A post Star Trek: PIC season 3 story
Jack Crusher, Beverly and Picard have some quiet moments before his posting to the Enterprise
The sun had just dipped behind the vineyard hills, casting golden light across the porch at Château Picard. The air was warm, the kind that clung to skin like memory. Beverly, Jean-Luc, and Jack sat in wooden chairs, glasses of wine in hand, the quiet hum of crickets in the distance.
Jack swirled his glass once, then gave it a look.
"No offence, but I still prefer whiskey."
Beverly chuckled. "That’s because you inherited your grandfather’s taste for trouble."
"Or maybe I just like drinks that don’t smell like dried grapes and existential regret."
Jean-Luc raised a brow, but there was a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Blasphemy. You’re sitting on hallowed ground."
They all laughed—that deep, unforced laughter that only comes when the world, for once, isn’t ending.
But as the laughter faded, the stillness settled in again. Not heavy—just present. The kind that reminded you something was on the horizon.
Jack was the first to speak. "Tomorrow."
Beverly looked at him, her eyes soft. "You ready?"
He shrugged. "I’m ready for the work. The structure. The mission." He paused, then added, quieter, "I’m not sure I’m ready to leave this."
Jean-Luc nodded slowly, sipping his wine. "That means you’re more ready than you think."
Jack glanced between them. "And... I’ve been thinking about Sidney."
That caught Beverly’s attention. "Oh?"
Jack leaned forward slightly, glass resting on his knee. "She’s… smart. Confident. Good at everything. And after everything that happened... I don’t know. I feel like I shouldn’t be thinking about someone like her. Not now. Not so soon."
Jean-Luc said nothing, letting the silence stretch.
"I mean," Jack continued, "we went through all that together, and she stood by me. But I crossed boundaries before. I was careless with people. With her. What if this is just guilt-dressed up like a crush? Or worse, what if I still can't tell the difference between what I feel and what I... pick up from others?"
Beverly reached out, covering his hand with hers. "Jack, you’re not the same man you were seven months ago. You’re trying. You’re asking these questions. That’s more than most."
Jean-Luc set his glass down. "If you're honest with her—really honest—then you'll be giving her the choice you never had. That’s how trust begins again."
Jack gave a small nod. "Yeah. I just don’t want to scare her off."
"Then don’t start with declarations," Beverly said gently. "Start with coffee. Or a walk. Something simple. Let her come to know the man you’re becoming."
Jack looked at both of them, his features softening. "Thanks. For not giving up on me."
"We never did," Jean-Luc said. "Even when you were impossible."
Jack stood slowly, stretching. "I think I need some air. Gonna walk the vineyard."
Beverly smiled. "Don’t trip over your own brooding."
He gave a mock salute and headed down the steps, his silhouette fading into the vineyard path.
As the night deepened, Beverly and Jean-Luc stayed seated. The air was cooling now, laced with the scent of lavender and earth.
Jean-Luc reached for her hand. They sat like that, fingers laced, shoulders touching, gazing up as the stars slowly made themselves known.
"We’re finally going to make it, aren’t we?" Beverly said softly.
"No starship. No emergency beacon. No war," he replied.
She leaned her head against his shoulder. "It feels strange. Like we slipped through some kind of crack in time and finally found the version of us that works."
Jean-Luc smiled. "I should’ve asked you to marry me years ago."
Beverly lifted her head to look at him. There was warmth in her eyes, and something unreadable.
She didn’t answer. Not with words.
Instead, she stood and extended a hand, and he took it.
They moved quietly into the house, hand in hand, the door clicking shut behind them, the stars kept shining.
The kitchen was filled with the smell of real coffee and toasted bread. Sunlight poured through the windows, catching dust motes dancing in the beams.
Jean-Luc stood by the stove in a robe, humming something in French. Beverly sat at the table in one of his shirts, sipping coffee, barefoot, her hair mussed but eyes clear.
Jack stepped into the kitchen, blinked once, and immediately turned around.
"Nope. Not doing this. Too cozy."
Beverly laughed. "You want eggs or are you just going to mock our happiness?"
"Bit of both," Jack mumbled, grabbing a mug.
He poured himself a cup and leaned against the counter.
Jean-Luc looked over. "Big day today. You ready?"
Jack took a sip, then nodded. "Yeah. I think I am."
He glanced at his parents and saw the ease between them, the kind of quiet love that doesn’t need to prove itself anymore.
For once, the galaxy didn’t feel so heavy.