A/N I don't own anything from Star Trek, most unfortunately.
Please, this is my very first fic, so review and let me know what you think. I welcome both adoring fan letters and true criticisms. If you notice anything weird in my story, let me know.
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Captain Picard awoke with a jerk, involuntarily gasping as he tried to make sense of what was happening. The dream had been different from any dream he had ever experienced. It had not only seemed real while in the dream, it seemed real now, even though he was sitting up in bed. He had the strangest feeling that it HAD been real, and that would not be stranger than some of the things he had seen while captain of the enterprise.
He leaned back against his pillow and pulled up the thin, yet warm blanket, thinking of the dream.
Looking down on a sleeping Jean-Luc seemed strange, but no more than leaving the ship completely behind and soaring through space, without need of any sort of oxygen or pressure suit.
He quickly reached a familiar planet, rocketing around the mid-sized star in the center of the nine-planet solar system. He felt the sun's heat baking his face as he flew by, taking away some of the chill of his night-time flight.
Once through the planet's thick atmosphere, in which he warmed a bit, he glided toward the northern hemisphere of the planet. He recognized North America as he kept north.
He suddenly found himself standing on top of a thick coating of snow, complete with icy crust. His feet started walking, and he was utterly helpless to stop them. He tried pressing his communicator, but there was no response. With no other options that he could think of, he waited to see what was in store.
After what seemed like hours of walking in the biting cold, even slipping a few times, he reached the edge of a frozen pond. Snow started to fall – large, drifting flakes. His feet stopped, and he peered across the pond, feeling that something was amiss.
As the snow continued to fall, he spotted a dark spot in the center of the pond. Cautiously, he stepped out on the frozen pond, and the ice held. Feeling that this was the correct course of action, he took a few more hesitant steps toward the dark smudge. The ice began to crack and rumble, and he stopped, spreading out his weight as much as he could. Even though the snow was falling thicker, he could now make out the form of a young man, not more than a boy, passed out in the ice.
His head was in the open, but his face held a bluish tint, and though one arm was above the ice, the rest of his body was below.
Picard frowned. He had seen no houses, no people, and certainly nothing that could help him free the boy. It was apparent by the boy's posture and lack of response to Picard's shouts that he had been there some time. If Picard did not save him, the boy would die.
He had been in no win situations before, and determined to save the boy, no matter what. He took another cautious step; he was almost in reach. He leaned forward, stretching his hand out. He could see the breath coming from the boy's mouth, and tested the ice with his left hand, spreading out his weight even more. He reached a bit farther, and the ice rumbled ominously. He brushed his fingers against the boy's hand, and slid just a bit farther out.
His right hand encircled the boy's wrist, and he tugged, hearing the ice rumble again. The boy did not move as Picard slowly eased the boy from the hole until he was lying face up on the ice. Tiny cracks spread from under him and the boy, but he knew any attempt to move quickly would only cause the ice to fracture even more.
He slid away from the hole, keeping his hand on the boy's wrist, and pulled him after. The cracking and rumbling lessened, then ceased completely as he pulled the boy up to the snowy bank.
Immediately, he leaned over the boy, checking his breath and rubbing the boy's hands together. Picard was not an expert on frostbite, but the boy's fingers did not seem blackened. However, that could change quickly if he could not find shelter.
He picked up the boy, holding him close so that his own body heat could help him. If Beverly were here, she would probably chastise him for treating the boy so roughly, but Picard knew nothing else to do.
Again his feet walked of their own accord, but not for such a long time. The boy grew heavier and heavier, and Picard shivered. A dark blur appeared, and his feet took him to it. The sky grew darker, and the dark shape materialized into a small dwelling. Picard hoped that the occupants could replicate a warm meal and bed for the boy.
He reached a doorstep, and tried to place the boy down, but his arms were locked. The boy still had not stirred, and only his breath coming out in a tiny cloud showed that he was still alive. Now was not the time for politeness. Picard kicked at the door. The shoes he wore on the ship seemed to crumple as he stubbed his toes on the unyielding door. He backed away expectantly, but no one answered.
He crouched in front of the doorstep and tilted his body so that the boy slid out of his arms and landed with a soft thud on the step. Again thinking of the chastising he would receive from Beverly, he straightened and knocked firmly on the door. He then leaned over the boy, and shook his shoulder gently.
The boy's head wobbled, but nothing else happened.
If anything, the boy's face was even bluer than before, and Picard slapped it gently, trying to bring some color to the cheeks. He tried his communicator again, but still no response. The boy moaned softly, and had Picard not been bending over him, he would have missed it.
He gently shook the boy again, and the boy's eyes opened slowly. Even though they were unfocused, Picard had the impression that he had seen those gray blue eyes before. With the boy so bundled up, he could not tell much about his features, but he KNEW he had seen his eyes before.
"Son, can you hear me?" Picard asked, startling himself with his own voice in the silent surroundings.
The boy made no sign that he had heard, and did not even seem to be looking at him. Picard frowned and again beat on the door, this time adding a yell to let him in.
His feet suddenly started walking, away from the cabin.
"No! Blast it!" he yelled. "I'm not through here!"
His feet walked faster. Picard spun around to see the door of the cabin open slowly, then slam open as someone bent over and picked up the young boy. Picard hoped he would be okay, but there was nothing he could do.
Suddenly he was in the air again, flying toward the sun. He rocketed around it again, and soared through space, back toward the Enterprise. He involuntarily tensed as he slammed into the ship's side, then through it, right back to his body sprawled out on the bed.
He looked at the clock next to his bed, and realized that it was time to ready for the day. He rose, stiffly, 'the price of aging,' he thought bemusedly. As soon as his right foot touched the ground, he cursed loudly, in sudden pain. Looking down, he saw that his toes were badly bruised, perhaps even broken. He spent a long moment staring at his foot, then stood on his left while testing his right. Wincing at the pain, he limped over to his uniform and dressed himself carefully. Sick bay was near enough that he could limp to it. He did NOT like the idea of declaring a medical emergency; he would reach sick bay just fine. He limped to the door, wondering why his foot had not hurt in his dream.
He wondered how he had really hurt his foot.
He wondered who the gray blue eyes reminded him of.
He wondered if Beverly would ask too many questions.
He knew the answer to that last one. Beverly always asked too many blasted questions.
He limped to sick bay, well aware that everyone in the corridors was staring at him. Sure enough, as soon as he entered, Beverly started in. "What did you do to yourself?" she demanded as she forced him to sit. Picard did not tell her that he was happy to sit, nor how glad he was to see her after his snowy trek. She peered at his foot, frowning. "Did you wait all night to come here? Were you heaping ice on it all night? How many times have I told you to see me first?"
Irritated, Picard replied, "I woke up and it was like this. I have no idea how it happened."
"Yes you do," a little voice in the back of his head accused.
"Are you prone to sleepwalking?" Beverly demanded as she ran a tricorder over his foot. He felt bones straightening out and bruising receding.
"No," Picard answered. "And I am late for my shift." He tugged down on his uniform shirt by habit as he felt the shoulders crinkling up. Now that the pain was gone, he was eager to get to the bridge, ready for an ordinary day.
Beverly's frown deepened, but he knew she would let him go. She had known him too long to try to keep him when he had duties to fulfill. "Very well, but I want you to come back if you get even the slightest twinge. I also want to check you tomorrow morning for any new injuries.
"Fine, fine," Picard replied brusquely. He stood, again tugging down on his uniform, then walked to the turbolift, getting off at the bridge. He glanced over the officers on the bridge, noting the pale skin of the android, Data, the abundant curly hair of half-betazoid Deanna Troi, and the dark-skinned, visor wearing Geordi LaForge. Number One stood from Picard's chair, and Picard turned to acknowledge him.
The gray blue eyes from his dream stared back.
Picard stopped, recalling the images from his dream, the wonderings from the morning running through his mind again. It actually made sense; Riker had grown up in Alaska. Perhaps it was only a dream after all. However, the pain from his foot had been no dream. He resumed his walk to his chair, ignoring the questioning look on Deanna's face.
He knew she would be asking to talk to him later.
--- later that day
Picard sat at his desk in his ready room, sipping a cup of "Tea, Earl Grey, Hot." Deanna was seated on the couch across from him, watching him with her concerned and curious eyes. They sat in a somewhat awkward silence as she pondered what he had just told her.
She had asked him a blunt question, not completely unusual for her. She wanted to know what had bothered him when he looked at Riker.
He had answered simply that he had had a dream about him, only he hadn't realized who it was in the dream until he had seen Riker on the bridge. She had pressed him for details, but he had been vague, saying it had been snowing and they had been bundled up against the cold. She had asked the usual questions... "And how did you feel in the dream? How do you feel about it now? What do you think motivated you to dream this?"
When he merely grunted his answers, sipping the tea, she had sunk into silence, deep in thought.
She watched his face, perhaps feeling his emotions. Currently, they were weariness and dislike for the whole business. Jean-Luc Picard was a very private man, and he did NOT appreciate someone, even Deanna, dissecting his dreams. She knew this; she had to know this. In fact, that is probably why she was sitting silently instead of insisting he answer her questions.
He knew anything involving Riker would be of interest, and probably anything from his own mind would be intriguing, since he rarely spoke to her of such things. The fact that this incident involved both was probably demanding that she find some sort of answer.
"Have you spoken to Will about this?" she asked in her soft, soothing voice.
"No, of course not, it was only a dream," Picard answered.
"From the feelings I gathered from you on the bridge every time you met Will's eyes, this does not sound like a simple dream," Deanna countered, still using that soft voice that usually calmed her patients. It had almost the opposite effect on Picard. "I think you should talk to him."
More to end the questions than any other reason, Picard said shortly, "Fine, show him in, but I want to speak to him alone."
Deanna nodded as she stood, looking pleased. "Of course, Captain."
Picard sat, his elbows on the desk, his fingertips touching in a tent-like position just in front of his mouth. Why did this dream affect him so? It had been non-descript, and other than waking up to a bleeding foot, there was nothing extraordinary about it.
But for some reason, Picard felt this was different. It wasn't Riker's presence; he had dreamt about his officers before. It bothered him that the only reason he even thought of the dream now was a feeling that it had been something more. Feelings were part of his job, but this kind of feeling was disconcerting. Perhaps once he spoke to Riker, the feeling would leave, and he would feel foolish for a day, then forget the whole silly business.
The door opened and Riker stepped in. "You wanted to see me?" he questioned.
"Yes, Number One, sit down," Picard answered in his usual way as he gestured to the couch.
Riker sat, then turned his face questioningly to Picard. Picard sat for a moment in silence, wondering how to bring up the issue. He decided to go with blunt and get the whole mess over with.
"Number One...Will... Counselor Troi thinks that I should tell you something." There, blame it on her; it was her idea.
"Deanna?" Riker said, his eyebrows rising. Obviously he was surprised by this news; that meant Troi had said nothing. Picard supposed that was good.
"Yes, you see, last night I was troubled with a dream, and she seems to think it has some importance," Picard began, well aware that he also thought it was important. "I was walking in a winter wilderness, snow falling, not knowing where my feet would take me. Then I spotted a boy, trapped in the ice of a pond. Immediately I knew I had to rescue him, and I did." He noticed Will looked even more surprised, probably wondering what this had to do with anything. "He was unconscious, and I carried him to an old cabin, beat on the door and set him on the porch. My feet decided not to stay, and I left him on the porch, but not before the boy opened his eyes. The eyes were yours, Will."
"Mine, Sir?" Riker said, suddenly sitting up straight, his familiar gray blue eyes gazing into the Captain's.
"Yes, and Councilor Troi seems to think it means something. She suggested that I meet with you."
"How old was I?" Riker questioned.
"I would guess about seventeen or eighteen, not much more than a boy," Picard answered.
Riker looked toward the ceiling, deep in thought. "You know, this is strange. I haven't thought of that day in years, and yet last night it was running through my mind."
"What day? Are you saying this really happened?"
"Well, I don't remember much except that I had gone for a walk, and suddenly I was shoulder deep in below freezing water," Riker answered thoughtfully with a slight shiver. "When I awoke, I remember a man I didn't know carrying me inside a warm cabin. But I don't think I've ever told you this story before."
"What happened after that?" Picard asked.
"It's what made me try for the academy," Riker answered. "Before then, I had wondered what to do with my life. I had considered the academy, but frankly, I was afraid of death. That night, I saw death, and I saw that it was nothing to fear. After that, my path was clear. I signed up for the academy as soon as I was well."
Riker looked the captain in the eyes, and Picard looked back. This strange experience, caused by who knew what, seemed to pull them closer than before. Picard knew that there would be no laughing off this dream or this experience.
However, he knew that he could not mull over this strange occurrence right now. He had a ship to run. He stood, and Riker followed him out to the bridge. Picard sat in his chair, and Riker took the seat beside him.
Data looked back at them, rattling off coordinates and velocity to their next location. Picard tuned him out, thinking. He looked at each face, lingering on Riker's, thinking about what he had learned, what he had done, what had been said.
After a few moments, he realized Data had quieted and the crew was looking to him for confirmation. It didn't matter what had or had not happened. If he had somehow been the one to save Riker, then good. Riker was a damned fine officer. If it had all been a silly dream, then that was fine too. He had learned something about his Number One, and it was something he could appreciate. It did not matter.
Picard glanced around at the crew again, tugged the top of his uniform down, and nodded curtly. "Make it so."