Work Text:
Picard is working on a PADD when Will enters his ready room. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
Picard turns off the device without looking up. “Yes. Take a seat, Number One.”
Will does as he’s told. He waits, sensing that Picard is about to speak—several years of service has given him a bit of a sixth sense. Will is expecting news of reassignment, or of a difficult mission, noting the serious air about his captain. What Picard actually says surprises him.
“Are you alright?”
Will blinks. “Sir?”
Picard regards him levelly, without backing down. “I know you were cleared for duty. I am not privy to the details, but both Counselor Troi and Doctor Crusher have assured me that you are in a state to work. However,” he adds with emphasis, “I want you to know that you do not have to.”
Will doesn’t know what to say. He remains silent. It was bad, sure. But he can work. He wants to work. It’s the only way to avoid thinking about the fucking shitshow of a fortnight he’s had. Will is certain that if he says too much, Picard will realise just how tenuous his grasp on composure currently is.
“It may be the best thing for you to return to duty at this point,” Picard acknowledges. “It may even be detrimental to do something else. But that is hypothetical.”
Picard fixes Will with a clear blue gaze that quickly softens. Will feels exposed, and vulnerable, and then… cared for?
Picard cares about him.
He knows this.
He has always known this, logically. But it is easy to lose that knowledge in Picard’s collected everyday demeanour. Then something awful will happen, and he’ll get hurt, and Picard will be at his side with a kind word and a steady hand. Over and over, in a cycle stretching for years, and Will still hasn’t been able to get it into his mind that Picard cares about him beyond the workplace.
“Will,” Picard says, breaking through his thought. “I would not wish what you have just been through on my worst enemy.”
Will is used to this kind of phrase. People said things like it all through his teenage years— I can’t imagine what it’s like, Will. That’s horrible, Will. Would you like to come to my party? We’re not friends but I’m inviting you anyway because I feel sorry for you, Will. He always wanted out, wanted to be around people who didn’t know that his dad left him, wanted to be around people who didn’t care, because the half-hearted version of sympathy from the people who did know was humiliating.
Now he knows that actual sympathy—actual compassion—has a special quality to it. He trusts his friends on the Enterprise not to give him special treatment when shit like this happens, just because they feel sorry for him. It’s no longer suffocating to have his struggles known, because those who know actually care.
Will knows that Picard entirely means what he has just said. It is a strange knowledge to hold. Will wonders if this is what having parents is like.
Picard’s voice is very quiet when he continues speaking. “You are a remarkable man. I wish you didn’t have to be half as strong as these past weeks have required you to be.”
Will feels suddenly shaky. He clasps his hands tightly, trying to offset the sensation. “Thank you, sir,” he says, with a tremble to his voice. He swallows it away. He refuses to cry in Picard’s ready room, of all places. He will cry in his quarters tonight, over a cup of ice cream, just as he has for his whole life when he feels like this. He will listen to some jazz to calm his nerves and he will go to sleep. He will not cry in front of his captain.
Picard looks for a moment as if he wants to say something more. The impression disappears, and Picard closes his eyes. When he opens them, he has returned to his normal unflappable persona. “You’re dismissed,” he says, a bit gentler than usual. Take care, he’s saying. I’ve got your back. It feels a lot like kindness. It feels a lot like love.
Will leaves.