Silences by Astra The silence was unnerving. Not that there was no sound at all. On a starship, there was always the hum of the engines, the drone of conversations, the noises of people and machinery going about their jobs quietly and efficiently as would be expected on the Federation flagship. But this, the sudden quiet after a red alert, when the klaxons ceased and red warning lights stopped flashing. This silence always unnerved her. Because she knew, and hated what came after, the wounded, the damage reports, the death certificates. She hated it all, despite the fact that it was part of her job. A responsibility she had accepted willingly in order to be here, on this ship, in this place. But that didn't mean she had to like it. And this time, most of all, she hated the silence. For there wasn't even the small comfort of helping her friends, of comforting the injured, of working side by side with her devoted staff. This time she herself was forced to stand aside and wait, barred from sickbay and her duties because of her delicate health. Not that she begrudged herself this safety. Far from it. It was just so difficult standing aside, with only the silence around her. She found herself drawn to the nursery, perhaps by the sound of infants crying. There was one harried ensign there, trying desperately to tend the three frightened babies. He was grateful for her offer of assistance, and she was thankful for the diversion. Together they calmed the babies until they were once again dry, well fed and sleeping. She lingered there, watching the sleeping forms, and the ensign respectfully withdrew to afford her some privacy. At long last she returned to her quarters, walking slowly and tired almost beyond her strength, both from her exertions and from fighting her need to be back in her place in sickbay. Safely within her quarters, she rested one hand lightly on the imperceptible bulge below her abdomen. Sacrificing her job was a small concession for this precious burden. Ordering a drink from the replicator, she took a seat, half lying on the sofa with her feet stretched before her. The liquid warmed her, making her realize she was cold. Nana's afghan lay folded across the back of the sofa and she pulled it down, burrowing into its warmth and comfort. Lying still she became aware of smaller aches and pains, reminding her yet again that she was not a young woman of twenty any more, and that her body was paying a price for this child. Just as it had already paid a bigger more painful price for the precious boy she had miscarried mere months ago. Her mind filled with memories she didn't want to remember, seeming to fill the silence of the room with their cacophony. She was pulled in, along and through, tears wetting her face unnoticed. ***** They had gone back in time, a desperate measure to fight the Borg. The ship was breached, nearly defeated by the soulless creatures, and Jean-Luc himself nearly driven mad in his need for vengeance. She had been frightened by him, by this stranger with his face, speaking as if he'd gone mad, and she, damnable coward that she was, had put the ship before him and left him, knowing that he would never, ever abandon the Enterprise. She and twenty two other crewmen were injured when their escape pod was fired upon by surface to air missiles. The injuries had been rather mild, thankfully, and when they had returned to the ship, the Borg defeated, she had dutifully treated and logged the contusions and broken bones. She counted herself lucky to escape with only bruises and a minor concussion. She hadn't taken into account the stresses of time travel. It was not the shuttle crash or the resulting injury that cost her her child, rather that had merely weakened her. The stress of their return through the temporal void was what had done the damage, and as she felt her body returning from that disorienting nothingness, she knew there was something wrong. A quick scan confirmed that there was little to be done, so she gave herself an injection and went back to work. It was only later, much later after Jean- Luc had come to her for comfort and she'd loved him fully, only then, while he slept fitfully beside her, then she wept silent tears. He had never known about the child, and she swore he never would, His pain and his losses were already far too great for his tortured soul to bear. She would not be the one to break him. Breaking a promise to herself, she researched fertility aids, then started using them without telling him. Although she had always been against using the aids herself, she couldn't bear the silence that grew between her and Jean-Luc. If this would fill that ache inside her, and allow her to bring him hope, then it was worth it. The fertility aids made her sick. Tired, irritable and feeling terrible, she considered giving up, but resisted, continuing to take the powerful drug and hoping she could control herself before she'd alienated Jean-Luc all together. Her daily scans remained the same and she slowly lost hope for ever filling the void she carried inside herself. The space between her and Jean-Luc grew, as they were drawn apart by the stresses of inquiries and hearings at the same time being split by her silence and his determination to know what that silence meant. In the end she told him, her heart breaking as the light in his eyes died. She knew him too well to pretend she didn't know what that meant. He thought she had betrayed him, as so many others had betrayed him, as his own mind and body had betrayed him. That night they slept apart. She did not scan herself the next morning, or the morning after that, or after that. The fertility drugs were thrown away. She spent her off duty time in places he never ventured. They saw each other only for matters of ships business. The silence between them was deafening. She was nauseous when she woke barely three weeks after Jean-Luc walked out on her. It didn't surprise her. The drugs had left their after effects and she was prepared to endure them and get on with her solitary existence. She had Deanna and Will and others to rely on, though all together they couldn't fill the gap he left. On the third morning of waking to nausea she dared to hope a little. Arriving in sickbay early she slipped into one of the examining rooms and gave herself a level four scan. The results left her with mixed emotions. She was indeed pregnant, but there were complications, and not just the physical ones. She called in Dr Hill as soon as she arrived and submitted willingly to the full battery of tests. The results were guarded but encouraging. It would mean restricted duty for the duration of the pregnancy, and no away missions. She was willing to submit to those conditions, and hoped it didn't drive her crazy. The more difficult task was telling Jean-Luc. But here too she was willing to sacrifice. She turned to Deanna for advice, and for once, followed it to the letter. Jean-Luc did come back, but not without making sacrifices of his own. He had spent time with Deanna also, and had committed himself to not letting what had happened with the Borg remove what was left of his humanity. They started slowly, allowing the other to share their pain and fears. It was more difficult for both of them then they had imagined it would be. But they had committed to this, and to each other. The child they shared bound them in ways they had never imagined. And together they thrived in ways they had never dared hope. ***** The sound of the door opening jarred her from her reverie. His presence made her smile. "Don't get up, love." He said, hurrying over to greet her with a kiss. She melted into his embrace. "I missed you. Everything all right?" "Thankfully yes. No serious injuries. No damage. Situation resolved peacefully." He didn't seem to want to talk about it so she dropped the subject. They ate a light dinner, then spent a quiet evening talking and reading before retiring to bed. Jean-Luc took great care in loving her that night as in every night that she wasn't too tired. And afterward, as she drifted off to sleep, she took a moment to enjoy the silence, filled only by the heartbeat of the man she loved. :::end:::