(Anthea and Lindy's dresses can be viewed here.)

London

2260.80

Her feet were killing her.

Anthea hadn't worn heels since before her pregnancy, and Nolan was very nearly seven months old now. The shoes had been hastily bought and pinched her toes. They did go fabulously with the pale mauve dress, though, that Lindy had insisted she wear for the wedding.

At least she didn't have to wear a hat for this. She had enough of that at work.

It was late March, and the weather was still too cool, at least in her opinion, for knee-length dresses, but the bride's choice was the bride's choice, and as Matron of Honour, Anthea couldn't really argue. Especially since her best friend was still annoyed that she hadn't attended Anthea's wedding eighteen months before.

Which was the point of eloping, really.

But guilt for planning to leave Lindy here in London and move to California had Anthea obliging every one of Lindy's whims. Well, all but one.

At the moment, she was out on the balcony of the hotel's ballroom, overlooking the city, avoiding the best man. Sure, he was cute, but he was dim as a wooden post and about as entertaining. He was also very handy and she'd been avoiding his tipsy attempts at copping a feel all day.

The morning had started entirely too early, not that she wasn't used to it, what with breastfeeding a baby. Anthea's parents were in town, Martha to look after Nolan while his mummy was busy, and Graham to give the bride away. Lindy's parents had died when she was fifteen, leaving her in the care of her mother's older brother and his wife, a woman who had resented having to take in a teenager. They'd been invited to the wedding, but hadn't attended. No surprise there. Graham and Martha had been better surrogate parents to the orphaned girl, who had been like a sister to their own daughter, so Graham Mackintosh had been pleased to step in.

Leaning on the railing, staring down at the street a good sixty floors down, Anthea tried not to feel too jealous that her dad had done that for Lindy, but hadn't been at her own wedding. That had been her choice, she knew; her parents had never even met John, had only known about him after everything.

Then again, she herself had never really met John Harrison, had she? Because John Harrison didn't exist.

She could almost pretend he was here, though, as he maybe would have been. If things had been different. She would have convinced him to dance, and they'd be out here in the moonlight, just the two of them, and she wouldn't be alone.

"Oi, what're you doin' out here?" a voice asked behind her, and she sighed. Tad Mellington, the groom's best mate and current thorn in her side, had tracked her down. "It's cold out, come back in where the party is."

Anthea turned, back to the railing. She couldn't fall from this height, there was a shield around the entire balcony, so she wasn't worried. "Tad."

"You remember my name." He grinned. He had auburn hair that curled around his face, and green-brown eyes. Classically handsome save for the crooked nose, he was one of the most popular gravball players in England. Women threw themselves at him, she understood.

Anthea felt absolutely no draw to him.

"The bride is lookin' for you," he continued.

"I was getting some air," she said, not wanting him to carry any tales back to Lindy and Dan about her moping outside by herself. "Bit hot in there."

She shivered, though the balcony was mostly temperature controlled. Tad immediately shucked off his suit jacket and flamboyantly draped it over her shoulders. It smelled overwhelmingly of his cologne and she did her best not to cough.

"... Thanks," she murmured.

He laid big, rough hands on her shoulders. "You're s'posed to be my date," he reminded her, "and I'm all alone in there."

"All alone with about twenty women following you around," she remarked dryly.

"Eh. None of 'em are interesting. They just wanna go on about my win last week against the American league."

"Yeah, you mentioned that." Roughly forty times through brunch. And tea. And supper.

He squinted at her. "I get the feeling you're avoiding me, Miss Mackintosh."

"I'm just not good at these things. Parties. I've got a baby at home, I don't get out much."

"Lindy mentioned you'd been dating some bloke at work," Tad said, nodding, "an' he died in the big explosion at that archive. I'm sorry about that."

That was one way to put things. "Thanks. It hasn't been easy. This whole wedding thing's really the first time I've been out to anything without my son. I don't mean to be rude."

"Nah, it's cool."

She did wish he'd take his hands off her, though.

"I like you," he blurted. "You're different. Not giggly."

Anthea had never been overly giggly, but she sometimes felt the part of her that could just laugh and have fun had died with John. "Tad, look-"

He suddenly dropped his hands to her hips and tugged her against him. "Maybe it's good we're alone out here," he said. "I've been tryin' to talk to you all day."

She pushed against his chest as he tried to kiss her. He was well over six feet, towering over her five-foot-six, but she wasn't defenceless. Anthea jerked her hand up, the heel of her hand against his chin, and pressed up.

"I work for Starfleet Intelligence," she hissed. "If you don't let me go this instant, I will make sure that they never find your body. I can have you vanished in twenty minutes or less. We know of so many black holes."

"Is there a problem out here?"

She wasn't sure if it was her threat or the arrival of her big, burly father, but Tad stepped back so fast, he tripped over his own feet and would have fallen if Graham hadn't caught him.

"No," she said, overly sweetly. "Everything's fine, Daddy."

She took off Tad's jacket and handed it to him. "Get out of my sight," she whispered, and he bolted.

Graham looped an arm around his only child's shoulders. "Looked t'me like ye had things in hand, but what kinda father would I be if I left ye to it?"

"I appreciate it," she said, leaning into the embrace.

"What'd ye say that had 'im so pale, anyway?" the Scotsman asked.

"Told him that if he didn't get his hands off me, I'd have Intelligence dump him in a black hole."

Graham arched a dark brow. He'd known since shortly before his grandson's birth what his daughter really did for Starfleet, but they didn't talk about it. "Can ye do that?"

"No," she lied. "It was just a threat. Worked, though."

The truth was, if necessary, she'd have killed him, called Admiral Brody, and had his corpse transported to "the pit". Ironically, it was less than two kilometres away, and she really could have had him gone in the twenty or less she'd threatened him with.

The thought should have bothered her. It didn't. He wouldn't have been the first she'd sent there.

No one ever came out of Section 31's industrial incinerator.

"Ye alright, Thee?" Graham asked. "Today's a hard day, I know."

"I'll be fine, it's not as if I'm not away from Nolan while at work."

Her father's grey eyes were serious. "I'm talkin' about John, lass. He's got t'be on yer mind today."

She shrugged. "All day, every day. But yes. He is."

"Ye never talk about him."

"I can't," she admitted. "Besides the stuff I literally can't tell you, I can't. It hurts too much, Dad. And today…"

The sliding doors to the balcony opened and Lindy rushed out, somehow both concerned and furious. "Did you really threaten to throw Tad in a black hole?!" she demanded.

"He was groping me, Lin," Anthea said. "It was that or break him."

The bride sagged, fury abruptly stolen. Then she stiffened. "I'll kill him myself!" she exclaimed.

Anthea laughed and shrugged out from under her father's arm. "It's fine, Lin. I'm alright. He's learned his lesson. I think he was more intimidated by Dad, though."

Lindy huffed. "He's whinging to Dan about what a bitch you are. I dunno how to explain this to him."

"Well, Tad is drunk. Tell Dan he misunderstood what I said. I'm sorry I've caused a fuss-"

"It's hardly your fault, is it? He's an absolute git and I hate his stupid face but he's my husband's best mate from college." Lindy shook her head, blonde curls bouncing. "But I was hoping you'd-"

She suddenly remembered that Graham was there, and flushed a little. "Dating isn't bad, though. Just not this idiot."

Graham checked his watch. "Anthea, lass, it's gettin' on ten. Weren't we goin' to leave so you can get back to the laddy?"

"Right." She nodded.

"I'll grab our coats." He cleared his throat and then left.

The two women looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"I can't believe I almost said I was trying to get you laid, in front of your dad!" Lindy snickered and fanned herself. "I really am sorry about that idiot. I just… want you to be happy again, Thee."

"I'm not ready, Lindy," Anthea confessed. "It's only been a year, and I have Nolan to think about. Honestly, I dunno if I'll ever be ready. I miss him. I miss him so much."

Her best friend studied her. "Thank you for being here. I know today's got to have been the worst, all these reminders. But thank you."

Anthea hugged her. "Of course I was gonna be here. I won't lie and say it's been easy, but you're my sister, Lin. I even let you borrow my dad."

Lindy hiccuped a watery laugh. "Thanks for that, by the way. He's great, your dad is. Wish your mum could have come, too, but I know she's watching Nolan."

"I just don't trust anyone else with him." Anthea gave her best friend a squeeze, then stepped back. "When you get back from Mexico, before I move, we'll need to have a girls' night. You can tell me all about the honeymoon."

"Well, maybe not all of it," Lindy said, with a grin. "Looks like your dad's ready. Let's do the cake, and then you can go."

"Alright."

—-

Later, back at the house, Anthea hung the dress she'd worn in the closet. She'd changed into pajamas and fed the baby, and now she stood in her open closet, staring at the dress bag in the very back.

Slowly, she unzipped it, exposing the vintage ivory lace. Not the whole dress, just the strapless bodice.

The floorboards creaked, signalling her dad entering her bedroom. He came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders much like Tad had done, but her dad's touch was welcome and safe. He kissed the side of her head.

"Yer wedding dress?" he asked.

She nodded wordlessly.

"I wish I coulda seen ye in it."

Anthea closed her eyes. "We weren't supposed to be together. He was technically my commanding officer. It broke all kinds of protocol, but I loved him. I never- I didn't expect to fall in love with him, it just happened. We couldn't tell anyone. So we eloped to Betazed. I know Admiral Marcus probably suspected we were involved, but married? I wanted to tell you and Mum, but the timing was never right. We were always so busy, there were so many secrets. And then he was gone, and I still can't tell anyone. My best friend got married today, and my husband is gone. My husband is gone, Daddy, and I can't talk about it. I'm not allowed to grieve and people keep trying to get me to forget him, and I can't."

She began to cry, and Graham hauled her into his arms. He sat on the floor and pulled her into his lap, like he'd done when she was a child, and let her cry. When his wife appeared in the doorway, he shook his head. Martha nodded and went downstairs to fix some tea.

"Hush," he murmured. "Ye don't need t'move on if ye don't want to, lassie. Ye don't need t'be forgettin' him. Ignore anybody who says different, aye? I didn't know the man, but if ye loved him, that's enough for me. An' if ye need to be movin' t'California because it hurts too much here, that's alright, too. Ye're my daughter an' I love ye, no matter what."

—-

After Anthea had gone to bed, her parents sat on the bed in the guest room, beside the always-locked study.

"I think she needs counselling," Martha told her husband quietly. "But she won't go."

"She can't," Graham pointed out. "She can't talk about her work, or how she lost him. They weren't supposed t'be seein' each other, an' then he went an' … did all that. There's things she can't tell us, Lizzie Girl, an' the things she has, she certainly can't be tellin' them."

Martha smiled at the nickname he'd long ago given her, after she'd complained when they were dating that she hated her first name and would have preferred to go by her middle name, Elizabeth. He was the only one allowed to call her that, she'd decided then. She sobered, thinking about their daughter.

"I know she loves him, somehow, still, but… I hate him, Graham. This John person. Everything he did…"

"She explained that," Graham reminded her. "The crash in San Francisco was a horrible accident."

"And London? And the murders of those Starfleet officers at Starfleet Headquarters? Were those accidents?" Martha shook her head vehemently. "And he just left her to pick up the pieces. Left her with a baby."

Graham suspected that there was a lot more to the story of John Harrison than their daughter was able to tell them. She wasn't even supposed to tell them what she really did, had only confessed it during a brief breakdown the previous fall, shortly before Nolan's birth. His little girl carried an enormous weight on her shoulders, and he was largely helpless to assist. It wasn't a feeling he was used to.

"I don't think he meant t' leave her," he said finally. "From the little she's said about 'im, an' that picture she's got on her bedside table? He loved her enough t' send her to us when things were about t' get ugly. I dunno if she's figured that out yet."

His wife merely huffed. Inwardly, he smiled. His wife and his daughter were too much alike.

"Let's go to bed," he suggested. "Tomorrow's a long day, aye? Gotta spoil our grandson as much as possible before they go off to San Francisco."

Martha sighed. "You're right. I just get so angry, Graham, knowing she's hurting and there's nothing I can do to protect her from it."

"I know, love."

As they settled into bed, he reached to turn off the light. Then he drew her into his arms.

She said, "I just feel like she's slipping away from us. I'm afraid she'll go to California and… I don't know. It's silly, right? It's just California. It's not like she's going to move to Deneva, right?"

"Right. Go t' sleep, Martha."

—-

Upstairs, Anthea lay in the dark, in her cold and too big bed, staring at the empty spot beside her.

I'll find you, she thought. Someday, Khan, I'll find you.