It wasn't his mother or the captain; it wasn't even Dr. Pulaski or one of the endless parade of nurses that seemed to traipse in and out of his room whenever they felt like it. It was Boothby, and Wesley couldn't have been more surprised if Jack Crusher himself had walked in. "Boothby! What are you doing here?"

The old man winked and grabbed one of the chairs, swinging it over by the edge of Wesley's bed and taking a seat. "I heard you were in here, thought you might like some company for a while." He paused. "I saw your mother and the captain leaving, so I figured you weren't too sick for visitors."

"Yeah, well, if it wasn't for them I wouldn't even be sick." The words were out before Wesley could stop them, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to. Boothby might not hold any degrees in counseling, but as far as Wesley was concerned, he was the next best thing. Maybe even better.

Boothby's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Those are some mighty harsh words, son. Want to talk about it?"

Wesley nodded and sat back on the edge of the bed, hunching his shoulders defensively. "Yeah, I guess I do," he mumbled. "What do you do when you find out that your whole life's been nothing but a lie?"

Boothby nodded sagely. "Sounds pretty grim, young man, pretty grim indeed. I suppose you plan on elaborating on that question? Unless, of course, it was purely hypothetical?"

"I wish it was," Wesley replied with a grimace. "You don't know how much I wish that. But it's not." The words poured out of him, unstoppable, until the entire story was told. "I don't know what to do," he concluded. "I don't know what to say or how to react. I mean, I can't start calling the captain Dad, you know?" Boothby nodded as Wesley rolled off the bed and wandered around the edges of the room, stopping only to stare moodily-and unseeingly-out the window. "And Mom-wow! This is something I never would have expected her to do. She's usually so up front about everything, always letting me know about things, no matter how painful or scary it might be." He paused, uncertain if he should voice his biggest fear, then shrugged. Boothby was hardly going to run to his mother and tell her whatever Wesley told him, and even if he did, it wasn't anything Wesley wouldn't tell her himself. Eventually.

"You look like you have something more to say," Boothby interjected encouragingly.

That did it. "Yeah, I do," Wesley replied, his voice quiet as he stared down at his hands. "I guess I'm just wondering if I can still trust my mom; this is an awfully big secret to keep from me. Not just from me, but from my father and Captain Picard. I mean," he corrected himself, "from Jack Crusher and my father-no, that's not right either." Wesley's voice was filled with frustration. "It's a big secret to keep from the three of us. Whoever we are," he concluded.

Boothby nodded, pursing his lips consideringly. "That it is, boy, that it is. You go along, thinking you know who you are and where you come from, and wham!" He smacked his hands together sharply. "Everything turns upside down and you don't know what to believe any more."

Wesley nodded. "That's exactly it. I'm not who I always thought I was, and my mom-" He blew out his breath and ran agitated fingers through his hair, suddenly uncertain what he wanted to say.

Boothby, however, had no such problems. "So you feel as if your mother isn't who you thought she was, and you aren't who you thought you were." Wesley nodded, but before he could say anything, the older man continued speaking. "Well, that's understandable up to a point. But consider this: if you hadn't become ill, and your mother hadn't been forced to tell you what happened, who would you be then?"

Wesley frowned. "I'm not sure I follow you," he admitted.

"Think about it this way," Boothby explained. "Does this knowledge change anything about your life, the way you've lived it or the way you plan on living it? Does it make you any different this morning than you were yesterday? In the important ways," he added sharply, cutting off the objection he could Wesley was about to object. "I'm not talking genetically, either. All I'm asking is, does this knowledge change who Wesley Crusher is, or just how he got here?"

Wesley's frown had only deepened as Boothby continued. "Maybe, but I'll never be able to find out, will I?" he burst out when the old man fell silent. "I just never thought Mom would be the type to keep a secret like this!"

"Of course, some secrets are harder to share than others, if you catch my meaning," Boothby offered, his voice innocent but his eyes carefully watching for Wesley's reaction.

"I'm not sure I do," Wesley replied with a questioning frown. Boothby had been the first person Captain Picard had told him to look up when he entered the Academy, and one who had proven to be as valuable a listener as Guinan and as valuable an advisor as the captain himself. What was he saying now? And was it something Wesley wanted to hear?

Boothby leaned back comfortably in the chair, arms folded across his chest, and put one foot up against the edge of the bed. "I think you do," he countered, holding Wesley's gaze with his own until the younger man turned away, ducking his head in a half-embarrassed motion.

"That was different," Wesley protested. "I was trying to protect my friends." It sounded weak in his own ears, and he knew it must sound doubly so to Boothby.

Apparently so. There was a touch of scorn in the old man's voice when he spoke again, an edge that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Wasn't your mother trying to do the same thing?"

"I guess," Wesley conceded. "But it still doesn't seem like her," was his next objection. "I mean, not to hide it for so long-!"

"Maybe it isn't like her," Boothby offered with a slight smile, the scorn vanished as if it had never been.

"What do you mean?" Wesley asked, caught off guard. Of all the possible responses Boothby could have given, agreement wasn't one of them.

The gardener shrugged. "Just what I said. Maybe it isn't like her, not like her now. And maybe this is the reason it isn't like her now. I think you of all people can appreciate that what we do-or have done," he emphasized, "isn't always who we are."

"You mean, maybe she's always been so honest and tells me everything because of this one thing she never told anyone?" Wesley asked. Boothby nodded, and Wesley walked back over to sit at the table with a thoughtful expression on his face. "To sort of make up for it?"

"It's the sort of thing that can shape a person's entire future," Boothby suggested. "A trauma like that has far-reaching consequences. Not only for the person keeping the secret, but for everyone else involved. I'm not saying you don't have a right to be upset about this," he added, "because you do. I'm sure your mother expects you to be. But everyone makes mistakes, and mistakes have consequences. Consequences for others besides the person making the mistake."

"That's the truth," Wesley muttered. His own recent "mistake" had a high price indeed-his own integrity had been on the line, and his friend's life had been lost. He'd been able to rectify the mistake, but only after a certain amount of prodding from Captain Picard. No one had known anything about his mother's mistake, so she hadn't had anyone she could turn to when her own conscience failed her. There wasn't even a single clue to suggest that she'd been hiding so volatile a secret close to her heart, not until now. If Picard hadn't been there to push Wesley into doing the right thing... Wesley shuddered. If Picard hadn't convinced him to tell the truth, his mother wouldn't have been the only Crusher with a guilty secret to haunt them for the rest of their life. "Thanks, Boothby."

Boothby looked surprised. "For what?"

It was Wesley's turn to smile. "For making me think."

The old gardener nodded as he came to his feet. "That's what you're here for, boy. To think. Anything I can do to help is all part of the service." He turned and walked toward the door as if to leave, but stopped when Wesley hesitantly touched his shoulder. Wordlessly, he held out his hand to the older man, who shook it firmly, then patted the boy on the shoulder and left the room without another word.

"-so we should be coming back to the ship in a few days." There was a knock at her door, and Beverly Crusher paused in the middle of her message to Dr. Selar, startled. "Crusher out," she finished, pressing the computer pad to send the message before coming to her feet and facing the door. "Come in," she called. Who in the world could be coming to see her so late? Unless something had happened; perhaps Wesley's illness had taken an unexpected turn for the worse-

Her fears were calmed by the sight of her son at the door, although it did nothing for her tension level. "Wesley! Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"

He slipped into the room and shut the door behind him. "Yeah, I am, but I had a lot on my mind, so I decided to take a chance on you being awake. I had a feeling you might not be asleep yet, either."

Crusher shrugged. "I had to contact Dr. Selar and let her know when to expect the captain and I back on the ship," she explained, knowing even as she spoke how poor an excuse it was.

"That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about," Wesley said, jumping right into it. He took a deep breath. "Do you think Captain Picard would feel upset if I didn't start calling him dad just yet?" He tried for a light note, and almost succeeded, if the startled whisper of a smile that crossed his mother's face was any indication.

"Oh, I don't think he'd mind if we waited on that sort of thing," she replied, her voice trying for the same lightness-and failing miserably as the final words trembled with the tears she'd been holding back all afternoon. "Wesley, I'm so sorry this happened, that you found out this way-"

"So am I, but that's the way it happened, so I guess we have to deal with it," Wesley said. He took a step forward, holding out his arms awkwardly. "How about a hug?"

Crusher smiled as she embraced her son. "I was afraid it would be a long time before I got one of these from you," she whispered. "You seemed so angry with me." She pulled back to study his face, her forehead creasing with a slight frown. "Did something happen?"

Wesley shrugged and half-smiled. "Well, let's just say someone reminded me that we all make mistakes, and we definitely make mistakes we'd rather no one ever found out about. But life doesn't always let us get away with things, and the best way to handle them is head on." The grin widened a bit, although it was still forlorn. "After all, I'm still me, right?"

"Wise words," Crusher murmured. "I'm just glad that you were willing to consider them so soon."

"I'm still pretty upset," Wesley agreed as his mother finally, reluctantly, released him and moved to sit back in the room's single chair, "but I think the best thing for us to do right now is talk. Are you up for that?"

Crusher nodded. "I wasn't, not for a long time, but now, I guess I finally am."

They talked for most of the night; Wesley wondered, once, why no one had come to look for him, then dismissed the thought as inconsequential. The important thing was that he not allow this revelation of his mother's destroy their relationship; they were both on very shaky ground right now, and the only way through it was to talk to each other. Then, of course, there would be the inevitable confrontation with Captain Picard-which would no doubt be worse for his mother than for him-but he shook that thought away as well. Captain Picard-his father-would have to wait, at least until the morning. But no longer than that; Wesley found himself suddenly very unwilling to let things go for too long. After all, you never knew what kind of a problem a delay could cause.

Wesley James Crusher-he could never think of himself by any other name, that much was for sure-gave his mother his full and undivided attention. They had a long road to walk, but it helped to know that neither of them would have to walk it alone.

Epilogue

Dr. Katherine Pulaski walked noiselessly down the hallway that lead to the guest quarters attached to the Academy sickbay. Most of the rooms were empty; there were thankfully few patients at the moment, which meant even fewer friends and relatives staying here. In fact, there were only two rooms occupied right now; one for Jean-Luc Picard, and one for Beverly Crusher.

It was the latter's room she was headed for right now. She'd seen the tension in the other woman's face when she and the captain left Wesley's hospital room earlier, and had a feeling Beverly might need someone to talk to about now. Picard would probably be a better choice were he not quite so close to the situation, she thought wryly as she approached the next corner, the one leading to the actual corridor where the doctor and the captain were located. Close to each other, but not too close; Pulaski considered herself diplomatic enough to appreciate the delicacy of their situation, but she also felt she knew them well enough to guess that they might need a certain amount of physical closeness-at least as far as rooms were concerned. The ironic thought drifter through her mind that physical closeness had been the starting point of this whole mess, but she certainly wasn't going to give anyone else the opportunity to appreciate that irony. Especially not the parties concerned.

At any rate, she hoped that she could be of some help right now. Beverly Crusher was a woman who was not feeling very good about herself right now, and it might do her a world of good just to have someone to talk to. Someone removed from the situation, but at the same time someone who knew all the parties involved, at least more than the Academy counselor, Dr. Bell. Someone objective, but not too objective. Pulaski considered herself to more than fit that description.

She turned the corner and was about to continue down the hall when a slight movement caught her eye. She came to a stop with a raised eyebrow as she recognized Wesley Crusher standing by the door to his mother's room. He appeared to be making up his mind about something, and she managed to catch herself before she called out to him to get back in bed. As she stepped back into the shadows, she nodded her approval as he reached out to knock on the door. She continued to wait until he went into the room, then turned around and headed back the way she'd just come, stopping only when she reached a communications relay to call for the night nurse.

"This is Lt. Ostrom, Doctor; is there a problem?"

"No problem, Sue," Pulaski responded, not bothering to hide the satisfaction in her voice. Let the other woman make of it what she wanted. "I just thought I'd let you know that I've allowed Cadet Crusher to remain in his mother's quarters for the night. Just make sure he receives his medication first thing in the morning."

"Very well, Doctor." A slight pause, then: "Weren't you supposed to go off-duty an hour ago?"

Pulaski smiled and shook her head. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. I'm going right now. See you in the morning."

"See you-but not too early, I hope. Ostrom out." With that parting shot, the communicator went dead, and Pulaski shook her head, this time with no small amount of amusement on her own account. "My staff knows me a little too well," she muttered before turning and heading toward her quarters.

If anyone saw Dr. Pulaski grinning and humming happily to herself as she walked down the corridor to her quarters, they were careful not to mention the doctor's unusually good mood at the end of a long day, especially a long day before she performed surgery. Anyone who saw this simply chalked it up to unexplained phenomena and put it out of their minds.

It was the safest thing to do.

A/N: Thus endeth this piece of angsty fluff from my past. I never wrote a continuation or a sequel, although if I ever get caught up on the stories I'm currently in the middle of, and if anyone wants, I might consider doing so. Hope you enjoyed!