It's several days later and I've not seen the Captain since his visit to sickbay. Not to speak to. Of course, I've been in senior crew meetings, but they're so professional and impersonal they hardly count. Well, if that's the way he wants to play it, it's fine by me. At least it'll give me time to adjust to being on the same ship without having to handle any other complications.
Work wise, everything's great. I'm still processing all the medical files for everyone on board; it's a time consuming task, but I do it myself instead of delegating. My staff is concentrating on the technical side of things for the moment, but I want to get to know something about the one thousand-odd patients I'm now responsible for.
Wesley comes in, and he's soaking wet- but I say nothing about it. There's a rare, wide smile on his face. My son has not had an easy childhood: between losing his father at the age of five, having a workaholic mother, and being something of a genius, he's always been a bit of a loner. I'm used to seeing him with a serious mien, and it warms me now just to see him happy. He's evidently enthusiastic about the recreational facilities on board the Enterprise.
"-and there's a low gravity gym too," he adds, using a hand to wipe the excess water off his face and hair. I'm tempted to tell him to go dry off first, but relent as he continues, too excited to worry about little details like dripping all over my brand new sickbay.
"It would be hard to get bored on this ship!" he concludes at last, with another wide beam at me. I'm glad of that. One of the difficulties of being a single parent to such a bright youngster has been keeping him occupied.
I smile at him and murmur something positive, and move across sickbay to the viewscreen again. Wesley tracks my movements, and I become aware of the quality of his sudden silence. He's still rubbing his hair, but it's an abstracted movement now. I wonder what he's thinking.
I'm not wondering long.
"Mom," he begins cautiously.
I repress a smile. It's glaringly obvious that he wants something, and it's equally obvious that he doesn't think he's going to get it. I raise an encouraging eyebrow at him.
"Could you get me a look at the Bridge?" he asks, his words tumbling over each other in his eagerness.
I glance at him. His face is alight with hope and interest. I remember seeing that look on Jack's face, and Jean-Luc's, so many years ago…
"That's against the Captain's standing orders, I'm afraid," I tell my son. The Captain. He's not 'Jean-Luc' any more. Not to me, at any rate.
Wesley's face falls. He watches me anxiously as I walk backwards and forwards again.
"Are you afraid of the Captain, too?" he asks suddenly.
I spin round to look at him. "I certainly am not!" I retort, perhaps too quickly. I'm not afraid. Perhaps a little intimidated, but not afraid.
Wesley looks at me, his dark eyes wide. Then he relaxes and sidles up to me. "Captain Picard is a pain, isn't he?" he says in a confidential tone.
I want to laugh. I wonder what the Captain would say, could he hear this irreverent assessment. All the same, I'm a senior officer. I have to maintain appearances. I look gravely at my son, and his face straightens as I begin my lecture.
"Your father liked him very much, Wesley." So did I, I add silently. "He's a great explorer. Great explorers are often lonely. No chance to have a family.." My voice trails off and I glance at my son quickly. I know he's bright enough to spot the flaw in my argument, and it's not a topic I want to pursue.
Thankfully, Wesley's mind is still on his idée fixe. There are advantages to having a genius for a child. He tends to have a one track brain.
"Just a look at the bridge, Mom," he implores. I'm rather flattered that he thinks I can achieve his desire. His eyes meet mine. "I can look from the turbolift when the doors open. I won't get off, Mom. I promise."
I look at him. "You're asking for trouble, Wes," I say warningly.
He says nothing more, but his pleading eyes are fixed on mine and I find it impossible to say no. Besides, the mischievous side of my nature appreciates the opportunity to rattle Captain Picard a little. Remind him of who we are. Wesley is Jack's son, too, and they were best friends….
I am unable to repress my smile this time. I know it's more of an amused quirk, but Wesley understands its meaning, even before I say, "All right. I'll see what I can do."
His face glows and for a moment I think he'll throw his arms around me. Only, we don't do things like that when we're fifteen, I think wryly as I put down my padd and lead the way out of sickbay and to the turbolift.
The journey to the Bridge is a quiet one. Wesley's silence is almost reverent, like that of a pilgrim en route to a holy shrine. I shake my head as the turbolift doors open. In spite of myself, I too am curious. I am, after all, qualified as a bridge officer, and this is my first look at the Bridge of the Federation's flagship.
Then my eyes meet those of the Captain, and I feel uncomfortable again. I take refuge in Starfleet etiquette.
"Permission to report to the Captain," I begin.
"Children are not permitted on the Bridge, Doctor," the Captain interrupts smoothly. His voice is cool and his eyes are almost hostile.
I remember an old joke of Jack's. It involved Jean-Luc, three kids, and a turbolift. I forget how it ended, but the inspiration for the joke was his friend's dislike of children of all ages. Evidently, that has not changed.
"My son is not on the Bridge, Captain," I say with a coolness to match his own. I will not be intimidated! "He merely accompanied me on the turbolift." That's a nicety, I know. At this time, my son should be anywhere but with me. However, my words appear to have jolted the Captain. For a moment, he looks like the Jean-Luc I remember.
"Your son?" he repeats, his eyes going to Wesley. Suddenly, he seems more human, more approachable, and I relax.
"Yes." I look down at my hands, clasped across my blue medical coat. To my knowledge, I'm the only doctor in Starfleet who chooses to wear it past graduation. It's useful- and comforting.
"His name's Wesley," I explain softly. "You last saw him years ago when-" Almost of their own volition, my eyes move to meet Jean-Luc's, and we hold a gaze of remembered pain.
"Oh." Jean-Luc swallows, and looks at Wesley. He shrugs slightly. "Well, as long as he's here.." Jean-Luc shrugs again, and I'm touched by his attempt to relax and sound friendly when he speaks again. "I knew your father, Wesley. Want to have a look around?"
Wesley is out so fast that I have to step away. Jean-Luc's eyes flicker from me to my son, and he continues nervously, sharply. "Don't touch anything!"
I hide a sudden grin. Bless the man, I think, he's terrified. I could tell him there's no need for his fear. Wesley knows as much as I do about Bridge operations. In fact, he more or less coached me through it for the Command exam two years ago.
I watch in renewed amusement as Picard points various things out to my son- and see his astonishment when his explanations are anticipated by Wesley, to the point where my son is able to finish what the Captain is trying to say. Finally, Picard stops trying to explain, and glares.
"How the hell do you know all this, boy?" he demands.
I stiffen at the 'boy'.
Wesley does not answer. He has no opportunity to do so, for the Captain's communication signal sounds. Wesley, being seated in the command chair, instinctively responds by translating the signal into audio. He then calls, "Perimeter alert, Captain!" as naturally as if he's been doing it for years. Pride swells within me, until I catch the look on the Captain's face.
Evidently Wesley has seen it too, for while I protest, he begins to apologise.
The Captain, however, has had enough. He divides a glare evenly between the two of us, much to my annoyance. "Off the Bridge, the pair of you!" he barks.
Wesley scuttles into the turbolift, assisted there by a gentle shove from me. The Klingon officer at Tactical informs the Captain, again, that he has a perimeter alert.
I cannot resist having the last word, etiquette or no.
"That's what my son tried to tell you!" I snap at the Captain. We exchange a final glare, and then the turbolift doors close between us.
Wesley is silent. I do not know whether to be distraught or elated. The Captain will not be able to ignore us so easily now, I think. I am not sure whether the feeling that courses through me at that thought is trepidation or excitement.
I do know that it will not be boring.