Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. This story still has several more chapters to go.
He stopped just inside the door to Sickbay. He could see into the main examining room where Keiko O'Brien stood, holding her daughter Molly.
"I'm not sure. She was awake all night, crying."
Beverly Crusher took the baby from her arms. "Is she feverish?"
Keiko shook her head. "Not really."
"No, she doesn't seem to be." The doctor laid the baby on the bio-bed. "Well, we'll just find out what's bothering you, Miss Molly, and take care of it." She smiled up at Keiko. "It's probably something simple, like an earache."
Picard leaned heavily against the wall, remembering.
"She looks just like her mother," he whispered, reaching out, taking the baby's tiny hand in his large one.
Eline smiled when the infant didn't pull away. She wasn't going to be a fretful baby. Somehow, instinctively, she knew that. She was her father's daughter.
"All that hair," he continued, completely in awe of the child in her arms.
Eline looked down at the small head. There was indeed a lot of blond, fuzzy hair on top of it.
"But those are your eyes, darling. And your chin. Here," she held the baby out to him, "why don't you hold your daughter?"
He pulled back. "I might drop her," he protested.
She sighed. "I don't think so. And besides, you'd better get used to it. I'm not raising her on my own."
He cringed slightly. There were many times in the past years when he knew Eline had felt utterly alone, even when he'd been home. But it was different now. He held out his arms, and she placed the small bundle in his hands. The baby blinked up at him.
"What are you going to name her, Kamin?"
"Name her?" he narrowed his eyes at the woman.
"We have to call her something," she answered matter-of-factly.
"But I thought that you would-"
Eline cut him off. "She's our daughter. And I want her father to name her." She smiled reassuringly at him. "Just don't name her after that ship of yours."
His eyes brightened. "Now I might like that," he said teasingly. "Of course, she's much smaller than the Enterprise, but..."
"Kamin." There was a warning in her voice.
"And we could name the next one Stargazer," he grinned.
Eline raised an eyebrow. "The next one?"
"Well, I mean... if there is... a next one."
She shook her head. "At the rate we're going, this one won't even have a name when the next one comes along."
"Meribor." He said it suddenly, and then said it again in affirmation. "Meribor."
"Meribor," Eline repeated. "I like it. Does it have a meaning?"
He nodded. "Yes. It's from an ancient language. It means 'a beautiful thing to look at.'"
She smiled in agreement. "She is that, isn't she?"
He handed the baby back to her, gazed lovingly at his wife and child. His family. He touched Eline's cheek, leaned over, kissed her softly. "Like I said, she takes after her mother."
"Oh, good, you're here."
He blinked. Crusher stood beside him. He looked past her. Keiko and Molly were gone.
"The O'Brien baby?" he murmured.
"She's fine. Just one of those earaches children are always getting."
Picard nodded. "I know."
Crusher tilted her head, smiled slightly at him. "You know?" He didn't say anything, and she patted him on the arm. "Come on."
He followed her into the examining room. "Deanna said you needed to see me. You're not running more tests, are you?" There was an uneasy edge to his voice.
"No more tests, Jean-Luc. At least not right now." She was headed toward one of the small medical laboratories. "Geordi and I have something for you to look at. Something from the probe."
"The probe?" He stopped next to a bio-bed, placed his hand on it as if to steady himself.
Crusher looked back at him. "Geordi was able to extract some images from it."
"Images?" he breathed.
She smiled reassuringly. "He can explain better than I can. Come on. He's waiting for us."
LaForge was standing next to the computer when they walked in the room.
Picard stared at him. "What have you found, Commander?"
He shook his head. "Not much. We've done some preliminary scans of the probe, and although it's no longer functioning, we were able to retrieve some images."
"Yes," Picard acknowledged, "that's what Doctor Crusher told me."
"There aren't many of them," LaForge continued, "especially in regards to what you actually experienced, but we have isolated fourteen separate impressions."
"Of what?"
Crusher looked over at him. "That's what we're hoping you can tell us. Why don't you sit down?" She indicated a chair in front of the computer.
Picard sat down uneasily.
"Some of them are people, others are buildings, land areas," LaForge explained as he reached over and activated the computer. "There doesn't seem to be any relation from one image to the next. They're all fairly random. If you could tell us as much as possible, it would be helpful in recording the data on their civilization."
Picard nodded, then drew in a sharp breath when Eline appeared on the computer screen. She was young, smiling, just as she had been the first time he'd seen her.
"Jean-Luc." He felt Crusher touch his arm. "Is that Eline?"
"Yes."
The image changed.
"And that's..." he took a deep breath, "that's our house in Ressick. The stairs led to the roof. I built a porch up there."
The next picture took shape, the smiling face of a middle-aged man.
"Batai," Picard smiled. "He was a very good friend. We named our son in his honor."
The images continued before him, and he knew them all: the courtyard of Ressick, the mountains, Meribor on her third birthday, an older Eline sewing beside the fireplace, the planet administrator, five-year-old Batai playing on the patio, the river winding below the town, Meribor and Danic at their wedding, Batai with his mother the day he graduated from secondary school, Kamie drawing a picture, the stars in the summer sky.
And, to Beverly Crusher's surprise, their usually reticent captain told them what he remembered: the tree grew in the middle of the courtyard and all the people of the village would help to water it; he would hike for days in the mountains, at first by himself, and then with his family after the children had grown older; Meribor had been remarkably smart, even at three; Eline was always working to make their house a home; the administrator had known that Kataan was doomed; Batai had played for hours on their patio, creating imaginary friends and foes; the river had eventually gone dry; he'd been so proud the day Meribor married, and yet sad at the idea of giving away a daughter; he'd known that Batai would succeed at anything he put his mind to, be it botany, or physics, or music; Kamie could illustrate his grandfather's stories; and the unfamiliar stars had become old friends.
After the last image faded from the computer screen, he leaned back in his chair, exhaled a deep breath. "I hope that helps, Commander," he said quietly, his voice and his thoughts still far away.
"It does, sir, thank you." LaForge glanced over at Crusher. They were both shocked by Picard's vivid memories. A complete life lived in less than twenty-five minutes. And every moment had been detailed and full.
The chief engineer took a step toward the door. "I'll keep you informed of any other findings."
The captain nodded. "Please do."
LaForge left, and Picard yawned involuntarily.
Crusher laid a hand on his shoulder. "Remembering can be very tiring. Why don't you rest for a while? There's a room next door with an empty bed in it."
He waved a hand at her, dismissing her concern. "No, I'm fine. I need to get back to work." He stood up a bit too quickly, and swayed dizzily. Crusher took hold of his arm, and steadied him.
"You're not fine, Captain. And rest is no longer a suggestion. It's an order."
She led him into the next room, helped him settle onto the bed. He didn't protest any further, and that in itself worried her. She sat down beside him, reluctant to leave.
"You had a very beautiful family," she said quietly.
"Thank you." But the smile he gave her instantly faded. "I guess I really can't take any credit though, since it was all programmed."
She shook her head. "Those were your children, Jean-Luc. I'm not sure how, but they even looked like you."
His smile returned. "They did, didn't they?"
"Especially your son."
"My son." His voice was full of wonder at the very idea.
"We have something in common now."
He stared up at her, curiously.
She laughed slightly at his inability to figure it out. "We've both been parents. And I think we've both done a fine job of raising our children."
"I agree." Then the expression on his face changed again. "But you still have your child, Beverly, and mine never really existed."
He rolled over on his shoulder, turned his back to her, and closed his eyes.
Shutting her off from his pain and fear, he waited for sleep to come, longing for the dreams.
~vVv~
Beverly Crusher glanced nervously around the interior of Ten Forward, and then sighed. "I shouldn't be here."
Troi looked up from her double chocolate sundae. "And where should you be?" she countered. "In Sickbay, watching the captain sleep?"
"Yes," the doctor replied. "After all, that is my job. Taking care of the crew."
"Beverly, I know. That's my job, too, remember?"
Crusher leaned forward in her chair. "I'm sorry. It's just that... I'm worried about him." She said the words quietly, as if by admitting her concern she was revealing something more, something deeper, a feeling for Picard that she hadn't yet admitted to herself. It was an emotion Deanna Troi had sensed in the doctor for years.
"We're all worried. But he's all right."
"No, he's not." Crusher's voice was urgent. "You weren't there. You didn't see how he reacted to those pictures... those people. They're real to him, Deanna."
She nodded her head patiently. "Yes, they are. And when I said that he was all right, I meant that he was all right considering what he's experienced."
Crusher toyed with the spoon in her own sundae, stirring the melted ice cream and chocolate syrup. "He loves them," she murmured. "Yet at the same time, I think that he's mad at himself for believing in them." She took a deep breath. "He won't talk to me about it, though. He's, um... not very good with personal feelings."
"No, he's not," Troi agreed. "They embarrass him, make him more vulnerable than he wants to be." She reached over and placed her hand on the doctor's arm. "He's going to need us, Beverly. We have to help him realize that those memories, those people, are real for him, and that it's all right for him to love them."
~vVv~
"Hold still," he laughed as Batai tried to roll away from him. "This is your day, and we want you looking handsome." After several minutes, he managed to pull the pale yellow outfit over the baby's plump arms and legs, and tie it under his chin. "There," he sighed. "All done."
Batai gurgled up at him.
"You're very welcome," he smiled, picking him up and cradling him against his shoulder, the small body warm in his arms. Rocking him gently, he walked over and looked out the nursery window. Friends were already milling about the patio, waiting for the ceremony to begin. "They've all come to see you, Batai," he whispered. "What do you think of that?"
The baby gave him a toothless grin.
"I take it you're happy." He kissed his son on the top of the head. "Well, I am, too."
He glanced back at the patio, saw Meribor playing on the steps that led to the roof, the same steps he'd been sitting on the night he'd made his decision. He could remember it clearly: what he'd said, how Eline had reacted, how she'd looked, how she'd made him feel.
She stood there, holding his shoes, smiling apologetically at him. "I've done nothing but nag all day. I'm sorry."
Slowly, he lowered the flute from his lips. "No, I'm the one who's sorry," he admitted, exhaling deeply. "Everything you said this morning was absolutely correct." His eyes did not look up at her, instead they seemed to be studying the instrument gripped in his hands. "I feel that I have given you so little, and you have given me so much."
Eline shook her head. "No," she assured, stepping over to him. "You're a good man, wonderful husband." She cast her eyes downward. "I didn't mean-"
"No," he disagreed, "not such a wonderful husband." He took a deep breath. "I spend my spare time charting the stars, disappear for days at a time exploring the countryside. My life is very much as it was. Old habits," he added regretfully.
Eline looked back at him with a loving gaze. "You're gentle and kind. You never once raised your voice to me."
There was a moment's hesitation. "I'd like to ask your permission to build something?"
"Kamin, you've built your telescope, your laboratory," she shrugged slightly, "you don't need my permission for something new."
"This case, I think I do."
She stared at him, her confusion turning to worry. "What is it?"
"A nursery," he replied, his voice barely a whisper.
She took a deep breath, gave him a look of surprise. "Really?"
He nodded.
She took a step back, bringing her hands together in front of her chin. "Really?" she asked again, looking to him for affirmation, as if she weren't sure she'd heard him correctly.
"Unless, of course," his tone lightened as he set his flute on the stairs behind him and stood up, "if you would prefer a porch, it would certainly be much easier to build and I could make a start on it right away." He stepped towards her, into the arms she held out to encircle him.
"No, no," she murmured, as she hugged him, resting her chin on his shoulder, her cheek to his. Then she drew back slightly, looked into his eyes. She loved him, she knew that he loved her, and they sealed the promise between them with a gentle kiss.
That had been the beginning; the moment he'd truly accepted his new life. He would never forget the Enterprise or the friends he'd known there, but here and now were all that mattered. First Meribor's birth, and then Batai's. Like the tree in the village courtyard, he was growing roots, becoming attached to this place, these people, finding that Eline and the children were all he really needed.
The baby moved in his arms, bringing him back to the present. He looked down at his son. The decision to be a part of this life, to have children, had been difficult. But now, six years later, it was a decision he didn't regret. Meribor had made them a family, and the birth of Batai, four months earlier, had drawn them even closer.
"Now this one looks like me," he whispered, taking the baby from Eline, holding him confidently along one arm, the tiny head cradled in his palm.
She smiled at her husband. "You're getting to be an expert at holding babies."
"You should see how fast I can change a diaper," he chuckled, rocking Batai back and forth.
"Oh, don't worry, dear, I'm planning on watching you change a lot of diapers."
Kamin frowned slightly. "I just talked myself into that one, didn't I?"
"I'm afraid so."
"No problem." His face brightened. "I'll get Meribor to help."
Eline nodded. "She's going to love being a big sister. I think she's been looking forward to this baby as much as we have."
"She has been," Kamin agreed. "In fact, she's in the living room with the nurse, just dying to come in here."
"Go get her."
"You're sure you're feeling all right?"
"I've never felt better."
He handed the baby back to her, went to the bedroom door, and opened it.
"Meribor," he called softly down the hall.
Within moments, she appeared at her father's side.
"Come in and meet your new brother," he invited.
The little girl walked slowly across the room, Kamin's hand resting on her shoulder.
Eline patted the bed beside her. "Come sit right here, and I'll let you hold him."
Meribor hesitated.
"It's all right," Kamin assured, giving her a gentle hug. "You'd better get to know him. We're going to need your help taking care of him."
She looked up at her father with big grey eyes. "Really?"
He smiled. "Really."
Carefully, she scrambled up onto the bed, settled next to her mother. Kamin sat down with them, and propped a pillow beside her; then Eline placed Batai in his sister's arms.
"He's little," Meribor whispered, her eyes big with wonder.
"Yes, he is." Kamin stroked his daughter's hair. "And he's going to need you to help him."
Meribor nodded slowly. "I'll help." It was the most serious, solemn pledge she'd ever made in her young life. Softly, she ran her hand over the baby's head, then looked up at her father. "He looks like you."
Eline laughed.
A hurt expression crossed over Kamin's face. "What's so funny?" he frowned. "He does look like me."
"Yes, he does, dear," she smiled, reaching out and touching her husband's cheek. "It's just that... well, his hair will grow."
He grinned at the memory as he rubbed his chin over the soft, brown fuzz on Batai's head. "Your mother says it will grow," he murmured, "just don't get too attached to it."
Batai chuckled as if he understood his father's words and Kamin laughed. He looked forward to the conversations they would have.
"How are my men doing?"
He turned. His wife was leaning in the open doorway, smiling at him.
"Oh, Batai's fine. And I'll let you know about me if I make it through the ceremony."
"You'll be all right, dear." She joined them at the window.
"How did I ever let you talk me into playing my flute?" he said dejectedly, suddenly plagued by second thoughts. "I didn't play at Meribor's naming ceremony."
"No, but you've improved in the past five years. And besides, the song you wrote for him is lovely."
"Thank you, but I didn't write it for Batai. I wrote it for you. I just play it for him."
Eline held her hand to his cheek. "I know. And now you can share it with all of our friends." She drew her hand away, placed a kiss where her fingers had been.
Then she reached out and took Batai from his arms. "I can't believe you got him dressed," she commented, truly amazed. "He's such a wiggler."
"He is. But I just gave him a direct order to hold still, and he followed it."
"You'll have to teach me how to give orders like that." She laughed softly, picked up a small blanket from the crib and wrapped it around the baby.
"Everyone's downstairs now. Are you ready?"
"Almost." He reached out and softly brushed his hand through her hair. "I just need a moment to tell my wife how much I love her."
~vVv~
