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Jean-Luc realized, as he stared at the viewscreen in front of him, that he'd been sitting like a statue for too long, and that his thoughts had drifted from the report. Another report, another crew evaluation, another mission log set to transmit.
The *Enterprise* would be swinging back to Federation space after this latest foray into the unexplored regions in this segment of the alpha quadrant. Only two more star systems to check, and long range probes had already returned with data. At least it got them off the Neutral Zone for a short time.
Jean-Luc stood, straightened the padds he'd scattered across the desk, selected one to take with him, and quit the bridge. He was surprised to find Deanna already in their quarters.
"You look tired," he said, stopping next to where she sat and dropping his padd near her elbow on the table. She paused in rubbing her neck and raised weary eyes to meet his.
"I'm still recovering from our visit to Rigel, I suppose."
Helping Shelby had worn her down. Deanna didn't often have to deal with depression that severe. During the week it took to work the captain through the beginnings of coping with the loss of her lover in the line of duty, Deanna had gone to bed early and been less talkative than usual. Even now, after they'd been back on active duty for two weeks, she still had some days when it caught up with her all over again. There had also been that incident on the holodeck -- but rather than make his mood take a sudden downward turn, he turned his thoughts to the present, to the weary woman with tight shoulder muscles in front of him.
"You do that so well," she sighed, letting her head fall forward as he kneaded at the knots. "Thank you. MMMMmmmm. . . ."
"What plans do you have for the evening?" He didn't think she had any, but that often changed.
"There's some sort of party going on -- I was supposed to help babysit for it. I don't know if I'm up to it. Data had me in with the cadets for the drill of the day."
"Jeffries tubes in the dark?"
"Ugh. Yes. I came in from sickbay just fifteen minutes before you got here. I have half a mind to talk Data into babysitting in my place, but he's on beta tonight so Mendez can go to the party."
"What kind of party?"
"Christmas Eve."
Jean-Luc realized, from the clipped tone and the fact that she was babysitting, that she didn't want to attend. And understood why. Beverly had always done a senior staff Christmas party, and Beverly wasn't here. Memories cascaded in -- Worf, as Santa Claus with a bad attitude because he lost a bet. Will and the mistletoe hat he'd made out of a fabric band and a long piece of wire to dangle the leaves and berries out in front of him. Absolute nonsense, absurd fun -- Jean-Luc had put in token appearances the first few years, stayed longer for the last two such parties, and in that period of time between the 1701-D's destruction and the commissioning of the E, he had gotten an invitation from Beverly to a party she was holding in the apartment she'd taken in Fleet housing. He regretted not attending, now.
"Isn't there anyone you could get to fill in for you?" Sliding his hands forward, he tugged at her jacket, slipped one hand down between it and the turtleneck, leaned and nibbled her ear. She inclined her head and let him kiss her throat.
"I wish. I'd ask one of the parents, if they weren't all going. There are three other people who volunteered, and it will take all four of us to keep the kids under control. Malia said Kenny can't wait to see what he gets -- he wants a toy starship. Or a puppy, and you can guess Malia would rather get him a starship. She said he and the other children are excited about tonight -- we're taking them to a holodeck for a few hours of playing in snow and drinking hot chocolate in front of a fireplace. It all sounds so cozy, except I'm afraid the kids will be too keyed up to let me relax."
"Christmas isn't something I've made a habit of celebrating." He rubbed the base of her neck with the heel of his hand, wrapping his fingers around her throat gently. "It's one of those holidays that reminds everyone of family. I think. . . I'd like to start. I'd like to spend it with you."
She sat up, turning to look up at him. Merry lights appeared in her eyes. "I'd like that, too. Maybe I can find someone -- why don't you change, and I'll call around and see what I can do?"
But by the time he came back in civvies, she had an apologetic expression. He sat in the chair next to her and lay his hand over hers on the table. "How late do you have to stay?"
"Until the parents come pick up their children. If enough of them leave the party early I may be able to go early, too. It's just a matter of having the right ratio of adults to children. We'll have twelve kids, which means three children per adult."
"I suppose we'll have Christmas day to ourselves, at least."
"Yes, I suppose." But she still seemed down, her eyes dropping again.
He studied her face, wondering if she weren't remembering holidays with her deceased father, or Christmases with their friends aboard the 1701-D. "I could help. At least we'd be spending the time together, even if it had to be with a bunch of kids."
Her wide-eyed surprise startled, then bothered him. "You would do that?"
As if it were something so shocking. "How difficult could small children be?"
"Oh. . . ." The canny smile was more annoying, still. She sensed his irritation and tried to cover her amusement. "Let me change. I'm supposed to be there in half an hour -- Jean!" she cried when he took her other hand and pulled her into his lap.
"Half an hour means I shouldn't waste any time," he murmured, drawing her into a kiss.
She responded well enough to the kiss but it was all he got. Rather than let him 'help' her change, she pled hunger and left him replicating dinner while she changed clothes. They ate quickly.
"Dee," he murmured. She paused in leading him out the door, curious, and returned the embrace.
"Is there something wrong?"
Memories were with him too strongly, for some reason. Galisi, the holodeck a week and a half ago -- the look in her eyes when she felt pain, either mental anguish or physical. He dragged his hand down her back, the rough texture of the long-sleeved gray shirt she wore snagging his nails, and held her tightly, savoring the feel of her body in his arms.
"Would children remind you too much of Kataan? I didn't even think of that -- I'm sorry," she whispered.
"No, it's not that -- let's get going. Who else will be there?" He let go, and they moved into the corridor, where he'd trained himself to do no more than touch her arm or shoulder. They headed for the lift with coats in hand.
"Cecily Carlisle, Malia, Lieutenant Greg Iverson from astrophysics, and twelve children ages four months to seven years. Nine of them are human, one Sulamid, one half-Klingon, and one Vulcan."
"Sulamid?" He knew there was only one on board, in the security department. "How did *that* happen?"
Deanna smiled, stopping just short of laughing. "Finally, something you don't know about. Sulamids mate once and store for future usage. They're hermaphroditic -- Lana'hest was born four months ago. He's only just getting large enough that Lana'hai feels safe in letting him out of the pouch. Lana'hest wants to meet other children."
"And we're supposed to babysit? Can he even understand our language?"
"He's just been fitted with a tiny vocoder. Are you sure you want to come with me? Kids can be chaotic under normal circumstances and -- "
"Dee, I can handle it. What are you looking at me like *that* for?"
"You've never expressed this much comfort with children before. It's. . . ."
He slowed, giving her a mercenary smile. "You're shocked by the idea that I'd actually put up with them?"
Her mouth snapped shut. "Well. . . no. You've been friendly to them when you meet them, and I'm sure being on a Galaxy-class for so long with a lot of -- we should hurry, we're going to be late," she exclaimed, stopping before she dug herself even deeper.
A couple in formal wear stared at them as they crossed paths in the corridor just shy of the holodeck. Jean-Luc ignored it. He'd grown accustomed to odd looks when he was out with Deanna, seen them become fewer and farther between, and this was just more of the same and a temporary situation. They wouldn't expect the captain to be babysitting on the holodeck, and they probably knew Deanna was. As they rounded the last junction and reached holodeck one, the sound of children singing off-key in high-pitched voices reached them.
And when Jean-Luc followed Deanna in the open door, all the singing died, with remarkable abruptness. Nine pairs of wide eyes, surrounded by warm knit hats, scarves, and red cheeks, stared at him. The simulation was already running; everyone stood on the covered front porch of a simple wood cabin. Malia stood nearby with Lana'hest in her arms -- a baby Sulamid looked like an absurdly-large golden tassel, and the little tentacles hung down the front of Malia's dark blue winter coat.
"Hi, Captain," Sarah Carlisle chirped, smiling and blushing and waving a mittened hand. "Hi, Counselor."
It seemed to crack the tension. Kenny, Malia's five-year-old son, broke from the group of carolers and launched himself at Jean-Luc. Catching him was automatic -- Kamin had caught his children many times, his grandchild many times, swung them up as they laughed with glee and their short arms found his neck. Kenny didn't laugh but his arms found the usual places. One of his little boots came too close to damaging something he would hopefully need later, so Jean-Luc shifted the boy's considerable weight further back against his arm.
"Hi, Captain Picard!" Kenny shouted point-blank, making him wince.
"Kenneth," Malia exclaimed sternly.
Then the other kids, probably deducing from his acceptance of Kenny's bold move that he welcomed it, mobbed him. Piping voices asked questions and little hands tugged at his coat, and the shier ones hung back to study him with huge eyes.
"Can we play starship?"
"Can we see the bridge?"
"Why don't you have any hair?"
"Can I have a piggy back ride?"
"How's Santa Claus gonna find us way out here?"
"Do you like egg nog? I like egg nog, Mommie said we could drink egg nog, if we were really good. . . ."
He put Kenny down, put on his coat while the children's burst of excitement dwindled somewhat, and studied the collection of eager faces. Malia looked on uncertainly; Deanna had gone to the Vulcan boy standing near the railing apart from the others, and the two of them watched with similar curious expressions.
He glanced out at the snowy fields in front of the cabin. Untouched whiteness, blue sky above, a fringe of pines around the edges, and bright sun. Authentically cold.
"Why aren't you playing in the snow?" he asked. They looked at each other, then at Malia, accusingly. Jean-Luc knelt and touched the shoulder of a little girl who looked about four years old. "What's your name?"
"Lindy," she blurted, then bit her lip.
"Ever make a snow angel?"
She shook her head -- her entire upper body, really. Another girl jumped forward. "I have!"
"Good! You can show us all how, then."
Which got the entire mob off the porch, falling on their backs in the field, laughing and creating shapes in the snow. Malia and Deanna exchanged incredulous glances. Jean-Luc straightened and approached the Vulcan boy.
"What's your name?"
"Sorahk. What is a snow angel?"
"It's. . . a representation of an old Terran mythological being, called an angel. Essentially a man with wings like a bird. Many Terran children who live in climates that allow for snow learn how to make them."
Sorahk looked over the railing at the other children. "To what purpose?"
"It's fun to make them."
Deanna smiled whimsically at it. She was about to speak, but Sorahk turned to face Jean-Luc again. "Like sand-patterning."
"Somewhat like, yes. Would you like to try it? Or you could try patterning the snow -- with enough pressure snow forms easily enough."
"Would you help me? I would like to make a sehlat."
"Can I help?" The voice sounded almost exactly like Lana'hai's -- the vocoder, of course. Startling that a four-month-old could be so articulate, but this was a Sulamid.
"I don't see why not. You should be good at it."
"If you get too cold, come right back," Malia exclaimed as Lana'hest leaped down with alarming speed and landed upright on the floorboards.
The snow on a holodeck felt real. He'd only been in a few simulations that featured it, and that'd been some time ago. He and Sorahk chose a spot a short distance from where the other children played and began heaping snow. He followed the Vulcan boy's lead, unsure of whether there might be a specific technique to what he wanted to do, but it appeared to be arbitrary enough. Lana'hest seemed more interested in making and throwing snowballs at them -- like any very young child, his idea of help apparently consisted of whatever he wanted to do in close proximity to the main action. Sorahk looked at Jean-Luc as if trying to deduce how to react, and when Jean-Luc did nothing he ignored the small irregular lumps of loosely-packed snow pelting him.
Jean-Luc noticed Cecily on the porch with Malia and Deanna, and later saw that Greg Iverson had also come in, the half-Klingon Dee had mentioned standing next to him observing the antics of the other children. By the time the sehlat took shape and Sorahk was shaping the long fangs and face of the beast, Jean-Luc noticed the human children had been joined by the half-Klingon boy, and that they were making a snow wall -- a fort. One of the girls was piling snowballs nearby. The endeavor was under way within easy throwing distance of the sehlat.
"Sorahk, the others are making a snow fort. Perhaps we should think of defending ourselves. They're going to start throwing those snowballs at us soon. We should make some of our own."
Sorahk stood, raising an eyebrow as he turned and tugged the cap tighter over his ears. He took note of the other children's activities and nodded once. "We could easily turn the sehlat into a barricade. Lana'hest, we need many snowballs. Pile them over here. Make them larger, like this."
While the snowball lesson progressed, Jean-Luc took a moment to stroll over to the porch. He brushed snow from his pants and looked up at the three on the porch. "Aren't you just a bunch of sticks in the mud?"
Iverson, startled, looked at Malia and Deanna. Malia propped her chin in hand and leaned on the railing. Deanna came down the steps and went with him, and a moment later the other two joined the rest of the children.
Deanna gasped in dismay at the alterations Sorahk was making. "That was such an impressive sculpture," she exclaimed, as Sorahk dug into the mounded side of the snow beast to provide a space for sheltering themselves. The back of the sehlat had risen nearly seven feet -- life sized, and they had sculpted it laying on its belly. Sorahk had knocked it down to about five feet, which was as high as he could reach comfortably.
"It is only a mound of snow, Counselor. We must defend ourselves." Sorahk used the flat side of a stick he'd found to level the top of the wall.
Deanna looked at Jean-Luc, amused. {Now I know why you wanted to play with the Vulcan.}
{Make snowballs, fortify the wall, or get out of the way.}
She bent to gather balls of snow. {You're not the captain I knew.}
He smiled and shoved snow against the outside of the wall for support, patting it down with gloved hands. She was right. This scene, snow everywhere and children playing, reminded him of his own childhood if he let it. Difficult to keep at bay the memory of Robert laughing with him as they crouched in their fort while the Mouton boys pelted them with snowballs. Robert didn't make fun of his younger brother's wide-ranging studies when it gave them the advantage; pouring water on the snow wall to make it harder so it would withstand whatever Henri and Jean-Pierre threw at them had been his idea.
Also difficult to keep at bay the thought that as children, Meribor and Batai would have loved a snow fort. But it had never snowed on Kataan, though there were stories of snow, years before the sun grew too hot --
Jean-Luc was grateful for the snowball that burst against the back of his bare head, the cold and wet startling him out of the downward-spiraling mood. He whirled to find that Lindy stood not four feet away, giggling wildly at him. He faked clumsiness, stumbling toward her, growling. Lindy squealed and ran from him.
"You frightened her," Sorahk said.
"Oh, no, she's quite happy." Jean-Luc patted more snow down on the top of the wall.
The onslaught began not five minutes later. He heard the Klingon battle cry, in the falsetto voice of a young child, and ran around the sehlat-turned-fort to find the largest pile of snowballs he'd ever seen almost forming another wall behind Sorahk. Lana'hest and Deanna had done a marvelous job.
"What are the rules?" Sorahk asked.
"Rules?"
"We have built two forts. Are there -- " Several snowballs struck the top of the wall and turned to powder, spattering them. Deanna dropped to her knees and joined them, snowflakes in her hair. Lana'hest zipped in, landed on Jean-Luc's back, and wrapped long slender tentacles around one of his arms.
"No rules. Just throw snowballs until everyone's had enough," Jean-Luc exclaimed over the excited shouting of the other children. A rain of disintegrating snowballs fell on them. Deanna grabbed a ball and pitched it, then another, and Jean-Luc followed suit. Encouraged, Lana'hest leaped and landed in the pile, then began a rapid fire barrage of the snowballs. Dismayed yelling told them the Sulamid's aim was excellent.
"How will we know what is enough?" Sorahk persisted.
"You'll see -- throw! Come on!"
As Jean-Luc predicted, the Vulcan had better coordination and aim than a human child of a similar age. The war cries from the Klingon boy -- Khest, Jean-Luc remembered at last from a brief conversation with his human father some months before -- came further apart. Finally, Greg stood up and staggered out on the battlefield, falling on his back in mock-demise.
"He is hurt," Sorahk cried, showing more distress than an adult Vulcan would.
"He's playing. Pretending. Don't worry about him. That's when you know someone's had enough. Here comes Sarah -- " Jean-Luc lobbed a snowball at the seven-year-old girl and caught her in the chest. She laughed, then spun around and fell on the ground.
By the end, everyone had fallen but Khest and Sorahk. Lana'hest had gone out with Deanna and plunked down in the snow without theatrics -- or perhaps he had, but who knew what a Sulamid considered theatrics. Sorahk threw snowballs for too long.
"Where is the logic in prolonging this?" Jean-Luc muttered, knowing Sorahk would hear him. His back was getting cold even through his coat.
Not long after, Sorahk came out of the fort and stood waiting. A snowball caught him in the head, and down he went, falling stiffly on the ground. Khest shouted a victory cry.
"Hot chocolate," Greg shouted, pre-empting any lingering competitiveness on anyone's part, and the field gave up its dead. Deanna was one of the first ones up the steps. Probably more to get out of the cold than anything else, Jean-Luc thought, watching her stamp and shake off snow.
In the bustle of many children vying for attention and beverages, Jean-Luc found himself feeling somewhat detached from the activity. Malia had commandeered the small replicator programmed in a corner of the simulated cabin. While the children swarmed and the non-human children watched curiously, Jean-Luc studied the simplicity of the one-room building and its warm earth-tone decor. Chairs and two sofas ringed the room, and a fireplace and Christmas tree with gifts under it took up one corner. An old clock ticked over the mantel. He wondered idly who had programmed this, and whether this represented someone's reality.
Everyone settled in for a story. Greg told the original Christmas story about the baby Jesus, and fielded questions from Sorahk until he couldn't take it and simply told the boy to let him finish the story. Malia told the children about Santa Claus and the elves, and a casual mention of flying reindeer brought about a long debate between her and Khest and Sorahk about the logistics of how a quadrupedal herbivore could not only fly but go fast enough to deliver presents to everyone on Earth. By the end of it, everyone looked a bit frazzled.
Jean-Luc had settled in an arm chair in the corner diagonally opposite the tree, out of the way, and was surprised by Lindy crawling up in his lap as Greg announced that the presents under the tree were real, and that everyone's parents had allowed for them to open one present now, before Christmas. While the other children crowded forward to claim theirs, Lindy laid her head on Jean-Luc's shoulder and wrapped her arms as far as they would go around him.
"I wish you were my daddy," she whispered.
It stunned him for almost five minutes. He barely breathed, too aware of the cap of fine brown hair just a few inches below his chin, of the warm heaviness of her sitting on his lap and her complete trust in him. Just like that. One snowball fight and a growl.
"What about your real daddy?" he murmured at last.
"Mommy said he would be here for Christmas if he could, but he couldn't. He had to be somewhere. He had to work." She turned pleading eyes to him, resting her chin against his chest. "But you're always here. You're the captain."
"I. . . Lindy, you already have a father. You. . . ." The hurt in her eyes was too much for him. "If you want, I'll be your uncle. Okay?"
She smiled and snuggled up to him again. "Okay."
"Hey," Kenny shouted, running over with his toy in hand. A starship, complete with winking running lights. He tried to climb up next to Lindy.
"Stop it," she whined, "he's *my* uncle captain!"
"That's not fair, how come she gets to -- "
"Kenny," Jean-Luc said, quiet but firm, in the practiced tone he'd once used on a distraught and stubborn Meribor. He added a hand on the boy's head. The unusual gesture startled Kenny to stillness. "I can just as easily be your uncle, too."
And that was the beginning of the end. Soon all four of the human children under five and Lana'hest were sitting on him, or on an arm of the chair, or in the Sulamid's case, clinging to his foot. And before he knew it, he was telling them the story of the Christmas he and his mother had set out in search of a Christmas tree and came home with an abandoned puppy. He changed the end of the story, to the puppy actually surviving after he and Maman had fed it with an eyedropper every few hours for two days.
And just when he thought everything was going smoothly, Lana'hest asked, "What's twistmouth?"
Jean-Luc glanced around at the other adults; Greg stood near the fireplace sipping cider, and Deanna and Malia had pulled chairs around to sit behind the ring of older children seated on the floor at Jean-Luc's feet.
"Do you mean Christmas?" he asked, looking down at the young Sulamid.
"You said when your brother saw the puppy, he twistmouth."
"Ah." The combination of a translator being too literal and Lana'hest being too young to understand. Jean-Luc had said 'grimaced' and the vocoder had translated, and the reverse translation back to standard English became 'twistmouth.' "I meant that he frowned. He expressed displeasure." Robert had been jealous, in fact. He'd bothered Papa for a puppy for months, been refused, and then Maman brought home this little helpless creature and fussed so that Papa couldn't refuse her the attempt at rescuing it. And she'd claimed it was Jean-Luc's, because he had been the one to hear the whimpering and find it half-buried in the snow with the others, all dead.
"Tell us another story, uncle captain," Sarah exclaimed. The request was seconded unanimously by all except Sorahk. So he told a Vulcan story, not of Christmas of course, but one that came close. The story of Surak, who brought peace to the warring tribes of Vulcan, told simply as he could. Which led to a story about Kahless, for Khest.
He lost track of time. When the holodeck doors opened and people came to claim their offspring, there were a few startled stares from parents as the children whined for permission to stay, but Jean-Luc nudged them on their way and off they went. Malia took Kenny when it dwindled to just Lana'hest and Sorahk, and as both children seemed manageable Greg went his way as well. Lana'hai arrived shortly after and thanked them as Lana'hest clambered up into the pouch on his parent's underbelly. Sorahk's father contacted him via the comm system; the boy thanked Jean-Luc and Deanna politely, excused himself, and walked himself home.
Deanna came to him and sat on the arm of the chair. "You enjoyed this," she murmured. "Most of it. There were moments -- "
"What are you doing up there?" He pulled at the back of her shirt and caught her in his arms, settling her in his lap. Her arms went around his neck, just as Kenny's had. "Much better," he exclaimed, patting her thigh.
She chuckled softly. They sat, the crackle of the fire the only sound, and he let his head fall against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.
Eventually her breathing evened out, and he knew she was falling asleep. He waited until the first light snore, then let himself remember.
"Papa, look! I got just what I wanted."
"Mimi, come sit at the table. Let your papa rest."
"Can we go outside, Papa? It's snowing again. Let's make a snow fort like we did yesterday!"
"No matter how many times I jump it, I won't fall."
He opened his eyes. The holo-tree didn't look like the one he'd had. Did have. Somewhere -- no, somewhen. No -- the Nexus was non-linear. Some part of him had always been, would always be, celebrating Christmas with a wife and children who had never existed. Who were, unlike Eline, Batai and Meribor, entirely constructs of his own mind. His fantasy. Children who never fought with each other, as had he and Robert. Children who had had a mother and father in complete harmony with one another. Who would never fall, never get hurt, never become estranged from him. Who would never really exist.
The Nexus gave you whatever you desired.
Everything but the real thing.
Deanna shifted in his arms and woke. She sat up, tears already in her eyes -- sympathetic tears. Her hand went to his face. "Jean-Luc?" she whispered, frightened by what she sensed.
"It's all right, cygne. Just remembering Christmases of long ago and far away. You're tired, let's go home."
She slid off his lap. The simulation vanished at a word -- fantasies did that. As they left the holodeck he slipped an arm around her. She looked askance at him for not keeping up the public facade of distance.
"It's Christmas. It's late. I don't care."
Wordlessly, she gave in, and leaned on him as if she needed it as much. It turned out not to matter, as they saw no one between the holodeck and their quarters.
"What's wrong?" she asked, pulling him to a halt as the doors closed.
For a moment, he considered. He could tell her. But reliving things that had only been fantasy would further drag him into the mood he'd been in that had resulted in his not attending Beverly's last Christmas party, and it wasn't worth inflicting it on Deanna now. Not to mention telling her of his wildest dreams might communicate expectations he had no right, at this point in their relationship, to express.
And, he realized suddenly, it might too easily remind her of her own son-for-a-day. No. Fantasies weren't appropriate.
He took off the still-damp coat, as it had gotten too hot once off the holodeck, and caught her up in his arm as he headed for the bedroom. "Some other day, cygne. Some other time. Let's rest, and talk about what we want to do tomorrow to celebrate Christmas our own way."
~^~^~^~^~
He woke the following morning to find Deanna still draped over him as she'd been when they went to sleep. Studying her face in repose at close range, he noted that her mouth still had a definite downward turn. He moved his shoulder a centimeter and she stirred. When she settled again, one of her breasts against his chest and an arm tightening over him, he kissed her forehead and reached for the panel next to the bed.
"Picard to Carlisle."
"Carlisle here -- yes, sir?"
"You have the bridge until after lunch, Mr. Carlisle, since that girl of yours has such devilishly-accurate aim. You should consider encouraging her in a career in sports, perhaps baseball."
Ward's unvoiced laughter tinged his reply. "Aye, sir. And I'll tell her that -- uncle captain. Carlisle out."
"Why did you do that?" Deanna mumbled.
"I wanted to stay here, with my Christmas present."
"Hm?" She peered through her lashes, too groggy to comprehend.
"Do I need mistletoe to get the point across?"
One eye opened. Her lips slowly turned the slight frown to a smile. She raised her head and threw a leg over him. "No, horny fish, you've made your point well enough."
"Hmm, no, I believe the point was your doing. . . ."
The lingering kiss heightened his arousal considerably. She hesitated, though. Only a second, but he noticed, thanks to heart fire.
"Cygne. . . ."
"What is it about children that makes you so sad? Is that why you were always so uncomfortable with them, on the D? They make you sad? You were good with the kids last night, they adored you. . . . They were so well-behaved because the captain came to play with them. I don't understand."
It didn't take much. He hated the way his mood fell. Lips against her cheek, he fought to forget the voices of children singing in French, laughing and flinging snow, climbing on his knee.
"Deanna, not now. Please."
"I'm sorry -- I didn't mean -- I'm worried about. . . you know what I want for Christmas?"
Shoving himself up, he rolled them over and looked her in the eye, nose to nose. "What would you like for Christmas?"
"I want to see you smile. Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"
"Did you hear what Lindy asked me?"
A pause. "Do you mean what she said when she curled up in your lap and you felt like someone had just shot you? I thought you were shocked by her wanting to sit in your lap."
"She said she wished I was her father. Because he had to be somewhere else, on duty, and I was always on board." It hurt again, made his eyes feel raw and his chest tight.
"Oh, Jean-Luc -- small children do that sometimes. It doesn't even mean they don't love their parents, they feel and they act and it doesn't occur to them -- "
"I realize that. I knew it even then. It just reminded me. . . of feeling that way. Wishing I had Henri's father as my own, because no matter what Henri did his father never yelled at him."
"I'm so sorry." Deanna settled on his chest and stroked his head gently. After a moment she slipped out of bed and went in the bathroom. Watching her walk away from him, her hair loose over her shoulders, he imagined what their child might be like if they were to have one. He wondered the entire time she was gone, which seemed like forever, most likely thanks to his mood.
Her return lifted his spirits somewhat. She nuzzled up to him, tugged the blankets over them again, and sighed. He held her close, let her believe his explanation only because the alternative was to admit to something that would be far more heart-rending than that. Someday, he would tell her. Just not now. Not with the voices of the Nexus still so clear to him.
Papa, let's build a snow fort. . . . Papa, look, the puppy. . . . Papa, help me put together the toy train. . . . Papa, can I have a piggy back ride? Please?
Deanna's hair brushed his nose. She felt heavier than usual, her elbow pressing too hard on his ribs, and even as he felt that, she sensed the discomfort and moved it. She had gone to great lengths to prove to him he could share anything with her, that he didn't have to protect her from his pain. But he wasn't ready to share this with her.
After the children's acceptance of him last night and the sense of contentment he'd had since she took up residence in his heart, he came to this -- at odds with himself, remembering what he'd deliberately set aside. She'd not been with him in the months following Veridian, hadn't sensed the aftermath, had gone on temporary assignment like the rest of the crew and returned for the launch of the E to find him in good spirits and ready to take command of the new ship. She wouldn't have known what he'd felt because he'd kept the emotions those fantasies had engendered locked up deep inside -- only to have them spill over when Robert and Rene had died. Only to find himself confronting the Borg Queen, again -- and remembering that which he had forgotten in the hazy insanity of post-assimilation trauma.
You need never be alone again, Locutus. You will never be alone -- you have me.
He had been in counseling often enough to know how to give just enough -- he had given it, after they returned from Earth's past. His uncharacteristic rage at being once more confronted by the Borg went on report as an aversion to the Collective due to the previous sufferings of assimilation. What a terrible patient. Counseling only helped when you told the truth. But he had told her the truth, just not all of it -- but he couldn't tell all of it. Not yet. In that silent part of him, locked away, he kept the knowledge that part of him had, for a mere second or two, actually found the offer tempting.
Even as he thought it, he had to put down revulsion. Traitor, Jean-Luc. Traitor.
But the Borg would never have left him, even when drones died. There would have always been the Collective. There would be no disharmony, no estrangement.
No. Better the Nexus, in its insipid unreality. Better the pretense of individuals than the blatant absence of them. Even that assessment rankled -- as Deanna had once told him, without the risk, the joy would not be so great. Without the black, the white would lose definition.
"Cygne, I'm sorry," he husked, stroking her hair. "I'm sorry about this mood. I'm trying to work through it -- I'd like to learn to enjoy holidays again."
"I know. It will be all right. Let's get up and get some breakfast."
At least she allowed him the privacy of his thoughts. His mood improved as they sat down to the usual, croissants and coffee. Spending time with her always helped. Their eyes met when the annunciator went off. He glanced down and tied his robe tighter, guessing it must be Geordi with a report he'd requested -- he'd forgotten it was due today. "Come in."
The doors opened, but no one came in. Raising an eyebrow, he was about to frame a question, but the persistently-off-key singing of children interrupted. Deanna smiled and went to look. He followed.
It was their group from last night, including Khest, Sorahk and Lana'hest. A group of parents stood further down the corridor watching with proud, amused smiles -- except Lieutenant Sovak, who merely raised an eyebrow, and Lana'hai, who had no visible mouth. All of the children sang, even Lana'hest, an uneven rendition of a song he hadn't heard before. The tempo limped, the vocoder sounded flat, Kenny half-shouted the words, and Khest bellowed to a melody all his own.
"On the streets there's children laughing
People smile as they are passing
Christmas time is here, our waiting is done
Wishing it could last forever
Not just twelve days in December
Through the year let's try to remember
That special way
That everyone feels
It's the magic of Christmas day
So fill your heart with love and joy
And through the eyes of girls and boys
Share their wonder, live through their joy
It's easy to do, just open your heart
The spirit will come to you
Oh and God bless us everyone
The good and the bad
The happy, the sad
Oh and God bless us everyone
Here's to family and friends
Till next time we meet again!"
When they finished the last excruciating verse, Jean-Luc joined Deanna and the parents in clapping. It was the most beautiful song he'd ever heard. Almost as beautiful as the shouts in high, piping voices of 'merry Christmas, uncle captain,' as they ran to their parents. Lindy raced in, hugged his leg, and ran out again, giggling. Then Sorahk marched up to him, holding out a box wrapped in gold foil. He took the gift, thanked the boy solemnly, and watched the group walk away. A few of the kids sang snatches of other songs. Malia, herding Kenny in front of her, blew a kiss and winked at him.
He turned, letting the door close, and opened the box. It contained a small sehlat figurine -- a near-perfect replica, molded in sand and made solid by the addition of some sort of shellac.
Deanna was grinning ear to ear. Too happy.
"You put them up to that, didn't you? Snuck into the bathroom and called Malia."
"I didn't ask for the figurine, just the song. Merry Christmas, Jean-Luc." She held up a sprig of mistletoe. "Now come get the rest of your present."
Her smile didn't waver, if anything grew larger, as he approached to do so. Once more, she'd proved to the tin man that all along, he'd had exactly what he thought he'd lacked. He had everything he wanted in reality, and it was as perfect as it should be. And he had no doubt that the remnant of him that existed in the Nexus couldn't know the joy he felt.
He had, after all, been in the Nexus himself -- once upon a fantasy.