To those I can't thank directly...thank you for the nice reviews! They are very much appreciated :)
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Draining the remainder of his rapidly cooling tea, Picard scanned the last of the initial incident reports he'd received ahead of the staff debrief, then glanced up. "Assessment?"
Will Riker, resting one elbow on the opposite side of the ready room desk, was finishing his own review. "I'm mainly concerned about the possible hull degradation Geordi reported. We should probably get that checked out sooner rather than later."
"Agreed. Have helm change our course to Starbase 23 for immediate inspection."
Riker nodded, inputting the orders, and took another sip of his coffee. "One other note, on Geordi's surgery to remove his remaining visual implants—Dr. Crusher says that can wait awhile if he's still needed with ongoing repairs."
Picard frowned. "I believe engineering can manage, if Mr. LaForge would like to proceed sooner. His health should be the priority."
"Of course. I'll make sure he knows that." Riker shook his head in quiet wonder. "It is incredible, isn't it?"
"Indeed." The temporal anomaly had been responsible for causing Geordi to grow new optic nerves and regain sight in a way Beverly said was unprecedented. But it wasn't an unmitigated good. It was incredible for him to obtain ordinary vision...but then again, ordinary was not what he'd known his entire life; in many ways ordinary represented a step down in his perception. The effect would be life-changing for him in ways it would likely take some time to adjust to.
Casualties from the anomaly had otherwise been thankfully minimal, all things considered. Still, there were a few other crewmembers similarly affected by significant health changes, and two, including Beverly's trusted nurse Ogawa, had tragically suffered miscarriages due to the cellular decomposition effects of the anomaly. Q's experiment had cost them far too dearly...
Picard glanced at his chronometer, then grimaced and stood up to get another mug of tea. "I can finish up here, Number One."
"Yes, sir." Riker finished his coffee and swung one leg over the back of his chair to stand in a smooth motion. "I'll be on the bridge."
Studying the weary cast of his first officer's expression, momentarily seeing there a faint echo of the embittered admiral he had met in the future, he noted the depressed demeanor that had not lifted over the past hours—days, really. Picard paused. Perhaps he ought to inquire...but he'd tried once before, and didn't want to intrude again at present. Especially with considerations of the future yet to be reckoned with. "Good work today, Will. I'd encourage you to take advantage of any down time on the way back to starbase."
"Thank you, sir." The taller man gave a half-smile, a bit of life coming back into his blue eyes. "It is poker night tonight. It will be nice to get back to the normal routine."
As the doors shut, Picard settled back into his chair and sighed. For his part, it was time to return to what he'd been contemplating since even before the anomaly had been collapsed: what to tell his senior staff about the future—such as it might be. But the decision was no more evident now than it had been. There were plenty of regulations and guidelines governing time travel set by the Starfleet Department of Temporal Investigations, of course. He'd had cause to review them a handful of times in his career. The key directive was never to interfere with the timeline by disclosing knowledge of the future into the past.
Q's interference, though, didn't appear to fall within the conventional analysis. As Data had pointed out, there were multiple discontinuities already evident in the timelines Picard had visited, so there was no certainty anything would unfold as he'd seen. Assuming it had been an alternate, or even imagined, timeline, there shouldn't be any damage to this timeline if details of his experience were shared.
Still, he mused, sometimes prudence dictated discretion even where regulations might not. They'd survived their encounter with the anomaly and time was now proceeding quite normally, so in theory he could file a confidential report and say nothing further about the matter...and maybe that would be for the best. He knew that Worf and Deanna had recently begun a relationship and, as he'd just seen again, Will Riker seemed distressed by it. But it was hardly his custom—or his place—to step into such matters even in normal circumstances. He was ordinarily a private man and even were he not, the captaincy was a solitary vocation by its nature, necessitating a certain distance on his part. Perhaps he should simply let events play out as they would.
But Will, Deanna, Worf...after seven years together they weren't just his staff, he reminded himself, but his friends. Weren't they? He'd been visited by his own warped Ghost of Christmas Yet-To-Come and glimpsed a family broken by discord and distrust. If he had a chance now to play Marley in a sense, warn them of what grief might come if they didn't take care to guard against it, didn't he owe it to them all?
And to Beverly?
A knot clenched in his stomach. While he'd earlier resolved to flatly ignore Q's imagined future with respect to Beverly and himself, he had seen it nonetheless. So even as he was tempted to withhold at least those particular aspects of his experience as being too personal or uncomfortable, he felt he had the same obligation to her as to everyone else to admit what he'd seen. It hardly seemed fair that he'd have to talk about divorce when he didn't even remember all the blasted details—
But then they didn't really matter, did they?
While he wanted to dismiss Q's future out of hand, to insist such an outcome could never occur...he wasn't actually certain of that. The brutal truth was that he couldn't promise he could never hurt her that badly.
Because he had hurt her, once, long ago.
Of course he'd told himself his actions were justified, that abandoning her after Jack Crusher's death was the best way of protecting her, so she wouldn't always be reminded of the pain of losing her husband by seeing the man who'd been responsible. The cold reality was that his actions had been driven far less by concern for her wellbeing and far more by his own crippling guilt and shame—and in consequence Beverly had only been further wounded by the abrupt loss of his friendship exactly when she needed him most.
No, it wasn't inconceivable that he could sabotage a relationship with the woman he dearly loved. Bitterly reflecting on his own shortcomings, Picard knew it was all too well conceivable.
And yet—if he could make no guarantee, he did know, with certainty, that he would do everything in his power to ensure he never repeated that mistake.
Because the future he desired with her—the future he wanted to give her, if she let him—was one in which her blue eyes never looked at him with such steely hardness, where the grim set of her mouth wouldn't betray years of pain. It was one in which, instead, her eyes would reflect joy and contentment that he had done his utmost to provide for her.
But it would have to begin with honesty.
In the end, he realized, it simply was not for him to decide whether his crew could handle any knowledge about their possible futures, or whether he should pick or choose which details to disclose.
Q had arrogantly played God in their lives for long enough. Picard was not about to do the same.
He let out a breath. The decision was made, then. He set back to work on his notes for the briefing...but couldn't shake off a lingering unease.
In an instant he was reaching out, reflexively, the message sent almost before he had consciously composed it.
Beverly—would you care to join me for dinner tonight?
Several minutes passed, during which he caught himself glancing frequently at the message indicator for a reply. Finally it blinked onto his screen:
I have plans for later this evening, and you, Captain, are under standing orders to get some rest.
Somewhat nonplussed, he reminded himself that there would be plenty of time to see her later...but he was still disappointed.
Until one more message came through, and he smiled.
…(but I'd love to anyway).