiddled the knob on the stove and scrunched his nose as the gas came on. Lighting a match was a little tricky-he hadn't done so in years-but he managed and soon had the kettle in place.
"Jean-Luc! I was going to do that, you didn't have to." Beverly hurried down the stairs, his clothing folded in her arms.
"It wasn't any bother," he assured. "You've been more than hospitable. It's the least I could do." He took the clothing she offered him. "Is there somewhere I could change?"
The bathroom was on the second floor, just at the top of the stairs. The room was neat and tidy, but had enough of a personal touch for Jean-Luc to be fairly certain it was Beverly's private bathroom. Her toothbrush sat alone in a holder with space for four. A single set of towels hung on the towel rack.
The whole place made Jean-Luc feel...uneasy. He imagined that divorced couples forced into close quarters must feel something like this. He knew Beverly so well, there was such history and emotion between them, but they had no real connection now outside of that. Oh, the potential was there, but that was all it was likely to be. There were too many ghosts.
He dressed hurriedly, glad to have clean clothing for the first time in...well, he could hardly remember. Professor Galen was a wonderful archaeologist but he was single-minded in that pursuit. Jean-Luc's stomach clenched at the thought of his late professor. He'd hardly had time to consider that his mentor was gone. It was something he would need to do for closure but not now. Not here.
The kettle was whistling as he made his way back downstairs. "You take yours black, don't you?"
Surprised she remembered, he nodded. He sat back on the couch and Beverly carried in a tray with two cups and saucers on it. "I really must thank you, Beverly. I know things aren't exactly..." he clenched his jaw, trying to find the right words, "I won’t pretend that there isn’t a tension between us. It was pure coincidence that I wound up here, but you’ve been incredibly hospitable. You’ve mended me. You’ve washed my clothing. It’s been a long time since anyone has bothered to do any of that for me. Thank you. Sincerely, thank you.”
It was only as her expression softened that Jean-Luc realized how tense Beverly’s face had been. “It’s no problem at all, Jean-Luc. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone around. I’m the only doctor around here, but people tend to keep their distance unless they need something.”
“Why stay?” he asked.
She shrugged. “It’s my grandmother’s house. After Jack died it was…convenient. And the isolation was nice. But it’s been a long time and the company is welcome.”
“I had no idea your grandmother lived all the way out here.”
“She’s always been adventurous. She moved to Arvada III after my parents died and she’s still there. Frontier medicine has always fascinated her and, as remote as Caldos is, Arvada is that much more so.” She spun her mug in her hands, fingers tracing the handle.
Jean-Luc downed the last of his tea and smiled. “So she’s a doctor as well then?”
“A healer. I say it’s the same thing, but we’ve had some disagreements on the matter. She thinks that everything she needs to serve her patients can be found in nature. I agree with her to an extent, but she completely rejects any sort of technological medical convenience, let alone major developments. I think she was a little disappointed when I went into Starfleet, but she’d never admit to it.” She crossed her legs under herself and gazed towards the window.
Jean-Luc nodded his agreement. “It sounds like she and my father would get along well. I was meant to go into the family business. Starships simply were not an option. He’s been far more vocal in his disapproval than your grandmother, though.”
“I’m sorry. It’s never easy to go against the wishes of someone you care about.” They sat in silence, unsure of what to say. “It looks like we’re going to get a real storm tonight.”
“You mean that wasn’t a storm yesterday?”
Beverly laughed and shook her head. “Not at all. The weather control systems have been unreliable for years. It’s worse in the winter. We’ve gotten almost a meter of snow already this year. Tonight’s going to be a big one.”
Jean-Luc frowned. Hospitable as Beverly had been, he hadn’t been planning on staying the night. “I suppose there won’t be any shuttles leaving tonight, then?”
“Shuttles?” Beverly shook her head. “No shuttles. You pretty much have to schedule one yourself if you want to get in or out of here. We’re not on any regular shuttle routes.”
He exhaled heavily. It wasn’t that he’d had plans, per se, when his escape pod had crashed but from the moment he had woken up on Beverly’s couch he had known that he had to get off this planet.
“That’s not what you were hoping to hear, is it?”
“To be quite honest, it’s not.”
“If you’d like, we can put in a shuttle request tomorrow to get you wherever you’re going. You’re welcome to stay here in the meantime.”
To Jean-Luc’s amazement, it sounded more appealing than anything else he could think of.
“Yes, alright.”
Beverly smiled. “Good. I’d like to keep an eye on you, anyway, just in case.” She got to her feet and cleared the tray and tea away. “Well, it’s getting late and you must be hungry. I was planning on soup. Does that sound good?”
They chopped vegetables for the better part of an hour, chatting away aimlessly, catching up. They put the soup on the stove to stew and Beverly went upstairs to take a shower. She returned almost an hour later, hair curling wildly around her shoulders, a vague herbal scent wafting about her. The soup was ready and they ate, mostly in silence. Once they had finished, they cleared the dishes. Beverly washed them while he dried. An ease had settled into their interactions. It was only surface deep, but it was there nonetheless and Jean-Luc found that he liked it.
They retired to the couch and Beverly poured them each a glass of spiced cider. Jean-Luc lazed at the end of the sofa, reveling in the light and warmth of the crackling fire.
He sighed contentedly. “It’s a remarkable life you lead here.”
“It’s not all that remarkable. It’s comfortable, simple, but a bit dull.”
“No, it’s wonderful. It’s almost unreal.” He leaned forward. The heat from the fire made his skin tighten and tingle. “What happened to you, Beverly? How did you wind up here?” As soon as he spoke, he winced. “I didn’t mean that quite how it sounded. It’s just that you had such a promising career with Starfleet. What changed?”
She squinted down at her drink thoughtfully. “It was after Jack died.” Jean-Luc looked away from her. “I was twenty-three years old, in my last semester at the Academy, and widowed. Jack’s death was so sudden and so meaningless that I couldn’t stomach going out there. Every person I knew, everyone I was close to was in Starfleet. All the relationships I would be able to have if I stayed would be with people in Starfleet. It was all too tenuous. I could have done it but…I didn’t want to. It sounds petty, I know.”
“Not at all. I understand the feeling. One always hears about the heroic deaths, officers who die in glorious ways, but it doesn’t always happen that way.”
“What about you? I wouldn’t have ever expected you to leave Starfleet.”
He supposed it was a fair question. It wasn’t one that he wanted to answer, but he supposed it was the least he could do. Beverly had been extraordinarily open with him, he owed her the same. “I suppose Jack’s death was the trigger. I had never lost someone under my command whom I was as close to as I was to Jack.” He paused, wondering whether he should continue. Everything he had told her thus far was the truth, but it was far from the whole story. “That wasn’t really it, though. This is going to sound absurd.”
Beverly’s eyes were on him. “No, go on.”
“Almost as soon as Jack died, I was overcome by the feeling that everything was…wrong somehow. It was as though the universe had been hit by something enormous and knocked off-course. I tried to…deal with it for several years but it just got worse. I began to feel that there was something more out there, something I was missing.
“I was at the Academy one day visiting an old professor of mine. He was leaving his teaching position to set out on an exploratory expedition.”
“Professor Galen?” Beverly asked softly.
Jean-Luc nodded. “He told me that he had a theory, a profound hypothesis that, if we could only prove it, would change the way the universe was understood.” He stared at the fire as he spoke, entranced. “It sounded exactly like what I needed. I resigned from Starfleet and Professor Galen and I set out.” He blinked and looked over at Beverly. “That was almost three years ago. That’s why I have to get back out there, even with the professor gone. I can’t help but feel that if I don’t find the answers I’ll go mad.”
Silence fell between them as he finished, filled only by the popping of the logs in the fireplace and the melancholy howl of some far-off animal in the woods.
It was the first time he had ever told anyone. Even Professor Galen had no idea why Jean-Luc had signed on for the expedition. He had simply assumed it was Jean-Luc’s love of the past re-asserting itself after having been trapped for so long behind the façade of a starship captain. Jean-Luc couldn’t deny that, perhaps, that was part of it, but this hungering ache within him was what had compelled him.
Sometimes he dreamed. He saw people, events, things that had never happened, would never happen and when he awoke he was left with the unsettling feeling that rather than waking from a dream to reality, it was the other way around. These occurrences had become more and more common since he had left Starfleet, which he had originally taken as a sign that he had made the right decision, that he was getting closer to his answer.
But then he had begun to dream of himself, again a captain of a sleek, elegant starship. Space called out to him. He needed to command, to lead rather than to be shuttled from place to place on freighters and cargo ships. Recently, Jean-Luc had become conflicted. He couldn’t tell anymore what it was that he wanted or where he was meant to be. As time went on, everything became worse. The universe was wrong and it was spiraling more and more out of control by the second. Solving the professor’s riddle had become imperative.
Having reached the end of his train of thought, Jean-Luc looked up at Beverly. She was gazing at him, a strange look in her eyes. It wasn’t pity, nor was it sympathy nor empathy nor anything else he could readily identify. He was beginning to feel as though he had a large smudge of soot across his nose or was sprouting hair.
Finally she shook her head and looked away. “More cider?”
Jean-Luc could do little more than blink stupidly at her. He had never told anyone that before and all Beverly could do was ask him if he wanted more cider? At least she didn’t think he was insane. But still…he would have liked some response. “Yes, that would be-“
Suddenly, Beverly was leaning forward, crawling across the couch on all fours. She sat next to him and stared at him for a moment and then she leaned in and kissed him square on the mouth. Her lips were chapped and rough against his, but pliant. It took him a moment to respond but it had been so long since he had even thought about kissing a woman that when she pressed more insistently against him he couldn’t help falling into rhythm. His tongue prodded her lower lip and she opened her mouth to him.
Her tongue was warm and slick against his and she tasted like the cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves she had stewed in the cider. Her responses were over-eager and hesitant in turns and he could tell she was almost as out of practice at this as he was.
And that brought his brain to a screeching halt. He grabbed Beverly’s shoulders, debating whether to pull her closer or push her away. He chose the latter. “I’m sorry, Beverly, I can’t.”
She stood quickly and spun away from him, a hand tangling in her hair. “Oh, god,” she groaned. “God, Jean-Luc, I’m sorry. I…just forget I…” She exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry, Jean-Luc, if you don’t need anything, I’m going to go to bed.”
He hardly had time to get to his feet before he heard her steps on the stairs and her bedroom door click shut.
Silently, he gathered the cider glasses and dumped the dregs down the sink. Back in the living room, he fluffed a throw pillow and spread out the blankets Beverly had neatly folded and placed in front of the fire.
Jean-Luc lay alone on the couch as the night wore on, silence pressing in on him save the occasional slumping sound of snow falling from the roof. His thoughts roamed and he felt the guilt and the uncertainty wash through him. He had sworn to himself never to do what he just had, never to even think about doing it. And yet he had. He had kissed Beverly and, god, he wanted more. Up until Beverly had kissed him, Jean-Luc had been so certain that he was past this, that it really had been nothing more than infatuation. Oh, but it wasn’t, not at all. The worst part was that it had felt so right.
Well, it wasn’t going to go any further. His cheeks puffed out as he exhaled heavily and he turned on his side facing the window. Hypnotized by the swirling of heavy snow outside he finally fell asleep.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
The scent of something baking woke Beverly. Her fire had gone out during the night and the room was frosty. She was considering rolling over and going back to sleep beneath her heavy duvet, but then she remembered Jean-Luc. Groaning, she rolled over onto her stomach, pulling her pillow over her head.
What had she been thinking? There hadn’t even been alcohol in the cider. What had possessed her? Was she really that lonely? At least Jean-Luc had had the sense to stop.
It was just that, hearing his story, she hadn’t been able to help herself. She knew exactly how Jean-Luc felt. Not firsthand, of course, but the story was familiar. She had considered telling him about it last night but the timing had felt all wrong. In retrospect, kissing him hadn’t been the best alternative, but she had simply been overcome by the urge.
She hoped it was just that he was a familiar face. When she had first moved to Caldos, everything had been wonderful. The colonists came to see her when they needed something, but other than that, she had been left alone to grieve in peace. But it had been six years now and she was lonely.
When she had found Jean-Luc in the chapel she’d hardly believed it. For so long she had been angry with him. Not for Jack’s dying under his command, but for cutting ties once Jack was gone. She had thought they were friends, but apparently she had been the only one. There were times over the past few years when she had wondered if they could have been even more than that. But Jean-Luc had left the funeral without so much as a farewell and the next time she’d seen him he had been slipping into unconsciousness with a broken arm and a concussion. She had been hurt, but they had begun to get along so well again. And then she had ruined everything. She groaned.
She was going to have to go downstairs. He was going to be here for several more days. They were going to have to make the best of things. She should tell him about Jack’s journals, she decided. Even if they were of no help to Jean-Luc at all, they might give him something to do until they could get him a shuttle.
The floorboards were like ice beneath her bare feet and she hurried to the closet. She shoved on a pair of slippers and slid her robe on over her camisole and flannel pants. Hardly sparing a glance in the mirror, she slipped out of her room and down the stairs.
Jean-Luc was at the stove again. Beverly came up behind him, close enough to smell what he was cooking. “Good morning.” He started and turned around quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It smells wonderful. What is it?”
“Toast.” He stepped aside so she could see the few slices of bread he had in a skillet. “French toast, I suppose. I hope you slept well.”
Beverly hoisted herself up to sit on the countertop next to the sink. “Is this yours?” She gestured to a cup of tea. Jean-Luc shook his head and held up his own mug. “I did. The couch wasn’t too uncomfortable, was it?”
“It was perfect. I put some more wood on the fire. It was getting low.”
She nodded. As she looked over him, her stomach churned, unsettled and uneasy. “About last night, Jean-Luc-“
“It’s forgotten, Beverly. It was late, we were tired. Things happen, but it’s no reason for us to get uncomfortable.” Beverly nodded. “How about some breakfast?”
Sliding off the counter, she held out first one plate and then the other, while Jean-Luc forked the toast and some eggs out of the skillet. Beverly flinched at the scraping noise the chair legs made on the wooden floor as they pulled them away from the table and sat.
“I’ve been thinking about what you were saying last night.”
“Oh?” He looked a little frightened, as though she had finally realized that he was insane.
“I have something I think you’d like to read. Even if it isn’t helpful, it might keep you busy until we can get a shuttle.” She cut her toast into even little squares and poured syrup on top, just enough to pool around the bread but not spread to the eggs. “Jack felt the same way as you do.”
Jean-Luc paused, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”
Beverly sighed. “I don’t think he ever mentioned it to anyone but me. Jack was extraordinarily perceptive. It’s why he went into the sciences to begin with. For as long as I knew him, Jack was convinced that something was going to go wrong with the universe. We all take temporal mechanics at the Academy, we all know how fragile the universe is. I get that. I don’t pretend to fully comprehend it, but I understand the general concept. Jack, though…Jack understood. He was absolutely certain that something was going to happen to disrupt the timeline. He said he could feel it, hear it coming.”
Jean-Luc’s fork clanked on the plate. “Surely he would have mentioned…” Beverly shrugged.
“He made temporal disruptions something of a hobby. It was all he researched in his spare time for years. He used to say that he didn’t think he would ever quite grasp it, but he did love trying.”
“You said you had something for me to read?”
“Jack kept journals.”
His eyes widened. “And you, you still have them?”
“Yes, in the attic somewhere, I think. I might have to do a bit of rummaging, but I know they’re up there. I’ll bring them down for you once we finish eating, if you want.”
“Well, I… I will admit I am fascinated. But I wouldn’t want to intrude. Journals are a very personal, private thing.”
Touched by his concern, she shook her head. “It’s alright. I’ve read them, there isn’t anything scandalous in them. Besides, I think privacy is one of those things that should be reserved for the living. The dead don’t mind if we poke around a little. It’s expected.”
“It wasn’t Jack’s privacy I was worried about.”
Beverly flushed. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”
And she didn’t, not really. Jack was an old part of her life. When she had been with him, she had been a different person than she was today. For Jean-Luc to read about the old Beverly would be like him listening to her grandmother tell stories about her childhood: it might reveal some embarrassing insights, but it wasn’t anything overly invasive or personal.
Once they had finished eating, Beverly went upstairs to get dressed and Jean-Luc slipped into the bathroom to shower. She was going to have to replace the bandages on his arm again, she realized as she pulled on a pair of stiff denim trousers. Typically, she wore a skirt but it would collect too much dust in the attic. The pants were a relic from her Academy days and she was a more than a little pleased to find that they still fit all these years later. Doing up the last button on her blouse, she searched for a tie for her hair.
She was pulling it into a snug ponytail at the base of her neck when the shower water stopped. Apparently Jean-Luc didn’t like to lounge. Had it been her, she would have spent hours under the steaming spray letting the water work out all the kinks in her muscles until her skin would turn pink and tender and she would have to get out. He had to be sore from the crash. While he had been unconscious, Beverly had followed his footprints from the church into the woods, a difficult task with the snow steadily filling them. She had found the escape pod quite easily once she had made it to the woods, its mangled wreckage steaming and hissing in the cold. He was lucky to have survived.
Before heading up to the attic, she pulled on a tall pair of boots. The last thing she felt like doing in this weather was walking around in the un-insulated, un-heated attic in her bare feet. She walked as quietly as she could down the hall from her bedroom, hating the way the heels of her shoes clacked on the wood floor. Jean-Luc was rustling around in the bathroom, and she passed by the door without comment. It was a bit unsettling to think about the fact that he was naked no more than a meter away from her.
Having a man in the house again after so long was strange. Beverly had found herself reacting peculiarly to his presence. The kiss the night before loomed in the forefront of her mind and she batted the thought away. It returned, though. In the light of day and the presence of mind that came with wakefulness, it wasn’t as intimidating a thought.
What confused her was her motivation. Had it been someone other than Jean-Luc there, some stranger with the same story, would she have done it? She couldn’t say, but somehow she doubted it. She had been so pleased to see Jean-Luc again. Aside from Jack, she had felt closest to Jean-Luc during her Academy days and he had simply disappeared on her. Having him back in her life, even for a short period of time, had been a wonderful prospect. She had been hostile towards him initially and, while she regretted it, she couldn’t really blame herself. Until she had heard his explanation, she had been angry. He had left her when she needed support most and it had hurt.
The possibility that she had feelings for Jean-Luc was something that had occurred to her before. It hadn’t been important when Jack was alive because she and Jack had been so utterly in love. Yes, it had been young love, impossibly foolish and impetuous and loyal, but even through that, Jean-Luc had slipped past her blinders and wormed his way into her affections. Once Jack had died, Jean-Luc had gone as well and Beverly had been so devastated by both losses that she had stopped thinking of the starship captain.
Sighing, she opened the door at the end of the hallway, revealing a rickety old set of wooden stairs. She ascended them in the darkness, treading carefully. Her fingers felt the air before her and closed on a string as she neared the top of the stairs. She pulled on it and a lone light flared to life, illuminating the space.
Beverly groaned a bit at the sight. The attic was piled high with boxes and she hadn’t the faintest idea which ones had Jack’s things in them. She had a vague feeling that they were over by the window. Whether they were or not was a different story entirely, but it seemed as good a place as any to start. And so she did.
She had no idea how much time had passed before Jean-Luc came up the stairs, but she started at the sound of his footsteps and got to her feet, brushing dust off her pants.
“Any luck?” She hadn’t realized that his voice had been hoarse before. It must have been though, because it didn’t sound at all like it had even that morning. The steam from the shower must have relaxed his vocal cords. The deep, rich sound made her ears feel drunk-not a falling down, sick sort of drunk, but the sort of drunk that Beverly enjoyed, where her head spun and almost anything felt possible.
“Not yet. Most of this is Nana’s but still…” Her voice trailed off as she gestured to the stacks of boxes around her.
“Would you like help? What sort of things might they be packed with?”
She pushed a stack of boxes away from the window seat and patted it. “I haven’t a clue, Jean-Luc. I think I have it under control, but I could use some company.” He sat awkwardly on the window seat, crossing his legs rather formally. “It’s usually more comfortable if you sit long-ways,” she suggested. He moved so that his back was to the wall, legs extended towards her.
“Did you bring all this from Earth?” he asked, looking around warily as Beverly crawled over to the box she had been rummaging through.
“Some of it. The rest is Nana’s and my parents’. One of these days I should really go through it and toss out all the things I don’t need. It’s amazing how many things people accumulate over their lives, isn’t it?”
Jean-Luc made a funny sound of agreement in his throat. “When my mother passed away, my father boxed up all her things and stowed them away. When he died, my brother did the same with all my father’s things. I seriously hope neither Robert nor I die anytime soon or we won’t have any room left in the house at all.” He frowned, as though he knew that had come out a bit darker than intended.
Beverly closed the box she had just finished digging through and moved on to the next. A smile broke across her face as soon as she had pried the flaps open. “You must be good luck. Here we are.”
She pulled a stack of leather-bound books from the depths of the box. Jean-Luc rose from his seat and crouched next to her, pulling out a stack himself. “Beverly, there are dozens of these.”
“Jack was very thorough. If it’s any consolation, he did have large handwriting. And there are drawings and diagrams and all sorts of things like that. But you will have plenty to keep you occupied.”
They took the journals downstairs and Jean-Luc immediately set them on the coffee table. Beverly sat next to him on the couch and the set about putting the journals in chronological order. They made quick work of it and Jean-Luc settled into the sofa and began to read.
Beverly left him to himself, re-locating to the kitchen. There wasn’t much that she needed to do around the house and she decided that it was as good a time as any to re-organize her stock of plants and herbs. The colony was rapidly coming up on flu season and she had a suspicion that she was running low on quite a few necessary items.
Aside from that, though, she was getting distracted. Her brain kept shifting to Jean-Luc and he was about the last thing she thought she needed to be spending extended periods of time thinking about. He was only here for a short time. He had a mission, a calling and it would do her no good to get attached to him again only to have him leave.
Beverly closed her eyes and leaned back against her counter. She was damaged, that much she knew. Everyone she had loved in her life, everyone who had truly loved her back was gone. She was so very, very lonely but the thought of opening herself up enough to let someone in was beyond terrifying, especially someone who had already left her once. She didn’t think she could handle the loss, even the possibility of loss. It was emotionally paralyzing but she couldn’t get beyond it.
Idly, she wondered if perhaps Jean-Luc and Jack were right, if this wasn’t at all the way things were supposed to be. Surely she wasn’t meant to live like this, alone and too afraid to change it. Maybe Jack was supposed to be alive, maybe her parents weren’t supposed to be dead, maybe.... Maybe she was just being silly. This was her life and it was what it was.
She wasn’t even certain that she bought into the idea that there was a way the world was supposed to be. Wasn’t the world exactly what it was, no more and no less? It was so tempting to believe that perhaps everything that had gone so horribly awry in her life was some giant cosmic mistake that could be set right, but she didn’t know if she could carry on believing that. It was easier to accept that things had happened because that was simply the way things had turned out.
Frightened as she was, though, she felt herself being drawn to Jean-Luc. It was becoming more and more evident to her that she hadn’t kissed him on accident or on some whim. She wanted to be with him in a way that she hadn’t wanted anyone since Jack had died. The overwhelming urge she felt towards him was a little frightening in its intensity, now that she recognized it.
It was silly of her, really. He had pushed her away last night when she had kissed him. He didn’t want to be with her and there was no sense in pining after him if that was the case. Of course, Beverly knew that this was easier said than done, but she was going to have to try. There wasn’t another option.
She straightened up and began her inventory.
Author: L. C. Darius
Rating: NC-17 (this part general)
Pairing: Beverly Crusher/Jean-Luc Picard
Word Count: 7,324/14,360
Summary:The universe is a delicate thing, held together by tenuous threads. When even a single thread gets snagged, the universe itself can morph into something drastically different that it was intended to be. Something has tugged on the strings of the universe and Jean-Luc Picard can feel it. Things are not as they should be. In his efforts to set things right, he is thrust into the very place where his answers lie. But, just when he has the power to fix the universe, something comes along that makes him question whether that is truly what he wants after all. Rated NC-17 for smut. Thanks to Kristin for betaing!
Notes: This story was written for a Secret Santa exchange. My recipient asked for a serious story where Beverly and Jean-Luc's past played a role or an alternate universe story. I kind of combined the ideas and came up with this. Posted in two parts.
He was still in the escape pod when he came to. His head ached and his left arm was numb from the elbow down. The frosty air around him was both exhilarating and suffocating and he gasped for breath. As his eyesight came into focus, he realized that the front window of the pod was blanketed in whiteness. His brain was as numb as his arm, it seemed because it took him several moments to realize what it was: snow.
He tried to open the back door of the shuttle with no success. Craning his neck backwards to look over his shoulder, the reason became clear. The entire back of the pod was crumpled. It must have lost almost half a meter in length in the crash, he mused. In a burst of thought, he remembered the emergency hatch on the roof and jabbed his elbow into the hatch release, ducking as a load of snow fell through the new opening. Teeth chattering, he shook the snow off of his head, a wave of nausea washing over him. Some of the frozen precipitation slid down the back of his shirt but he paid it no attention, so cold already that it hadn’t made much of a difference.
Holding his injured arm limply at his side, he climbed onto his seat and hoisted himself out of the hole in the roof using the chair back to support most of his weight. It was a difficult task given his injury and once he was out, he had to lie back against the pod’s hull and catch his breath.
A cold breeze nearly bowled him over when he stood but he blinked against it and pressed into the wind. He was in a forest, trees stripped bare of their leaves by the wintery cold. The first few staggering steps were difficult, but after a few moments, he began to regain control of his gait.
He walked a ways through the woods, ducking under barren tree branches before he realized that he was being foolish. He was ambling aimlessly. At this rate, he would be hypothermic long before any help reached him. He was going to have to be proactive. Turning in a slow circle, he surveyed his surroundings. Up ahead he spotted a clearing, perhaps even the edge of the woods. Yes, it must be the edge. If he squinted he could just make out the shape of a building, and a large one at that. All he had to do was make it that far and perhaps he was saved.
And so he staggered on, feet numbing in his boots, which were most certainly not designed for extended periods in below-freezing temperatures. His head pounded with each step and he had to stop once or twice for fear that he was going to vomit. His vision blurred, but he pressed on.
Finally, after what seemed like hours but must only have been minutes, he came to the edge of the woods. The building he had spotted lay only a few meters away. To reach it, he had only to pass through a field of what looked to be little hills in the snow. They were odd little hills, though, arranged in neat, tidy rows. The archaeologist that usually inhabited part of his brain whispered to him that they were not a natural feature of the landscape, but his thinking was so dulled that he had almost reached the edifice before he realized that they were tombstones. His stomach roiled as he looked up at the stone building. He breathed a sigh of realization. It was a church.
Walking up to the side of the building, he used the thick stones to prop himself up. He traced the footprint of the structure to a set of stairs and pulled himself up using the wrought iron hand-railing. Fresh snow had begun to swirl around him by the time he pushed through the rustic wood door. He dragged himself up the center aisle and collapsed into a pew in the back row.
He could hardly remember the last time he’d been in a church. His Aunt Adele’s funeral, he imagined. He had been about twelve at the time. There had been stained glass, a series of panels depicting the great martyrs of France. It had frightened him at the time, emotionless faces on bodies twisted and contorted grotesquely. They had seemed unnatural but he had loved the way the sun shone through them, creating mosaic patterns of brightly-colored light on the chapel’s stone floor. If he closed his eyes, he was back there, the heavy scent of burning candles surrounding him, his father’s off-key voice droning out the long-forgotten words to some hymn or other. The lilting voices and the suffocating perfumed air and the dancing lights were enveloping him, drawing him down into their depths, into sleep until a loud bang jolted him into awareness.
His breath came in pants and he groaned at the sweaty sick feeling that rolled through him as he rolled over. Someone had lit a candle on the altar, one single flame burning in a little glass jar. Had it been there when he came in? He couldn’t remember, hadn’t noticed. His body had begun to tingle, heat flushing through his limbs as they thawed.
Then, suddenly, warm hands slid around his back, lifting him. In the absence of the hard wood of the pew beneath him, he slipped into blissful unconsciousness.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………............
The first conscious thought that drifted through his mind was that he was surrounded by warmth. It was almost stifling and he tried desperately to push off whatever was pressing down on him. A steady pair of hands settled themselves on his chest, gently pushing back against him and he could hear a soft shushing sound.
He opened his eyes and found himself staring at a roughly-hewn wooden ceiling. His heart pounded against his ribcage as he fought to take in enough oxygen. A thick woolen blanket covered him and a fluffy down comforter lay over that. Shifting, he confirmed his suspicion that he was quite naked beneath the covers.
The fingers that pressed against his chest, coaxing him to lie back against the pillow beneath his head were long and slender. They were the fingers of a woman. For the first time, he looked up.
"Beverly," he breathed.
She removed her hands from his chest. "I almost didn't believe it was you, Jean-Luc." She pressed her lips together and got to her feet. "It is, though, isn't it?"
"Yes." He nodded slightly, uncertain as to how his head would respond to the action. "It's me. What's left of me, anyway. How did I get here?"
"I was hoping you could tell me. I found you in the church."
That he remembered. "I was trying to get out of the snow. It was so cold. I...I crashed"
Beverly's face brightened in understanding. "That was you, then. I heard something. I wasn't sure what it was." The fire in the large stone fireplace crackled as she prodded the logs with a heavy iron poker. "You had a broken arm," she said, speaking more to the fire than to him, "and a concussion. You had me worried for a while there. I couldn't keep you conscious."
That explained the nausea and the blurred vision, then. A terrifying thought occurred to him. "How long have I been here?"
Beverly stood, brushing imaginary dirt from her hands and walked to the window. "Only a day and a half." Drawing the curtains apart, she peered out and Jean-Luc took the opportunity to really look at her for the first time.
The years since he had last seen her had been kind to her. Her hair was redder than he remembered and he wondered idly if she was dyeing it. Perhaps she had simply dyed it before. He didn't really know. It was wilder too, somehow, as though she had given up on taming it. It suited her, Jean-Luc thought.
"You know where you are, then." It wasn't a question or even a statement, but almost more of a regret.
Jean-Luc pushed himself upright, leaning against the back of the couch and keeping the blankets drawn to his chin. He didn't know where he was, through presumably, he should. Looking around and giving the matter a bit of thought, realization dawned.
"I'm on Caldos, aren't I?"
She nodded her response, gaze still fixed out the window. Jean-Luc wondered if it wasn't so much that she was looking at something as looking away from him. He couldn't say he blamed her; to say they hadn't parted on good terms was something of an understatement.
"Didn't you mean to come here?" She turned back to him, eyebrows creased in confusion.
Running a hand over his bare scalp, he tried to remember. "No, I don't think so. I've been on an archaeological expedition with an old professor of mine from the Academy. We were on an Yridian freighter headed for Kurl when the captain and his crew attacked us. Professor Galen was vaporized and I managed to get to an escape pod. They disabled the pod from their ship and I crash landed in the woods. I managed to make it to the church and that's the last thing I remember before I woke up here."
Beverly was silent for some time. "That's quite a story." She came to him and reached for his injured arm, un-wrapping the bandages. "I heard you had left Starfleet. I had a difficult time believing it. I've never even seen you out of uniform until yesterday."
He winced as her fingers pressed into the flesh of his forearm. It felt better than it had the day before but far from normal. “You said it was broken?”
“Transverse fracture. You were lucky-it’s healed up cleanly. I went ahead and knitted it back together for you. I hope that’s alright. It’ll be sore for a few days, but you should have full use of it already.” She still wouldn’t meet his eyes, but began massaging an ointment into the skin.
“Actually, I was planning on keeping the break, thanks.” She glanced up at him, disapproval evident. “What is that? Cucumber?”
She shook her head. “Comfrey. It’ll help the bone. Once this soaks in, I’m going to put some under the bandages, if that’s alright with you.”
“Yes.” He knew next to nothing about modern medicine, let alone herbs. He hadn’t though Beverly was familiar with the latter either but apparently he was wrong.
“I’ve taken care of the concussion with a cellular regenerator. How does your head feel? Any blurred vision or nausea?”
“No, it feels fine. Thank you.”
She gave him a little contented smile as she finished wrapping his arm. He stretched it slightly, testing his limits. The bandage was tight, but not overly so.
While he had been examining his arm, Beverly had made her way to the kitchen. It opened right into the living area and Jean-Luc shifted on the couch to see what she was doing. Her head was in a cabinet and he could hear her rummaging about. One mug sat on the counter and she was elbow deep in the cabinet looking for what he assumed must be a second mug. She succeeded and emerged with the mug.
“Tea?”
Jean-Luc stood, careful to wrap the blankets around himself. “That sounds lovely. Do you think I could get some clothing though?”
Beverly lifted a hand to her mouth, stifling a small laugh. “I’m sorry, Jean-Luc, I’d forgotten. It’s upstairs. I can go get it for you.”
It was the first time he’d seen her smile yet and it made him smile as well. They had been close, once. It bothered him that they weren’t anymore. He had thought they were friends, but perhaps he had been wrong. Or perhaps there was simply too much history between them. He filled the teapot Beverly had set on the counter with water, an awkward endeavor with his injured arm and the blanket to contend with, and put it on the stove. He was surprised to see that the stove was gas-run. He glanced about for matches and finally found a box nestled in a cabinet. He twiddled the knob on the stove and scrunched his nose as the gas came on. Lighting a match was a little tricky-he hadn't done so in years-but he managed and soon had the kettle in place.
"Jean-Luc! I was going to do that, you didn't have to." Beverly hurried down the stairs, his clothing folded in her arms.
"It wasn't any bother," he assured. "You've been more than hospitable. It's the least I could do." He took the clothing she offered him. "Is there somewhere I could change?"
The bathroom was on the second floor, just at the top of the stairs. The room was neat and tidy, but had enough of a personal touch for Jean-Luc to be fairly certain it was Beverly's private bathroom. Her toothbrush sat alone in a holder with space for four. A single set of towels hung on the towel rack.
The whole place made Jean-Luc feel...uneasy. He imagined that divorced couples forced into close quarters must feel something like this. He knew Beverly so well, there was such history and emotion between them, but they had no real connection now outside of that. Oh, the potential was there, but that was all it was likely to be. There were too many ghosts.
He dressed hurriedly, glad to have clean clothing for the first time in...well, he could hardly remember. Professor Galen was a wonderful archaeologist but he was single-minded in that pursuit. Jean-Luc's stomach clenched at the thought of his late professor. He'd hardly had time to consider that his mentor was gone. It was something he would need to do for closure but not now. Not here.
The kettle was whistling as he made his way back downstairs. "You take yours black, don't you?"
Surprised she remembered, he nodded. He sat back on the couch and Beverly carried in a tray with two cups and saucers on it. "I really must thank you, Beverly. I know things aren't exactly..." he clenched his jaw, trying to find the right words, "I won’t pretend that there isn’t a tension between us. It was pure coincidence that I wound up here, but you’ve been incredibly hospitable. You’ve mended me. You’ve washed my clothing. It’s been a long time since anyone has bothered to do any of that for me. Thank you. Sincerely, thank you.”
It was only as her expression softened that Jean-Luc realized how tense Beverly’s face had been. “It’s no problem at all, Jean-Luc. It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone around. I’m the only doctor around here, but people tend to keep their distance unless they need something.”
“Why stay?” he asked.
She shrugged. “It’s my grandmother’s house. After Jack died it was…convenient. And the isolation was nice. But it’s been a long time and the company is welcome.”
“I had no idea your grandmother lived all the way out here.”
“She’s always been adventurous. She moved to Arvada III after my parents died and she’s still there. Frontier medicine has always fascinated her and, as remote as Caldos is, Arvada is that much more so.” She spun her mug in her hands, fingers tracing the handle.
Jean-Luc downed the last of his tea and smiled. “So she’s a doctor as well then?”
“A healer. I say it’s the same thing, but we’ve had some disagreements on the matter. She thinks that everything she needs to serve her patients can be found in nature. I agree with her to an extent, but she completely rejects any sort of technological medical convenience, let alone major developments. I think she was a little disappointed when I went into Starfleet, but she’d never admit to it.” She crossed her legs under herself and gazed towards the window.
Jean-Luc nodded his agreement. “It sounds like she and my father would get along well. I was meant to go into the family business. Starships simply were not an option. He’s been far more vocal in his disapproval than your grandmother, though.”
“I’m sorry. It’s never easy to go against the wishes of someone you care about.” They sat in silence, unsure of what to say. “It looks like we’re going to get a real storm tonight.”
“You mean that wasn’t a storm yesterday?”
Beverly laughed and shook her head. “Not at all. The weather control systems have been unreliable for years. It’s worse in the winter. We’ve gotten almost a meter of snow already this year. Tonight’s going to be a big one.”
Jean-Luc frowned. Hospitable as Beverly had been, he hadn’t been planning on staying the night. “I suppose there won’t be any shuttles leaving tonight, then?”
“Shuttles?” Beverly shook her head. “No shuttles. You pretty much have to schedule one yourself if you want to get in or out of here. We’re not on any regular shuttle routes.”
He exhaled heavily. It wasn’t that he’d had plans, per se, when his escape pod had crashed but from the moment he had woken up on Beverly’s couch he had known that he had to get off this planet.
“That’s not what you were hoping to hear, is it?”
“To be quite honest, it’s not.”
“If you’d like, we can put in a shuttle request tomorrow to get you wherever you’re going. You’re welcome to stay here in the meantime.”
To Jean-Luc’s amazement, it sounded more appealing than anything else he could think of.
“Yes, alright.”
Beverly smiled. “Good. I’d like to keep an eye on you, anyway, just in case.” She got to her feet and cleared the tray and tea away. “Well, it’s getting late and you must be hungry. I was planning on soup. Does that sound good?”
They chopped vegetables for the better part of an hour, chatting away aimlessly, catching up. They put the soup on the stove to stew and Beverly went upstairs to take a shower. She returned almost an hour later, hair curling wildly around her shoulders, a vague herbal scent wafting about her. The soup was ready and they ate, mostly in silence. Once they had finished, they cleared the dishes. Beverly washed them while he dried. An ease had settled into their interactions. It was only surface deep, but it was there nonetheless and Jean-Luc found that he liked it.
They retired to the couch and Beverly poured them each a glass of spiced cider. Jean-Luc lazed at the end of the sofa, reveling in the light and warmth of the crackling fire.
He sighed contentedly. “It’s a remarkable life you lead here.”
“It’s not all that remarkable. It’s comfortable, simple, but a bit dull.”
“No, it’s wonderful. It’s almost unreal.” He leaned forward. The heat from the fire made his skin tighten and tingle. “What happened to you, Beverly? How did you wind up here?” As soon as he spoke, he winced. “I didn’t mean that quite how it sounded. It’s just that you had such a promising career with Starfleet. What changed?”
She squinted down at her drink thoughtfully. “It was after Jack died.” Jean-Luc looked away from her. “I was twenty-three years old, in my last semester at the Academy, and widowed. Jack’s death was so sudden and so meaningless that I couldn’t stomach going out there. Every person I knew, everyone I was close to was in Starfleet. All the relationships I would be able to have if I stayed would be with people in Starfleet. It was all too tenuous. I could have done it but…I didn’t want to. It sounds petty, I know.”
“Not at all. I understand the feeling. One always hears about the heroic deaths, officers who die in glorious ways, but it doesn’t always happen that way.”
“What about you? I wouldn’t have ever expected you to leave Starfleet.”
He supposed it was a fair question. It wasn’t one that he wanted to answer, but he supposed it was the least he could do. Beverly had been extraordinarily open with him, he owed her the same. “I suppose Jack’s death was the trigger. I had never lost someone under my command whom I was as close to as I was to Jack.” He paused, wondering whether he should continue. Everything he had told her thus far was the truth, but it was far from the whole story. “That wasn’t really it, though. This is going to sound absurd.”
Beverly’s eyes were on him. “No, go on.”
“Almost as soon as Jack died, I was overcome by the feeling that everything was…wrong somehow. It was as though the universe had been hit by something enormous and knocked off-course. I tried to…deal with it for several years but it just got worse. I began to feel that there was something more out there, something I was missing.
“I was at the Academy one day visiting an old professor of mine. He was leaving his teaching position to set out on an exploratory expedition.”
“Professor Galen?” Beverly asked softly.
Jean-Luc nodded. “He told me that he had a theory, a profound hypothesis that, if we could only prove it, would change the way the universe was understood.” He stared at the fire as he spoke, entranced. “It sounded exactly like what I needed. I resigned from Starfleet and Professor Galen and I set out.” He blinked and looked over at Beverly. “That was almost three years ago. That’s why I have to get back out there, even with the professor gone. I can’t help but feel that if I don’t find the answers I’ll go mad.”
Silence fell between them as he finished, filled only by the popping of the logs in the fireplace and the melancholy howl of some far-off animal in the woods.
It was the first time he had ever told anyone. Even Professor Galen had no idea why Jean-Luc had signed on for the expedition. He had simply assumed it was Jean-Luc’s love of the past re-asserting itself after having been trapped for so long behind the façade of a starship captain. Jean-Luc couldn’t deny that, perhaps, that was part of it, but this hungering ache within him was what had compelled him.
Sometimes he dreamed. He saw people, events, things that had never happened, would never happen and when he awoke he was left with the unsettling feeling that rather than waking from a dream to reality, it was the other way around. These occurrences had become more and more common since he had left Starfleet, which he had originally taken as a sign that he had made the right decision, that he was getting closer to his answer.
But then he had begun to dream of himself, again a captain of a sleek, elegant starship. Space called out to him. He needed to command, to lead rather than to be shuttled from place to place on freighters and cargo ships. Recently, Jean-Luc had become conflicted. He couldn’t tell anymore what it was that he wanted or where he was meant to be. As time went on, everything became worse. The universe was wrong and it was spiraling more and more out of control by the second. Solving the professor’s riddle had become imperative.
Having reached the end of his train of thought, Jean-Luc looked up at Beverly. She was gazing at him, a strange look in her eyes. It wasn’t pity, nor was it sympathy nor empathy nor anything else he could readily identify. He was beginning to feel as though he had a large smudge of soot across his nose or was sprouting hair.
Finally she shook her head and looked away. “More cider?”
Jean-Luc could do little more than blink stupidly at her. He had never told anyone that before and all Beverly could do was ask him if he wanted more cider? At least she didn’t think he was insane. But still…he would have liked some response. “Yes, that would be-“
Suddenly, Beverly was leaning forward, crawling across the couch on all fours. She sat next to him and stared at him for a moment and then she leaned in and kissed him square on the mouth. Her lips were chapped and rough against his, but pliant. It took him a moment to respond but it had been so long since he had even thought about kissing a woman that when she pressed more insistently against him he couldn’t help falling into rhythm. His tongue prodded her lower lip and she opened her mouth to him.
Her tongue was warm and slick against his and she tasted like the cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves she had stewed in the cider. Her responses were over-eager and hesitant in turns and he could tell she was almost as out of practice at this as he was.
And that brought his brain to a screeching halt. He grabbed Beverly’s shoulders, debating whether to pull her closer or push her away. He chose the latter. “I’m sorry, Beverly, I can’t.”
She stood quickly and spun away from him, a hand tangling in her hair. “Oh, god,” she groaned. “God, Jean-Luc, I’m sorry. I…just forget I…” She exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry, Jean-Luc, if you don’t need anything, I’m going to go to bed.”
He hardly had time to get to his feet before he heard her steps on the stairs and her bedroom door click shut.
Silently, he gathered the cider glasses and dumped the dregs down the sink. Back in the living room, he fluffed a throw pillow and spread out the blankets Beverly had neatly folded and placed in front of the fire.
Jean-Luc lay alone on the couch as the night wore on, silence pressing in on him save the occasional slumping sound of snow falling from the roof. His thoughts roamed and he felt the guilt and the uncertainty wash through him. He had sworn to himself never to do what he just had, never to even think about doing it. And yet he had. He had kissed Beverly and, god, he wanted more. Up until Beverly had kissed him, Jean-Luc had been so certain that he was past this, that it really had been nothing more than infatuation. Oh, but it wasn’t, not at all. The worst part was that it had felt so right.
Well, it wasn’t going to go any further. His cheeks puffed out as he exhaled heavily and he turned on his side facing the window. Hypnotized by the swirling of heavy snow outside he finally fell asleep.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
The scent of something baking woke Beverly. Her fire had gone out during the night and the room was frosty. She was considering rolling over and going back to sleep beneath her heavy duvet, but then she remembered Jean-Luc. Groaning, she rolled over onto her stomach, pulling her pillow over her head.
What had she been thinking? There hadn’t even been alcohol in the cider. What had possessed her? Was she really that lonely? At least Jean-Luc had had the sense to stop.
It was just that, hearing his story, she hadn’t been able to help herself. She knew exactly how Jean-Luc felt. Not firsthand, of course, but the story was familiar. She had considered telling him about it last night but the timing had felt all wrong. In retrospect, kissing him hadn’t been the best alternative, but she had simply been overcome by the urge.
She hoped it was just that he was a familiar face. When she had first moved to Caldos, everything had been wonderful. The colonists came to see her when they needed something, but other than that, she had been left alone to grieve in peace. But it had been six years now and she was lonely.
When she had found Jean-Luc in the chapel she’d hardly believed it. For so long she had been angry with him. Not for Jack’s dying under his command, but for cutting ties once Jack was gone. She had thought they were friends, but apparently she had been the only one. There were times over the past few years when she had wondered if they could have been even more than that. But Jean-Luc had left the funeral without so much as a farewell and the next time she’d seen him he had been slipping into unconsciousness with a broken arm and a concussion. She had been hurt, but they had begun to get along so well again. And then she had ruined everything. She groaned.
She was going to have to go downstairs. He was going to be here for several more days. They were going to have to make the best of things. She should tell him about Jack’s journals, she decided. Even if they were of no help to Jean-Luc at all, they might give him something to do until they could get him a shuttle.
The floorboards were like ice beneath her bare feet and she hurried to the closet. She shoved on a pair of slippers and slid her robe on over her camisole and flannel pants. Hardly sparing a glance in the mirror, she slipped out of her room and down the stairs.
Jean-Luc was at the stove again. Beverly came up behind him, close enough to smell what he was cooking. “Good morning.” He started and turned around quickly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. It smells wonderful. What is it?”
“Toast.” He stepped aside so she could see the few slices of bread he had in a skillet. “French toast, I suppose. I hope you slept well.”
Beverly hoisted herself up to sit on the countertop next to the sink. “Is this yours?” She gestured to a cup of tea. Jean-Luc shook his head and held up his own mug. “I did. The couch wasn’t too uncomfortable, was it?”
“It was perfect. I put some more wood on the fire. It was getting low.”
She nodded. As she looked over him, her stomach churned, unsettled and uneasy. “About last night, Jean-Luc-“
“It’s forgotten, Beverly. It was late, we were tired. Things happen, but it’s no reason for us to get uncomfortable.” Beverly nodded. “How about some breakfast?”
Sliding off the counter, she held out first one plate and then the other, while Jean-Luc forked the toast and some eggs out of the skillet. Beverly flinched at the scraping noise the chair legs made on the wooden floor as they pulled them away from the table and sat.
“I’ve been thinking about what you were saying last night.”
“Oh?” He looked a little frightened, as though she had finally realized that he was insane.
“I have something I think you’d like to read. Even if it isn’t helpful, it might keep you busy until we can get a shuttle.” She cut her toast into even little squares and poured syrup on top, just enough to pool around the bread but not spread to the eggs. “Jack felt the same way as you do.”
Jean-Luc paused, a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean?”
Beverly sighed. “I don’t think he ever mentioned it to anyone but me. Jack was extraordinarily perceptive. It’s why he went into the sciences to begin with. For as long as I knew him, Jack was convinced that something was going to go wrong with the universe. We all take temporal mechanics at the Academy, we all know how fragile the universe is. I get that. I don’t pretend to fully comprehend it, but I understand the general concept. Jack, though…Jack understood. He was absolutely certain that something was going to happen to disrupt the timeline. He said he could feel it, hear it coming.”
Jean-Luc’s fork clanked on the plate. “Surely he would have mentioned…” Beverly shrugged.
“He made temporal disruptions something of a hobby. It was all he researched in his spare time for years. He used to say that he didn’t think he would ever quite grasp it, but he did love trying.”
“You said you had something for me to read?”
“Jack kept journals.”
His eyes widened. “And you, you still have them?”
“Yes, in the attic somewhere, I think. I might have to do a bit of rummaging, but I know they’re up there. I’ll bring them down for you once we finish eating, if you want.”
“Well, I… I will admit I am fascinated. But I wouldn’t want to intrude. Journals are a very personal, private thing.”
Touched by his concern, she shook her head. “It’s alright. I’ve read them, there isn’t anything scandalous in them. Besides, I think privacy is one of those things that should be reserved for the living. The dead don’t mind if we poke around a little. It’s expected.”
“It wasn’t Jack’s privacy I was worried about.”
Beverly flushed. “It’s alright. I don’t mind.”
And she didn’t, not really. Jack was an old part of her life. When she had been with him, she had been a different person than she was today. For Jean-Luc to read about the old Beverly would be like him listening to her grandmother tell stories about her childhood: it might reveal some embarrassing insights, but it wasn’t anything overly invasive or personal.
Once they had finished eating, Beverly went upstairs to get dressed and Jean-Luc slipped into the bathroom to shower. She was going to have to replace the bandages on his arm again, she realized as she pulled on a pair of stiff denim trousers. Typically, she wore a skirt but it would collect too much dust in the attic. The pants were a relic from her Academy days and she was a more than a little pleased to find that they still fit all these years later. Doing up the last button on her blouse, she searched for a tie for her hair.
She was pulling it into a snug ponytail at the base of her neck when the shower water stopped. Apparently Jean-Luc didn’t like to lounge. Had it been her, she would have spent hours under the steaming spray letting the water work out all the kinks in her muscles until her skin would turn pink and tender and she would have to get out. He had to be sore from the crash. While he had been unconscious, Beverly had followed his footprints from the church into the woods, a difficult task with the snow steadily filling them. She had found the escape pod quite easily once she had made it to the woods, its mangled wreckage steaming and hissing in the cold. He was lucky to have survived.
Before heading up to the attic, she pulled on a tall pair of boots. The last thing she felt like doing in this weather was walking around in the un-insulated, un-heated attic in her bare feet. She walked as quietly as she could down the hall from her bedroom, hating the way the heels of her shoes clacked on the wood floor. Jean-Luc was rustling around in the bathroom, and she passed by the door without comment. It was a bit unsettling to think about the fact that he was naked no more than a meter away from her.
Having a man in the house again after so long was strange. Beverly had found herself reacting peculiarly to his presence. The kiss the night before loomed in the forefront of her mind and she batted the thought away. It returned, though. In the light of day and the presence of mind that came with wakefulness, it wasn’t as intimidating a thought.
What confused her was her motivation. Had it been someone other than Jean-Luc there, some stranger with the same story, would she have done it? She couldn’t say, but somehow she doubted it. She had been so pleased to see Jean-Luc again. Aside from Jack, she had felt closest to Jean-Luc during her Academy days and he had simply disappeared on her. Having him back in her life, even for a short period of time, had been a wonderful prospect. She had been hostile towards him initially and, while she regretted it, she couldn’t really blame herself. Until she had heard his explanation, she had been angry. He had left her when she needed support most and it had hurt.
The possibility that she had feelings for Jean-Luc was something that had occurred to her before. It hadn’t been important when Jack was alive because she and Jack had been so utterly in love. Yes, it had been young love, impossibly foolish and impetuous and loyal, but even through that, Jean-Luc had slipped past her blinders and wormed his way into her affections. Once Jack had died, Jean-Luc had gone as well and Beverly had been so devastated by both losses that she had stopped thinking of the starship captain.
Sighing, she opened the door at the end of the hallway, revealing a rickety old set of wooden stairs. She ascended them in the darkness, treading carefully. Her fingers felt the air before her and closed on a string as she neared the top of the stairs. She pulled on it and a lone light flared to life, illuminating the space.
Beverly groaned a bit at the sight. The attic was piled high with boxes and she hadn’t the faintest idea which ones had Jack’s things in them. She had a vague feeling that they were over by the window. Whether they were or not was a different story entirely, but it seemed as good a place as any to start. And so she did.
She had no idea how much time had passed before Jean-Luc came up the stairs, but she started at the sound of his footsteps and got to her feet, brushing dust off her pants.
“Any luck?” She hadn’t realized that his voice had been hoarse before. It must have been though, because it didn’t sound at all like it had even that morning. The steam from the shower must have relaxed his vocal cords. The deep, rich sound made her ears feel drunk-not a falling down, sick sort of drunk, but the sort of drunk that Beverly enjoyed, where her head spun and almost anything felt possible.
“Not yet. Most of this is Nana’s but still…” Her voice trailed off as she gestured to the stacks of boxes around her.
“Would you like help? What sort of things might they be packed with?”
She pushed a stack of boxes away from the window seat and patted it. “I haven’t a clue, Jean-Luc. I think I have it under control, but I could use some company.” He sat awkwardly on the window seat, crossing his legs rather formally. “It’s usually more comfortable if you sit long-ways,” she suggested. He moved so that his back was to the wall, legs extended towards her.
“Did you bring all this from Earth?” he asked, looking around warily as Beverly crawled over to the box she had been rummaging through.
“Some of it. The rest is Nana’s and my parents’. One of these days I should really go through it and toss out all the things I don’t need. It’s amazing how many things people accumulate over their lives, isn’t it?”
Jean-Luc made a funny sound of agreement in his throat. “When my mother passed away, my father boxed up all her things and stowed them away. When he died, my brother did the same with all my father’s things. I seriously hope neither Robert nor I die anytime soon or we won’t have any room left in the house at all.” He frowned, as though he knew that had come out a bit darker than intended.
Beverly closed the box she had just finished digging through and moved on to the next. A smile broke across her face as soon as she had pried the flaps open. “You must be good luck. Here we are.”
She pulled a stack of leather-bound books from the depths of the box. Jean-Luc rose from his seat and crouched next to her, pulling out a stack himself. “Beverly, there are dozens of these.”
“Jack was very thorough. If it’s any consolation, he did have large handwriting. And there are drawings and diagrams and all sorts of things like that. But you will have plenty to keep you occupied.”
They took the journals downstairs and Jean-Luc immediately set them on the coffee table. Beverly sat next to him on the couch and the set about putting the journals in chronological order. They made quick work of it and Jean-Luc settled into the sofa and began to read.
Beverly left him to himself, re-locating to the kitchen. There wasn’t much that she needed to do around the house and she decided that it was as good a time as any to re-organize her stock of plants and herbs. The colony was rapidly coming up on flu season and she had a suspicion that she was running low on quite a few necessary items.
Aside from that, though, she was getting distracted. Her brain kept shifting to Jean-Luc and he was about the last thing she thought she needed to be spending extended periods of time thinking about. He was only here for a short time. He had a mission, a calling and it would do her no good to get attached to him again only to have him leave.
Beverly closed her eyes and leaned back against her counter. She was damaged, that much she knew. Everyone she had loved in her life, everyone who had truly loved her back was gone. She was so very, very lonely but the thought of opening herself up enough to let someone in was beyond terrifying, especially someone who had already left her once. She didn’t think she could handle the loss, even the possibility of loss. It was emotionally paralyzing but she couldn’t get beyond it.
Idly, she wondered if perhaps Jean-Luc and Jack were right, if this wasn’t at all the way things were supposed to be. Surely she wasn’t meant to live like this, alone and too afraid to change it. Maybe Jack was supposed to be alive, maybe her parents weren’t supposed to be dead, maybe.... Maybe she was just being silly. This was her life and it was what it was.
She wasn’t even certain that she bought into the idea that there was a way the world was supposed to be. Wasn’t the world exactly what it was, no more and no less? It was so tempting to believe that perhaps everything that had gone so horribly awry in her life was some giant cosmic mistake that could be set right, but she didn’t know if she could carry on believing that. It was easier to accept that things had happened because that was simply the way things had turned out.
Frightened as she was, though, she felt herself being drawn to Jean-Luc. It was becoming more and more evident to her that she hadn’t kissed him on accident or on some whim. She wanted to be with him in a way that she hadn’t wanted anyone since Jack had died. The overwhelming urge she felt towards him was a little frightening in its intensity, now that she recognized it.
It was silly of her, really. He had pushed her away last night when she had kissed him. He didn’t want to be with her and there was no sense in pining after him if that was the case. Of course, Beverly knew that this was easier said than done, but she was going to have to try. There wasn’t another option.
She straightened up and began her inventory.