The Ties That Bind
This story and all themes and ideas contained in said story are the sole ownership of J.L. Scott. Any copyright infringements can be prosecuted in a court of law.
To borrow a phrase: Star Trek: The Next Generation no mine...no money, no sue, please?
Will sat at the bar in ten-forward, cradling a drink between his hands, staring into it. His time with Deanna hadn't gone quite as pleasantly. He'd gotten rather upset with her actually.
"Will, you have sister!" she had cried desperately.
"I know that, Deanna!" he cried back.
"But you're not accepting it, Will!" she told him in a somewhat calmer voice, "When you think of her, you immediately think of the betrayal of your father that she represents. You're not thinking of your sister. You're not thinking of Miranda Riker, a young girl whose father abandoned her at birth, who grew up alone on a planet of cool, indifferent strangers without anyone to help her or hug her or love her"
Will had gotten very quiet. Deanna could feel she was pushing him, but there was nothing else to do. She had already told him how delicate Miranda's psyche was, that he was going to have to be patient, kill her with kindness, and prove that she could trust him.
"She needs you Will and you're treating her like she's some spoiled sulking cadet"
"That's because she's acting like one" Will pointed out.
"She's had 16 years of not being able to trust anyone, Will. Of course its going to take some time to convince her that she can trust you"
"She trusts you, and Data and Wesley" Will reminded her, his agitation rising.
"She trusts Wesley because she can control him, Data because he's an android and she doesn't trust me. Not much, anyway" Deanna informed him. These were things she was able to determine easily from her telepathic contact with the young woman.
There had been more, but the important part of the conversation had ended there. It kept replaying in his mind, like a broken record. And the part that kept sticking was that he wasn't thinking of her, just the betrayal she represented.
Was it true? He suddenly knew it was. She was his father's final blow, the latest and last injury. And he couldn't get past that.
"Evening, Commander" a gentle voice disturbed his thoughts. He looked up, blinked at Guinan.
"You're here kind of late" she commented in her soft way, "Having troubles at home?"
"My sister" Will replied, the words sounding odd in his mouth for the first time.
"Ah" Guinan nodded knowingly, though she said nothing more.
"She's been here for a month and I barely know her" he admitted, "I don't know what kind of music she listens to, what her favorite color is...the problem is she won't talk to me"
"You know I had a sister named Gersha that reminds me of your sister" Guinan told him, refilling his drink, "Everybody thought she was a little odd. She didn't really talk to people a lot, so they tended to stay away from her...not talk to her"
Will looked at her for a second and she looked back with that calm pleasant look she always wore.
"You're saying she won't talk to me because I don't want to talk to her" He finally concluded. Guinan inclined her head slightly.
"Well, I haven't met your sister" she replied, "But I wouldn't want to talk to someone who didn't want to talk to me"
It wasn't too late. She was probably still awake. Unless she was one to go to bed early. Or unless Bolgara's rotation was different than theirs. Standing in front of her door, he realized how little he knew about his own sister.
"Come!" she called when he rang. He stepped in and she looked up from the book she was reading.
"Evening, Miranda. How was your day?" he asked, heading right for the replicator to get a drink.
"Fine"
Will stopped in his tracks and spun around. She had gone back to reading her book.
"You speak" he said. She looked up again.
"When there's something to say" Will nodded slowly to himself and retrieved his drink.
"What're you reading?" he asked, taking a seat on the couch opposite her. She looked up again and sighed.
"It's called Sphere. It's by a 20th century author named Michael Chriton" she answered and stopped, daring him to tell her how interesting that was.
He didn't.
"Data's doing a poetry reading tomorrow" he said instead, "I thought you might like to go" Miranda marked her page and put the book down.
"I'm not really into poetry" she said, "More of a reading quietly to myself person"
Will sighed. Deanna was right, this was going to take a lot of time and patience. But he found he had the patience, and knew he had at least two years until she turned 18.
"Well, Dr. Crusher's putting on a play. 'Orpheus Descending' by Tennessee Williams, do you know it?"
"Yeah. Not a bad play" she answered. Will figured that was as close to a yes as he would get.
"Great" he said, "I'll see you tomorrow night then"
She seemed to enjoy the play. She even stopped to compliment one of the players. Yet she remained cool towards Will, speaking only when asked a question or when introduced to someone. The resemblance between the two was again marked on, especially as they had shown up in matching tones of blue, quite unintentionally. Will dropped her off at her quarters, pleased they had gotten through the night without chasing anyone off.
They went on more excursions. He even took her to Curtis Creek. Nothing he did, however, would meet the cool front she presented to him. In the meanwhile, their psychic connection seemed to be growing. Will seemed to be able to pick up on her emotions. He asked Deanna about it, and the Councilor said Miranda was probably broadcasting to him without realizing it.
Miranda was oblivious to this. She filled her days with the holideck and her other hobbies. She split her evenings between Data and Wesley, unless Will or Deanna had plans for her. Occasionally, the Captain would invite her over for tea to talk about some new archeological find. It was the fullest Miranda's life had ever been. Though she still refused to share anything with Will, she found it was difficult to keep everything to yourself when you had friends. So as the months passed, she started to let people in a little more. She took Jean-Luc to Mr. Wu's shop on the holideck and one night, about six months after she'd first come on board, she revealed to Data a secret she'd kept for years.
She was in his quarters, just hanging around and playing with Spot. It was rather late, well into the third shift, but of course Data didn't sleep and he found he actually enjoyed Miranda's silent company.
Tonight he was painting. He did it rather often and Miranda enjoyed watching him, wondering where his creative inspiration came from. He suddenly put his brush down and sat back. Miranda left the cat and went to stand behind him. She regarded it quietly for a few minutes before saying anything. It was Spot. A cubist Spot.
"It's good" she told him. Data quirked an eyebrow.
"I have noticed that humans tend to judge such things by an emotional reaction rather than by the true quality of the artwork" he said.
"Well, of course, Data" Miranda replied, "Because the true quality of the artwork is the emotional reaction it creates"
"I see" he mused, "But is the technical aspect of the work not important?"
"Sure" Miranda agreed, "But only in so far as how it helps create a reaction. Look, I've been painting for years. I'm still no good at technique, but people like what I do because it makes them feel something"
"You paint?" Data perked up. Miranda suddenly realized what she'd said.
"Oh, well, yeah a little. I'm not as good as you or anything" she stammered.
"May I see something?" Data asked. Miranda hesitated. She'd really only shown her work to Mr. Wu. Others had seen some, hanging on her walls, but they had never known they were hers. But then, Data allowed her to watch him paint, and he was a friend. He was like Mr. Wu; he would always tell the truth but he would never hurt her.
"Okay" she answered, "I guess"
So he followed her back to her quarters and she led him to the bed room where she kept them out of sight. She stood back with her arms folded as he went through them, trying to pretend it didn't matter what he thought of them.
"These are very good" he finally told her, drawing one of the canvases out, "I particularly like this one. Who is it?"
"Oh, that's Mr. Wu" Miranda told him, taking it from him and leaning it against the wall, "He was a friend of mine. He ran an antique shop. Captain Picard says he was famous or something."
"I have heard the name" Data replied. The painting was in oils. A dark purple brown color served as a simple background behind the portrait. Data pulled another painting out, a slightly larger one, of a tall purplish tree on top of a hill. It seemed to be blowing in the wind. Data thought this painting would surely invoke a reaction from a human.
"And this?"
"Oh, that's this old tree from back on Bolgara" Miranda explained, "I used to go there to read sometimes" Data nodded. He knew that humans tended to paint things of significance to them. When he found the landscape, he asked about it too.
"That's just...a place I made up" Miranda told him, "It's pretty and peaceful and I thought I might like to go there someday"
"That is not likely to happen" Data told her. She gave him a confused look.
"You made it up" he added and she smiled.
"Maybe somewhere similar then" she laughed.
"It is a beautiful painting" he said. It was a glade, surrounded by a nice looking forest, on a bright day.
"You can...you know...keep it if you want" she offered. Data was on the verge of saying no when he thought that Miranda had probably never before offered anyone one of her paintings.
"Thank you" he said, and put it aside.