13. The Hostage
The door signaled at Will Riker's private quarters, where he was working at his desk. He ignored the signal, deep into what he was looking at on the screen.
This pattern was revealing something to him, there was something there ... This particular star system, -
The door signaled again.
Wait ... this was where many of the Rebel ships had been intercepted, coming in and out of this system ... There could be a base hidden somewhere in there ... or something else of interest to them ...
He brought up the system map on his screen. "Computer, activate Riker search program 'Rebellion.'"
The door signaled again. Whoever it was wasn't going to go away. Impatient at the interruption, he stood and went quickly to the door, determined to send whoever was there away and get on with what he was doing.
Deanna was standing there, with a covered tray in her hands. He remembered suddenly. His birthday, she had insisted -
"I'd forgotten all about this," he said, reaching to take the tray from her, stepping aside so that she could come in.
"I was beginning to think the computer had lied to me and you weren't here," she said, with a smile. She was looking around. "Were you busy, did I interrupt something?"
He lay the tray on the table. "Just a second," he said, and started toward his work screen. "Computer, did you find anything?"
"Search completed. There are no indications of current Rebel activity in this system."
He looked the screen over; nothing, not a sign, within the program's parameters. "Damn it!"
He was starting to sit down at the desk again, but then remembered Deanna. She had lifted the lid from her tray, was busy setting out plates. There was a cake, and off to one side, a gift- wrapped package. Well, he had agreed to this, remember.
"Oh, Deanna," he had protested, some days ago, when she had brought up the subject. "Really, thank you. I just don't feel - "
But she had shaken her head. "No party. Just a private celebration. Come on, it's your birthday. You've been working so hard, it might be good to take a break for a bit. Recharge your batteries."
And afterwards come back at the effort with fresh eyes? She might have a point. He had given in with a sigh. "As long as there isn't a party."
But there was no getting away from his friends' kind attentions. The Captain had started things off in the morning with "a little gift," as he called it: A rare first edition of "Treasure Island," his favorite book when he was a little boy. Jean-Luc had waved it off as nothing, quickly taking his leave when he had begun to express his thanks.
And then each of his friends, throughout the day, had a word and a gift for him. Geordi with some beautiful holograms of the ship he had made, Worf with a new carved cover for his bat'leh, Beverly with flowers and a bottle of very good wine, and a hard hug. "You share this with someone later," she said, kissing his cheek, before hurrying away.
Data had given him a painting: That had been the most interesting gift. His friend had posed him on the bridge of a nineteenth-century wooden vessel, sails billowing overhead, ship turning hard into the wind and spray of a typhoon, himself shouting orders down to his straining crew.
"Thank you, Data, that's marvelous. Where'd you get the idea for it?"
"Counselor Troi. She said these should have been your times."
Deanna.
She had brought out two small plates, and two forks, was fussing over the cake. As if sensing his attention, she looked up and smiled, her black eyes sparkling. "Marble fudge. Your favorite."
"You know me too well." Remembering the wine Beverly had given him earlier, he went over to the cooler and fetched the bottle with him back to the table, setting it down. "We need glasses," he said, about to open the bottle, looking around at the cabinet where he kept his wineglasses.
"That can wait. Come on, come on, cut the cake," she said, happily, handing him the knife. He raised it over the confection. The cake was crowded with white chocolate roses, flecked with tiny silver and gold beads, on a fine netting of silver and gold.
She's not here. Wherever Anna is, she isn't eating fancies. Whatever she's suffering, she's suffering because of me.
He lowered the knife, put it down gently on the table. Looked at Deanna. "I'm sorry. You've gone to a lot of trouble and I appreciate it." She waved her hand at this, as if it weren't important; he knew that it was, and that he was hurting her. But - "I just can't."
He raised his hands to his eyes, pressing his eyeballs with his fingers, to restrain the tears surging up, suddenly, burning hot in his throat, the goading, merciless guilt behind it all, and the terrible not knowing.
Anna, Anna! Where are you? Christ, it's killing me, not knowing.
He felt her hand on his arm, soothing him like a child, as she had been doing for months now, trying to ease him through his worst moments. Almost, he embraced her again, as he had that day he had gone to apologize for shouting at her. She had looked so kindly at him, and he had fallen back on that kindness, sometimes on a daily basis, grateful for her acceptance of his need, and his silence as to what was behind it. And yet, it had sometimes made him feel even worse, knowing he was being comforted while Anna was - who knew what she could be going through, at the hands of her ruthless captors? He felt sometimes as if he was being driven mad -
"Will," came Deanna's soft voice. "Will, what is it?"
He broke away and crossed the room to the window. Out there, she was out there, somewhere. To his dying day, he wouldn't stop looking for her. He had to find her. One way or another, alive or - No, she couldn't, she couldn't be -
I will be with thee, now and forever.
He had replayed those scenes in his mind endless times. Starting with T'Prianne looking over his shoulder at dinner. William, this is our daughter, Anna Rhaenn.
And there she'd been. He had recognized her immediately, as he had always known he would. He had been waiting for her all of his life.
My love. He was imagining looking into her eyes, in some future day. Do you remember when we met?
"Of course I remember."
Startled at hearing Deanna's voice, he opened his eyes and turned; he had forgotten she was in the room with him: Without realizing it, he'd spoken aloud.
"We met at the Academy's Graduation Dance. I was there with Brean Elso, he was graduating at the top of his class. And I saw you across the room, in your dress uniform, standing with a beautiful young woman, talking with her and smiling very charmingly. You looked quite the couple."
The scene came clearly into his mind, and the girl she was referring to, young and irritatingly flirtatious. "Keli Maggio, the Commandant's daughter."
"Mmm-hmm. I thought, not a chance he'll notice me, not with that lovely woman at his side. But I kept looking at you."
"And I saw you when you were dancing with Elso," he murmured, his mind slipping back all those years to that long-ago time. "You looked - I can't begin to describe how you looked." The dark eyes radiating a natural warmth, the bright, open expression. She was so young; they had both been so young, and ready to fall in love. The difference between them had been that he had wanted to stay in that phase of their relationship where everything was warm and sensuous and delightfully surprising, like exploring a secret box full of newfound treasures, each one unique, precious and worth lingering over, whereas she had been very quickly ready to move further into a deeper, more serious commitment, and in their extreme happiness together, he had believed he was ready, too, and proposed marriage, which she had accepted. He had been so happy, from that first moment seeing her at the dance. "So beautiful. I couldn't stop looking at you."
She blushed, and laughed. "And finally, -"
"Finally, I excused myself from Keli, and I -"
"And you started walking in my direction. I thought my heart would burst, it was beating so hard." She raised her hand to her chest, and smiled. "I fell in love in that instant," she said.
"I never believed in that sort of thing," he said, brusquely turning away. "Never believed in love at first sight. Never really believed in happily ever after."
And then Anna came along, and "never" turned into "forever."
I will be with thee, now and forever.
Deanna's eyes were looking into his. "The heart doesn't care what we believe, Will. Love can be something that happens to you unexpectedly, that you feel about another person, whether you believe in love or not."
He nodded. "You're right, you're absolutely right, Deanna. At the time, I didn't understand! I didn't understand why people talked about finding the right one, about falling in love, about marriage and forever after. I do now."
I will be with thee, now and forever.
He reached for her hand and gripped it tightly in his. "I mean, I see it now. I guess that, for others, falling in love seemed so easy, but because it hadn't happened to me, I thought it wasn't possible, that it would never happen. But it is, isn't it? Easy as your heart beating. And all the rest follows naturally, right? You fall in love, you get married. It's all happiness and joy and flowers on your wedding day. And you think - I thought - But - how can we be so foolish, so careless? How can you swear forever, when you don't know what forever means, Deanna? Is it an eternity or a moment - or a day, that one precious day ... Oh, hell! Of all people, I should know what kind of pain love can inflict! All I had to do was look at my parents! That's why I never wanted to commit myself fully to any one woman, because I never wanted to cause the terrible suffering I saw my mother go through, I never wanted to be the cause of that sort of pain!"
"I understand you, Will. You judged by what you saw in your parents' situation, so you felt the need to be guarded, to not open yourself to reliving what you went through in your own childhood. Well, let's look at your parents' case a little more closely. Yes, your mother must have been terribly lonely and unhappy when your father wasn't there, undoubtedly she was. But, try and remember, if you can, the times when your father came home, surely you must have those kinds of memories stored up too. Try to recall the overwhelming joy your mother felt at seeing your father after those long absences, greater than if she saw him every day. Think of that: Not only did her happiness and excitement override all the accumulated hurt, but the pain of separation must have intensified her pleasure. And that's true for every marriage to some extent. The good times, as well as the bad times, the times of bright hope and promise, of joy and ecstatic love, of heartbreak and disappointment, of learning and faith and renewal, those are what make up the whole of married life together, not just the difficult times you've always chosen to focus on -"
"That's not what I'm talking about, Deanna," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not talking about just the ordinary bad times people go through, anybody can deal with that. I mean when love and commitment and marriage is never-ending pain, and guilt, when love is a - a torture, a chain wrapped tight around your heart. What about when your own thoughtless, selfish actions inflict pain, what about when you hurt her - abandon her, stupidly, foolishly? Then what? Then there's no turning back. It's too late for regrets then. Too late, all too late."
She had listened to him in silence. "You are allowing that pain and those doubts to hold you back, to keep you locked in the past with no possibility of moving on. Your memories continually coming back to stop you from even the potential of giving love and receiving it." She was quiet a moment, her dark eyes looking deep into his. "Is this what's been troubling you all this time?"
"Oh, God, yes," he said, feeling the relief of finally being able to admit it to her. "I'm so sorry, Deanna. I wish I could have talked to you before about this, but I needed time -"
"Commander Riker to the bridge."
The warp engines were engaging, he could feel them, from the corner of his eye saw the stars blurring through the window as he was turning hurriedly to leave, Deanna by his side. She looked at him as they entered the lift. "Think it might be the same ship?"
"Bridge." He shook his head, without saying another word to her, refusing to let himself speculate; they'd know soon enough. The lift doors opened, and he was stepping out onto the bridge. The Captain was standing at the viewscreen; turning to look at him, then at Deanna, back to him.
"There's no ship," the Captain said, instantly, as if to quickly relieve him of that idea. Though he'd tried not to have any expectations, still he could feel his spirits sagging, his heart sinking low at the words: No ship. The Captain was walking toward him until he was a step away. He forced himself to look into the grey eyes. And was surprised to see a muted shine there; a ray of hope, that quickly traveled over into his own heart.
"But we've just gotten word from Space Station Seven - One of the hostages, Chief Tomas Boaez, has been released and is there."