January 1, 2012
Picard glanced at Data, who touched a control on the console, then nodded back. "You may proceed, sir," he said.
Picard touched his commbadge, waiting for a moment, then heard a tired voice answer.
"Hello?"
There was a gasp, then a cry. "John! It's John! Everyone, it's John!" the voice announced excitedly – then returned to the phone. "Where are you? Where's Beverly? The baby? Did you have the baby? Is he all right? Is he a he ? Wait! Let me put you on speakerphone! Everyone! It's John!"
Jean-Luc looked to Beverly, now settled in a bed in their quarters, their son nursing at her breast.
"To answer your questions: He's a he," Picard replied proudly. "Seven pounds, four ounces, twenty-one inches long…"
"Eyes! Hair!"
He tried not to laugh. "He has both," he replied. "Hazel eyes…"
"Like his father," Pat replied with a joyous laugh.
"And red hair," he added.
"Like his mother. And Beverly? Is she all right? When we got to the apartment… Oh, God, John, we didn't know what to think – all that blood…"
"Beverly went into labor last night – but before we could get to the hospital, she had the baby… There were complications…"
"But she's all right?" Pat pressed.
Beverly smiled. "I'm all right, Pat," she called loudly.
"She'll be all right," Picard amended. "They want to keep her here for a while – a few days at least."
"And here? Where's here?" she insisted.
Picard hesitated; he had hoped that this wasn't a question Pat would ask. Not that he didn't have an answer: they had carefully prepared the lie – but there was a difference between preparing to tell her something, and actually going through with lying to his friend – let alone announcing it to everyone at the New Year's Day brunch.
"She's… being cared for," he replied obliquely.
"Told you!" Gy's voice echoed through the phone. "They're off at Tranquility Base or wherever the hell the Feds take their operatives!"
Picard smiled. "We're not at Tranquility Base, Gy. Let it suffice to say that we're both safe, and Beverly's getting excellent care."
"And…?" Pat pressed.
"And?" he repeated, confused.
"When are you coming home?"
Picard looked at Beverly, his smile fading. "Um… It may be some time, Pat," he replied. "Until then, would you ask Gy to cover my classes?"
"Ask Sandra if she can cover the shop?" Beverly called out from the bed.
"Of course we can!" Pat insisted – then a faint click told the two that they were back on a more private connection. "You are coming home, aren't you?" she asked softly.
Picard hesitated. "Pat… the people here… they're helping us to rectify what happened last year. To put our lives back together."
For a long moment there was silence on the phone, then Pat spoke. "Whatever you have to do, John," she said. "But know: this is your home – and there will always be a place for you and Beverly and the baby… The baby!" she suddenly exclaimed. "What did you name him?"
He looked back at his wife, who only smiled. "We're still working on that, Pat. But I will let you know," he said, adding, "We'll call you in a few days – once everything's settled."
"All right. Give Beverly a hug and a kiss from everyone here," she said softly. "We love you all."
Picard nodded to himself, then spoke. "Good-bye, Pat."
He touched his badge once again, waited for Data to confirm that the connection had been broken, then sighed.
They couldn't simply disappear, he knew; that might create as many ripples in the timeline as their presence had done. A phone call was the barest minimum they could offer their friends – but, Picard admitted, it was not a fulfilling end to the friendships – and more – that they had found in the last year. Unsatisfied, he moved to his wife's side, seeking solace in her presence – and in that of their son.
The baby had finished nursing, falling asleep even as he ate, his cherubic face pressed to his mother's breast; reaching for their son, Picard raised him to his shoulder, gently rubbing the infant's back.
Data stepped from the communications console to join the two. "I take it you are feeling better, Doctor?" he asked.
"Terrifying as it was, post-partum hemorrhage is not that unusual – and, thanks to Jean-Luc's clear head…"
"… and your preparations…" he replied.
"… it was not life-threatening," Beverly concluded.
"Not that I knew that at the time," Picard said.
"Nor I. It can be fatal," she explained. "But even before you had us beamed up, the bleeding was stopping; if he had done nothing else, I still would have recovered – slowly, and uncomfortably – but I would have recovered," she assured the android. "Being here though – Alyssa was able to complete the delivery of the placenta, transfuse some fluids, and use the regeneration beams to speed my recovery. One day of recovery," she said looking at Picard.
"Instead of six weeks," Picard said.
"Or more; six weeks for recovery from childbirth – but surgery in the twenty-first century can mean months of recovery," she pointed out.
"Months?" he repeated stonily.
She smiled. "Just be happy we were beamed back," she told him.
He smiled back.
Data looked at the two, curious. "You do not look happy," he commented.
Picard looked at his old friend, surprised.
"Leaving Starfleet has granted me exposure to a far greater number of humans – and non-humans – than I had previously encountered. Not just in number, but also in character and personality. Individuals within Starfleet comport themselves differently than those who are not," he informed them. "There is a greater degree of control and reserve in Starfleet members than in the public at large. I have noted that non-Starfleet officers tend to control their emotions: your mouths smile, because that is the expected reaction – but your eyes do not reveal the same emotional content. You are not happy," he concluded.
That brought a genuine smile from both humans. "I'm happy that we are back… for Beverly's sake," Picard replied. "Watching someone you love suffer through a long recovery is not something I wanted for her – or for myself," he admitted.
"But…?" Data asked.
Picard looked at his wife.
"We were gone for a year, Data, from our point of view. We experienced so many things that required us to adapt to that world – and it forced us to change what we do, how we do it – and how we think," she explained.
"To a degree, we are still in that mindset," Picard continued. "This is… foreign. It's familiar, yes – but in the last year, we had come to think of Batavia as home, and what we were doing as our work. It's going to take us some time to adapt back," he explained.
"More than 'some time'," Beverly pointed out. "It was a year for us – but six years here. That means I'm six years behind in knowing what has happened in medicine; Jean-Luc is equally behind in what has happened within the quadrant and within Starfleet."
"It has put us in a position of having to consider what we are going to do now that we are back; it's no longer a matter of stepping back into our previous roles," he explained. "Those roles are filled by others – and even if they weren't, we aren't qualified to fill them anymore. To some extent, we are back where we were on Earth."
"A fish out of water," Data offered.
Beverly smiled. "Just so, Data."
The android nodded. "Having left Starfleet, I, for a time, found myself in a similar position. I was so familiar with the behaviors and expectations of life within Starfleet that I was unprepared for life outside that milieu. It took some time for me to find my own way," he admitted.
"But you did," Picard said.
Data nodded. "I did," he said – and smiled.
Data smiled.
Smiled, Picard realized. A real, genuine, very human smile.
"Data!" Beverly gasped. "You're smiling!"
"You," Picard agreed, stunned, "have emotions."
"Indeed – though I would ask that you not reveal this to Captain Riker – or anyone else. There are occasions when being able to 'fit in' with others becomes advantageous."
Beverly's brow wrinkled. "I don't mean to contradict you, Data, but you're hard to miss. Your skin, your eyes…"
He moved toward Beverly, pulled back his sleeve, rubbed his arm gently – and revealed skin that was far closer in color to hers than to the ghostly what she remembered.
"Data," she said, surprised.
"Once out of Starfleet I allowed myself the time – and resources – needed to continue Dr. Soong's work. Changing my skin color was not difficult. Indeed, I also possess optical units that display more… standardized… eyes color," he said. "It facilitates matters."
"Matters, Data?" Picard asked. "What 'matters'?"
"There are issues, sir, that concern me," Data answered. "Issues that are important to me; issues I wish to address. Issues where appearing as 'just another guy' is expeditious. You see, sir, it has come to my attention that Starfleet is not the only game in town.".
Beverly chuckled. "'Not the only game in town'?" she repeated, bemused by the android's choice of phrase.
"There are," he explained, "other ways to accomplish one's goals. Starfleet – and in turn, the Federation - are noble organizations, intent on benefitting the majority of the individuals living throughout the quadrant through the recognition and support of their efforts to live independent and fulfilling lives, while embracing the continued exploration of space and welcoming those races and species who would like to join them into the organization. But," he continued, "joining such an organization can be limiting as well as fulfilling. For all that it offers, Starfleet and the Federation extract a price."
"What price, Data?" she asked.
"It cost you your lives, Doctor," he admonished her gently. "Starfleet was willing to sacrifice you. I felt that price excessive, and opted to leave to pursue the possibility of a rescue."
Picard shook his head. "That was generous of you, Data – but too generous. To give up Starfleet for us…" He shook his head again, disapprovingly.
Data raised a brow. "With all due respect, Captain, it was not your choice to make. If you have taught me nothing else, you have taught me to make my own decisions, based on my personal values and morals. You were my friends; I found the cost more than reasonable," he said mildly.
Picard studied the man for a long moment, then stepped closer to him, extending his hand. "Thank you, Data. Thank you," he said.
"You are more than welcome, Captain…"
"Jean-Luc," Picard corrected. "If you are no longer in Starfleet, than calling me 'Captain' is unnecessary – especially as I'm not entirely sure I am still a captain," he added with a glance at Beverly. "I'm told I was granted a posthumous promotion – though now that I'm back among the living, I gather there is some debate about the matter," he told her.
Data considered the point. "You are more than welcome… Jean-Luc. I wanted to point out, however, that while giving up my position in Starfleet may seem excessive, I do have the option of returning at a later date and re-establishing myself within the organization. Repeating the training and the re-establishing my tenure is simply a matter of time – and as my life expectancy is estimated to be in excess of ten thousand years, I have that time; indeed, I will most likely outlive Starfleet – and perhaps the Federation itself.
"But it is unlikely that I will," he admitted."Without the bounds and constraints of the rules and regulations of Starfleet, I have discovered that I can do more than I was previously able; I can help those whom I chose, and in the manner I chose. I can act to save planets that fall outside the bounds of the Prime Directive; I can assist individuals whose needs are deemed too minor or too insignificant by the Federation. I can, sir, make a difference… and I have. Beginning with locating you," he explained.
"For which we thank you," Picard replied.
"So what's next, Data?" Beverly asked. "Now that you've rescued us, what are you doing next?"
The android considered, then crossed the room, retrieving two chairs, and placing them near Beverly's bed. He gestured for Jean-Luc to take one chair, placed himself in the second one – then looked at the two humans.
"Actually, Doctor, that is the question I have for you two. As you stated to your friend, Jean-Luc, you are now with people who can rectify the situation in which you found yourselves; people who can help you put your lives back together.
"My question is: what are you going to do with those lives?"
