It was late when the Picards finally gathered their family together and went home. There was a reluctance to leave. Strength in numbers, Will thought as he watched Jean-Luc, Beverly, and the children trail off into the night.

Deanna took care of Lucy and Matilda while Will put the boys to bed. Sam and Thomas were exhausted, but still managed to ask a thousand questions as Will helped them wrestle into their pajamas.

"Do they have a school on the starship?" Thomas inquired as Will's large fingers struggled with the small buttons on the front of the boy's nightshirt.

"Yes, Thomas, there's a school. And you'll like it. The teachers are very nice."

"All the other kids will be smarter than us," Sam said hesitantly. He was already in his pajamas, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed he shared with his brother.

Will looked over at him. Unlike the other children, Sam seemed to understand the complexity of what was happening to them.

"Why do you think they'll be smarter?" he asked, studying the expression on his older son's face.

Sam's forehead wrinkled as he replied. "Dad, they live in the future, in a starship, with inventions that we've never even thought of; they have to be smarter."

Will sat down on the bed next to Sam, pulling Thomas onto his lap. "At first, they may seem smarter because they may know about...more inventions." He used the word Sam had used. "But you'll learn fast, and you'll catch up with them in no time. All of you guys are smart. Look at Walker. He's only four and he can already read. In fact, all of you could read before you went to school."

Sam shrugged. He wasn't entirely convinced by his father's words. "We won't fit in," he whispered.

And Will sighed. He suspected that all of the children felt that way. Although they had friends on the mountain, none of them had ever really felt as though they belonged here. And now, returning to the Enterprise, the adults would be somewhere they were familiar with. But it would be new for the children. And frightening.

Will wrapped an arm around Sam's shoulder and kissed him softly on top of the head. "You fit in this family," he murmured. "Don't ever forget that."

And Sam leaned into his father and hugged him tightly. Following his older brother's example, Thomas hugged Will also.

"All right, all right," Will said, a few moments later. "It's after your bedtime, and we've got a busy day tomorrow." He unwound the boys' arms from around his chest and tucked them both into bed. "I'll see you in the morning," he whispered as he bent to kiss them on the cheeks.

"Goodnight, Dad," Sam replied, his features a little more relaxed than they had been earlier.

"Night, Dad," Thomas echoed.

"Goodnight," Will smiled.

He turned and crossed the room to his own bed. Pale lamplight shown through the curtain, and when he brushed past it, he saw that Matilda was already asleep in her crib. But the smaller cradle next to it was empty.

His next breath caught in his throat at the sight of Deanna propped against the pillows on their bed. She held Lucy in her arms, close to her chest, the baby suckling contentedly at her breast. And even after four children, Will found the sight of his wife nursing one of them the most beautiful picture in the world. He crawled onto the bed beside them and leaned his head on the pillow next to Deanna's. Gently, he traced a finger over the baby's cheek and lips, and then over Deanna's breast.

"She is beautiful," he breathed. "Just like her mother."

Deanna tilted her head, and Will's lips covered hers. Moments later, the baby gave a small cry. Deanna pulled back and smiled. "She doesn't like sharing me."

Will grinned slyly. "She can't stay awake all night." He slid his hand up to Deanna's cheek, his fingers brushing long strands of hair away from her face.

Deanna arched a delicate eyebrow at him. "Will, don't go getting any ideas. Remember, I just had a baby."

He nuzzled his lips against her neck. "I know," he murmured. "I just want to be near you."

Deanna kissed his forehead and ran her fingers through his hair. "I think my big baby is jealous," she whispered, pressing his head to her shoulder.

Will folded his body close to hers, his arm encircling her waist, one large hand cupping the baby's head. He sighed. Everything in his world was in place. For a little while, at least.

~vVv~

They were all tired, but Beverly insisted on baths for everyone.

"But Mama, it's late. And it's not Saturday night," Andrew complained as he watched his mother start the fire in the stove and put a pot of water on to heat.

"No, it's not Saturday night. We missed our usual bath night. And we'll probably be too tired to think about bathing tomorrow night."

"But I don't feel dirty," Andrew persisted.

"Me neither," Walker yawned.

Jean-Luc, leaning against the kitchen counter, smiled and reached out and brushed his fingers over Walker's cheek. "There's a smudge of dirt right there," he laughed.

Walker scrubbed his hand over his face, but the dirt wasn't going anywhere.

"I'll make a deal with you," Beverly offered. "We'll take turns tonight. Girls first, then the boys." She winked at Jean-Luc. "You can't put it off altogether, but at least you can postpone it. Margaret?" She called across the cabin. "You and I first tonight."

"Come on boys, we'll go find a story to read," Jean-Luc suggested leading them over to their bed.

They settled on the floor next to the bunk, Jean-Luc leaning against the edge of the bed. Andrew sat on one side, Walker on the other. They were content to listen to their father read while their mother and sister took a bath in the tin wash tub next to the oven.

Occasionally, Jean-Luc would glance over to the kitchen area, his breath almost catching in his throat at the sight of Beverly stepping into the low tub. Perhaps soon, they'd be able to take a bath together. He smiled. The prospect of privacy was enticing. With a mental shake, he turned his attention back to the story.

Ten minutes later, Beverly walked over to their bed. She was already dressed in her gown, and Margaret was wrapped in a thick towel. "Your turn."

Jean-Luc smiled up at her and awkwardly pushed himself off the floor. She reached down, took his hand, and gave him some assistance.

"You, too," she reminded him. "Just be careful not to get your arm wet."

"I'll try. But Walker splashes," he said with mock seriousness.

"Walker, don't splash your Papa's arm," Beverly said, ruffling her younger son's hair.

"I won't," he promised, following Andrew over to the kitchen.

Beverly settled on the edge of the bunk while Margaret got into her nightgown. And then, while she dried and combed her daughter's hair, she watched her men take a bath. She smiled and almost laughed as they all managed to get into the tin tub together. There wasn't much room, and there was a lot of pushing, shoving, and complaining. She couldn't help but notice the way the lamp light caught Jean-Luc's firm body, the sculptured muscles, his lean stomach. Of course, the overly large white bandage encasing his arm detracted from the overall image, but she found the view quite pleasing. Finally, they all seemed to settle in and soon the complaining turned to raucous laughter.

"Not my hair!" Andrew yelled as Jean-Luc lifted a handful of water and let it spill over his son's head.

"Yes, your hair," he insisted. "And yours." He emptied a handful of water over Walker's head as well.

"Yours, Papa!" Walker squealed, standing up and patting his hands to the sides of his father's head.

Jean-Luc laughed. "There's not much to wash there."

"Wash it for him anyway, Walker!" Beverly called. And Margaret giggled, as her mother braided her long hair.

"Don't get water on Papa's arm," Andrew warned his little brother.

"I'm not. Just his hair." He patted his father's cheeks. "You're scratchy, Papa."

Jean-Luc sighed. He had a three day's growth of beard, but hadn't had the time or enough hands to shave. He leaned back in the tub of warm water, his arm propped on the edge. Walker dribbled more water over his head and face.

"Andrew, hand me the soap please."

"Here, Papa." Andrew gave him the large piece of homemade soap.

Jean-Luc took advantage of Walker's standing in front of him and began to run the soap over his small body.

"That tickles," he squealed again, pushing at his father's hand.

"Yes, but it's getting you clean. Just like your cleaning my head."

Walker laughed. "Your hair, not your head."

"But I have more head than hair," Jean-Luc reasoned.

Andrew handed Walker a bath cloth. "Polish Papa's head, Walker."

Beverly heard and burst into laughter. "Don't polish it too much. It'll start shining and keep us awake all night."

"That's it," Jean-Luc roared good-naturedly. "Enough teasing your poor, old, broken-armed papa." He glanced over to the other side of the cabin. "Beverly, come get your sons out of here. They're sufficiently clean."

Beverly got up from the bunk bed and came over to the stove. She stared down at them. "Three men in a tub," she grinned.

"A butcher, a baker, and a candlestick maker," Walker said as she lifted him out.

Beverly wrapped a towel around each boy and sent them over to their bed to put on their pajamas. Jean-Luc started to get out as well, but Beverly pushed him back down.

"Hold on a minute. I'm going to give you a shave, Scratchy."

He smiled. "Oh, good. It's beginning to itch."

She went over to the kitchen and took a straight edged razor out of the cabinet and then returned. Jean-Luc had lathered his face and was leaning back, his head propped on the edge of the tub. Beverly knelt behind him.

"It's been a long time since I've done this."

Jean-Luc sighed. "That's not what you're supposed to say to a man when you have a razor in your hand."

She gave him an upside-down kiss on the forehead. "But I'm a surgeon. So you should be all right." She held the razor to his neck. "Relax, Jean."

Several minutes later, she was finished. "And not a scratch on you," she whispered, running her hands over his smooth cheeks.

She rinsed the razor and returned it to the cabinet. Then she came back and held out a towel and a hand, helping Jean-Luc out of the tub. He quickly ran the towel over his body, and then, with her help, knotted it around his waist. Beverly walked with him over to their bed and drew the curtain closed around them. She leaned into him and kissed his lips. He returned the kiss for a few seconds, and then pulled back.

"We have to put the children to bed," he reminded her.

"Then can I put you to bed?"

He nodded and grinned. "Most definitely."

~vVv~

It was another dream, another nightmare. But not the same as he'd had a few nights before. Beverly could tell without even asking. She allowed him to pull out of her arms even as she tried to comfort him. She knew that he needed to distance himself from her, find his way on his own for a few moments, and she lay back quietly on the bed as he groped in the darkness for his cane, and then his robe. Draping it awkwardly around his shoulders, he crossed to the door, and went out on to the porch.

Slowly, Beverly silently counted to thirty before getting up, putting on her own robe, and following him out into the night. He was leaning against the porch railing, his shoulder pressed to one of the wooden columns. She stood behind him and gently wrapped her arms around his body, laid her cheek on his shoulder. She could feel the tension-knotted muscles beneath his robe, could see his lined face clearly in the bright moonlight.

"We haven't told them everything," Jean-Luc whispered, turning slightly in her arms, looking back at her, his eyes clouded with traces of long ago fear and pain. Old memories that had never, and would never, be forgotten.

Beverly instinctively moved closer to him, the length of her body pressing against his. She knew that they were with him always. Pale faces, dark forms - images that were indelibly marked in his mind.

"We don't have to tell them now. When the time is right...when it's ...necessary," she reasoned. Her hand stroked along the side of his face, fingers gently caressing his cheek, subconsciously touching the places where the Borg implants had marred his skin.

Jean-Luc drew in a slow, shuddering breath, and brought his arms up to encircle her waist, his hands resting on her hips. "But...is it fair to them?" He released the breath he held and sighed. "Is it fair to put their lives in danger? Here, there are no...Borg." He said the word quietly, almost silently, as if speaking the very name would call them forth.

Beverly shook her head. She shared his concern, his doubts about the situation in which they found themselves. But she also knew that going back...going forward was the right thing to do. Despite all the possible dangers, the Enterprise was where they belonged.

"It's home, Jean-Luc," she murmured, leaning her forehead on his shoulder, her lips pressed to his ear.

His hand rubbed up over her back, and she felt his body relax against her. "You're right," he breathed. "As usual."

~vVv~