by Peter David
"His leg. He broke it, I believe. I've already alerted Beverly and she's on her way to meet us."
"Why did you not simply wait for assistance?" he demanded.
"Stubborn Klingon pride," she said with a trace of sarcasm. "Something I think you may have a passing familiarity with."
But Worf didn't seem to notice the ironic tone in her voice.
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"Yes. Of course. I shall get there as quickly as possible. Make certain the boy does not injure himself any further."
There was a brief pause as if she was considering how to respond to that. "I'll see what I can do," she finally replied.
Worf hurried through the encampment. Various crew members nodded to him or greeted him as he went past, but he didn't pay them any mind. His thoughts and concerns were entirely upon Alexander.
Where had the boy gotten himself off to? Why had he not contacted his father? Concern was writ large all over Worf s face. ..
.. . and then he began to slow as he comprehended.
Of course. Klingon pride, just as Deanna had said.
His heart began to swell with that selfsame pride as all of the reasons for Alexander's actions immediately became clear to him. He completely comprehended what it was that the boy had set out to do, and the last thing that Worf wanted was to say or do anything to detract from his son's obvious desire to prove his mettle. So by the time he drew within sight range of Alexander and Deanna, gone was the concern, gone was the urgency in his bearing. Instead he was walking with a brisk stride that was distance-consuming but, at the same time, unhurried.
Beverly Crusher was there, running a scanner over his leg. "It's a clean break," Worf heard her say. "You're lucky in that respect. What were you thinking, running off like that?"
"Klingons do not run," Alexander replied stiffly.
"They hobble with dignity," Deanna archly corrected Crusher. This response actually drew a fleeting smile from Alexander, although he quickly hid it again.
Crusher glanced up at Worf, who had drawn within range but had yet to say anything. "If I had sickbay," she said, "I could fix this fairly easily. Cellular regenerator could knit the bone without any problem. As it is, we'll have to wait until we get aboard a vessel with a more fully equipped setup. I'll arrange for it, make a notation to have him beamed directly to the first available sickbay."
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"How do his field dressings measure up?" Worf demanded, sounding more like a drill sergeant than a concerned father.
"I just finished inspecting them. It seems he did a rather serviceable job."
Worf grunted.
"Was that a grunt of approval, Father?" asked Alexander. "Or does just 'serviceable' not measure up?"
Beverly looked from one to the other and suddenly decided that her interests would best be served if she was elsewhere. To that end, she quickly made herself scarce.
"You sound upset," Worf said flatly. "Are you upset with me?"
Alexander's jaw twitched but he said nothing. After a moment's hesitation, Deanna said, "Alexander feels. .. whether rightly or wrongly . .. that you were not concerned about his welfare during the ship's crash."
"Not concerned?" His eyes widened. "On what do you base that?"
"On the fact that you didn't ask after me," Alexander said. "That you didn't make any effort to make sure that I made it to the saucer section before the separation. That you didn't try to find me since the crash."
"How do you know that I made no effort?" demanded Worf. "Do you expect that I would go running from one person to the next, asking if they had seen you? I have, in fact, been endeavoring to spot you. Where were you?"
"He was in the woods, nursing his broken leg," Deanna informed him.
"Where he could not easily be seen," pointed out Worf. "This is nonsense, Alexander."
Alexander paused, as if trying to find exactly the right way to phrase it. "When . . . when everyone was running . . . trying to get to the saucer section ... I saw parents. So many of them, officers and civilians alike ... calling out for each other, finding each other, making sure that their children and spouses were all right. Did you come looking for me, Father? Answer
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me honestly. If you simply couldn't locate me in all the turmoil, that's . . . that's not so bad. But did you leave the bridge to look for me?"
"No," Worf said immediately. "I would not abandon my post. Nor would I insult you by looking for you."
"Insult me?" Alexander couldn't quite believe it. "Showing you cared about me ... would be an insult. . . ?"
"Alexander," Worf said, clearly looking annoyed that something so self-evident to him required explanation. "You have participated in emergency drills on the Enterprise. You are familiar with what needs to be done in an evacuation scenario, are you not?"
"Yes."
"You are no longer a child. No longer a newling who requires constant maintenance. You are a young Klingon now, rapidly approaching the day when you will be warrior stock. For me to abandon my post and run about, attempting to find you and oversee you during an evacuation process in which you have been thoroughly schooled, would be to imply that I had no faith in you. That I did not believe you were fully capable of conducting yourself in an adult and professional manner befitting not only my son, but a Klingon. I trusted you to go where you needed to go, and be where you were required to be. I would not dream of insulting you by treating you in a manner that suggested you were incapable of tending to yourself. Is that what you want? That I should insult you in this way?"
Alexander looked down. "No, Father."
"Good. Enough of this nonsense, then."
And at that, Deanna said sharply and firmly, "It's not nonsense, Worf."
He glanced at her in confusion. "What?"
She opened her mouth to speak again, but then closed it. Instead she walked quickly to Worf and took him a few steps away from Alexander so that they could speak in relative privacy. In a low voice, she said, "Whether you agree with it or not. . . even though you yourself believe that you were opera-
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ting from motives of only the purest respect. .. Alexander still felt slighted. He still felt as if you didn't care whether he lived or died. That is a very powerful emotion, Worf, and simply to brush it off as 'nonsense' is to diminish Alexander's sense of self-worth."
"Am I to apologize for not babying him?" demanded Worf. "He went off into the woods in order to tend to his own injury, did he not?"
"Yes."
"That is the Klingon way," he told her. "He has learned well. On a starship in which there are exactly two Klingons and he is surrounded by humans, I consider it nothing short of miraculous that in a time of stress, he acted properly. Would you have me backslide in my training of him now by making me fuss over him like a ..."
"I'm not proposing to 'make' you do anything," Deanna said calmly. "It is clear, however, that you are very proud of your son. All I am saying is that there are ways in which to make that clear .. . and ways to do so in a manner that will acknowledge your son's concerns and lay them to rest without making him feel as if he's a fool simply for feeling that way."
"I did not. . ."
He wasn't able to finish the sentence, because she simply looked at him in that way that was both patient and stern. The wheels in his mind turned and he sighed. "Oh . . . very well," he growled.
"You can do it," she said confidently. "I know that you can."
He walked back to Alexander and stood over him, his arms folded. "I want you to know," he said slowly, "that I am very proud of the way that you have conducted yourself this day. You bring honor to yourself. . . and to me. I regret that the price for that conduct was a belief, on your part, that your survival was of secondary importance to me. You are, and always will be, of primary concern to me, Alexander. I would prefer that you never forget that, and know that I take utmost pride in you, and in your accomplishments." He paused a
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moment, ran what he had just said th
rough his mind for review, and nodded. Then he turned to Troi. "How was that?"
She stood there, arms folded, amusement in her dark eyes. It was clear that she was waiting for him to add something, and he knew perfectly well what it was. The knowledge did not sit particularly well with him.
"You can do it," she prompted.
He growled, cleared his throat, and added-apparently under some small mental protest-"And ... I love you." It was more muttered than anything, coming out as, "And ... I uvu," which was not exactly inspiring. It was, however, apparently sufficient for Alexander, who nodded in acknowledgment of the sentiment.
"I love you too, Father," he replied.
"Of course you do," Worf said stiffly. "I knew that."
Then, to the surprise of the two Klingons, there was a musical, lilting laughter from near them. It was almost as if they had forgotten that Deanna was present. "What is so funny?" demanded Worf.
"The two of you," she said. "The body language, so stiff, so formal," and she squared her jaw in imitation. "Worf, Alexander.. . you have to maintain your sense of love for each other. Your familiarity. Your sense of fun!"
"We have crash-landed on a strange world and my son's leg is broken," Worf reminded her. "This would not particularly be the time to dwell on matters of 'fun.'"
"It's just that. . ." She sighed. "It seems an eternity ago that the two of you were dressing up as cowboys. Alexander, you're so much taller, and Worf, you're so much more serious...."
"I do not know that I agree with that assessment...."
Smiling, she placed a hand lovingly on his face. "Worf... remember your promotion ceremony the other day? I practically had to drag you, kicking and screaming, to the holodeck."
"I neither kicked nor screamed," Worf informed her archly. "Had I done so, not you nor a hundred Betazoids could have gotten me there."
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"That would be the ceremony you wouldn't let me come to?" Alexander asked his father pointedly. "The one where you said it was a lot of adults acting foolishly, and you didn't want to expose me to it?"
He looked from Alexander to Troi, who was smirking in a knowing manner, and then back to Alexander. "I do not recall phrasing it in quite that manner."
"It wasn't especially flattering, however you phrased it," Alexander said.
"Worf, we can discuss it later. . . ."
"No," said Worf, suddenly feeling challenged, particularly thanks to the way that Alexander was looking at him. He turned to face Deanna and said, "What are you saying?"
"Worf, honestly, it-"
"Spell. It. Out." There was an edge to his voice that hadn't been there before.
"Well, it. . ." She cast about for the right words, and then shrugged and decided simply to go with whatever occurred to her. "You . . . tend to create shields around yourself. You don't let down your guard easily. And because of that, people-Alexander, in this case-tend to magnify everything you say and do. They get little to no feedback from you as to how you truly feel or what you're thinking. As a consequence, they tend to fill in the blanks themselves. This can lead to misinterpretation, hurt feelings . . . that sort of thing."
"Of course I am guarded. I am Klingon. If we do not have our guards up, we leave ourselves vulnerable to attack."
"Only in a war."
"Life," Worf intoned, as if it had been drilled into him, "is a war."
"No," Deanna shot back with surprising vehemence. "Life is life. War is the loss of life. And I think you know the difference, Worf. . . better than any other Klingon." Then, as if caught off guard at the stridency of her own reaction, she softened her voice and said, "And I can think of no Klingon better suited to teach that to Alexander than his father. . . provided, of course, that you come to believe that."
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"I believe that you believe it." He paused a moment and then said, "May I speak to you in private a moment, Counselor?"
Deanna glanced over to Alexander, but he shrugged indifferently. "Don't worry about me. I won't run away," he said with bleak humor. "Not that I could even if I wanted to. .. ."
"All right," she said, and she walked off with Worf. Alexander watched them go and tried to figure out just what might be on his father's mind.
Deanna was doing much the same thing. Worf s thoughts seemed in a turmoil, which was somewhat surprising. More often than not, his emotions were as straightforward as a tossed spear. Also, when Worf walked he usually did so with such long strides that Deanna had to scurry slightly to keep up. This time, however, he automatically walked slowly enough that she had no trouble pacing him. That alone was enough to surprise her.
When they'd distanced themselves from Alexander, although he was still within visual range, Worf faced her and said, "Do you really feel that I have been . .. distant? Guarded?"
"I wouldn't say so if I didn't think it," she replied. "I didn't mean it as a criticism, really, Worf. More of an observation that you can simply take as you will."
"Be that as it may, I find it disturbing that you would feel that way. I have been endeavoring to be more . . ." He hesitated, as if he were about to utter a profanity against his will and finally managed to eject the word. ". . . vulnerable."
"I've noticed. You've practically developed a soft, squooshy center."
"I am serious, Deanna."
"I'm sorry," she said, physically wiping the smile off her face. "I shouldn't joke."
"I have been trying because of Alexander . . . and because of you . .. but it has not been easy. Sometimes"-he presented
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his back to her so that she could not see the clear frustration in his face-"I envy Data. In order to develop his personality, he merely has to place a new chip in his head and he immediately has the entire range of human emotions."
"A situation that has been very difficult for him," Troi immediately pointed out. "Nothing worth having is ever easy, Worf."
"Concepts such as leaving oneself open to hurt, physically or emotionally ... or even humor . . . these are not simple things to grasp. Not for me. I have strode two worlds for so many years, you would think it would be second nature for me. But it is not. Nothing is second nature, since I have never fully decided upon what my first nature is."
"Klingon by nature, human by nurture," Deanna observed. "I don't envy you, Worf."
"No. But you help me. For that... I thank you," he said. As she had earlier, this time he touched her face and she was surprised at the gentleness of it. It was a stark contrast to the roughness of his hand.
"You have such a sensitive touch," she told him.
"Of course. Most Klingons do. It enables us to properly search out pressure points, to stop the blood flow and disable or kill an .. ." His voice trailed off as he saw her expression, her skin paling slightly, the darkness in her eyes suddenly looking much wider. "That was . . . the wrong thing to say, wasn't it?"
"It's okay." She patted him on the upper shoulder. "Fortunately enough, when one is romantically involved with a Klingon, one learns to have a sense of humor."
"I have a sense of humor as well," Worf told her. "It is simply . .. dissimilar from yours."
"Really. How dissimilar?"
"Well..." He gave it a moment's thought. "There was a time I attended an exhibition of proficiency with the bat'leth," he said, referring to the curved, formidable Klingon sword, "being given by K'Plok, one of the foremost bat'leth experts in
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the Klingon Empire. Unfortunately, K'Plok had a cold on the scheduled day, but no self-respecting Klingon would cancel an obligation simply over a minor illness. In any event, as he was demonstrating the famed overhead reverse thrust, he sneezed and accidentally cut off" his own head."
"Oh, my God," gasped Deanna. "What did you do?"
"We laughed. It was the single longest, most sustained laughter in the history of the empire. K'Plok was immortalized as the greatest comedian ever known to Klingons. In fact, his name was officially changed to K'Plop in our annals, in commemoration of the
sound his head made when it struck the-"
She held up a hand. "I... get the picture, Worf. And did you truly think that was . . . funny?"
"If I did not think that, would I have kept the head when it ricocheted and flew into my lap?"
At that, Deanna visibly blanched. "You . . . you didn't. .."
He paused only a moment, and then said, "That was a joke, Deanna."
She let out a sigh of relief that even resulted in a small chuckle at the realization that he'd fooled her.
"You see?" he pointed out triumphantly. "I do have a sense of humor. I made you laugh."
"Yes, you did." She hugged him affectionately. "Go be with your son now. I think he could use your company."
"You are very likely right... as you often are."
Worf headed off toward Alexander and, as he did so, made a mental note to send word to the Klingon homeworld, where many of his most treasured effects were in storage, and arrange for the prompt disposal of the head of K'Plop before Deanna found out. The Klingon Comedy Museum had been after him to donate it for years anyway, since they had an understandable dearth of displays.
He passed Beverly Crusher, who was talking to Data. Data appeared to be asking Crusher whether or not she had happened to see his cat in all of the confusion. Worf found
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it strange that, with everything that had happened, Data was remotely concerned about some animal. He called out, "Data. . ."
"Yes?" Data turned his attention to Worf as Beverly glanced over her shoulder at him.
"Remember the other day? When you pushed the doctor into the water?"
"Yes."
He stabbed a finger at Data. "That was funny. Damned funny. And do not let anyone else tell you otherwise." With that, he walked off, leaving a slightly confused Data and a rather teed-off Beverly Crusher.
The lake looked remarkably inviting.
The air was uncommonly warm. Deanna felt remarkably grungy, what with the crash landing (but at least they'd landed, dammit!) and her own overall sense of exhaustion. She had been ministering to the needs of the crew for some time. Rescue vessels were reportedly on their way, but-and it was vanity, she hated to admit it-she was reaching a point where she felt self-conscious just having people looking at her. She felt so disgusting, so ...