She is late.
Horrifically late.
Spectacularly, tremendously, unceremoniously late.
And honestly, she couldn't care less.
If it weren't for Beverly coming by to stick her with a needle and push more painkillers in to her neck then she maybe wouldn't have woken at all. But Beverly did call, and so she is up, thinking about not eating breakfast, brushing her teeth a second time, going back to bed, leaving a message for her mother - anything, really, just to keep herself inside her quarters for a while longer.
She fusses over what to wear, takes the extra time to get new measurements from the body she calls grotesque, then replicates a science uniform again, thinking maybe it needs a second shot. It looks just about as hideous on her as she had imagined, but there will always be tomorrow for her to try something different, after all.
All the people in the corridors seems to notice that she is emerging with reluctance also, and they smile while still giving her a wide berth to pass - then maybe they are equally as repulsed by her she is. In the empty turbolift, she is forced to shake the thought away.
She can no longer sense the Klingon's aboard, strangely, and imagines that maybe they have left, and as much care she had for the little boy, she's thankful not to have to face his father's reverence for her again. Her stomach rumbles, and the floor becomes solid beneath her once again as the doors open, so there is no time to turn back for food; she probably couldn't eat even if she wanted to.
Eyes land on her almost immediately, from all points of the bridge, but it is the Captains that follow her with the most intensity. As she descends the ramp, he stands from his chair.
"Counselor, I was beginning to think I ought to send out a search party,"
His jest is greatly overshadowed by the concern he tries to hide, and at last his are the only eyes left on her, with the others returning to their work with open ears still.
"A whole party just for me?"
Her own voice is weak with the sentiment, but he seems to be smiling along anyway, sitting with her when she does.
"I am honoured,"
They lock gazes for a second, and indecision broils up under his skin, finally breaking out in a smile at her humour, then patting his knee as though it's all looking up from here. Then he asks her something that speaks nothing of things that look up, at all.
"So, how are you feeling?"
A heartbeat gets caught in her throat thinking of an answer. She plays with the seam on her tunic, tries to lay it flat at the base of her stomach as she works to keep herself casual and unphased.
"Just a little tired, dinner with our guests kept me up later than I intended,"
Carefully, she eyes him, and it seems her diversion has worked, got him thinking less of what he asked, and more of what she has told him instead.
"Ah yes,"
He begins, leaning over to regard her more intimately, scratching his chin as he speaks.
"Mr Ko'lek and his son beamed back to their own vessel early this morning once they got word that the repairs had been finished,"
Picard then regards herself more particularly, holding the image of her face at the end of her nose, and lowering his voice just a touch against the listening voices.
"They wished to say goodbye but I told them it would be best to let you sleep,"
There is something of a question to him.
"I hope you don't mind?"
Deanna shakes her head at him, and the unbrushed hair left springing up around her ears shakes with it.
"Not at all, I'm grateful actually,"
She lowers her voice now to a very discreet whisper, and her tone is almost dead trying not to give away too much of herself.
"It is getting much harder to sleep,"
He nods back at her, just as discreetly, then pats the top of her hand sympathetically and leans back away into the centre of his chair again, holding his eyes now to the viewscreen as she goes to do the same, understanding that he probably has nothing useful to say to her at all.
She crosses and uncrosses her legs a few times before anything more happens that's worth noting, but that is the simple monotony of it that she maybe used to love about this job. These weeks have drained much of her ability to love anything from her bones, it seems, until she is more hollow than even a flightless bird.
The person she was at the beginning of all this would have taken this thing by the throat and walked away with it - she's still not sure why she hasn't or where that person has gone now.
"Captain, a message from Ko'lek - he says his ship is ready to depart, he wants to thank you again,"
She jumps, having been lost for an amount of time she is unsure of.
"Hailing frequencies open then Mr Worf,"
Picard responds, and she looks sidelong over at him as he remains in his seat, straightening out his tunic.
The viewscreen changes from the ship hanging sweetly in space, to a bridge that is no longer bustling, and Ko'lek is slightly off-centre in the frame, surrounded by a few other individuals who work calmly at panels, like any other bridge crew.
"Captain, Counselor, good to see you,"
He addresses, his eyes lingering over Deanna for a moment longer than is perhaps polite, but it is not a leer, so Picard is able to let it go without rushing to her aid. She is smiling welcomingly at the two, and she has never really needed his defence before.
"Papa!"
Before either one of them can answer, the small voice from off screen, final translated through the computer, catches them off-guard, and in a second Ridoll's little body is hauled up with grabbing hands onto his father's lap.
"I have someone who wants to say goodbye to you both, if that is okay?"
Kol tells them, and Picard finds himself smiling at the joy of the two, perfectly happy to oblige.
"Of course it is,"
The father then prompts his son to look in the direction of the Captain's seat, instead of fidgeting and searching his eyes all around the bridge, in awe at the scale of it all.
"Thank you for saving my friends, Captain P'ard,"
Ridoll then sounds out in a broken accent, as though this is a rehearsed bit, and Picard breaks into a beam at hearing his own voice for the first time, speaking a language that he was not raised on, simply for their benefit.
"Thank you for saving me Deanna, you have a lucky baby,"
Deanna beams in response too, but there is perhaps scaffolding under it as heat creeps in her cheeks, attention drawn to where she is constantly forcing it away from, however much of her mind that may occupy.
"You are very welcome Ridoll, it was a pleasure meeting you,"
She responds formally, conscious that she she is still on the bridge surrounded by colleagues and subordinates alike, always trying her best to save face and keep away those certain parts of herself that are often best left concealed.
"And please send our thanks to your medical officers, Dr Crusher in particular, I'm told she treated all our passengers fairly and with great consideration, something we do not see often,"
Picard takes his eyes from a brief glance at his companion, back to Kol, still smiling that same smile of diplomacy, and maybe behind it there is joy.
Deanna's walls are up so firmly today that she cannot say for sure.
"I'll be sure to pass on the message - do you have everything you need to get underway?"
Ko'lek nods his head, bounces the boy on his lap to keep him upright.
"We do yes, the cloak will be up for the remainder of our journey, and I should still make it home in time to see my daughter born, that is down to you Captain, I cannot thank you enough, you're generosity will not be forgotten,"
The little boy jumps down, and wanders away to another crewman, chatting on about his baby sister, and Picard stands now, tugging his uniform ever straighter and finding position at the centre of the bridge.
"Good luck on your travels then Captain, you do good work too, the universe needs more men like you,"
He responds sincerely, and Kol nods once with grateful eyes, bowing his head deeply as the screen cuts dead.
They watch then, as a relic of the old empire phases out into the space around them, it's hull morphing into distant stars like the waving of a flag, until they are gazing into the rest of the universe all over again, like the entire affair never happened.
"Well,"
Picard starts, looking around himself for whatever is next on their list.
"We'd better be getting back to the Tiberius before they start to miss us - helm, maximum warp,"
"Aye sir,"
The Captain swings around, before he can watch space blur into a glowing white tunnel around them, and regards Deanna with a raised brow, coming back towards her with slow and deliberate steps.
"Well Counselor, there's something to add to your job description,"
She frowns, hums a little in her question.
"Therapist, diplomat, and now saviour of children,"
There is only a little sarcasm to him, and a weak smile is all she can offer in return.
She speaks quickly before he can sit down again.
"Actually Sir, I had best be getting back to that, I have an appointment to prepare for,"
All the humour falls away from him as he notices her reluctance to play along, sincerely missing that raw honesty she had in her, the playfulness, like an exposed wire. So he nods back, holds out a hand in offer of helping her up from her seat, and tells her:
"Of course,"
Then he feels as she slips her small hand into his own, and tries to be elegant in pulling herself up, so he pulls only gently at her arm, and simply steadies her as she gets to her feet.
He feels a slight of hatred bubbling in him at what this has done to her, then quashes it just as soon, calling it her decision, and not his fault, as she will surely remind him to do at some point, if ever he should call for her counsel.
For the minute, he is reluctant to do so, and watches as she takes her hand back from him, cold skin leaving him very quickly, then walks away off up the ramp of the bridge, nodding her head at those crewman she passes who cannot help but stare.
More than once, he has wished for her biology, that maybe he could see what is inside of her as keenly as she sees what's in him; but for the pain it has caused her in the past, he decides maybe not to call it a gift and instead a burden, as with many of the things she carries.
The turbolift encases her, and so he sits back down, a man alone, his morning moving like that great wheel that scholars have quite often spoken of, everything turning at a pace he cannot keep up with.
Looking up now to the viewscreen, it is but a window to all the fast moving stars around them, nothing slowing down to see that the world is much more complicated than the speed of light, or the great wheel, or even the single look in a woman's eyes that sparks the creation of a million more stars, everything turning on.
He wants more than anything for that look not to be hers, but it so often is that he can't help but notice now that it is not, that her voice hadn't even sounded like a song when she spoke, that there was nothing of poetry to her movements, or creation to her eyes. Something has changed her - he knows what - but knowing and understanding are two very different things.
