Snow Falling Softly XVII
Wesley Crusher threw the book across the room. Felisa's journal opened as it flew, growing wings that did nothing to keep it aloft, wings as useless as Wesley's frustration. Wings that collapsed when the book smacked into the wall across from the armchair with a solid thump. The pages whispered as the journal skittered downward and finally came to rest on the floor.
Wesley glared at it. What he'd read in that book couldn't be possible. He ran his hands through his chestnut colored hair. Even as he tried to rid his mind of what he'd read, the last of Nana's words floated before him, ever defiant. How he looked at her at her wedding, how he looked at her during Jack's funeral, how he must have looked at her on that planet when he admitted his love, how I'm sure he looked at her when he suggested exploring their feelings. That's when the cadet had thrown the book away from him. The captain had loved his mother for longer than Wesley had been alive. But he had said nothing, nothing to her. His mother hadn't loved the captain until after his father died. No. She'd loved him before that, but differently. Thinking it was infatuation, never thought of leaving his father. Wesley knew that Beverly had loved Jack. That knowledge had made him smile, that his father hadn't been cuckolded, that his mother had been true to his father. And, it seemed, untrue to the captain.
The cadet frowned. That's what had made him throw the book. Over and over again, his mother had rejected Picard. Refused to allow herself happiness, denied relationships with her children, with the man she loved. Many people went through their lives, one soulmate each, and once they were gone, so was that happiness. But Beverly Crusher wasn't one of those people. Reading his great-grandmother's words, Wesley saw what Felisa saw--that Beverly was one of the lucky few. She had two, and when one died, another stepped into his place. Another as noble as the first, as caring as the first, the best friend of the first, and who better to take care of her? Wesley couldn't fully blame his mother, as he held part of the blame himself. He had been so focused on his mother betraying his father and his memory that his blame kept her from accepting the captain. Then there were his siblings.
Wesley rose from his chair and went over to where the book had fallen. Picked it up, sat down where the book had been a moment before. Thumbed through the journal, searching for the entries about their births.
I write this as I watch my granddaughter sleep after having given birth to twins. Two little children who sleep as their mother does. Yet they sleep in peace, in innocence. Only an hour earlier, they had come into this world loudly, now they're quiet, so quiet I can't hear them breathe, can just see their tiny chests rising and falling, a calming rhythm. I look at them and see our family history, the boy, with that reddish hair that so many Howards possess. And the girl with her mass of black hair, those clear blue eyes, the same eyes as her mother and grandmother. And I remember Wesley had that hair, though it lightened as he got older. So much of his father in that boy. Beverly had been so happy when he was born, so thrilled to show his father what they had created together.
Cursing, Wesley fought tears. His mother had been happy, happy with Jack, happy when Wesley was born. He kept reading.
My granddaughter is as pleased with these two. While I can see their mother, their grandmother, their grandfather, everyone I know in them, when Beverly looks at them, I know she sees their father. And that happiness she has with them--the same as when she had Wesley--disappears. With Wesley, she could look over at his father, sharing her life with him as she had. With these two, she has excised their father from her life, yet desperately wants him to be able to see these infants. I look at them and try to see what she sees of their father. Those eyes of the boy's, they're a mirror of the weather outside, the gray clouds of a coming storm. I know it in an instant, they are his father's eyes. With the girl, arms now wrapped around her brother, I can't see it physically. Her traits will come later, in her personality. But those eyes of the boy's. I can't get over them, how they keep the snow in Beverly's life. It's another sign, of the rightness of their being alive, of how they came into this world, and of the wrongness of it all, that they're denied their father, their family in their brother Wesley. All out of stubborn pride. No. That's my own frustration talking. It's out of pain, Beverly doesn't want to cause anyone else more pain than has already been caused. But it will tear at her, constantly. Especially when she looks into the boy's eyes.
The eyes of his brother. The cadet wiped at his own eyes, as brown as his own father's. The stupid snow. He remembered, when he read that part of Nana's journal. He had been making snow angels with his mother right before they'd found out. Now Wesley knew why they'd never done that again, because it had been snowing when his father died. He cursed again, this time over Andrew, how stupid Andrew couldn't get over himself and come out of his shell. Work things out like the rest of them were. Like their sisters.
He smiled again. His sisters. Little Gracie, the same eyes as their brother, the red hair of their mother, and wise beyond her scant years. Wesley knew he adored her. Both of them. Allie, fiercely independent, brilliant, stubborn, astonishingly beautiful. In the talks he and Allie had had over the past day as they explored the ship, he'd seen more than a few crew member's heads turn. He'd gotten the chance to act as the older brother, staring down those crew members for looking at his sister like that. Allie had punched him in the arm more than once, but it hadn't stopped him. He had years to catch up on. Not like Andrew, who had been with her as she grew up.
He frowned. Andrew. His hands balled into fists. Stupid Andrew, throwing away everything he had, the chance to have a whole family. His father alive and there with him, his mother, two sisters, a brother. A brother Andrew rejected at every instant, as if they had never discussed it when they were younger, about pretending to be brothers because that's the way they felt. Not anymore.
Suddenly the room felt like a cage. He needed to get out, distract himself. The cadet left the room in a rush, chased out by his memories.
Wesley found himself in Engineering. Geordi would have something for him to do. He could bury himself in tasks here so he wouldn't have to think, to feel. He could forget. The chief engineer, standing at the large diagnostic table, noticed him as he walked in. "Wesley!" he said. "There you are. You've got to take a look at this."
Curiosity piqued, Wesley followed him over to the warp core chamber and peered into the bulkhead panel his friend opened. Geordi continued talking. "Remember how we always talked about improving the quantum efficiency by creating a new plasma-dyne relay? Well, feast your eyes on this." With a flourish, he stepped aside to let Wesley take a closer look at the workings inside.
Wesley obliged, studying the modifications, trying to shove away the extraneous thoughts. "You've only got one micro-fusioninter-relay in here. The converter interface will never hold up," he said. He couldn't imagine how Geordi didn't see the mistakes.
Geordi turned to look at him, eyes hidden under his visor, his brow showing his disapproval. "Hey, I ran the diagnostics myself. This little baby will withstand over five hundred Cochranes of warp field stress."
The cadet ignored his friend's defensiveness. A chief engineer should have this sort of thing under control, he shouldn't be ignorant of the most current studies in engineering. "I don't think so," he said. "You'd better put a secondary phase inverter in there." He moved his hands around for a better look, studying the other circuitry, saw more mistakes. "In fact, this entire subprocessor matrix needs an overhaul."
Geordi closed the panel door so quickly that Wesley nearly had his hand caught in the process. "I guess we don't have all the fancy new equipment you have at the Academy. We make do with what we've got." The engineer's brows had continued their downward journey.
Wesley grew irritated, feeling the anger bubble up inside him, urging to be let out at the most convenient target. Geordi was asking for it anyway. "Haven't you read the latest paper by Vassbinder? He has some brilliant new theories on warp propulsion inter relays." He pointed towards the closed panel to make his point obvious. "A lot of this stuff is almost obsolete."
La Forge crossed his arms. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, irritation now tinged by concern.
Wesley didn't want his concern. Didn't want anything from him. "Do you want my help or not?" he asked, the harshness of his anger forming his words.
"I was doing this for you," Geordi said, his irritation ringing clear, the concern ousted. "I thought you'd be interested."
Wesley was tired of people thinking what he should and shouldn't be interested in. "Well, I'm not," he said. Without another look toward his friend, the cadet left engineering.
Not even twenty steps away from the main engineering room, Wesley realized how he'd hurt Geordi. It was too late to go back and apologize, he'd have to let it be. His frustration with himself grew. He was letting Andrew get to him, he was treating others like Andrew was. Hurting them purposefully, striking at where it would hurt them the most, where their defenses were at the lowest, because it was a place you let your friends see, because you trusted them not to hurt you. Like Andrew was doing with Gracie, deliberately rejecting her, making her cry, making her hate him. Maybe that's what Andrew wanted, for everyone to hate him. Wesley decided he'd be happy to help in that regard. Andrew even acted as if he hated the captain, hated his mother. They didn't deserve hate, they deserved sympathy. They had caused themselves enough pain, a penance given many times over.
He needed to talk to Allie. She could help him figure this out, help ground him. Somehow, she had managed to be reasonable throughout all of this, even before she'd read Nana's journal. Ever since the cave during the storm, she had been the mature one. Andrew was her twin, maybe she knew something more about him than anyone else could. Wesley began to head towards the veterinary office, that would be the first place to look. As the cadet rounded the corridor, he plowed right into his brother. The impact made them bounce off each other. They squared off, staring each other down.
His enemy was in front of him, so convenient. He could make Andrew see reason, get some sense into him. Though Andrew was taller, had muscle that Wesley could never seem to develop, Wesley knew he had the training to take the other boy down. He met the other boy's eyes, eyes that had the look of steel, nothing like the forgiving clouds of a winter's snow shower. He would teach him. "Where are you going?" he asked.
"You're not my keeper," Andrew said, wary.
"My brother's keeper," Wesley said. "Remember when we used to pretend we were brothers?" His question wasn't an attempt at peace. It had formed into a spear, striking Andrew in places he'd kept hidden.
Andrew glared.
"How's that hole in your soul now?" he asked. "Now that you have your mommy and daddy, what's it like, was it everything you hoped it would be?"
Andrew struck back with his own sharp memories. "How's that hole where your father used to be? Is it as wide open as it was when your father died?"
The irrational anger at betrayal infused the cadet. "What's it like, having everyone hate you? Hating everyone else? Your own mother, your own father. I know your secret," Wesley said. And he did, he'd read it in his great-grandmother's journal. "You wished Captain Picard was dead. Not only that, but you killed him yourself, over and over again, every night in your dreams. At least I never wanted to kill my own father."
Wesley's words had hit their mark. 'Father' had hardly left the cadet's lips when Andrew tackled him to the deck, fists seeking out his face, looking to leave damage wherever they could. Wesley returned the damage, bringing his legs up, twisting, shoving the taller boy off him, taking the advantage. Andrew got to his feet, Wesley slammed him up against the bulkhead of the corridor, making the other boy's head bounce off the hard wall. The cadet drove his fists repeatedly into Andrew's ribs, cursing him and his unwillingness to talk, to see reason, to be a brother. Andrew managed to get his arms between himself and Wesley and push him away. They met in the middle of the corridor, grappling, still swinging away. Shouts came from behind them, around them, barely heard in the white noise of their anger.
Men and women in the black and yellow uniforms of Security raced in, pulled them apart, each boy struggling against the restraining arms of the officers, trying to reach the other, inflict more damage. "She hates you," Wesley shouted to Andrew. "She hates you, you know. Wishes you were dead." He purposefully left out the name, knowing Andrew would wonder if she was his mother or one of his sisters, or all three. It would eat him up.
"At least I'm not a liar," Andrew taunted back.
Wesley lunged at him, breaking through the restraining arms, managed to land another punch before he was forced to the deck. With Wesley on the floor in front of him, Andrew capitalized, giving two kicks to the ribs before the officers holding him took him down to the deck as well. They lay there on the ground in the corridor of the Enterprise, faces mere inches from one another, faces full of vile and hate, utterly devoid of brotherly love. Wesley stared at Andrew, stared at those eyes, those stupid eyes that were the same as his youngest sister's, the same as the Starfleet captain he admired. The same as the brother who completely failed at being a brother.
The boys were roughly hauled to their feet. Wesley saw one more black and yellow uniform stalking down the corridor. This one held a large, particularly pissed off looking Klingon. "What is the meaning of this?" he said, none too nicely. Quite the opposite, actually, Wesley realized.
The question was directed at him and Andrew, not Worf's subordinates. The lieutenant's gaze rested on Wesley. He didn't answer. It wasn't that he wanted to be difficult, not with an angry Klingon, but because he didn't know what the meaning of it was. If he did, it wouldn't have happened in the first place.
Worf's glare moved to Andrew. Unlike Wesley's noncommittal shrug, Andrew's gray eyes glared right back at the security chief. Like he wasn't afraid of anything. Certainly not the security chief of the Federation's flagship.
The Klingon looked at his officers. "We will bring them to the brig and sort it out there, so we do not have to risk having them fighting again. They can fight with the force fields of their cells."
Shit, Wesley thought. Shit. Shit. Shit.
"Come," said Captain Picard when the chime to his quarters signaled someone outside his door.
Allie walked in, carrying a standard plastic packing bin. "I've got them," she said, motioning with the bin. Then she tripped over one of his errant boots. Kicking the offending footwear out of the way, she frowned. "You'd think a starship captain would be better organized."
He rose from his chair behind his desk. "I am human, you know."
"Mmm," she said, nodding. "Gracie also tells me you don't know much, either."
"She's five," Picard said.
As Allie placed the bin on the dining table, she looked at him, blue eyes flashing. "So how did you become a starship captain knowing less than a five year old?"
He gave her an annoyed look as he walked over to the table. Like her mother, the look didn't phase her in the least and she laughed.
"I'm sorry," she said, seating herself in one of the chairs, tucking her legs underneath her. She didn't sound sorry in the least.
"You are not," he said, opening the bin.
She laughed again. "No, I'm not. See, Andrew leaves his shoes everywhere. Nana and I used to trip over them constantly before we decided to start hiding his shoes whenever he left them out. We wanted to see if that would cure him of his habit."
"My mother did that to me when I was a boy."
She surveyed his living area. "Looks like it worked as well with you as it did with Andrew." Allie sighed. "Do you have any idea what's wrong with him?"
He stopped looking in the bin, turning to his daughter. The captain met her eyes, saw the seriousness and concern. The information would be safe with her. "Your mother thinks that it has to do with his nightmares about the Borg, and I agree with her."
Allie nodded. "The ones where he tried to kill you?"
"Yes," he said. "Does everyone know about this? And does Andrew know that you know?"
The girl gave him a small smile. "No, not everyone. I know because I read Nana's journal. I already knew about the nightmares, but I didn't know they were that bad." She frowned. "But I don't think that's entirely it. Something is wrong between him and Mom, I'm sure of it. He's never acted like this with her before. I mean, he's always liked her company, the two of them got along really well. And now it's like he can't stand to be near her. With you, it's like some sort of fear, of facing his nightmares and what he's done. But with Mom...I don't know."
"She knows he's angry with her."
"That much is obvious." Her brow furrowed in frustration. "If he would just talk about it, we could work things out."
"It's never that easy," Picard said. "Sometimes, it's easier to withdraw, to protect yourself from being hurt any further." The captain realized his son must be more like him than he thought. "Andrew is very sensitive, isn't he?" he asked.
Allie looked up at him. "Oh, yes. He does his best to hide it. Most people have no idea, because he does a good job at that. He cares a great deal about people, a great empathy for how people feel. At one time, he thought he wanted to be a doctor in Starfleet, like Mom." Allie grinned wryly. "Well, Beverly, at the time. Anyway, he used to go with Nana to visit people. I remember him coming home after witnessing a baby being born for the first time, tear stains on his cheeks. He wouldn't talk about it, but Nana told me he'd had rivers of tears the entire time. A week later, he saw his first death, that same baby, some stupid virus. Andrew held the newborn as it died. When he came home, he was still crying, and he said he couldn't do it. He couldn't watch as people died and be helpless in easing their pain. It hurt too much. After that, he wouldn't talk about his dreams anymore. I knew he wanted to be in Starfleet, because he never stopped watching the stars at night."
Picard nodded. "I do much the same thing. I withdraw, as he is doing now. Though, I've changed a lot over the years. At least I'd like to think so. He'll have to come to terms with his fear, with feeling threatened, with being hurt. Like any of us do."
"You'll have to reach him," Allie said. "If he knows that you trust him and love him, even when you know about his nightmares, then he might be able to understand Mom."
"It's much harder than it sounds," he said, knowing Allie was right.
"I think it's even harder than that," Allie said. Then she looked at the bin and back at him. "What's this all about, anyway? You wanting these photographs?"
In answer, the captain retrieved his family album from one of his shelves and handed it to his daughter. She studied the cover, feeling the old, worn leather, tracing the shield of the family crest, then the name Picard stamped into the leather. Then she opened it up, turning through the pages, studying the photographs and lithographs, drawings and writings. After a few pages of pictures of the very first Picards, she looked up at him. "They had a lot more hair back then," she said.
He gave her an annoyed look as his hand reflexively moved to his head. "You know very well that those were wigs," he said.
"It was still hair," she replied, looking back down at the book. She got to the last page, the one where Picard had placed the photograph Beverly had given him of her and Gracie, where they were asleep on the biobed, mother and newborn. "She wasn't even this small when Nana brought her to Caldos," she whispered.
As he watched his oldest daughter studying the picture of his youngest, he felt tears stinging his eyes, and then felt like an idiot. Quickly, he tried to compose his features so it didn't show his sadness, how touched he was.
At his silence, Allie looked up from the album. She watched him for a moment, then said, "Don't do that."
He blinked. "Do what?"
"Andrew does that. That's what he does. I saw it, you were sad or upset or something, I don't know what. But then you tried to hide it." She shut the book. "Don't you start." Then she rose from her chair, facing him, her blue eyes challenging.
Picard wondered if this was what parenting was. Scrabbling for footing on ground so treacherous that you never saw what was in front of you, under you, or behind you. As he faced his daughter, he knew what he had to do, for her and for his son. "I'm sorry," he said, and stopped trying to mask his feelings.
Allie noticed immediately, her own features softening to concern. "You're sad that you missed it," she said.
He hadn't the slightest idea what to do. Andrew must feel this way all the time, so vulnerable, where the slightest verbal misstep by someone could hurt deeply. His hands hung at his sides, limp. The urge to bolt raced through him. Then Allie reached out, came forward, hugged him. Then the words came pouring out. "I never held any of you," he said, the words soft and tinged with pain. "When you were infants. None of you."
"You're holding me now," she said. "That's got to count for something."
Picard laughed. "You're much taller," he said.
Allie let him go and smiled at him. And he felt the warmth again, comfort in seeing a smile so similar to Beverly's in his daughter. "That's why," she said, tapping her finger on the bin. "That's why you wanted the photographs."
"Partly," he said, regaining some composure. Not hiding his emotions, just getting them under control. "It's all I have from when you were infants, when you were little children."
Allie sat down again, her legs tucking under as before. She reached for the album and opened it. "Mom missed those moments, too. She held us, when we were born, but not for very long. Nana said she spent a month with us before she left. With Gracie, she only got two days. She missed nearly as much as you did." Allie fingered the photograph again, the one of her younger sister and her mother. "There's only one solution for it," she said. When she turned to him, she had an impish look in her eye. Beverly's children all seemed to have inherited her streak of wicked humor.
"I'm afraid to ask what it would be," he said.
She shrugged. "It's fairly simple. Just have another one."
Picard stared at her, trying to keep his jaw from dropping.
Allie grinned. "Simple."
He frowned. "Allie, this..." he paused. "It occurs to me that this would be a good time to scold you using your full first name. And I've no idea what it is."
"Natalie," she said.
The captain resisted smiling at the nod to tradition, he was supposed to be scolding. "Natalie," he said. "Your mother and I aren't even married. We haven't even had a first date."
"I didn't realize you were such a traditionalist," she said. "I mean, there's already three of us and you think you have to marry our mother to have another? I can't believe you haven't had a first date."
He crossed his arms. "As a matter of fact, I asked your mother to dinner tonight."
"Oh, good, then you can get started on another straight away," she said.
Allie was rewarded with the Picard annoyed look, the one her brother and sister also possessed and used nearly as frequently as the captain. "Somehow I doubt this is even a subject I should be discussing with you in any manner."
She leaned forward. "So you do want another."
"I didn't say that," he said.
She crossed her arms and stood, mirroring him. "But you didn't not say it."
He frowned.
She smiled. "And if you haven't completely discounted that possibility, and you're the traditionalist you say you are, then you must want to marry my mother."
The annoyed look came back. "You're as bad as your sister. Honestly, she's been after me since before she even knew I was her father. And now you starting in as well?" The captain narrowed his eyes. "Is this some sort of conspiracy between my daughters? As I told you, we haven't even had a first date, it's hardly the time to be proposing."
"So you've thought about it."
He felt like banging his head on the bulkhead. Allie was merciless. If she didn't have her heart set on being a vet, she could easily be a brilliant lawyer. The captain said nothing aloud, indignant.
"And you've done everything in a completely screwed up order by this tradition you talk about. If you keep with the same sort of non-plan you guys have had so far, you'll marry her and then propose." Allie closed the album again, traced the Picard on the front cover. "Hey, then we could all have the same last name."
"Pardon?" he asked. The rapidity of her subject changing made his head spin.
"I meant to tell you earlier, but I got sidetracked. I'm changing my last name from Howard to Picard."
"You don't have to do that," he said.
Allie gave him a soft smile. "I know. And I don't generally do things that I don't want to. Look, you're my father, and I want to have your last name. Don't argue with me about it either. I've already made up my mind."
This time he made no attempt at hiding how he felt. The captain hugged her and whispered, "Thank you."
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" she teased him.
His communicator chirped. "Worf to Captain Picard." Picard stepped away from his daughter and quickly drew mask back over his feelings, switching to the role of captain of a starship. Allie noticed and raised her eyebrow at him as he answered. "Picard here," he said.
"Captain, we need you down in Sickbay. There is a situation which requires your attention."
Allie's left eyebrow lifted even with the right.
"On my way," he replied and closed out the channel. He looked at Allie. "Feel free to stay as long as you wish."
"You put on that mask awfully fast," she said.
"Years of practice," he said. "Comes with the territory of being a captain. It's harder than it looks."
She nodded. "I'll bet."
He left her looking through the album.
When Jean-Luc Picard entered Sickbay, he found Beverly Crusher fuming in her office. Lieutenant Worf stood just inside the doorway. Picard wasn't sure if it was to guard Beverly from her staff or her staff from Beverly. "What's going on?" he asked Worf.
Beverly answered for the security chief. "They've been fighting, that's what," she said, stalking from behind her desk. Despite his better judgement, Picard stepped into her office. Worf keyed the door shut. "It took a team of six security officers to pull them apart. Fighting in the middle of the corridor on deck thirty-six," the doctor continued.
"Where are they now?" Picard asked, understanding why Beverly was so angry.
"They're in the brig," she replied, then glared at Worf. "They shouldn't be there at all."
"Doctor, I did not see another option to keep them from fighting. They resisted my security team and attempted to assault one another even after they had been pulled apart. I placed them there for their own safety and that of the crew. They will be released to yours and the captain's custody once you have spoken with them."
Picard said nothing, allowing Beverly to take the lead. He felt his own anger building and sought to control it. Arguing was one thing, but a fistfight on his ship was quite another matter. Something that simply could not happen, especially when one of the young men involved was a Starfleet Academy cadet and the other was his son. Beverly stopped glaring at Worf and looked at Picard. "Jean-Luc, you go talk with them. Maybe this is something they need to hear from another man, maybe you can say something that will get through to them that a mother's words just can't seem to communicate."
He nodded. Perhaps she was right. As a man who fought with his own brother quite often, he would have a different perspective.
"Thank you," she said, giving him a tight smile. "I'll speak to you about it tonight."
"Yes, tonight," he said. Then he and the security chief made their way down to the brig. Picard felt oddly reassured having the Klingon beside him.
Once in the turbolift, Worf said, "They are...brothers."
The captain knew exactly what Worf meant. The Klingon had a brother of his own, as did Picard. Relationships between brothers were complex, a constant tension between love and competition, pride and jealousy. The fact that Wesley and Andrew shared the same mother yet had different fathers only added to the tension and complicated the resolution of the tension that much more. At the same time, both Picard and Worf had come to terms with their own brothers. For both of them, it had taken years. The captain hoped it wouldn't take Andrew and Wesley that long. "Yes," he said to Worf.
Worf nodded, knowing that Picard had understood what he meant. The 'lift brought them to corridor just outside the brig. The two officers stepped in and the crewmen inside snapped to attention. "Captain, Lieutenant," they said.
From where he had entered the room, Picard could see the two active cells. Worf had wisely placed the brothers in cells next to each other rather than opposite, so that their actions wouldn't incite the other. Either way, words would, and from the harried expressions of the two crewmembers in charge of the brig, words had been a constant volley between the two. The captain studied the two boys closely as he brought his anger to the forefront, making it cold and calculated, The anger felt familiar to him--it was the same that had caught him two years before, when found out Wesley had lied to the inquiry board. He never thought he'd be in this same situation again, with the same anger, with the same task of bringing reason down like a sledgehammer onto a young man. Two young men. No. Boys, the both of them.
Both boys stood as close to their force fields as was physically possible. Wesley's uniform was torn on the arm, his commbadge gone. A red welt stood out on his cheek. Idly, Picard wondered if it were a wall or a fist that had caused the mark. Andrew had no torn clothing, but had a red mark on his temple. Each of them had eyes glowing with frustration, anger. The captain turned back to the security personnel behind him. "Please wait outside," he said quietly. The two crewmen looked ready to protest, but when Worf gave a curt nod and walked outside, they followed suit. Picard moved forward as the main door closed, moved to face the two cells.
Both boys stared at him defiantly. It was Wesley who spoke first. "Worf called my mother, not you," he said.
Picard's eyes snapped straight to Wesley. "That's Lieutenant Worf, cadet," he said, emphasizing the Klingon's rank. "I am the captain of this ship and this is a security matter. Therefore, this involves me and not your mother."
Wesley said nothing.
The captain continued. "You are a Starfleet Academy cadet," he said. "You are to conduct yourself as an officer and you did exactly the opposite on this ship today. Instead, you acted as a callow youth, something that should be below your maturity level." He turned his glare to Andrew. The boy glared back at him. "And you are the son of two senior officers on this ship. You are to conduct yourself appropriately and that means not getting into a fistfight with a member of Starfleet."
Andrew went to speak and Picard cut him off. "I don't want to hear anything from either one of you. Your behavior was reprehensible. You reflected badly on your yourselves and your family," he said, shifting his glare between both boys. "You have an obligation to comport yourselves with civility. If you cannot manage to at least be civil beings, you do not deserve to be let out of this brig. Understood?"
Andrew's glare remained unchanged.
"You aren't my father," Wesley said. "You have no right to lecture me."
Picard stepped closer to Wesley's cell. "I am your captain," he said, his voice dropping to an intense whisper. "And what I order as the captain must be followed by the Starfleet personnel on this ship."
"Yes, sir," replied the cadet, finally looking cowed.
The captain stepped over to stand in front of Andrew's cell. He searched the boy's gray eyes to see if he could find what he hid behind them, the pain, the fear, the sadness. Yet he could only make out the anger. Anger he was sure Andrew saw reflected in his eyes. Picard wished he could explain to him it was an entirely different sort. But he couldn't, it wasn't the right time. "And you," he said, voice just as intense and soft as before. "Are not a member of my crew. However, I am your father, and when it comes to the safety of this ship and my family, I expect to be obeyed."
For a moment, Picard thought he saw something change in Andrew's eyes, a flicker of recognition, then the boy turned around and walked to the back of the cell. Lay down on the bunk and refused to look at him. He wondered if he had done irreparable damage to the chance of getting through to his son. Looking at the two boys, he knew they wouldn't be fighting anytime soon. As a captain who had given enough stern lectures to wayward crewmembers, he could recognize when he had been heard. Picard left the brig, leaving Wesley's words of protest behind him over him not being free to go. Outside the room, Picard ordered Worf to let the boys go after another three hours. Worf nodded in agreement, knowing as Picard did that they needed the time to finish cooling off.
Later, in his quarters, the chime sounded at exactly nineteen thirty. "Come," he said, hurriedly putting away the bin Allie had brought to him earlier. Beverly walked in the door, wearing a sage green dress he had never seen, one that set off the burnished copper of her hair. "Beverly," he said with a warm smile.
"Jean-Luc," she said, returning the smile. "I've been looking forward to this all day."
He raised his eyebrows, walking towards her. "Have you?"
She stepped forward, pressed herself against him, and kissed him as she had the previous day. "Does that answer your question?" she asked. He could feel her breath on his ear, her hands gripping his upper arms. It certainly did.
Picard brought his hands up to cradle her face and found himself kissing her, returning what she had given him in sevenfold. When he broke off, she placed one of her hands on his chest, giving him a small smile. "Certainly answers my question," she said.
"Oh, I've been waiting to do that all day," he said, teasing. "But you never asked."
Beverly sighed. "If only it were that simple," she said. "There seems a conspiracy to keep us apart, with all that's going on."
"That's odd," he said, leading her over to the dining table. "I seemed to have come across another conspiracy to get us together."
She sat back in her chair. "Let me guess. Allie and Gracie."
He nodded as he sat in his own chair across from her. "They're very determined." Watching her reactions, he couldn't decide if he should tell Beverly about the conversation he'd had with Allie.
"It's Andrew and Wesley who comprise the other side," she said. "What happened when you went down to the brig with Worf? I heard some rumor from a couple of my techs that you kept the boys locked up in the brig even after you'd spoken with them."
From the look on her face, the tone of her voice, he realized she didn't believe that rumor. Not only that, she disagreed with it. "I did," he said.
"You didn't." She didn't think he was kidding, her statement was one of hope, that he would be kidding, despite what she knew.
Picard pushed his chair slightly away from the table, trying to put some distance between himself and the doctor. "I did. I thought they needed some time to cool off. Lieutenant Worf released them three hours later on my orders. They didn't speak with you?"
"No," she said. "Jean-Luc, they didn't belong in there in the first place. I can't believe you would order to have them stay there longer." A hint of anger touched her voice, the pitch rising.
The captain felt his plans for the night slipping away, like a caustic laughing cheshire cat saying goodbye, taunting him with the smile on the way out. "Beverly, they disrupted order on this ship. They fought each other and then fought with the security officers who separated them. They had to be kept safe and so did my crew."
"All well and good for you. They're brothers, they're going to fight." She stood up, palms flat against the table, her tone quickly reaching the one she'd had earlier in Sickbay. "You had no reason to keep them in the brig."
"They were released three hours earlier. It wasn't as if they were tortured. They simply couldn't go anywhere. They had to sit and think. Most importantly, they couldn't fight with one other." He realized that at some point, he had done something wrong, but he couldn't figure out what it was.
"They're boys," she said.
The captain stood up as well. "One of those boys is a Starfleet cadet. He's lucky he wasn't charged with conduct unbecoming." Her eyes grew wide for a moment, then narrowed into a glare, and Picard knew he had made a fatal misstep. He had named a threat to her son's career.
"You wouldn't have," she said, the tone of her voice dropping to an almost menacing intensity.
There would be no correct answer. "I would have if it came to it," he said. "I have a duty to this ship as the captain." He hoped she would see that.
Beverly crossed her arms, taking a step back. "You have a duty to your son as well. He isn't a Starfleet cadet. He's only sixteen."
"Old enough to know better than to fight in the middle of a starship's corridor. That kind of behavior can't be tolerated, not from anyone, much less the son of two senior officers," he said. The frustration he had set aside earlier came back full force into his voice. "And you can't expect me to fall short in my duties as a captain."
The doctor's voice went upward again, passing the anger she'd had earlier. "And I didn't expect you to fall short in your duties as a father." She held eye contact for a moment, then stalked out of his quarters, leaving him alone standing next to his dining table, dinner untouched, candles flickering their wasted intimate light.
Jean-Luc closed his eyes. I've failed.