Chapter Text
The orders for the USS Liberty arrived with none of the seismic shock of the last time. They were expected, even welcomed. Tom Riker, his command abilities proven in the crucible of captivity and rescue, was offered the first officer post of the new Intrepid-class ship. Deanna Troi was the ship’s counselor. It was a perfect fit, a ship and a crew ready to be forged into something new under their unique, hard-won guidance.
The goodbye, though, was harder. The memory of the last separation, the one that had ended in the cold, sterile horror of a “presumed destroyed” transmission, was a ghost at the feast. It lingered in the tightness of Will’s embrace when he hugged Tom, in the extra second he held Deanna’s hands in his.
He stood on the observation deck, Jean-Luc a solid, silent presence beside him, and watched the sleek, new Intrepid-class ship glide away. The Liberty. The name felt like a promise.
A part of his heart stretched, a tangible ache, as the ship went to warp and vanished. But this time, the ache didn’t expand into a void. It was contained, held within the walls of a heart that had learned it could survive such a parting.
He didn’t retreat to his quarters. He didn’t let the silence gather around him. He took a deep, steadying breath, felt Jean-Luc’s hand come to rest on the small of his back, and turned away from the viewport.
“I believe,” Jean-Luc said, his voice quiet, “Dr. Crusher is insisting on a debriefing in Ten Forward. Something about evaluating the ‘psychological impact of excessively brave command decisions.’ I believe it involves a great deal of synthehol.”
Will managed a small, genuine smile. “Wouldn’t want to skip a medical evaluation.”
Ten Forward was bright and noisy. Beverly saw them enter and immediately commandeered a large table, already laden with drinks. Geordi was there, grinning, and to Will’s surprise, so was Worf, looking characteristically stern but holding a glass of what appeared to be prune juice.
“So,” Beverly began, her eyes twinkling, “the hero returns from seeing his family off. Tell me, Commander, on a scale of one to ‘Klingon opera,’ how maudlin are we feeling?”
Will laughed, the sound surprising himself. “I’ll let you know after a few of those,” he said, nodding to the drinks.
Geordi clapped him on the shoulder. “We saved you a seat. And don’t worry, Data’s promised not to analyze the emotional subtext of every toast.”
The evening unfolded not as a vigil, but as a celebration. They toasted Tom and Deanna’s new mission. They toasted the crew of the Gandhi. They even toasted, at Worf’s insistence, the “glorious defeat of the Cardassian dogs,” which made everyone roll their eyes but smile.
Will found himself laughing, truly laughing, at one of Geordi’s terrible jokes. He debated the merits of 20th-century jazz versus 23rd-century with Data. He even endured a surprisingly detailed explanation from Worf about the proper maintenance of a bat’leth’s edge.
He looked around the table at Beverly’s fierce compassion, Geordi’s steadfast loyalty, Data’s innocent curiosity, Worf’s gruff honor, and Jean-Luc, whose love was a steady, constant force beside him. This was his family, too. Not a replacement for the one that had just left, but an extension of it. A foundation that remained, unshakable, no matter how far his brother and Deanna traveled.
Later, back in their quarters, the quiet felt different. It wasn’t the hollow silence of absence. It was a peaceful, shared quiet. Will stood at the viewport, watching the stars streak by.
Jean-Luc came to stand beside him, handing him a glass of brandy. “Are you alright?” he asked, the simple question containing multitudes.
Will took the glass, his fingers brushing Jean-Luc’s. He thought about the cold knot of grief that had once lived inside him, and how it had been thawed, first by Deanna’s empathy and then by the steady, warming fire of his friends.
“I am,” he said, and he meant it. He felt the loss, but it was a clean feeling now, a bittersweet note in a symphony that was still playing. “It’s harder to let them go. But it’s easier to stay.”