by Peter David
This time, it was Alexander who stepped in. "They're engaged," he said.
There was stunned silence for a moment. Then a smile split wide Helena's face. "Wonderful!" she cried out. She rose quickly from the couch, took Deanna's face in her hands, and kissed either cheek. "I'm so happy for you! Sergey, aren't you happy for them?"
Sergey clearly hadn't quite managed to digest the information. "Engaged? To be married?"
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"That is generally how it is done," Worf said.
"That's . . . wonderful," he said slowly. Instead of rising, he slid forward on the couch, extended a hand, and shook Worf s firmly. "Your mother and I could not be happier for you."
"Do you have a date set?" asked Helena.
"Not at the moment. We are waiting for an estimate from Starfleet as to reassignment."
"Oh, Starfleet can go hang," Helena said dismissively. "You make your plans, and let them work around you. You have to prioritize. And it's so sweet that you wanted to tell us in person."
"Yes, very sweet," echoed Sergey.
"And that's why you're heading off to Betazed after this . . . to tell Deanna's mother. I'm sure she'll be as thrilled as I am."
"I'm really looking forward to meeting her," said Sergey.
"No, you are not," Worf said darkly.
"Worf!" Deanna looked at him in surprise. She placed her hands on her hips and looked at him with mild annoyance. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It simply means that your mother can be ... daunting."
"Don't you worry about that, Worf," Helena assured him. "I know we'll all get along just fine. Oh, Worf. . ." She sighed. "I never would have said anything about it, and I never would have wanted to pressure you on it... but I think this is the best thing for you."
"You do?"
"Absolutely. Alexander could use a ... well, darling"-and she turned to Alexander-"I don't, for a second, mean to imply that Deanna here, as wonderful as I'm sure she is, could possibly be a replacement for your mother. But a young boy needs positive female influences. I think that's the way it should be. And if your poor mother, God rest her soul, can't be with you, then at least you should have good, solid female role models. Like what I tried to be for you, and what I'm sure Deanna can and will be. A family. A true family." She rustled Deanna's hair affectionately. "I always wanted a daughter. Worf knows I love him, but he knows I always wanted a girl."
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"That's why he grew his hair long enough to be a girl's hair," Sergey commented.
Helena's abashed "Sergey!" overlapped with Worf s stern "Father . . .!"
"Well, look how long it is . . ."
"You promised, Sergey-!"
"I promised, I promised. Like it would hurt him to get a haircut?"
Worf turned to Deanna and rumbled, "I retract the sentiment. I think my father and your mother are going to get along quite well."
Will Riker did not even try to stifle the chuckle that rose within him as Deanna related the details of her get-together with the Rozhenkos. The apartment he was residing in had been provided him by Starfleet during his stay in San Francisco. It was not particularly elaborate in its furnishings, but Riker wasn't really looking for much beyond functional, so he was content. Outside his window, the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge glittered in the evening air in what Riker could only think of as a pathetic imitation of the stars. "A haircut, huh."
"It was rather amusing."
"And you leave for Betazed tomorrow?"
"That's right." She nodded. "His mother seemed determined to teach me how to cook every single one of Worf s favorite dishes when he was growing up. Then later, Worf told me not to be concerned about it; that in point of fact, he never really liked anything his mother made. It wasn't her fault; how could she be expected to start turning out food suitable for Klingon taste?"
"And he never said anything to her?"
"Not to this day. Worf can be rather stoic."
"Yes, I've noticed."
"And the hearing?" Deanna asked. Riker knew her well enough to know that she was clearly worried about it, but was trying to act as if she weren't. "I know you said you weren't concerned about it, Will, but we can still come back...."
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He shrugged. "Well, Admiral Jellico is going to be running it. . . ."
"Jellico." She made no effort to hide the distaste in her expression. "Talk about bad luck of the draw."
"No, actually the captain and I expected it. If there was anyone who was going to be drawn to the scent of blood in the water, it would be Jellico. But even though he's chairing the hearing, he's only one of three ranking officers who will be overseeing the investigation. Truly, I don't think there's going to be any problems, and even if there were, there's nothing that you and Worf being there would contribute. We have the ship's log, which we salvaged from the crash, we have Geordi to discuss the technical aspects of the meltdown . . . it'll be fine, Deanna."
The door to Riker's apartment chimed. "Hold on a moment," he said to Deanna on the screen, and then he turned and called, "Come."
The door hissed open and Picard was standing there. It was a sign of the captain's strict adherence to decorum that he remained at the threshold, not presuming to enter. "Will, do you have a moment?"
"Absolutely, sir." Riker half rose from his chair in acknowledgment and then sat again as Picard nodded and walked in. Both Riker and Picard were wearing off-duty civilian clothes. For Riker, it felt as if they were both in pajamas. "Just talking with Deanna."
"Counselor," Picard inclined his head in greeting.
"Oh, Captain . . . there was something that Worf and I had wanted to ask you. This is as good a time as any, I suppose."
Picard nodded, smiling and waiting.
"We were wondering-that is, Worf and I were wondering- if, when we do marry, you would perform the ceremony . .. ideally on whatever the new ship they assign us to is."
For some reason, Picard found himself casting a glance in Riker's direction. But Riker was simply beaming, like a proud
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father, not seeming the least bit perturbed by the concept. Picard wasn't entirely sure why he had suddenly chosen to look at Riker at that moment. It had been something instinctive. Quickly he looked back to the screen, hoping that his shift in gaze had been so swift that she hadn't even noticed. "Of course, Counselor," he said. "I'd be honored."
"Thank you, Captain. I'll tell Worf. He'll be ecstatic."
"An ecstatic Worf. Now, there's something that's tough to picture."
They chatted for a few more moments, Deanna repeating much of what she had told Riker for Picard's benefit, and Picard being likewise amused by the image of Worf being castigated by his father for the length of his hair. Finally they signed off and Riker turned to face Picard. "What can I do for you, Captain?" he asked.
"Well... I had come to chat with you about what we can expect in terms of questions from the admirals named to the panel. I know there's no love lost between you and Jellico, but I wanted to go into more detail with you about admirals Gray and Trebor. Still, I was wondering if there was something you might wish to discuss first."
"Discuss, sir?" asked Riker, his head inclined slightly and showing polite puzzlement.
"Will. . ." Picard cleared his throat and then smiled in an avuncular manner. "Will... I may be many things, but I am most definitely not a fool. Worf and Deanna's engagement. . . their request for me to perform the ceremony ... it must be having an effect on you."
"It's flattering to know that everyone is concerned about me . . ." began Riker.
"Everyone?"
"Well... Geordi and I had a discussion," Riker admitted. "But I'll tell you the same thing I told him: Deanna and I had our chance together. We chose to remain simply good friends. And if she is going to be happy with Worf, then I'm happy for her. There's really nothing more to it than that."
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"There always is." Picard paused a moment, and then said with a smile, "
Did I ever tell you about Maggie?"
"Maggie, sir?"
"She and I went to the Academy together. I thought nothing could possibly distract me from my goals and career, but when Maggie and I saw each other... it was like lightning just connecting the two of us. My feelings for her made any previous relationship pale in comparison. It was as if they had been mere dalliances before her. The universe of possibilities which represented my future suddenly seemed to expand to include one more that had never been there before. And she felt the same way about me, I know it. For each of us, we were the first to touch each other's souls."
"Imzadi," Riker said softly.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing. Sorry to interrupt. You were saying . . . ?"
"Yes, well. . . Maggie and I made plans. We were going to serve together, we were going to be together always. We were willing to put aside our egos: If one of us became captain first, the other would willingly serve as first officer. It seemed that nothing could keep us apart, such was the intensity of our dedication for each other." He paused and then sighed. "But something did happen."
"What was that, sir?"
"Life, Will." He smiled. "Life. You plan for things, try to grab hold of your destiny and conform it to your desires, but you never quite manage to get a firm grasp on it. It always manages to slip away from you."
"Meaning no disrespect, sir ..."
"Will, we're not in my ready room or on the bridge of a starship. It's just you and me, in an apartment on Earth. State your mind."
"Well, sir ... what's the point you're trying to make?"
"The point is, you never stop trying. Resign yourself to the fact that you cannot control fate, but don't resign yourself to fate itself. Never stop fighting, never stop trying."
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"And you think that's what I did with Deanna."
"I believe so, yes. It's what I did with Maggie. And I regret it
to this day. Regrets are a terrible thing to have, Will. A terrible
thing."
It was something that Riker knew all too well, for he had stared squarely into the face of regret. There had been a time when an incarnation of Riker from the future had used the Guardian of Forever to come back in time. In that Riker's reality, Deanna Troi had died forty years previously, and he had never gotten over it. Eventually he had come to the conclusion that Deanna had been murdered and, using the Guardian, had come back in time to try and avert that calamity. Riker had come face-to-face with his future self, and had never forgotten the look of torment in his eyes. "I'm your future without her, buddy boy," the Riker-to-come had growled at him, and it had been a truly frightening sight to behold. It wasn't the gray hair and gray beard, or even the wrinkles that Riker had found so daunting in his future incarnation. It was instead the sheer, burning fury in the eyes of a man who carried with him hatred for, quite possibly, the entire universe, for depriving him of the future that he clearly felt was his by right.
The immediate goal had been accomplished that time. Deanna's life had been saved, and ideally Admiral Riker had returned to a future more to his liking. But whether Riker and Deanna were going to wind up a couple was left unresolved. If there was anything worse than knowing one's future, it was knowing what it might be and not being sure how to attend to it.
"A terrible thing," echoed Riker. But then he brought himself to full attention and said firmly, "Captain, it's not the same thing. I simply know that I'm just not capable of giving Deanna the things she wants or needs."
"Really." Picard shook his head. "Will, do you know what your problem is?"
"No, sir, but I suspect you're about to tell me."
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"Your problem is that if you are convinced that something can be done, then you will find a way to do it. You are unstoppable in that regard. By the same token, if you decide that something cannot be done, then nothing on heaven or Earth will get you to do it. You are governed entirely by self-fulfilling prophecy."
"Captain . . . I'm not alone in this matter. Deanna feels the same way that I do. She wants to remain simply friends. How am I supposed to conjure up feelings within her that she doesn't possess? Through sheer force of will?"
"Well, that is your name."
At that, Riker laughed. "You've got me there, Captain. But what would you have me do, sir? After the hearing, would you have me jump the first transport to Betazed? Burst in on them at Lwaxana Troi's house, tell Deanna that we should be a couple . .. ?"
"Is that how you feel?"
"No!"
"Then I suppose this entire conversation is moot," Picard observed.
"That's right, sir."
"All right, then. I beg your pardon for bringing it up."
"Don't worry about it, sir." With slow strides, Riker went to the window and leaned against it, looking out once more at the bridge. "By the way . .. whatever happened to Maggie? Do you ever see her?"
"From time to time. I'm seeing her tomorrow, as a matter of fact."
Riker turned and looked at him with raised eyebrow. "A date?"
"In a manner of speaking. She's one of the three admirals at the inquiry tomorrow."
Riker rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger as if suddenly in great pain. "Just out of morbid curiosity, sir, and not wanting to pry: Who precisely broke it off with whom?"
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"I say I did, she says she did."
"A request, then: For the duration of the investigation, can we go with her interpretation?" "You read my mind, Number One. You read my mind."
There was a small porch in the back of the Rozhenkos' farmhouse. It was a chill night, and as a barechested Worf stood on the porch and gazed up at the full moon, his nostrils flared ever so slightly. He leaned on the porch railing, gripping it firmly, apparently oblivious to the crispness in the air.
"Nice night, isn't it."
Worf had heard him coming, but since his approach was silent, Worf had not said anything just in case his father had wanted his presence not to be known. "Lovely night, Father," Worf replied.
"Having trouble sleeping?"
"I simply find the night. . . alluring," Worf said. He took in the air deeply, his muscles stretching tautly over his rib cage. "I did not realize how much I had missed it."
Sergey was wearing a robe over his pajamas as he sauntered over to his son's side. "Do you remember the night you went hunting?" he asked.
Worf turned and looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Hunting ... ?"
"One night, early on... back when we had the farm on Gault, when you first came to us ... you came outside on a night much like this one, stripped off your clothes, and barreled off into the darkness. When we finally found you the next day, you were curled up in the woods. You were shivering slightly, you had a contented smile on your face . .. and there was blood encrusted on the edges of your mouth."
Worf shook his head. "I seem to have . . . vague recollections of it at most."
"Word spread rather quickly. It's somewhat difficult to cover up such a thing. The neighbors protested; they were afraid of you. It was a very difficult time for us. Very difficult."
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"I do not think I appreciated the hardship on you at the time. Perhaps to this day I cannot fully appreciate it." He hesitated a moment and then asked, "Do you . .. regret it?"
Worf was mildly disconcerted when Sergey didn't answer immediately. When he did reply, it was in a rather roundabout manner.
"You have to understand the difference between your mother and me," Sergey began. "When I found you on Khitomer, battered and pathetic under that pile of rubble ... my decision to bring you back to Gault, to adopt you, was made on the spur of the moment. That's the way I am. I don't think things out the way I should. I act on impulse . . . which is appropriate for a warp-field specialist, no?" He laughed at his own joke, but when he saw that Worf wasn't likewise laughing, he trailed off and cleared his throat. "Now, your mother .. . she was always the rational one. I told her about
you, and she said, 'Sergey, do you have any idea what you're getting us into? Do you?'"
"Are you saying.. . she did not want me?" Worf asked slowly.
"Of course she wanted you. That's not the point. She wanted you . . . but she was fully aware of the consequences of our actions. She's very methodical, very reasonable. She thinks out everything and makes her choices based on what seems to be the most sensible course of action."
"Father ... I do not mean to sound impertinent... but why are you telling me this?"
"Because you take after her in many ways. You have enough impulsiveness as it is from your Klingon heritage. But from your mother, you learned how to size up a situation, to make a reasoned choice. She taught you how to act from your brain instead of your heart. You see what I'm getting at?"
Worf nodded, then stopped. "No," he admitted.
Sergey had been looking out at the night, but now he turned to face his son. "This girl, she seems lovely. Intelligent, smart, calm. Your mother adores her, I can tell you that."
"And you do not?"
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"I think she's great! I just..." He gestured vaguely. "When I pictured the type of woman I thought you'd wind up with, somehow she was never what I was expecting. No offense."
"None taken. You are not the first person to make that observation, Father. We are ... opposites ... in many ways. On the other hand, it certainly gives us a good deal to talk about."
Sergey grunted noncommittally. "Worf... why are you marrying this girl?"
"She has a name, Father. I would appreciate if you used it."
Unperturbed at the mild rebuke from his son, Sergey said, "Why are you marrying Deanna?"
"Because . .. she completes me, Father. She is a valuable addition. She integrates smoothly into the framework of the unit."
"Son, you make her sound like a warp coil. Or a weapon. Do you love this gir-Deanna?"
"Would I be marrying her if I did not?"
"Worf. . ." He paused, trying to find the words. "Worf. . . in the old days, in the very old days . .. matches weren't made from love. They were put together by a matchmaker, and any one of a dozen reasons might be deemed reasonable for making a match. It came from here," and he tapped his head, "and not from here," and he touched his heart.