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Kyle had shown up mostly unannounced. Everyone who knew him knew that he had a way with words. And he had managed to convince Captain Picard to not tell Will he would be coming aboard.
Will had done all he could to remain professional and composed, but Deanna could feel him slipping, fighting so hard, but slipping. And when regression finally took hold all he could do was scream and cry. And he had every right to.
She couldn't hear him screaming anymore but she could feel the pain and anger. It made her heart ache to leave him like that but he needed space. When he was ready she would go back, or he could come to her. Maybe there would still be screaming then, but she didn't mind that. If he needed to scream then that was exactly what she would let him do.
***
Deanna kept her composer as she talked to Kyle.
She sensed no remorse from him for the way his son's childhood had been, if it could even be called that. Will had practically raised himself, and after the age of fifteen he did raise himself. Yet, Kyle felt he was deserving of forgiveness and respect, that he should be given the credit for the amazing officer William Riker had become.
And for that Deanna wanted to hate him. Or perhaps she did. Hatred was an emotion she never liked to feel, it burned and was so prone to consuming a person. She never wanted to hate anyone, but Kyle Riker was trying to claim a spot on that list.
***
When she felt Will was ready she returned to his quarters. He hadn't locked the door, so she entered, and called for it to lock. He would regret this later if anyone else saw, and she couldn't risk that.
Some of his things were strewn about the floor. Nothing broken, but he had certainly tried. And Will was stood on the other end of the room, red faced and sniffling.
Deanna smiled softly at him, and he averted his gaze, "Do you feel any better?"
A high whine rose in his throat. He stomped his feet before leaning back against the wall and sliding down to the floor. Will tucked his knees up against his chest, he looked so impossibly small, and he buried his face in his arms.
"May I sit with you?" Deanna asked.
" 'm sorry." Will mumbled, slightly raspy from his undoubtedly sore throat, still hiding his face.
"You have nothing to apologize for." Deanna said, then she asked again, "May I sit?"
He said nothing. She didn't expect him to. His apology had been more than she had expected from him. She simply waited until his mind and body began to relax.
"Will, you have a lot of strong feelings about your father being here. Keeping them in isn't good for you." Deanna sat next to him, opening her arms slightly, and he leaned into her without a second thought, "Sometimes yelling can be good. But, usually, we like to deal with those emotions before we need to scream."
Will huffed and turned into her. She said nothing and held him. She stroked his hair and kissed his head.
Such gentle touches were so foreign to him after such a "childish outburst" as his father would have called that it almost became overwhelming. But he stayed. And as Deanna's lips gently met his hair again he began to cry.
He didn't try to stop it. It wouldn't have done any good to try.
Go ahead and cry, Will. It's okay. Deanna's voice was somehow more gentle in his mind.
And he cried harder.