14.

The sound of people downstairs roused him, and, for a moment, he simply couldn't place where he was. It was only a moment, though, because he heard Jean-Guy laugh, and then he heard Rose's voice, and he realised that the siblings and their other guests must all have converged on the house at the same time. Well, that was good, because the food would be quickly put away, and information about the venue shared, and perhaps Rose might reveal her pregnancy to her brothers. In the meantime he had the luxury of waking up slowly, stretching his legs and moving his head back onto his own pillow. He'd left one of the doors to the verandah open slightly, and he could hear the slow splatter of rain against the roof tiles and smell the sea.

"Are you getting up?" Jean-Luc asked.

"No," he replied. "Are you cold? I can shut the door."

"You could come back here, and then I won't be cold."

"I was just stretching," he said, and turned back to Jean-Luc. "You had a good sleep?"

"I hadn't meant to," Jean-Luc said.

"You hadn't meant to sleep?"

"Mmmh-hmm."

"I kept you up half the night," Will reminded him. "You were entitled to a rest."

"We both of us used to go days without sleeping," Jean-Luc remarked. "I don't think you slept for months, after that first time with the Borg."

"You could also sleep on the bridge, standing up," Will said, "in between phaser blasts."

Jean-Luc laughed. "From the days when I had a much smaller crew," he explained.

"You know," Will said, "if retirement is going to consist of lying around in bed with you in my arms, I think I could deal with it."

"Ha," Jean-Luc said. "I cannot imagine you lying around in bed."

"I spent three months in bed, once," Will said.

"Not because you wanted to," Jean-Luc answered.

"No, I suppose not."

"Are we going downstairs?"

"Am I expected to cook for this crowd?" Will asked.

"You're the one who sent them for food," Jean-Luc replied.

"I bet Mr Locarno cooks."

"You leave poor Mr Locarno alone," Jean-Luc said.

Will quipped, "Are you trading me in for a younger model?"

Jean-Luc was silent. Then he said, and his voice was deceptively mild, "Is that what all this is about?"

He'd heard that tone of voice before. They didn't quarrel often, but when they did, the first salvo was fired in that tone of voice. He didn't say anything; there was nothing, really, to say. Instead, he sighed, not that it did any good. Jean-Luc was watching him, waiting for him to answer.

"It was a joke," he protested.

"Was it?"

"We have a house full of people," Will told him.

"Half of whom are related to us, and are quite aware that neither one of us is a saint," Jean-Luc said, and sat up. "You – and do not, William, deny this – were going to use something that you know damned well has not happened in twenty-five years to deflect from the one issue we need to discuss."

"And what issue is that, Jean-Luc?" he asked tiredly, also sitting up.

"Don't you dare play the martyr with me," Jean-Luc said.

"I am not –" He stopped. It was too much, this. He said, "It was just a dumb joke, Jean-Luc. Please don't make it to be more than that." He wanted to reach out and touch Jean-Luc's arm, lightly, reassuringly – it really had been a joke, hadn't it? – but Jean-Luc in this mood was quite capable of pushing him away.

"Twenty-five years ago I made a very bad choice," Jean-Luc said, and Will began, "Jean-Luc, please –" before he closed his mouth and looked away. "Look at me," Jean-Luc said, and Will did, because that was what he always did. "I nearly threw away everything we had, everything we worked so hard for."

Will said, "Don't."

"You, being who you are, forgave me and took me back," Jean-Luc continued, "but you are not, William, going to conflate what is happening now with what happened then. This is not my choice."

He said, desperately, "Jean-Luc, I never thought –"

"I am not choosing to leave you, Will," Jean-Luc said, gently.

"I know that –"

"I don't think you do."

What was there to say?

"I know you've read the medical reports," Jean-Luc said, "I'm not talking about your intellect. I am saying that, emotionally, I am abandoning you. Just like your father. Just like I almost did twenty-five years ago. But I'm telling you, William, that it's different this time. I'm leaving you, but not because I want to. And I'm sorry. I know it's hard for you, Will. But you promised me once – look at me – you promised me once that you wouldn't conflate your issues with me. Do you remember?"

"Yes," Will said.

"You chose to grow up, Will," Jean-Luc said. "And this is what happens, when we grow up. I'm not choosing to die, Will. I just am. And you have to realise that your abandonment issues should either be dealt with or go back in your file cabinet. Because I need you to be here for me. And there are three people – no, five people – downstairs who are going to need you to be here for them. And that's the choice you made, Will. When you chose to grow up."

"I don't want you to die," Will said.

"I know," Jean-Luc answered. "I don't want to die either. I don't want to die this way. And I don't want to leave you. Or our children. Or our grandchildren. But I am. And we just have to deal with it. You have to deal with it."

"It's stupid," Will said, before he could stop himself.

Jean-Luc laughed. "Yes, I know," he said. "Your Jean-Guy told me exactly the same thing."

Will tried to smile. "Oh, he's my Jean-Guy, now?"

"Even with his philosophical shit," Jean-Luc said. "Why don't you kiss me, and then go wash your face, and then let's go downstairs and feed all those hungry people who are waiting for the chief cook to appear?"

"All right, Jean-Luc," Will agreed.

They were all in the kitchen, drinking coffee (Sascha and Locarno) or wine (Grae and Jean-Guy); Rose seemed to be sipping water. The back door was open, and a light breeze was blowing in, the rain pattering on the patio tiles and the birds singing.

"Sir," Locarno said, standing. "The list was taken care of, and the food is stored."

"Thank you, Mr Locarno," Will acknowledged quietly. He still felt a little shaky.

"Do you want a glass of wine, Papi?" Sascha asked, also standing. "Dad?"

Will glanced around at everyone and then said, "Jean-Guy. You cut your hair."

Jean-Guy shrugged. "Mr Locarno thought my philosophical statement was stressing you out," he said. "So, yeah."

"I think it takes more than unkempt hair to stress me out," Will said mildly. "I don't suppose you bought a new pair of trousers?"

"That," Locarno said, "was part of his philosophical statement. He brought other clothes."

"Well," Jean-Luc remarked. "It seems you have been hoisted on your own petard, Jean-Guy."

Jean-Guy grinned, causing his older siblings to simultaneously roll their eyes. "It worked, though," he said.

"Indeed," Jean-Luc agreed. "Sascha, if you would pour me a glass of wine. Why don't we sit in the dayroom, and let our master chef have his kitchen."

"I'll just have a cup of coffee," Will said. "Yes, all of you. Out."

Rose said, "I'll stay and help, Dad."

"That's all right, Rosie," Will said, gently. "You go sit with Papi. Grae can be my sous chef again, if he doesn't mind." Then he said, "You are officially dismissed, Mr Locarno, unless you would care to stay for dinner."

"You should stay, Serge," Jean-Guy said. "You're the one who picked out the fish."

"I'm not sure –" Locarno began, but Sascha said, "The Admiral invited you to dinner, Ensign." "Then I'd love to," Locarno replied. "Why don't you let me be sous chef instead?"

Will glanced at Jean-Luc and said, "Your place is with the Ambassador, Mr Locarno – Serge, is it? Go, all of you. Graeme, if you don't mind, I could use your surgical skills again."

It was sorted, then, and Will gave a small sigh of relief when they'd all taken their various drinks and left the room. He went through the refrigerator, and quickly arranged a platter of olives and stuffed mushrooms and pickled eggplants for an appetiser, and sent Grae into the other room with it. He took his cup of coffee and sipped it, standing at the door, looking out onto the garden. It was hard to believe that it had only been this morning that he'd sat them down outside and told them about his Rosie.

"Are you all right, sir?" Grae asked.

Will shrugged. "You've been with Rose how long now?" he asked.

"Almost two years," Grae answered.

Will smiled. "Two years," he said. "There's a lot of stuff, Graeme, that happens, when you've been with the same person for thirty-five years. Sometimes that stuff gets stirred up again." He turned away from the door. "It will sort itself out. It always does."

"Rose thought maybe you'd been arguing," he said.

He finished his coffee. "You could hardly call it an argument," he replied. "Some things needed to be said. And they were. That's all. Certainly nothing to worry about."

"Rose," Grae said, "is having a hard time sorting out the doctor from the daughter."

Will grinned. "That's okay." He placed his cup on the counter. "Jean-Luc and I had a hard time sorting out our respective roles, too."

"Do you want another cup of coffee, sir?" Grae asked.

"It's Will," he answered, "and no, I'd better not. I understand Dr da Costa will be arriving tomorrow, and if he finds out I'm drinking caffeine, I'll never hear the end of it."

"You're not allowed to drink caffeine?" Grae seemed surprised.

Will glanced at him as he took the fish out of the refrigerator. "Hell, no," he said. "I've got an anxiety disorder. I thought you were a doctor."

"I'm a surgeon," Grae said.

"That explains it," Will said, laughing. He handed Grae a vegetable knife. "Chop away," he said.

It would be good, he thought, to welcome this young man into their family; he'd given him the onions, the garlic, the parsley, and the mint, and the young man deftly chopped or diced or minced, whatever he'd asked for. They developed a solid rhythm, working together, saying little except what needed to be said in terms of prepping the food – dredging the fish in the flour and lightly browning them, preparing the green sauce; quartering the potatoes and rinsing the spinach, toasting the almonds and soaking the sultanas.

He'd placed the sea bass, fileted and cut into steaks, lightly breaded, coated in the green sauce, into the baking dish and then into the oven. He'd steamed the new potatoes and shown Graeme how to prepare their sauce of butter, parsley, and mint. He'd wilted the spinach last, and then lightly sautéed it with the pine nuts, onion, garlic, and sultanas, and had sent Graeme for Jean-Guy to set the table. The rain had stopped, and the air was cool and still smelling of the sea.

"Where are we eating?" Jean-Guy asked, walking in.

"It will have to be the dining room," Will said. "Dinner is ready."

"I'll tell them," Grae offered.

"Ask Jean-Luc if he'll pour the wine," Will told him.

"Yes, sir," Grae answered, leaving the kitchen.

Locarno appeared. "I'll pour the wine, sir," he said.

Will set the baking dish on the stove. "Is he sundowning?" he asked quietly.

Locarno thought for a moment and then he said, "He's not really confused, sir. He's just fading, a little."

"He needs his medication," Will said. "If you could ask Rose to get it from our bedroom. And then you sit with him. I'll have Sascha take care of the wine."

"You aren't surprised," Locarno said.

"I'm surprised that I'm not confused," Will answered. "It has been a very long and very stressful day."

"Aye, sir," Locarno said.

Dinner was pleasant, Will thought. Jean-Luc wasn't really confused, only tired; he knew who everyone was; his answers were appropriate, if somewhat vague. His appetite was still good, and he'd taken his medication; he was genuinely enjoying the attention of the kids, as he always had.

Will permitted the kids, Sascha and Jean-Guy in particular, to clean up, because he'd noticed that Rose, too, seemed tired. Locarno offered to make coffee or tea for everyone, but Will turned him down; he had the dessert, as simple as it was, to give the finishing touches to, and he knew Jean-Luc would want his tea prepared correctly. In the coming days he'd show Locarno, but not tonight.

He let Locarno help bring out the desserts, served in Jean-Luc's godmother's crystal wine glasses, much to the delight of everyone, and then Sascha and Jean-Guy brought in the coffee and tea.

"Daddy," Rose said, really smiling, Will noticed, for the first time since he'd spoken to them in the morning, "thank you. Grae, you'll love this, it's my favourite dessert."

"I thought your favourite dessert was crema catalana," Will said, but he was grinning, because Sascha answered, "That's my favourite, not hers."

"They fight over dessert?" Grae asked, dipping his spoon into the mixture of wine-soaked strawberries and sorbet.

"They fight over everything," Jean-Luc answered. "They always have."

"Except me," Jean-Guy said. "They are a united front, where I'm concerned." He didn't sound particularly put out.

"That's because you are Papi's little angel," Rose told him, but she didn't sound particularly put out either.

Jean-Guy shrugged. "So?" he said. "Somebody had to protect me from you two."

"You never needed anyone to protect you," Sascha protested. "You got away with everything."

"How about the time when you and Rose tried to throw me out of an airlock?" Jean-Guy asked, smirking. "Or when you left me in a Jefferies tube? Or when you left me in engineering, and told me there was a warp core breach?"

"There were fifty people in engineering," Sascha said, "and not one of them was worried."

"Yeah? I was five years old. How was I supposed to know that?"

Will said, "Welcome to the family, Graeme."

"I am the middle child of four," Grae said, laughing, "and this all just sounds like home to me." He finished his dessert and said, "This was wonderful. What was it?"

"It's Italian," Will replied. "Macedonia di frutta. You can make it with any fruit, as long as it's fresh."

There was a comfortable silence, as Will sipped his coffee – the last cup, he thought, sighing, depending on when da Costa showed up. He could see Jean-Luc was tired, and he decided it was time to call it a night.

"You told Jean-Guy you were going to throw him out an airlock?" Jean-Luc said, suddenly, looking at Sascha.

Sascha said, "It was Rose, really –"

"You're the one who put him in the box," Rose said.

This time the silence was almost comical.

"You put my son in a box and told him you were going to dump him out an airlock?" Jean-Luc repeated.

"It was a long time ago, Papi," Sascha said. "We wouldn't have done it. We didn't do it."

"I might have done it," Rose confessed, "but Sascha chickened out."

"And you wondered, Serge, why I have philosophical statements to make," Jean-Guy said.

"Will."

The clouds had cleared and he could see the stars. He wondered where the Titan was. He'd continued to use the Titan as his ship after he'd been promoted, and then again when he was Admiral of the Fleet, for those few years. Now the Titan was somewhere out there in the Gamma quadrant without him. Most of the time, he didn't think about it. Most of the time he was busy, working on the special projects Starfleet passed his way; working in his studio. He thought about his music, untouched this past week, and the work he still needed to do on it, and then he thought about the frantic emails from his students, who were convinced he wasn't returning.

"Will?"

What would happen, he thought, if he just stood here, and pretended he hadn't heard? And then he laughed, because McBride was not around to prescribe him respite care.

"There you are," Jean-Luc said. He was standing at the side of the bed with his pyjamas on, but his shirt was open. "I know you are still upset with me, Will, but for some reason I can't seem to – "

"It's all right, Jean-Luc," Will said, walking over. Gently he buttoned Jean-Luc's shirt. "If you start at the bottom one, Jean-Luc," he said, "like this, and then move up, one at a time…."

"I remember you teaching Sascha that way," Jean-Luc said, and he smiled, briefly. "I can remember how to do it but I just can't get my fingers to work that way."

"We will replicate you shirts with a velseam," Will said, "and then there won't be any problem at all."

"I suppose that will have to do," Jean-Luc agreed.

"You are tired," Will told him. "You'll feel better in the morning. Are you finished in the head?"

"What?" Jean-Luc asked, and then he said, "Yes. I think so. I took a piss, if that's what you're asking. And I believe I brushed my teeth."

Will took a breath, and then he said, "Let me help you into bed, then."

"All right."

He pulled down the quilt and the linens, and helped Jean-Luc lay down.

"We've come full circle, Guy," Jean-Luc said, as Will placed the quilt over him.

"Oh? How is that?" He walked into the head, and turned the shower on.

"Now you're the one giving the tuck-in service," Jean-Luc replied.

Will turned the shower off, and walked back into the bedroom. "And I'm doing it with far less grace than you ever did," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, Jean-Luc."

"It's my fault," Jean-Luc answered. "I upset you, earlier. I'm the one who is sorry, Will."

"I know you are, Jeannot," Will said, understanding that the apology was for the original hurt, and not the evening's upset.

"You should take your shower." Jean-Luc closed his eyes.

"You said," Will began, hesitantly, "that you thought the kids should know about us. That it was part of telling them about me, and about what happened."

"Yes," Jean-Luc answered. "You will need to finish telling them, Will. You've only told about Rosie. You need to tell them about your father. Why it's important that they should know."

"There's too much to tell," Will said.

"I know. Come to bed, Will. We can talk about it in the morning, providing I remember who you are."

Will smiled. "You remembered me this morning," he said.

"Surprisingly."

"I'll come to bed."

"Bien."

Will stood up, and returned to the head. He stripped down and took a quick sonic shower instead of his usual water one, and then put his pyjamas on and slipped into his side of the bed.

"Lights, ten percent," he said. He turned to Jean-Luc and kissed his cheek. "Are you still awake?" he asked.

"Yes," Jean-Luc answered. "Have you forgiven me yet?"

"I forgave you a long time ago."

"You have always been my sweet boy, Will," Jean-Luc said.

"Did you know that Data made a recording of our wedding?" Will asked, pulling Jean-Luc close.

"What on earth for?" Jean-Luc asked sleepily.

"So we could show it to our kids," Will answered, "or at least that's what he told me at the time."

"How did he know we would have children?" Jean-Luc asked, looking up at Will.

"I'm sure," Will replied, "knowing him, he thought it was the only logical conclusion. Good night, Jeannot," he murmured, even as he knew Jean-Luc had already fallen asleep.