25.
As the afternoon waned, he joined Jean-Luc in the library, sending Locarno off to do whatever it was Locarno did when he wasn't "minding" Jean-Luc. Jean-Luc wasn't reading, not really; just sitting there, his eyes closed, the book in his lap. He wondered whether he should take the book before it fell, but unlike earlier in the week, he had no intention of leaving Jean-Luc alone. He sat down in the other armchair and booted up his padd, resolving to read the latest report Starfleet had sent him.
"Jean-Guy said you were in your study." Jean-Luc sat up, reaching around to place the book on the desk.
"He was here with you?" Will asked, still looking at the report.
"Mmh-mmh." Jean-Luc stretched. "Will."
"Yes?" He didn't glance up, as there was a piece of information in this latest report that seemed to be eluding him.
"He'd like to talk to you."
"Who would?"
"Jean-Guy."
"Okay." Jean-Luc didn't say anything else, and fine-tuned as he was to Jean-Luc's moods, Will thought he heard some criticism in that silence. He sighed and shut down his padd, and then placed it on the desk, next to Jean-Luc's copy of The Aeneid. "I'm listening," he said, leaning forward to take Jean-Luc's hands.
"He read your score, the other day," Jean-Luc began. "I think I may have mentioned it, I can't remember."
"You did, mention it," Will answered. "And he shouldn't have. It's not ready for anyone to see."
"He was curious. And now – now he needs to talk to you about it, because all of a sudden you are real to him."
Surprised, Will said, "I don't understand."
"You've changed the landscape of his childhood, Will," Jean-Luc explained. "He's looking back and trying to reinterpret everything he ever thought he knew. Shh—" Jean-Luc touched Will's mouth lightly. "Before you say that's why you didn't what to tell them – You were just his dad, before. Now you are a man – and a musician, apparently of some brilliance, according to him."
"It might be good," Will conceded. "But it's not finished. And I wouldn't know what to say."
"I rather doubt that, Guy," Jean-Luc replied, standing. "You share a language, you and our son, one I only wish I could share." He stretched and then took Will's hand again. "It's late. I suppose we should think about getting dressed."
"Should I call Locarno, to help you up the stairs?" Will stood as well, and they walked slowly out of Jean-Luc's library.
"I can manage, with your help," Jean-Luc answered. "You'll talk to him, Guy?"
"Of course I will." He placed his arm around Jean-Luc's waist, and they took the stairs carefully, one step at a time. "Before we leave on our holiday, Jean-Luc, I'll need to make arrangements with Pau to hire someone to draw up the renovations."
"Yes." They'd reached the landing, and Jean-Luc paused to catch his breath. "I think we should consider moving downstairs. We could turn the two bedrooms into one."
"I'll miss our view," Will said as they walked into the bedroom. "We have time, if you want to sit out there with me. I saw the windjammer in the bay, yesterday."
"Did you?" Jean-Luc followed him out the French doors. "The local one or the one we'll be taking?"
"It was the day schooner," Will answered, standing at the wrought-iron railing. He placed his arm around Jean-Luc's waist and they stood there, listening, Will thought, to the sounds of this - their home. Because, he realised, he'd been home from the very first second he'd stepped on the transporter pad of the D from Farpoint Station, where a Lieutenant Yar had been waiting to escort him to meet his captain. From a vantage point of almost forty years, Jean-Luc had been his home – the physical setting hadn't mattered at all. "You know," he said to Jean-Luc now, drawing him in, "you remember, when we spent our first night here?"
"On our honeymoon?"
Will hadn't been looking at Jean-Luc, but he'd heard the smirk. "Yes," he said, and then he added, "And you've always said I was the silly one."
"Ah," Jean-Luc answered. "This is a serious conversation, then."
"I suppose so." Will rested his head against Jean-Luc's. "Does it make sense to you to say that sometimes I forget that I can remember things?"
Jean-Luc was quiet, and then he remarked, "Perhaps I am one of the few to which that does make sense."
"This – " He paused, trying to find words, and then he realised that the words were there, waiting for him. "Our anniversary, and then what we started, telling the kids my story…it's brought back things I remember. But maybe it was writing the symphony that started it. The remembering, I mean. So much of what I remember gets turned into music, somehow. A tune. A chord." He took a breath. "We were sitting here, for the first time, looking out to sea. And you were worried, because I'd been so anxious."
"Yes, I remember."
"I was anxious because we'd never been alone together, as two people, and I didn't know how it would work, how I could make it work," Will said. "I was too new at being normal, I think."
Jean-Luc smiled, and took Will's hand. "Surely you remember I was a little nervous myself," he said.
"I know." Will glanced at Jean-Luc and grinned. "You have no idea how surprised I was when you told me that – but –" he was laughing now "– I know, Jean-Luc, I don't have the corner on the market of anxiety – I think it was just that I was too wrapped up in my own head to notice how nervous you were….You have distracted me," Will said, "and there was something I wanted to say."
"You had better say it quickly, then," Jean-Luc responded, "before you morph back into your more taciturn nature."
Will hesitated. "Are you taking the piss?" he asked, finally.
Jean-Luc shrugged. Will glanced away, not wanting Jean-Luc to see that his eyes were tearing. "I just wanted to say," Will began, "that when we were sitting out here, for that first time – when you offered me this place as our – our sanctuary, I guess, from duty and illness and the expectations of other people – I realised for the first time that my life was real – I don't know how else to explain it – and that you were real, and that we were going to have this real life together, the both of us. That I wasn't ever going to have to be alone again." He turned back to Jean-Luc. "It was terrifying – see, I have more than ten words now – and yet, it was – it made me feel happy. We've been happy, together, haven't we?"
"Oh, Will," Jean-Luc said.
"I love you, old man."
"We'd better get dressed," Jean-Luc answered. "It wouldn't do for the car to arrive and we're neither one of us ready."
"Okay," Will agreed.
"Guy," Jean-Luc said as they walked back into the bedroom. "You only had to say you didn't want to move downstairs."
"Why aren't we all riding together?" Will asked. He was pacing in the kitchen, having made Jean-Luc a cup of tea.
"William." Jean-Luc set his mug on the table.
"Yeah?" Will was at the door, looking out. "That stupid cat is in the fishpond again," he said.
"Sit down."
"I'll uncrease my uniform."
"Mr Riker."
"Put the captain in his uniform and orders appear," Will said, but he sat down.
"You've had too much coffee," Jean-Luc told him, "and your anxiety is out of place."
Will grinned. "Oh, it is, is it?"
"Starfleet is sending us a car, because we are the guests of honour," Jean-Luc said, "and apparently there will be enough brass there to warrant this sort of fussiness. Locarno needs his air car so he can go home, and he and Jean-Guy have become friends."
"I liked your idea about slipping away better," Will complained.
Jean-Luc was wearing his neutral expression. "You'll behave," he said; and that, Will thought, was that.
The weather had gone east, just as Will predicted, and the evening was warm and mild, with a sliver of a moon rising over the horizon. The air car, driven by some anonymous ensign from Steen's office, pulled into the front of Les Fonts, all pillars and fairy lights, the admiral's flag displayed so that the car was saluted as it arrived. Formally-dressed staff opened the doors and helped Jean-Luc step out, and then opened the door for him as he stood and stretched. Regardless of the size of the back of an air car he always felt as if he were sitting with his knees in his face. Jean-Luc was waiting for him on the portico, and he walked over to stand with him.
"Should we wait for Jean-Guy and Locarno to arrive?" he asked. "They were right behind us." He couldn't see Locarno's car.
"I think," Jean-Luc said, "we will be escorted in."
"Oh my God," Will muttered. "How on earth did either one of our children grow up with us and think that we would appreciate this nonsense?"
Jean-Luc's lip twitched. "Perhaps the combination of Rose's impulsivity and Sascha's formality has met in some sort of perfect storm," he said.
Will wondered if it were possible to die laughing. "If I laugh at inappropriate moments tonight, old man," he warned, "it will be your fault." Then he saw who was coming to escort them and he said, "Fuck. It's the village idiot himself."
"Admiral Riker. Ambassador Picard." Commander Egan Steen shook their hands. "Or should I address you as Captain Picard tonight, sir?"
"Just don't call either one of us late for dinner, Commander," Will said, forestalling whatever irritated response Jean-Luc might have given.
Steen chuckled, and Will felt Jean-Luc place a restraining hand on his arm. "Lay on, Macduff," Will said, quoting correctly, and was gratified when he saw Jean-Luc's lip turn upwards.
He felt Jean-Luc press into him as they walked into the lobby, filled with staff and other guests, all of them no doubt surprised by the sea of Starfleet white.
"We are in the formal dining room tonight," Steen said, "this way, gentlemen."
"She really did invite half of fucking Starfleet," Will said.
"Indeed," Jean-Luc replied. "Our wedding was small in comparison."
"At least there won't be the damned sabre arch tonight," Will remarked. "How is it that I didn't get the memo on that?"
This time Jean-Luc smiled. "Our Mr Data wanted to surprise you," he said, "and Admiral Laidlaw was in favour of it."
"No doubt you were in favour of it as well," Will said. "At least you didn't want to dress up in those silly English naval uniforms."
"Of course not," Jean-Luc answered. "Having spent half of my career wearing a dress, these uniforms are quite satisfactory."
Will grinned and then said, "Son."
"Sir," Sascha said. "Rose and I will escort you to the head table."
The room was full and he searched for the familiar; Beverly Crusher's red hair; Geordi; Worf; was that Laidlaw? He glanced down and saw that a certain Lieutenant Riker-Picard had taken his arm, even as Commander Riker-Picard had taken Jean-Luc's. He was going to ask where Jean-Guy was, but then he saw his youngest on the bandstand, with Jai Patel – and was that Maelys? Where the hell had Sascha and Rose found her?
"Breathe, Dad," Rose whispered, and he nodded, as he and Jean-Luc entered a silent room to Starfleet white, all of them at attention as they walked past. Perhaps, he thought, being Admiral of the Fleet had meant something after all. As they reached their seats at the head table, his old swing band broke into the Naval Hymn, the same one Maelys had sung at their wedding; her contralto still vibrant, still dark, still rich. They waited until the hymn was over and the room broke into spontaneous applause – and as they sat they saw Valentine Laidlaw rise, still looking as if it were thirty-five years ago, with only his hair streaked with white to show the passage of time.
"Since it was my honour to marry these two gentlemen thirty-five years ago," Valentine Laidlaw said, "Alexandré Riker-Picard asked if I would give the first toast, as my cousin and Alexandré's namesake Alasdair McBride is no longer here with us to repeat that honour." The room had quieted, and Laidlaw said, "Thirty-six years ago, I was introduced to a starship captain and his first officer, both of whom had apparently written the book on insubordination and derring-do, in what can only be regarded as an extraordinarily dangerous time for Starfleet and the Federation. It was thanks to their courage that we continue to have both the Federation and Starfleet today."
Will managed not to roll his eyes, as he felt Jean-Luc take his hand under the table.
"Will and Jean-Luc, you remain an inspiration to us all," Laidlaw said. "Here's to your continuing life together. May it be blessed with joy. L'chaim!"
A few minutes later, as they were being served the first course, Worf said, "I never thought you were insubordinate, Captain. You simply did what needed to be done."
"Thank you, Worf," Jean-Luc replied. "Coming from you that is high praise indeed."
"He called me insubordinate too," Will remarked, glancing at Worf.
Worf shrugged. "Sir," he said, and then he paused.
"Well?" Will demanded.
"I'm sorry, sir," Worf said, finally. "In which situation did you want me to say you weren't insubordinate?"
Will thought for a moment and then he said, "They made me admiral, anyway."
"It was that or the brig, mon cher," Jean-Luc said, and Will laughed along with everyone else.
"Dad," Jean-Guy said, as they were finishing dessert.
"Yes?" Will had been quiet, thinking of those whose faces belonged at this table: Deanna's. Data's. McBride's. Mrs Troi's. Even, he thought, Ambassador Spock's, although it would have been unlikely that he would have ever agreed to come to a function such as this one.
"I brought your 'bone," Jean-Guy said. "I thought you might like to take a couple sets."
"You thought that, or Jai did?" Will asked.
Jean-Guy was nothing if not honest. "We both did," he answered.
"I haven't played in public in some time," Will said.
"Jean-Guy." Jean-Luc turned away from his conversation with Marie.
"Sir?"
"The Admiral is not being particularly truthful," Jean-Luc said, resting his hand on Will's. "He has a chamber group he plays with, and his students have a combo he performs in."
"Great!" Jean-Guy said. "We can play together, Dad. If you'll excuse me –"
Jean-Guy stood up and walked towards the bandstand, where the remaining players of the Riker Swing Band had started to gather.
"I thought you wanted me to stay with you," Will said.
"Marie and Beverly will stay with me," Jean-Luc answered, "and Mr Locarno is hovering close by. You play with our son. It's something he's been looking forward to."
"You won't mind?"
"Will," Jean-Luc said.
"Holding up okay, then?"
"Yes," Jean-Luc replied. "Holding up."
He was not terribly surprised when he heard the first notes of his former bandmates; they'd been with him, after all, when he'd pulled off the coup of bringing a certain singer who was also an astrophysicist to the band. It had, of course, become their official theme song, even as both he and Jean-Luc invariably thought that Sarah Vaughan's "Tenderly" was. That, however, was a little bit of private information he didn't want to share with anyone, not even his own kids.
"Admiral Riker?" Jean-Luc was standing.
He didn't look particularly frail, at this moment; he simply looked as he had always done, the captain standing there, immaculate, his dark eyes focused on the only person ("Me!" Will thought) in the room who truly mattered.
"Yes, Captain Picard?" Will answered, taking the hand that was offered.
"May I have this dance?" Jean-Luc asked, his lip turning upward in the half-smile only Will recognised.
"Command performance," Will quipped, but then he smiled and said, "Yes."
"She still sings beautifully," Jean-Luc remarked.
Will nodded, pulling Jean-Luc in, and then he whispered, "Let's go outside."
Jean-Luc nodded, and they slipped away, out to the patio and the pool and the fairy lights, out to moonlight on an indigo sea.
"I hope," Jean-Luc said, "that you don't mind, Will,"
Because the band had begun the next set, with Jean-Guy leading on his horn, and then the soft rich voice of Maelys LePatourel drifted out to them as they danced in that world they'd made for each other thirty-five years before, in the moonlight on the beach in Sitges.