Snow Falling Softly XXI

Andrew walked out of his mother's office only to have Worf clamp a strong hand on his shoulder and steer him into the corridor just outside Sickbay. The Klingon then faced him fully, his look not angry, but perturbed. "When you are dealing with issues that are difficult for you to handle emotionally, you must tell the truth. You must continue to act as who you are and not seek to cause others the same difficulties you face. While you may not be ready to discuss them, nor want to, you have a duty to be up front with others. You have made a mistake."

"I know." Andrew couldn't bring himself to look at Worf. He knew when he heard the office doors close behind him that what he had done had been wrong. He wasn't angry. He was afraid.

Worf saw it. The hand came down again, but it was a different sort of grip. One meant to convey that he understood. "You are frightened."

Andrew nodded. Yes. He did need his mother, as he'd needed her when he was younger. Now he had the chance for her to be a part of his life, but he was afraid she would leave again.

"When people are threatened, even when warriors are threatened, they must close out what threatens them. What you use to close others out can be as sharp and dangerous as a bat'leth. It must be wielded with the same caution and knowledge as any weapon. A warrior cannot fight those battles outside himself when his own battle rages within. He must reach out to those whom he can trust. For many, that is family. When you cannot bring yourself to trust them with that you hold closest to you, you must explain that you will speak about it when you are ready. You must seek to maintain who you are on the outside while you decide who you are on the inside. You must not cut others with the weapon formed of your own discord," Worf said.

"I didn't realize Klingons had that sort of philosophy," Andrew said, surprise evident in his tone.

Worf drew himself up to his full height. "A warrior must be clear in his thoughts in order to be a great. Many do not know this about Klingons. It can be seen as a vulnerability. It is not. It is only vulnerability when it controls you." He leaned down again. "You must apologize for your misdeed."

"Now?"

The security chief nodded. "The longer you let it go, the more it will fester. It will bring inner conflict with you and your mother. This is a time when you need those bonds of family in order to resolve your own difficulties."

"You're right," Andrew said.

Worf nodded again. "Of course I am."

Andrew looked up at him, curious. "You sure you aren't running for ship's counselor?"

Worf's mouth contorted into a look of disgust. "This is the sort of thing you discuss with warriors and those with whom you are close. With family and bonded friends."

"You've only known me for a day."

"As I said, you are your father's son. You are also your mother's son. They are two of my closest comrades. Two whom I would trust with my life. As a warrior, one must be a good judge of character. You have honor, but you have hidden it. You must find it again. I will wait here."

It was Worf's way of ordering him to go back inside and apologize. He remembered the counselor was in his mother's office. In his anger, he'd completely forgotten her presence. She would hear this, too. Andrew stepped through the doors, went back over to his mother's office, tapped on the glass. The two women looked up, unable to hide the shock that took to their faces. Deanna motioned him inside. Andrew went in, looked first at the counselor, then at his mother, now seated next to the counselor, closest to the door. Studied her eyes, saw in the blue of them what he had caused, what plagued him on the inside. She shouldn't have it too. "I'm sorry," he said, surprised at how quiet his voice was. "I was wrong."

Beverly shook her head. "No, you were right. I did choose to leave you."

"I wasn't right in the way I meant it," he said. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me, or Allie or Gracie. You did it to save everyone pain and took on all the hurt on your own. What you heard from me was something else. I'm not ready to talk about it yet, but I'm ready to at least be myself to everyone."

The doctor stood up, put her hand out as she'd done that morning, then drew it back suddenly, expecting him to reject her touch. She didn't deserve that, he knew. So he reached out with his own arms and hugged her firmly. "You are my mother," he said quietly, roughly. "It's about time I let you be."

He felt her arms tighten around him. "Thank you," she said, her tone as rough as his, the sound of walls torn apart. Then she stepped back, hand gripping his shoulders. How she looked at him hadn't changed, it was how he looked at her. And the pain was nearly gone from her eyes, most of the hurt he had caused.

Andrew felt a bit uncomfortable now, not ready to allow any more walls to be dismantled yet. "I need to go," he said.

She nodded, she understood. When he left, he saw her biting her lip, different from the morning. It was the release of something she'd held inside, eating away at her. It would eat away no longer.

Worf gave him a nod of approval when Andrew exited Sickbay. "You have done the right thing," he said. "I would like to teach you how to wield a bat'leth, the weapon of the Klingon warrior. It is more," his mouth twisting in disgust again, "effective than your current knowledge."

Andrew glared at him. "Are you insulting my sport?"

"No. I am merely pointing out its practical flaws."

Andrew crossed his arms. He did want to learn the bat'leth and the mok'bara that came with that training. However, he didn't want to allow his sport to be insulted as it had. "I'll try your sport if you'll try mine."

"The training with a bat'leth is not a sport," came Worf's indignant reply.

"I don't care what you call it, I'm still challenging you." Andrew held the Klingon's gaze, showing him the determination in his own eyes.

"I will...accept your challenge," Worf said. "But we start with mine. Now."

"Agreed." Andrew followed the security chief.

Captain Picard massaged his temples in an effort to concentrate more closely on the task at hand. He thought better of it. He was concentrating, but so hard that everything had turned into one unintelligible mass of words, specs, and diagrams. Geordi and Data had come up with some theories about how Bok was managing to get himself on the Enterprise without detection. Yet making sense of what exactly the two of them were trying to describe by coining new words and phrases was growing difficult. The captain rose from his chair, went to the replicator. "Tea. Earl Grey. Hot." The cup materialized and he removed it from the slot. When he turned back to his desk, he found Bok sitting in his chair. Oddly, he wished it were Q sitting there, rather than Bok. The gravity of the situation became more apparent with the thought of preferring Q over anyone.

"If you want me to stay and talk, you'd better not call for Security this time," Bok said, steepling his hands in front of him.

Picard disliked how cozy Bok had made himself in his chair. But he wanted more information. He made no move to call.

"How do you like your boy, Picard?" Bok asked, the mocking smile revealing his sharp, pointed teeth. "Is he everything you'd always hoped for?"

The captain frowned. Yes, he is. But that wasn't something he would tell this Ferengi. "It's a risky game you're playing, coming here. Next time, we'll be ready for you. Why don't we settle this now?"

Bok sat back in the chair. "How do you propose to do that, Picard? You murdered my son."

"It was in self defense. He fired on my ship."

Bok stood, his voice growing shrill. "You were in Ferengi space!"

Once again, Picard wished that Bok's son had told him so in the first place. "I wish he had told me so. I would have withdrawn." Bok's eyes were disbelieving. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do to bring him back," Picard said.

The Ferengi put his hand over his heart. "How touching. But your apology is worthless to me. I demand that you repay me for my loss."

He would not give up his son. He wouldn't allow Bok to take him away when he'd just found him. "You can't put a price on life."

Those jutting, pointed teeth came out in a sinister smile. "Oh, but you can. You can pay me with your son's life."

"No," Picard said, the fear creeping into his tone in spite of his efforts to hide it.

Bok heard it. "I'm afraid you don't have any choice," he said. "I insist on being paid." He pushed at a device on his wrist and disappeared in a transporter effect Picard had never seen. The captain leapt to try and stop him, but found himself landing on his empty chair.

Picard summoned Geordi and Data to his ready room. When the commanders entered, he apprised them of the situation. The two set to work, Geordi scanning the room with the same scanner he'd used in Picard's quarters. Data walked about waving a tricorder. The captain paced, his tea long forgotten, his mind on how to protect his son. Worf had sent him reports of the day as soon as he'd beamed back to the ship. The boy had managed to give the security officers the slip only to be found by Worf. The security chief had to reassign himself to Andrew to keep him from escaping again. They couldn't seem to get the boy to understand that his unwillingness to stay with the security detail put his life in danger. Danger that Picard wasn't sure he could stop anymore. The notion formed a cold stone of fear in his stomach. He couldn't lose him. He and Beverly couldn't lose him.

Geordi spoke up. "Captain, I think we've found something."

Picard looked up. Data and Geordi were standing next to his chair, not even two feet from the captain. In his thoughts, he hadn't even noticed how close they were. Not heard their movements. "What is it?" Picard asked.

Data motioned towards the chair. "Bok was in direct contact withthis chair for an extended period. It is showing a distinctive subspace signature as a result."

Geordi took his cue to explain the finding. "We think he's using some sort of subspace transporter to beam aboard the Enterprise."

The Federation and Starfleet had researched subspace transport for some time before discarding it. "My understanding is that such devices are impractical," he said to Geordi and Data.

Data answered. "The Federation abandoned its research in the field because the technology was found to be unreliable as well as extremely energy intensive."

"In order to transport matterthrough subspace, you have to put it into a state of quantum flux. It's very unstable," said La Forge. "The quantum effect would explain why our sensors are unable to detect Bok's presence as well as why he was able to penetrate our shields."

Picard scowled. Bok was using dangerous technology. He would stop at nothing to gain his revenge, even if it meant his own death. With that sort of outlook, Bok hadn't just changed the rules, he'd ditched them entirely. "What kind of range would these transporters have?" Picard wanted to hear the range is ridiculously small and he must be within our immediate sensor range. In fact, we've already found him and he's awaiting your presence in the brig.

Instead, Data said, "In theory, it could operate over several light years."

The captain fought the urge to glare at his second officer. It wasn't Data's fault the news wasn't good. But this was one of those times when Picard wanted Data to not sound so...cheerful.

"If Bok uses his transporter again,we may be able to trace the subspace signature and locate his ship," Data continued.

"Is there a way to keep him from beaming aboard the Enterprise?" the captain asked. The question had to be asked, even though he knew the answer would be less appealing than Data's previous one.

Geordi answered this time, his tone appropriately somber. "I don't think there is."

The stone grew into a boulder, threatening to take over the entirety of his insides. He could not let the fear control him. "If he has the ability to beam aboard, he might be able to beam someone away."

"It is a possibility," Data said, still sounding a bit too cheerful to Picard.

He turned to Geordi. "Is there any way we can protect him?"

La Forge shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. I will get a team together and continue to work on this. Perhaps we can figure something out when we look at it more closely. Especially since we know what he's using now."

The captain gave him a curt nod. "Make it so." He watched his two officers leave. Glanced over at his chair. Felt like it needed to be sterilized after that damn Ferengi had seated himself in it. Glaring at his chair, Picard knew helplessness was treading just beyond his mind. He wasn't helpless yet, but he was starting to feel that way. This development with Bok added onto the negotiations planetside. The colonists didn't want to leave. He didn't blame them in the least, he wouldn't want to either. The entire affair sat wrong with him but he had his duty to fulfill. A duty that couldn't be interfered with by the threats to his son.

But that was a duty as well. His duty as a father to protect his son. To be a father to him. He wasn't sure how he could do it. The boy had offered him something the last time they'd talked, shown him part of what he hid beneath those granite walls of his obstinacy. What had he said when Picard told him about Beverly helping only as much as he'd let her? "I guess that's how it is." Andrew had let him help last night, even if only a small amount. Time was too short to go in such small bursts. Picard closed his eyes. He could lose him and never have truly known him.

Before he knew he'd made the decision, his feet carried him out of the ready room and to the bridge. His mouth told his first officer he had the conn and then Picard was in the turbolift. Then he realized he didn't know where Andrew was. "Computer, location of Andrew Howard."

"Andrew Howard is not in the ship's directory," the computer replied.

What the hell? "Computer, location of Lieutenant Worf." If Andrew had been harmed, Worf would have notified him.

"Lieutenant Worf is in Holodeck Five."

"Deck Ten," Picard commanded the turbolift. As the 'lift moved, he mulled over the reports from that morning. Not only had the boy earned himself the security chief as a veritable body guard, he'd also gotten asked to leave the classroom at the school. Nearly nothing like the boy he'd met at the fencing tournament on Caldos, in Felisa's home. The 'lift stopped and Picard strode quickly towards the holodeck. He checked the panel for the running program: Worf's calisthenics. Frowning, the captain entered.

Worf heard the door open and said, "Computer, freeze program."

None of the ghouls Worf usually fought were present. Only Worf and Andrew.

"Lieutenant," Picard said. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

"Certainly," Worf said and stepped forward. Andrew wandered a bit up a hill, bat'leth in hand.

"Should I be asking you why my son is now wielding a bat'leth? Picard asked.

"Sir," said Worf, coming to near attention. "He issued me a challenge. He would learn my art if I would learn his. Due to his actions today, I felt that he should learn a martial art. Captain, he does have the heart of a warrior. I saw it today."

"Because he lost your security team?" Picard asked. He couldn't see how that would be worthy of Worf's praise. Actually, he could. It would take a bit of talent to so quickly escape the eyes of Security.

"No," said Worf. "He made a mistake. I informed him that he had done so. He admitted to the mistake, then went back and made amends for it immediately. That is honor."

Picard lifted an eyebrow. "Lieutenant, I understand it being honorable, but how would that become a warrior?"

"Any man who would turn back and face Dr. Crusher after having angered her would have the heart of a warrior."

The captain couldn't argue with that. It was true. He'd had enough arguments with Beverly over aspects of the Prime Directive to know her anger was not something to toy with. "Yes," Picard said to Worf. "That is entirely accurate. However, there is the matter of why I came down here. Bok appeared in my Ready Room not long ago. Geordi and Data have figured out he is using some sort of subspace transporter, undetectable to use and able to penetrate our shields."

It was Worf's turn to scowl. "If he can beam in, he can beam someone out."

"Exactly what I said, Lieutenant. And there is no way to counter that tactic if he uses it."

"That is unacceptable," said Worf. "That places Andrew in great danger."

Picard nodded. "Of that, I'm well aware."

Worf held his weapon as his side. "Captain, you must speak with him." The Klingon lowered his voice. "If anything happens, you would only have this time with him. You must be able to remember him as your son. He must enter Sto-Vo-Kor knowing you truly as his father."

The lieutenant's words registered with Picard, but he wasn't looking at Worf, he was watching Andrew as he walked back down the hill. The Klingon weapon he held in his hand seemed already a part of his arm, as if it were instinctive for him to wield that weapon. Worf's gaze followed the captain's, saw the boy.

"He is a natural warrior," Worf said, approval filling his voice.

"I'm sure his mother will be pleased," Picard muttered. He decided he would let Worf tell Beverly about Andrew's new hobby. The captain had enough to deal with. He certainly didn't want the ship's chief medical officer chasing him down the corridor with a bat'leth of her own.

"Speaking of," Worf said. "Have you given any thought to my words?"

Picard knew he meant Beverly. "I have asked, but she has not given an answer." He wondered how long it would take. Now that he'd gotten the actual words out, the idea had become something that he dearly wanted. After his experience as Kamin, he sorely missed having a family, people to come home to, people who knew him as who he was and not as a starship captain.

"She will answer in the affirmative," Worf said.

The captain looked at Worf, startled at how certain the Klingon was. "How can you be so sure?" he asked him.

"Because I am," said Worf. "I will wait outside" And he left the holodeck, leaving Picard staring after him in amazement. Never underestimate a Klingon, a wonderful and complex people as a whole. His security chief being one of the most complex people he'd ever known.

The captain turned find to his son, who'd finished walking back down the hill and had found a rock outcropping to sit on, bat'leth now driven into the ground and standing upright nearby. Picard picked his way up the hill, onto the outcropping, sat next to Andrew. "You could have talked to me from down there," Andrew said.

"I've never made it past the valley in this program," Picard replied. "All of Worf's demons stood in the way. I came to tell you that we've found a way to trace Bok's ship," he said. Then he motioned towards the door, where Worf had gone. "This could all be over soon and you won't have a security detail staying with you all the time."

Andrew nodded, his face grave. "You should probably tell my mother," he said. "She's been worried." Concern laced the boy's voice as he studied the ground below, not looking at his father.

"I will," Picard replied. In the strange light from the sky of Worf's demon spawning world, Andrew's hair seemed more red, more like Beverly's than the fair hair that Picards tended to have as children. "You've spoken to her?" he asked.

"Worf told you something, didn't he?" Andrew asked.

"He told me that you went back and faced her after making her angry," Picard said. "And that meant you have a heart of a warrior."

The captain saw the boy's lips part in a brief smile. "I hadn't thought of that. She does get awfully scary when she's pissed. But it was either face her or continue to face Worf and I can't figure out which one of them is more scary when they're mad."

"I'd call it a draw," the captain said.

Andrew said nothing and the silence fell between them, the first pebbles of another stone wall.

The captain decided to lay everything out, tell him exactly what he was thinking. Worf's words had shaken him deeply, the stark reality that Bok could succeed and Andrew could be killed before he told him how he felt as his father. "My father and I were estranged, he thought I should stay home and tend the vineyards and I wanted to join Starfleet. He died before we could come to terms about it, and I've regretted that all my life." He paused, taking a breath. "I don't want the same thing to happen to us."

When Andrew still kept quiet, his heels stopped kicking the rock behind them, Picard thought he'd made a mistake. The boy was already afraid and now Picard had scared him even further in his efforts to reach him. In trying to help him feel safe, he'd made things worse. Minutes passed, Picard waiting for his son to say something, anything. When he didn't, the captain decided he should go update Beverly and stop scaring his son. He put his hands behind him on the rock and started to push himself up.

And Andrew started to speak, no louder than a whisper, sounding like a shout to Picard after so long a silence. "When I was little, my mother gave me a book, an old one. The book was about the Terran system, all that they knew in the twentieth century, anyway. It was my favorite book. It got lost and I blamed my sister. We had this fight, in the kitchen, and she threw Nana's favorite platter at me. It hit the cupboard next to me and shattered, the pieces flying everywhere. Nana got mad at me for it, I got sent to my room after she finished giving me a lecture about having more respect for things. Then I got mad at her, because if she meant what she said about respecting things, then she would've cared about my book." The boy frowned, his eyes on the ground below. "It hurt because it felt like she didn't care, so I stopped talking to her. Didn't even act like she was around, like she didn't exist. Lasted for about a day and by bedtime the next night, she took me aside. Seemed to get another idea, got Allie too. She said to me..." he trailed off, taking a breath. Rubbed his hands together as if he were cold. "Love me or hate me, but please don't ignore me."

Andrew looked over at his father, resting his palms on the rock underneath him.

Picard didn't know what to do. He knew he had to be Andrew's father now, but he didn't know how. "How can I be a father to you?" he asked. Maybe Andrew knew, had some idea.

"You can't," Andrew said. He sighed, looked up at the strange cloud cover, squinting as he studied it. "I can tell that somehow, you love me. I think it's because you look at me the way you do my sisters. But you can't. If you want some kind of connection with me, then you have to hate me. And I promise not to ignore you."

"I won't do that," Picard said. "That, if anything, is not being your father."

"You wouldn't want to be," Andrew said, taking his eyes off the clouds, right at Picard. "You died in my nightmares and I wished for it."

"I know." The captain held Andrew's eyes. "I wished for it myself, even after I was brought back, after all the bits of machinery they put in me were taken out, I remembered. I remembered watching every ship destroyed, every life taken. You were right, I died a thousand times over. So I know." Paused, made sure Andrew was stilling looking at him. "And I still want to be a father to you."

Andrew stood up. "No you don't. You don't know, you don't understand. I killed you, even last night in my dream, I killed you. Your blood was bright red on the snow. I don't deserve it, for you to be my father. And now you know why."

The captain realized it was the first time he'd heard Andrew raise his voice. The walls had fallen with the boy standing above him, trembling, his jaw working. The shattered pieces of his protection scattered around them as real as the rock below them. Picard stood up, put his hands firmly on his son's shoulders, looked him in the eyes. Eyes so familiar, ones his saw every morning, but different in what reflected back. The boy's vulnerability leapt out of his gray eyes now, nothing holding it back, he was in absolute fear. One wrong word would bring iron doors securely shut between them, doors that could take years to break. "I know," Picard said, the quiet intensity of his tone no less meaningful than Andrew's raised one. "I've known. You can't be held responsible for your nightmares. You're only responsible for what you do with them after you wake up. So, you see, it doesn't change anything. You're my son and like it or not, I'm your father. It means something. It means I won't hate you. It means I won't ignore you. It means I love you and no matter how many times you try to chase me away, I won't leave. I won't give up."

The boy's trembling continued, his eyes clouding over, matching the sky above. The captain went with his instinct, pulled the boy closer, into his arms. At first Andrew went rigid, as if had no idea what to do. Then his arms came up, returning the hug as firmly as it was given. "I'm sorry," Andrew whispered, his words catching as they came out. "I'm sorry, Dad."

Picard knew Andrew was crying. He needed it, as badly as anyone, letting everything that had been eroding his inner self to escape. "It's okay," he replied. The warmth he'd felt, of being with his daughters, came back to him now, being with his son. The son who finally claimed him as his father.

After a few moments, Andrew stepped back, looking sheepish. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "Sorry," he said, referring to the tears. "At least Worf wasn't here."

"I imagine Klingons view tears as warrior like expressions of profound emotion," Picard said, knowing lightheartedness was what they both needed now.

Andrew smiled at the comment, wiping at his face. "Somehow, I wouldn't be surprised." He looked over at Picard again. "The book I told you about, it had this artist's conception of what a Mars sunset would look like. Allie gave me a photograph from the twenty first century around when I originally got that book. The date of the book and the date of the photograph were only fifteen years apart. I always wondered what it must have been like, to be a child with only an artist's conception of sunset on another planet, to being a young adult, and seeing it in an actual photograph. I wondered if it was how I felt, about wanting to go out there and see more sunsets from planets we've never been on. When you were little, and you looked at those constellations, was that how you felt?"

"Yes, exactly." He knew that feeling exactly, had known it from his earliest memories.

Andrew smiled again. "I guess it is more than physical features that are heritable," he said. His eyes flicked upwards towards Picard's head. "Though I'm suddenly worried about my hairline."

Picard laughed, then remembered how the computer hadn't found him. "Do you know anything about why the computer can't find you in its directory?"

Andrew jumped down off the rock, heading towards the door, tossing his answer over his shoulder. "Did you ask for Andrew Picard?"

The captain, who'd been following Andrew, came to a dead stop. "You changed your name?" he asked.

The boy glanced back at Picard. "Well, not exactly. The school entered the wrong name in the computer, the regular ship manifest updated from that new log, and I never bothered to correct it." Andrew walked through the opening door.

Shaking his head, Picard followed, finding Andrew just outside talking with Worf. Smiling. He felt good, seeing his son smile. It had been a long time.

Andrew looked away from the lieutenant. "Personally, I can't wait to see Worf in fencing whites," he said to the captain. "What do you think, Dad?"

Picard did his best to seriously imagine the large Klingon in fencing gear. Tried to think of a mask that would fit him, wondered how much programming it would take to make a properly fitting mask. Of how odd a foil would look in the Klingon's hand. Of all the comments Worf would make as he tried to learn the sport, comments of dislike, Klingon swearing, all while wearing whites. He couldn't help himself and chuckled.

Worf glared at his captain.

"I'd love to be there for his first lesson," Picard said. Before Worf could get court martialed for maiming his captain, Picard excused himself to the bridge. The urgency of the prior turbolift ride had disappeared. He and Andrew were okay. They would be okay.

He entered his Ready Room and was confronted by his own empty desk chair. Briefly, he saw Bok there, his own fears playing mind games. He heard him again. "You can pay me with your son's life." And he was helpless to stop him from exacting that price.