#stardate conversion

[elephant-in-the-pride-parade]

It took a whole season before one of the non-timey-whimey Prodigy episode logs wound up with a little stardate error.

I used Trekguide and Hillschmidt.de's calculators for this because I know some folks like both. (Trekguide bases its calculations off of a long list of canon calendar-to-stardate calculations. Hillschmidt just assumes that xx000=Jan 1 and xx999 = Dec 31, which I prefer because it makes star dates more predictable.)

Back to the point. Up until the final one, there really hasn't been anything off in the Admirals logs, which are my main source of how much time is passing in Prodigy. Dal only bothers to give a captains log with a star date in a handful of episodes and the one time HJ gives one that I recall is during the temporal nonsense in Time Amok, where we can assume the computer is a bit confused.

By both calculators: We can assume about a month passes between the kids escape into the Neutral Zone, ship repairs, and KJ's Mindwalk/Supernova part 1 log.

Things get fuzzy after that. Supernova part 2 says that there is 1 month between the battle and the kids arrival on Earth, which should mean that the post-Supernova part 2 log, 1 week after their arrival needs to be 5 weeks after the battle...

By both calculators... the time between the admirals logs it's barely 2 days. 😂

I computed some more accurate dates for the kids arrival and the admirals log. You can pop them into your preferred calculator to determine the correct stardates.

[tkbrokkoli]

the phasmid 😢😭

[insanewaykathy]

A conversation on the bridge between Janeway, Tom, Chakotay and Tuvok. Tuvok makes a comment about human emotions being irrelevant and Chakotay says this:

Then he says this as he looks at Janeway:

So Janeway looks at Chakotay like this… and Tom looks at her like this:

Tom looks at her like, "I know what you guys did on the last stardate" 🤣🤣🤣

And last but not least, we have Tuvok making this face:

I love them!

[chasingstardustandmoonbeams]

Once More (II)

A/N: Thank you for your patience! I hope you enjoy. Next update should (hopefully) come quicker.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: None

Masterlist & Playlist

You woke up with a start. You sat up, immediately reaching for your data pad. The stardate reads the same as yesterday - Thursday. 

This was real. This was happening. You sat up in your bed, mind reeling over the events of the last few days. 

Flicking on your data pad you made notes of everything you could remember. Uneventful morning shift, Ensign Sigala would offer you a cup of coffee, lunch would be spent with quickly and alone, the anomaly, drinks with Uhura and Ortegas, the turbolift with Spock. 

Spock. 

You needed to find Spock. 

Quickly, you got dressed, nearly falling over as you gathered yourself for the day. You quickly grabbed your data pad, now making notes about all the information you had managed to gather from the anomaly. 

You were still typing away as you made your way out of your quarters. If you could just lock on to the anomaly as it was happening you’d be able to figure out more. Why today? Why only you and Spock?

You looked up from your data pad as you rounded the corner. Spock was there talking to Nurse Chapel. They both looked directly at you. 

You faltered at your pace. Why- did she?

“There you are!” 

You turned to see Ensign Sigala coming towards you. He wore a bashful smile as he held out coffee for you.

“I wanted to make sure you had your morning cup,” He was smiling kindly at you, you tried your best to return the smile. 

“Oh, thank you, Ensign,” you managed to choke out. 

You felt his presence rigid behind you before you heard him speak. “Lieutenant L/N, Nurse Chapel and I need your presence in sickbay.” 

You looked between Spock and the Ensign managing one more small thank you before following Spock towards sickbay. 

“How did you -” 

“You requested that I find you sooner,” Spock made no motion to look at you as you followed him into sickbay. 

“Alright, Spock, what is going on?” Christine crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes looking between the both of you. 

You glanced at Spock before you stepped forward, “Christine, you’re never going to believe this,” you paused, “But I’m really going to need you to try.”

“Okay, now I’m just more concerned,” she dropped her eyes and moved closer towards you. 

“Spock and I, well we -” 

“We appear to be relieving the same day,” Spock added. 

Christine just gaped at the two of you. “What - you mean-” 

“Everyday is Thursday,” you sighed. 

“I believe we have completed the same loop twice, this being the third.” 

“How did this start?” Christine prompted, leaning backwards against one of the medical tables. 

“The anomaly-” you both say flatly. 

“And then it ends with the turbolift,” you swallowed, “We both sort of plummet to our death and then wake up again.” 

“And have we had this conversation before?” She asked, her head tilting a bit to the side. 

“No, this is our first conversation,” Spock added. “I wanted to inquire if it is possible to determine any abnormalities between Lieutenant L/N and I. This could help us to understand why only she and I have been repeating the day.” 

Christine simply nodded, picking up the tricorder, “Alright, well I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.” She paused making her way to a table. “Maybe if we -” 

Christine's eyes went wide, her hand reaching out to clutch her throat. 

“Christine!” you yelled as Spock reached out to help her. Christine simply fell to the floor, life quickly leaving her eyes. 

Your own throat grew tight, you tried to will air into your lungs but you couldn’t catch your breath. Desperately you looked at Spock, your hand reaching out to him before your knees buckled out from underneath you. 

“What….” you gasped, “Is….happening?” Spock caught you by the arms before you could hit the floor. His distressed eyes searched yours. 

“I do not understand,” he breathed out, his own breaths growing more shallow. He held onto your arms as you both sank to the floor. 

Your breathing grew more shallow as spots began to fill your vision. You have died twice now, this your third. Still, the fear had not left you. Only the feeling of Spock’s embrace tethered you. 

“Spock,” you whispered before your vision went dark once more. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You woke up gasping, your hand reaching for your throat as you sat up in bed. 

“What the hell?” you bit out. You threw the blankets off your bed and quickly got dressed. 

You opened your door walking towards the direction of the bridge. You bumped into Ensign Sigala who nearly spilled the coffee all over himself. 

“L/N, I’m so sorry! I wanted to-” 

“Not now Sigala, sorry!” you yelled out as you broke into a run. You felt breathless as you ran. You just needed to get to him. You could calm down once your eyes met his. 

You turned a corner to see Spock ready to walk onto the bridge. Quickly, you grabbed him by the sleeve and led him to a maintenance shaft. 

You stood directly in front of him. There was little space between you both. Your breathing came rapidly, your nerves and anxiety becoming newly unbearable. 

“What the hell was that?” you questioned, your eyes finding his. You almost took a step back, he looked tired. You didn’t think it was possible for Spock to look anything other than pristine. 

“I….do not know,” he managed to say, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“Why would that happen to Christine? I thought we only reset in the turbolift, but what if-” you stammered, “I don’t understand any of this.” 

You rubbed your face in frustration, anger and tears mixing together as your emotions boiled over the surface. You tried to steady yourself, crying wouldn’t help either one of you now. 

You could see the look of fear on Christine’s face, shock and confusion in her final expression. You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut. 

“We must continue to try and determine what is causing the anomaly.” Spock spoke gently as if trying to help ground you. 

Your eyes flicked to him, frustration clear across your face. “What do you suggest?”

“We can attempt to discuss this with the Captain and the bridge.” Spock’s expression was unreadable. There was something there - a lingering expression in his eyes that spoke of more than just exhaustion. 

“Okay,” you replied, your eyes downcast. “After you,” you signaled. Spock held your gaze for a beat more before straightening his posture and walking towards the bridge. 

You walked together silently as the bridge doors opened. 

“Ah, Spock there you are.” Captain Pike smiled warmly, “And Lieutenant L/N, this is a bit of a surprise. To what do we owe the honor?”

“Captain, if we may speak in private?” Spock stepped forward. Captain Pike gave him a questioning gaze. “Number One, the bridge is yours.” 

You both followed the Captain to his quarters. Your own anxiety began to flare up as Captain Pike leaned back against his ready room table. 

“Alright, which one of you wants to tell me what’s going on?” 

“We’re stuck in some sort of time loop,” you quickly said. 

“Excuse me?” Captain Pike spared you both a questioning look. 

“We have repeated the events of the day three times.” 

“I got that part Spock - I mean what is causing this to happen?” 

“I’m not sure,” you added, “last time we tried to figure out a medical reason Christine and I - we sort of choked to death. Every time before that Spock and I fell to our deaths in a turbolift.” 

“We believe it has something to do with the anomaly that has been intercepting our scanners,” Spock spared a glance at you before turning his attention back to Captain Pike. 

“The storm?” Pike reasoned. 

“Yes, Sir,” you breathed out. 

“Have we had this conversation before?” Pike was giving you both his full attention now. 

“No, but we -” 

“Captain Pike to the bridge!” Number One’s voice cried out through the intercom. “All crew prepare for a red alert!” 

“What-” 

All three of you were jostled to the side as the Enterprise lurched forward. A sickening groaning sound filled the room. 

You fumbled around for your data pad, your eyes looking at the current readings of the warp core. “It’s a core meltdown, we’re losing the antimatter containment. If we don’t eject the core…”

Captain Pike looked at you both, “Has this-” 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sat up quickly, your hand clutching your chest. You knew what had happened of course, the core breach had occurred, leaving the Enterprise to explode. 

You quickly got dressed, not caring for your appearance or data pad. You simply marched out of your door, avoiding by instinct everyone in your way. 

“L/N, I brought-” 

“Not now, Sigala,” you grumbled before making your way to Spock. You found him as you did before waiting for you in front of the bridge doors. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but you simply waved him off, “Let’s just get this over with.” 

“Ah, Spock there you are.” Captain Pike smiled warmly, “And Lieutenant L/N, this is a bit of a surprise. To what do we owe the honor?”

You let out an annoyed breath, Spock remained neutral. 

“Captain if we may-” 

“We need to talk to you, Captain, in private. La’an, you can come too,” you added making your way out the doors. 

You could feel everyone on the bridge looking at you, but you could not find the will to care. 

“Apologies, Captain, but Lieutenant L/N, is correct.” 

“Alright”, Captain Pike managed to get out. Wordlessly, you followed Captain Pike to his ready room. 

“Which one of you wants to tell me what’s going on?” Pike looked between the three of you, but La’an simply shrugged in confusion. 

“We wake up everyday, living the same day. We live, we die, we do it again,” you grumbled out. 

“I’m sorry?” La’an, narrowed her eyes at you in confusion. 

“I don’t know how I can make this more clear,” you sighed, rubbing the temples of your forehead. You could feel Spock’s eyes on you, but he made no move to correct your behavior. 

“We believe it has to do with the anomaly, with the storm it is quite possible we are experiencing a Cauchy Horizon.”

“What have you done so far?” Pike questioned. 

“We have spoken with Nurse Chapel, to her demise, and to you, Captain, to the demise of the whole crew.” 

“What exactly do you mean by demise?” La’an crossed her arms over her chest. 

“Christine and I choke to death and the Enterprise has a core meltdown,” you whispered half heartedly.

“And prior to-” 

“Captain Pike to the bridge!” Number One’s voice cried out through the intercom. “All crew prepare for a red alert!” 

“Oh, come one!” you yelled, throwing your hands up in exasperation. You didn’t wait to go through the motions, simply closing your eyes and waiting for the flash. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You both attempted ten more times. Ten more deaths of the Enterprise crew where the ship either had a core meltdown, a breach in the hull, or a gas leak. 

Every attempt you made drove you more and more to madness. 

You needed a break. You needed to just go through a loop without watching all of your friends die. 

You didn’t bother putting on your uniform, opting for more comfortable clothing. You slowly made your way towards Spock. 

“L/N, I have-” 

“Thanks, Sigala,” you mumbled, taking the coffee and walking in the opposite direction. 

You shuffled over to the bridge, where Spock looked at you questioningly. He, like you, had grown to look more disheveled as the loops continued. His usual pristine Vulcan appearance was growing more weary. 

“I think we can take a loop,” you sighed. “Don’t you?” 

He looked at you, really looked at you. “What do you have in mind?”

“Oh, I got a couple ideas.” 

You swore you almost saw his mouth twitch in a smile, “Lead the way,” he started borrowing the term from you. 

You smiled widely back at him. Yeah, you both deserved a loop, maybe two. 

[usstrekart]

I love what we get in "Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges." (S07E16, Stardate UNKNOWN) Subterfuge, ethical dilemma, cat and mouse and a fantastic conversation between Bashir and Ross in the end that elevates everything. There are some great questions raised here that are still relevant in today's world.

This episode just feels like a James Bond movie... but with more serious stakes. So why not honor that style of film with my episode poster?

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences (CW: Description of attempted suicide) Words: 5.4K~ Summary: There’s more to this story, Lars can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with Steven, something is distinctly wrong. And oh, does he hate being right. - When an unexpected visitor tumbles through the magic portal in his hair long after hours, breathless and bright pink, Lars must amass the courage to weather one of the most difficult conversations of his life.

Hey folks- this is a really heavy one, but it's a story I've been sitting on in my WIPs for a good four years and am very happy to finally set loose. A lot of personal experience has been poured into this particular fic, and I hope you enjoy.

Please take care and mind the content warning given above. If you're curious on what else this story entails, you can click through to see the AO3 tags as well. Love y'all!

__

Advocate

The Sun Incinerator’s bridge is unusually quiet tonight, with almost everyone spending the evening in their quarters. As such, the only sounds greeting Lars’ ears right now are the dull buzz of their FTL-drive and the gentle chimes of one of the ship’s secondary consoles in the back. (Padparadscha’s making some adjustments to the mainframe parameters, hoping to secure them more malleable control over each system’s energy output.) It makes for a rather meditative scene… focusing on these lulling, almost formulaic bits of white noise as he peers through the glass and watches entire stars and solar systems zip by as nothing but razor thin tendrils of light, the very fabric of space warping and folding around their ship in a myriad of hypnotizing colors. Content to simply be in this peaceful silence, he stretches back in his captain’s chair, allowing a wide smile to rejuvenate his countenance. There’s genuinely nothing more relaxing in all the universe than this.

Though, as he begins to muse upon today’s chaotic ventures of choice, it occurs to him that he hasn’t logged anything down for a good few cycles. And that really, really needs to change, he thinks. Keeping thorough audio records of their whereabouts and activities could prove useful if they get into any more legal scrapes with disgruntled Gems. Plus, it’s great for personal posterity— for when he and the fam want to kick back with some mixers and reminisce about old times.

He activates the mic embedded in the armrest of his seat with a single tap, and clears his throat.

“Logging… stardate one-three zero-five twenty eighteen,“ he begins, rhythmically tapping his fingers against the cool metal. “Or, uh… however that’s supposed to work,” he tags on with a bemused mumble, his nose wrinkling in personal annoyance as he realizes he might have completely jumbled the date format again. At this point, half of his logs are month first, then date, and the other half are date then month. Ugh, what a mess. Perhaps one day he’ll standardize the captain’s logging procedure, but that future is definitely not now. 

And knowing him, it’s probably not gonna be tomorrow, either.

He’s unable to help his exhausted yawn as he kicks back and unwinds, throwing his legs over the side of the armrest as he pushes ahead with his recounting of the last few hours.

“Today’s travels once again had us come face-to-face with our favorite frenemy Emerald, who claimed that her latest star cruiser had the booster technology to easily outperform all other Era 3 ships and challenged us to a race across the Stellaris Astroid Field in sector 9. We won, of course,” he says with a smug lilt to his voice. “The Rutiles’ savvy piloting saw to that, as well as Fluorite’s last-minute engine modifications. I think we hit like… a record cruising speed?” He presses his lips into a thin line and turns his head towards his friend working at the rear of the main deck. “Hey Pady? D’ya happen to remember what our top velocity came to during the final stretch of that race?”

She pauses in her self-appointed duty and hums in careful thought, sorting back through her eidetic knowledge of the recent past like it’s nothing but child’s play. “I believe… 181 klicks per second, nearing the speed of light.”

“And that was like… a record, yeah?” he asks, a sudden hair-raising twinge of… well, something settling deep at the pit of his chest. He ignores it for now. Such phantom pangs aren’t uncommon these days. He’s not exactly sure what causes it yet, and chalks it up to more ‘pink zombie’ weirdness.

“For our craft, yes,” she nods. “For all Gemkind, no. I was curious, as well. As far as I’ve read from Homeworld’s databases, the current non-FTL cruising record is 186.1 klicks per second.” 

Lars can’t help the scoffing chuckle that bubbles within his throat. “Ugh. Good grief, that’s basically light speed as it is. Like, leave some room for competition for the rest of us, yeah?”

Padparadscha gives a faint snicker of agreement as she turns her focus back to the ship’s mainframe interface. Right, right… she’s got work to get done. Which really reminds him, he needs to get back to his point too, or else this log’s gonna be stuffed with nothing but meaningless chit-chatter and asides. He sighs, leaning his cheek against the seat’s edge again.

“But in any case,” he continues into the mic, “our latest victory over Emerald seems to ha—”

With zero warning whatsoever that hollow pang at his core intensifies, its thrall pulsing louder and louder until it’s a thunderous cascade of static rippling through his very veins. He hisses in alarm, jamming his hands over his ears out of pure bodily instinct. This doesn’t help, of course— as this cacophonous feeling (not a sound, not some external input he can mute or modulate, but a feeling—) seems to be emanating from within, from a place all but intangible to the physical realm, from— 

He spies that oh-so-familiar glow emanating from the fringe of his hair just a split second before his surprise visitor tumbles through and throws off his center of balance, unceremoniously toppling both of them to the floor in a ridiculous tangle of limbs. 

Lars’ exhales become laborious as he extracts himself from under the teen and clambers back up to his knees, heart pounding with more fervent intensity than it has since he up and died a few years back.

And right on cue, about fifteen seconds too late:

“Captain Lars, Steven is about to cross through the portal in your head!”

“Yeah, I noticed, thanks,” he snaps in the shock of it all, feeling guilty for this snide remark the second it passes through his lips. (Because Padparadscha can’t help her compulsive ‘predictions.’ He knows this. Everyone knows this. He’ll have to find time to pull her aside and apologize.)

But not now.

Not yet.

Because the alarm bells rung by Pady’s next comment are enough to slap him right out of his brooding contemplation and back to the troubling here-and-now.

“I also predict that Steven won’t be in a very sound state of mind when he arrives,” she says, a noticeable tension building in her tone.

His eyes blow wide as he shifts his full attention to his friend, clad in a pair of sweatpants and a thin sleep shirt.

Steven is… oh, geeze. It seems Steven can’t even manage coherent speech right now. His cheeks are blotchy and raw with recent tears. He’s doubled over on the floor with one hand clutching at his center as he heaves for breath, glowing bright ass pink and looking halfway to hyperventilating. One thing’s for sure: it’s really, really hard to watch. His own chest growing insufferably tight in sympathy, Lars leaps to action, unwilling to let the poor guy wallow in the thickets of whatever the hell this breakdown is about any longer than he has to.

“H-hey…” he begins, edging towards him with the same slow deliberateness he always has to use with the rescue dog his parents recently adopted. And like, yeah— a part of him feels really rude for comparing his own friend to a skittish, fretful animal— but it’s a comparison that seems all the more apt the longer he drinks in the realities of this situation.

Because just like ol’ Maru, Steven is jumpy, horrifically on-edge, and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. 

Lars frowns, considering what few options he has.

Realizing his friend’s not likely to calm down very well so out in the open like this, he turns towards his fellow Off-Color. 

“Pady, I’m taking him to my quarters. Can you let the others know, and uh… tell them not to disturb us for a while?”

“Yes, right away,” she chimes, hopping off her seat.

“Thank you,” he breathes, expression softening. “I mean it. And sorry about— well, I’ll talk with you later, all right?”

Her mouth falling into a perfectly neutral line (even if she’s incapable of reading the future, he’s sure she’s intensely aware of what he wishes to speak to her about from mere context clues alone), the Gem serves him a solid nod of acceptance and spins on her heels, striding down the hall with a level of confidence he envies. The bridge’s door slides shut after her, leaving him and his glowing, pink hued guest entirely alone.

Alone, and incredibly, incredibly vulnerable, like a live wire flailing about atop a damaged Earth power line.

(The last thing anyone on this ship needs is him having one of his infamous explosive episodes here and compromising the bridge’s airlock system. Which is why his quarters— below deck and fully enclosed— is a far more ideal locale for them right now.)

“O-okay, Steven,” he says, holding out his arm in aid as the teen struggles to clamber back to his feet. “Let’s go somewhere private to cool down, yeah?”

~~

A few minutes later, Lars has Steven situated on the one plush sofa he keeps in his quarters. Since he no longer possess any biological need for sleep and thus doesn’t keep a bed, his room on the ship is pretty sparse— just a desk for journaling or gaming and some shelves with a number of sentimental knick-knacks he brought with him from Earth— but he did find it important to keep a couch. Even if he doesn’t need to sleep, curling up for a quick hour of shut-eye still feels quite rejuvenating sometimes. Plus, it’s handy to have whenever he hosts visitors. Like now. 

Lars sits himself down right next to the distressed teen. He’s still flushed bright pink, but has regained a fair bit of emotional stability compared to how he was right after tumbling out of the magic space portal in his hair. It might take a while until the glow fades away entirely, but it’s progress, at least. 

He sighs, rapping his fingertips against his jeans as he gives his friend some time in silence to cool down. The last thing the guy needs right now is for him to wave half a dozen questions in his face. He’ll talk when he’s ready. Or, hell, maybe not at all. That’s okay, too. Maybe he just wanted a place to have a quick little freak-out away from his family or girlfriend. Who’s he to judge? Sometimes a man’s just gotta be alone for a while. 

Of course, he muses, if Steven really wanted to be alone, then he wouldn’t have crossed through Lion’s mane over to him, now would he? So this visit can’t only be due to a desire for solitude. Steven sought out him— specifically him— for a reason.

That churning, hollow pang at his core radiates even stronger, pulsing at the same interval as the dull tick of the clock he has hanging up on his wall, the one he keeps set to Earth EST as an everlasting reminder of his humble human roots and all the people who care about him back home.

Finally— some ten or so minutes later— the seventeen-year-old stops glowing, that unnatural, otherworldly pallor fading into obscurity. The kid (sorry, but Steven will always be a ‘kid’ to him at this point, don’t matter his age) deflates in exhaustion, cupping his face in his hands.

Now a little more confident that his expressions of concern won’t rile him up to destructive levels of stress, Lars makes a gentle inquiry as to what brought him here. 

“‘Course, you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to,” he tacks on quickly when he sees Steven’s expression widen with an almost grief-stricken apprehension, “but since I’m here an’ all, I figured…”

His guest sucks in a deep, shaky bout of air.

“N-no, I wanna talk,” he says, voice painfully hoarse. “I came here to talk, but I— it’s just so, so much, I-I’m—”

Lars’ eyes soften. “Dude, it’s okay. Take your time.”

And take his time he does. Another minute or so passes whilst Steven continues to reel himself in on the emotional side of things, breathing slow and heavy as he levels a dead-eyed stare at the blank section of wall flanking the doorway and his desk.

“Connie and I had a fight,” he begins eventually, his tone streaked with embarrassment. “Over the phone.”

Lars’ brow shoots up. Huh. All right. This is absolutely not the opener he expected.

“Really? You two fight? About what?”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore. It was nothing,” Steven mutters, clenching and unclenching his fists against the soft fabric of his pajama pants in a markedly uneven rhythm. “Just me being an idiot, as per usual. I’m sure we’ll make up over it tomorrow. But the problem is that we hung up mad. And when I’m mad about something, it just… makes me mad at myself. A-and then it’s like—” anxious, clawing hands migrate to his head, gripping at his hair— “w-when I’m mad at myself I just spiral? And it’s so, so scary how fast that can happen.”

Ever so slight, his lip presses into a tense frown as he listens. He doesn’t interject, not yet. Steven’s not finished with his disclosure— there’s more to this story, he can feel it brimming in his very bones. He can feel it squirming around in the tangled coils of his guts, a primal, virulent rot that threatens to consume him from the inside out. Something is off with him, something is distinctly wrong.

And oh, does he hate being right.

“I just… couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Steven admits.

The aching hollowness etched into the contours of his friend’s face intensifies, if that’s even possible.

Lars swallows.

“It?”

“—about killing myself,” he rasps, “and finally being done with all this.”

…

So, he’s not gonna lie.

While— much like himself— Steven’s never been the sort of person to prefer wearing his most turbulent emotions on his sleeve, he’s long suspected something like this was going on with him.

He suspected (because he’s been right there in those trenches himself), but he never said anything. 

He never mentioned these worries to any of his guardians.

And he never asked.

‘Cause like, how could he, right?? What a horrible, triggering inquiry that would be. ‘Hey Steven, hah, so random question— you don’t happen to casually fantasize about your own death or anything sometimes, do you?’ Fucking hell, what an asshole he’d make. What a disgusting, disgusting breech of boundaries. He always hated it when his parents violated his trust by butting into his own personal business unprompted, so how could he ever turn right around and do that to Steven? To one of his most cherished friends in the whole galaxy? To the guy who— despite years and years of putting up with all his toxic bullshit and daring to see the good in him anyways— literally brought him back to life?

Thus, with him never volunteering any information himself, all that was left for Lars to do was watch. 

To watch, and to listen where he can.

But still.

He’s not gonna lie.

Even if he always kinda suspected, even if so many of their interactions this past year only acted as fuel for all his constant, silent worries, hearing the kid actually say those words hurts like a bitch.

…

“Steven…” he utters with widened eyes, extending his hand.

To no avail, though.

“And that’s stupid, right??” the teen blurts out with a broad sweep of his arms, either ignoring or plain not noticing his offer of comfort as he rants onwards, his demeanor growing more and more unstable with each and every syllable. “That’s just… stupid! Normal people don’t think like that! Normal people don’t make mistakes and instantly leap to the worst possible punishment and spin that little thought around, and around, and around in your head until you’ve considered a thousand different scenarios that all end the same way.”

He pauses for breath, his chest heaving in and out— probably amidst the exertion of being so damn honest for once. Lars doesn’t even make a sound within this brief span of quiet. A part of him is a little terrified at what else might spill out of his friend’s mouth now that the cork of his anxieties has thoroughly been popped off, but he’s even more terrified at the thought of derailing him, of unintentionally stopping these truths from ever being spoken.

“And it’d be so easy, too,” Steven says, his once manic tone dropping a little lower, into something that’s worryingly more akin to numb acceptance. “I already know exactly how I’d do it! All I’d have to do is smash my gem so I don’t heal, and slit my wrists, and let myself just—” his voice cracks— “drift away, b-but—”

Lars’ brow hardens with a sudden rush of understanding as the trajectory of the teen’s sentence trails on off. “But something’s… holding you back?”

He nods, swallowing so hard that he can see the resultant lump move along the center line of his throat.

“The problem is,” he says, voice raw and vulnerable, “I’ve already seen how my family would respond to that. To… to me trying to kill myself. When I turned into that monster, I— I don’t actually remember much about it, but what I do remember is that the last thought I had before I changed was eerily similar to what I’m feeling now.”

Momentary lull. He’s rotating a thought in his head with the same intensity of a set of steam engine gears grinding against each other, that much is obvious.

“I think… for me,” he continues with marked hesitation, “corruption was a form of suicide. Which means—” he grinds his fingers into the soft fabric of his pajama bottoms as if seeking out an anchor, any anchor at all— “I already know what that would do to them. And I hate that I do, b-because… ‘cause I’m just so tired. Of all of this. I just want everything to stop. I want to stop.” 

Lars can’t help but wince as he listens to the developing theme of this admission, to how each and every new word his friend weaves into existence falls into such dissonant harmony with the gloomy, directionless version of himself he’s worked so hard to let rest in the past. Hell, he might as well be looking straight into some weird, warped mirror of his own teenage years. His lungs seize tight upon this revelation. Instinctively, he extends his hand towards the guy’s shoulder, sobered by the understanding that he’s possibly the sole person in this entire quadrant who’s capable of conveying even an ounce of sympathy or comfort for what he’s battling through right now.

“Hey, man. It’s okay. It’s over, now, you’re here with me. Those are just thoughts, y’know?”

Steven shakes his head, the motion swift and drenched with the dread of all his unaddressed self-loathing.

“But they’re not, though…”

“Wait, what are you even—?”

“Because… this time I almost carried through with it.”

His expression crumples upon the advent of this spoken revelation.

Fuck, he thinks, wishing with every last brittle nerve in his body that this conversation didn’t just swerve in the exact godawful direction he always feared it might. What the actual fuck.

He is so not equipped for this. 

With literally nothing else in his arsenal but the drive to bite his lip and listen, Lars motions for him to continue.

Sniffling, the teen backs his story up to provide what little context he feels comfortable with sharing. 

“After Connie and I’s fight… well, my dreams were really, really bad. So I woke up. Alone. And I started spiraling real bad again, an’… and then before I could even process what was happening, I—”

Sweet stars, is the poor guy trembling as he struggles to push this admission out. With a brief waver of hesitation (‘cause in normal circumstances, he’s not huge on all this touchy-feely stuff), he reaches over, angling to rest one of his hands over Steven’s.

“I had the knife in my hand,” he says. “And a pestle from the kitchen, to smash my gem. B-but I just… I just couldn’t do it! I’m just a coward, Lars! A stupid fucking coward who can’t even—”

He doesn’t utter a single syllable. 

He doesn’t even think. (How could he, in such fraught circumstances?) 

Limbs trembling in an outright terrifying cascade of adrenaline he hasn’t experienced since the day he finally found something worth existing for, Lars surges forward to wrap him into what’s gotta be the tightest, most sincere hug he’s given in his whole twenty-one years of life.

And thankfully, such an impulsive interjection is all it takes.

The walls his friend’s erected around himself this past season topples like wayward dominos. They smash against the ground, crumbling into vulnerable, vulnerable fragments. 

Steven sobs into his shoulder with a raw, shattered fervency that stretches leagues beyond any outpour of emotion he’s ever witnessed from another living person. It’s messy. It’s visceral. And in the precise context of this intensely specific turn of events, it’s a damn cathartic relief… because when it comes to training your brain out of a deep-rooted death wish, feeling anything— literally anything at all— is step number fucking one.

“I wanted to die so badly,” the teen warbles, his ugly mixture of snot and tears staining his shirt all the while. “B-but… I’m just such a worthless, pathetic failure that I can’t even do that right!”

He can’t help but cringe at this admission, but resolves to remain silent, not wanting a gentle pushback to such brutal self-loathing to spook Steven away from showing any shred of vulnerability whatsoever. He’s been there plenty of times himself. After all, when a person who’s caught in such a void of hopelessness and despair makes a last ditch appeal for help, they’re usually not looking to be told ‘everything will get better in time, you’ll see’ or ‘don’t be so hard on yourself, you’re not a worthless failure at all,’ or whatever other empty attempt at reassurance someone who doesn’t have such intimate experience with depression and suicidal ideation as he does might come up with. In many cases, such people are simply vying for their bleakest, most private feelings to actually be heard for once in their lives. 

The moment’s sanctity unhindered, the boy continues to cry against his shoulder for a good long stretch of time. Lars barely even breathes as he sits perched at the very edge of that couch, consigned to nothing but a statue as he holds him within what’s gotta be a record for the galaxy’s most awkward and stiff embrace ever shared.

A miniature eternity passes within this space before those sobs finally begin to lighten up.

“‘M sorry,” Steven mumbles through a face full of snot, pulling away from his offered comfort as a flicker of shame wrests control of his features. 

Lars shakes his head in a vehement refusal of the habitual guilt spiral he’s sure the guy’s a split second from slipping right into. “Dude, don’t be. Stars, I— I’m just glad you came over to me, okay?”

Then, swallowing… and doing his upmost best to consider the most respectful way to broach such a sensitive topic, he continues:

“I… I don’t mean to pry, but… are you… taking anything for this?”

Steven’s glassy expression scrunches into a configuration that screams nothing but blank confusion. “What?”

“Like… medication, or—?”

A bright understanding dawns within his gaze like the glow from a passing star system, before immediately collapsing inwards into a bitter, shadowed singularity. 

“No… no,” he protests, gesticulating all the while, “I keep telling everyone— my therapist, my dad, the Gems— I don’t wanna take any medicine! I’m not sick, I’m not, I don’t need drugs in my brain, I just— I just need to stop acting like this, just need to do better, to be better, I-I need—”

“Steven, no offense, but it’s called mental illness for a reason,” Lars says in the most deadpan tone he can muster, crossing his arms as he leans back upon the plush of the couch cushion. “Your brain is ill. That’s literally what this is. If you had the flu, you’d be taking flu medicine to help yourself get over it, right?”

“I’ve never had the flu,” he says in miserable contradiction.

“Yeah, well— come on, man, just work with me here,” he half-snaps, throwing a hand up for emphasis. “You agree that someone who is ill deserves medicine to feel better, right?”

The teen merely shrugs, his features growing cold and sullen. And good golly does he super want to smack all this noncommittal, self-sabotaging bullshit out of his stupid fucking system right this instant— because it reminds him so damn much of himself, and he hates that it does— but… aughhh. He’s gotta be more mature than that, doesn’t he?

As the older of the pair, he’s gotta be the role model here. 

“Then, don’t you think you might benefit from the same thing?” he presses.

Steven responds in the negative, swiveling his head from side to side. “I don’t know how it’d interact with… well—” 

He flashes a sharp gesture towards himself. More specifically, towards his very center, where his gem sits. Lars has no need to live inside his thoughts to pick up on the tricky little issue he’s hinting at here… he’s worried about how human medications would interact with the complexities of part-Gem physiology. And to be fair, it’s a reasonable concern to have.

But then again…

“That’s how it is with humans, too,” he shrugs. “It takes some people a lot of trial and error to find a drug and dosage that works for them. For once, you wouldn’t be any more an unusual case than anyone else. Do what you want, but—” deep inhale— “if it were me, I’d really consider talking with a psychiatrist about this.”

The teen issues a dull huff through his nose. It’s the sort of response that makes it clear he reluctantly agrees with Lars’ logic, but should he actually follow his advice— and stars, he hopes he does— won’t be doing so with a willing heart. That’s fine, though. Sometimes, being the most supportive friend one can be means that the other party won’t always like what you have to say. He knows this from intense personal experience… from being the person on the other side of this kind of conflict. Sadie was never afraid of serving him the tough love and cutting perspective he needed when he opened up to her about his own experience with suicidal ideation, and he’s forever grateful for that. Thus, the least he can do now is try to be that kind of advocate for Steven, too.

Which brings him to the next vital topic rattling within his brain.

“Oh, and one other thing,” Lars says, folding his hands in his lap and looking him directly in the eye. “This is important, so please be honest with me. Have you told anyone else you’ve been struggling with these kinds of thoughts?”

“Not really,” he mumbles, his own gaze slipping aside amidst the turbulent throes of his clear shame. “I just… I wanted to deal with this myself. I don’t want them to be disappointed. They all think I’m doing so well these days, but then—”

“Steven.”

There’s no acknowledgement of his call, at first. He’s just too damn tangled within his own thoughts— expression glazed over and restless fingertips drumming in an endless thrall against his thigh.

“Steven, come on. Look at me,” he implores, interrupting his manic fidgeting with the reassuring solidity of a hand over his. “Please. Promise me, when you go back through my head, you’ll call someone else— anyone else— and tell them. Tell them, and then have them contact me. I want to hear you promise.”

“Lars…”

“Promise me,” he repeats with an even stronger fervency, his normally sluggish heartbeat surging halfway to its old full-strength status quo. “Listen, I don’t want to invade your privacy any more than you want me to, but if you don’t do this by the end of tomorrow… if that very clock—” he jabs a finger towards the so-mentioned object hanging upon his wall— “hits midnight and I don’t hear anything from your family… then I’m calling your father and telling him myself.”

Steven’s expression twists with a sharp jolt of dismay, his mouth falling ajar. Lars cuts off any pending protests with a swift flash of his hand and continues undeterred.

“I’m not joking. I’m like, a billion light years in space, man. You need someone closer to home in your corner, too.”

Unable to ignore the hard hitting truth of this statement, his friend finally acquiesces to his request, his shoulders slumping inwards.   

“Fine,” he mumbles, folding his arms to his chest. “I promise I’ll tell Dad.”

“Thank you,” he breathes in sheer spine tingling relief. And by golly, does he uber mean it. 

Because holy shit, have the past fifteen or so minutes of conversation been an absolute stress-soaked ordeal. He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so emotionally exhausted in his whole ass existence.

“In the morning, though,” Steven adds. “I—” the kid heaves a long, exhausted sigh— “I really don’t think either of us are prepared for that kind of conversation this late.”

“Absolutely fair enough.”

His friend sniffles a little, gaze averting once more. “Can I— can I stay here, for tonight? I really, really don’t want to be alone right now.”

“Of course,” he nods. In his mind, Steven’s request was never a matter up for debate. “Always. I’ll… I’ll go get some blankets.”

Hooking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans, Lars pushes himself off the couch and slowly shuffles his way to the door. (The storage closet he keeps all his extra personal elements in is a short distance down the hall, past Rhody and Padparadscha’s shared room.) He keeps his expression as blank as he can muster… at least until he’s moved well out of both visual and auditory range. And then… once he’s absolutely positive that Steven can’t overhear… all that built-up worry and emotional strain simply overflows.

He’s not outright crying— not in the way that others might— but damn if he’s not real close to it.

Lars’ whole body shudders with a burst of delayed grief as he braces himself upon the closet door. He clamps a hand over his mouth, stifling the impact of the shaky exhale that spills from his lips otherwise unhindered. Just… fuck. What the fuck. All of this feels like a horrible nightmare. When the hell did things get so bad for him? Who let things get this bad? Is he at fault—? Like, geeze— he always knew something felt awry with the kid (and that’s half the issue, isn’t it? He’s not just a sweet little kid with simple lil’ problems anymore, and in many ways he never was), but should he have said something? Confronted him about it? Told his guardians about his concerns, privacy be damned? 

He grits his teeth as he muddles over all the infinite complexities of this problem.

Ugh.

What if, what if, what if.

It’s all useless conjecture.

The bottom line is, Steven doesn’t deserve any of this. Not then, not now, not ever. He shouldn’t have to be dealing with any of these horrid, horrid thoughts. Stars, if anything had happened to him— if he actually did follow through with his plan, then—

Lars drops his head against the door panel, doing everything within his power to will the thought to evaporate from his mind.

No.

No��

He doesn’t even want to consider that possibility. Steven’s like a brother to him at this point. It’s not gonna happen. Not now, not ever. Not on his watch.

He’s not sure how yet, but he’ll make damn sure of it.

…

Once he’s cooled himself down, Lars returns to his quarters with a couple of blankets in hand.

Upon passing through the doorframe, he’s met with a somewhat reassuring sight: Steven already sound asleep on his ratty old couch, curled up against the armrest and snoring softly. Heh. He sure doesn’t blame him for tuckering out so soon. Poor guy must’ve been exhausted after such a rigorous emotional outpouring. Moving with calm intent so as not to disturb him, he quickly lays the blankets across his slumbering form before retreating to the far wall to keep watch for the night. He stretches back against the metallic panel, inhaling as deep as he can muster to erase the quavering tension staining his countenance.

Standing vigil over a soul in need… just in case.

[kittenwriter]

Timeframes, the bane of my existence. I mean, sure, some of the timeframes I'm just inventing my own because canon is vague. (Stardates I'm ignoring entirely; they're extremely inconsistent across all shows.) But there's always "how much time passes between scene jumps" and that's frequently a tremendous pain.

In this particular instance, how much time elapses between the scene with O'Brien in sickbay getting initial tests and the conversation where Dax goes aphasic? Enough time for Kira to examine O'Brien's entire duty log, even if she hasn't actively retraced his steps yet, which also means enough time for Bashir to figure out that it's necessary for Kira to do this thing. And doing it probably takes a while given that the standard Starfleet method of keeping duty logs seems to be auditory or video; you can't just skim it. (I imagine future tech is better at automatic transcription, but for something like this you probably don't want to rely on that.)

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 11 – A/B/O

Unraveling by Wikketkrikket

Pairing: Steve/Fem!Tony Rating: G Words: 6,765 Tags: Knitting, Getting Together, Art Block

Summary: Steve has an art block. Toni has an idea: knitting. Because maybe Steve isn’t the most Alpha-y Alpha everyone thinks he is after all.

Reasons why I love it: I really love it when A/B/O stories get into issues with gender roles, and this fic is a prime example of that. Toni and Natasha's conversation is super well written as the turning point of the fic, and I absolutely adore Steve's emotional arc. This fic is amazing, and I highly encourage you to check it out for yourself!

something just like this by stardating

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: G Words: 5,212 Tags: Pre-Serum Steve, Asexual Steve, Mating Cycles

Summary: Upon returning home from a way too long business trip, Tony finds that some things have exploded in the last few hours. It leads to some surprising revelations.

Reasons why I love it: I really like how this fic handles preconceptions and turns them on its head. Tony and Steve's relationship dynamic fits super well, and I love the way they seek comfort in each other. This fic is lovely, and I hope you give it a shot!

Into You Like a Train by Marv_aka_Kitten_Writes

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 1,508 Tags: Pre-Relationship, Therapy, Animal Shelter

Summary: When Tony meets Steve, it's love at first sight, more or less. It's also chaotic, messy and a complete disaster.

Reasons why I love it: Yes please, give me all the Tony-getting-punched-in-the-face-by-Steve's-pheromones goodness. I love how they're so prickly in the beginning but still manage to get past it. Plus, the idea of Tony volunteering at an animal shelter just to stick it to Obie makes me unreasonably happy. This fic is great, and I hope you check it out!

Knot me not by orphan_account

Pairing: Steve/Tony, Background Steve/Bucky/Tony Rating: E Words: 3,090 Tags: Armor Kink, Alpha/Alpha, Knotting

Summary: When their omega is away on a black-out mission, alpha Steve and alpha Tony resort to using the armour as a very fancy fleshlight when Steve goes into rut.

Reasons why I love it: Holy shit, this fic is so hot. I love alpha/alpha in general, but this one is especially good, all the aggression with that underlying love and care, it's perfect. Plus, Steve having a thing for Tony's armor and extremis specifically? It's like my birthday came early. This fic is incredible, and you should definitely read it!

Steve First. by LetMeMarvel

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: NR Words: 3,936 Tags: Mpreg, Pack Dynamics, Fluff

Summary: Honestly, their first clue should’ve been the subtle shift in the pack’s behavior.

Reasons why I love it: Oh my god, the team is so PRECIOUS in this, I can't! Everyone waiting on Steve hand and foot is the cutest, and honestly, he deserves it. Plus, the joy of Tony and Steve finding out what's happening made me smile like an idiot. This fic is amazing, and I hope you check it out for yourself!

[storymaker14]

Intersecting Lives

"I met him once… Many years ago, very briefly at his son's wedding. I can tell you, it was quite a moment for a young lieutenant. Standing in the presence of such history… I remember he spoke to me, and I just stood there grinning like an idiot."

"You, tongue-tied?"

"Indeed. How do you make small talk with someone who helped shape the Federation?"

– Captain Jean-Luc Picard and Commander William Riker, about Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan, stardate 43917.4 (late Earth year 2366)

ShiKahr District, Vulcan

Earth Year 2329

“I assure you, Lieutenant: no one in my family bites.”

Picard was snapped from his distracted reverie by the words, and by the woman sitting down beside him. He’d thought he’d found a good, inconspicuous place to sit and observe the post-ceremony gathering, and also the legends of the Federation, Starfleet, or both mingling about in the more central areas. He turned to face the person who had spoken, and found himself facing a Vulcan woman, definitely in the early portion of a Vulcan lifespan; she was wearing extremely formal robes over a dark blue gown that was perfectly modest but did wonders in flattering her form, and her dark-brown hair was arranged in impeccable, artistic curls. She was, in a word, striking. “I’m sorry,” he said, telling himself not to gawk, “what did you say?”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “You have spent several minutes alternating between staring at my grandfather, my father, and my mother. It would seem logical to assume that you wish to engage one or more of them in conversation, but are hesitant to do so. So I employed a Human idiom to express that there is no need for hesitation in speaking with any of them.”

He tried to determine whether her stereotypically-Vulcan hyperformality was genuine, or whether it was an act. After only a few moments, though, the full import of what she had said registered: her family. “Ah,” he said, and for a few seconds, that was all he could manage to say coherently until at last: “Then you would be –”

“I am T’Val,” she said, with a nod of acknowledgement. “Daughter of Ambassador Spock and Commander Saavik, granddaughter of Ambassador Sarek.” After a beat: “And you are?”

He resisted the urge to tug at his dress uniform’s collar or straighten his jacket. “Lieutenant Jean-Luc Picard, ma’am.”

“Lieutenant Picard,” she replied. “Also, you do not have to refer to me as ma’am. Miss would be more proper in this case, as I am neither married, betrothed, nor very old.”

Picard coughed gently in embarrassment. “I apologize, Miss T’Val; I did not mean –”

“Although,” she continued, “simply calling me T’Val would be acceptable as well. It is, after all, my name.”

Picard’s mouth shut with a soft but audible noise. Several things became clear to him with that statement. Calling a Vulcan by their name without any sort of honorific was a sign of a close relationship; for her to offer it within a minute of their meeting was strange, yet not fully inexplicable. It would also resolve the question of whether her hyperformality was genuine. On the contrary, Jean-Luc Picard realized that she was flirting with him. Immediately thereafter, he realized he didn’t mind at all. “If that would be more comfortable for you, T’Val.”

“It would,” she said, the hyperformality gone, replaced by a twinkle in her light brown eyes. She looked about his same age, perhaps a bit older, yet if Picard recalled correctly, she was not quite two decades older. But then, older women were a weakness of his. “If you would prefer, though, I can continue calling you Lieutenant Picard.”

He considered it. “That might be more comfortable for now.”

“I understand,” T’Val replied. She seemed to be scrutinizing his face, and he couldn’t quite place why. “You clearly don’t serve with my mother aboard the Armstrong, or you wouldn’t be so hesitant to speak to her; may I ask where you do serve?”

That felt like more solid ground, and he took it gratefully. “I'm the alpha-shift helmsman aboard the Stargazer,” he explained. “We ferried a few notable guests to the wedding.” He looked back into the crowd, but this time sought out a certain silver-haired admiral; he found him sitting at a table holding a mint julep and having a boisterous conversation with those around him, an enormous smile on his face. Picard’s recollections of the man’s amiable grumpiness brought a smile to his face.

T’Val followed his gaze and knew exactly who he was referring to. She opted not to mention that she frequently called the elder human Uncle Leonard; he seemed starstruck by association enough already. “I take it you flew the shuttlecraft down, then.”

“I did,” he said. Otherwise he doubted he would have even been present at this ceremony, even along the outskirts. But the admiral had made it clear, with an irascible tone and a twang in his accent, that this young man is with me and he stays, and that had been that.

“So, Lieutenant Picard,” T’Val said, facing him again. “If you still wish to speak to my family, I would be more than willing to introduce you. It would help facilitate your communication.”

He looked at Spock and Saavik, being social at their own wedding, greeting and expressing their appreciation at the presence of people Picard still thought of as legends. “I wouldn’t want to disturb your parents,” he said, even as the words felt strange in referring to the bride and groom given who they were. “I’m sure they have plenty of people they need to interact with.”

“I suppose you’re right,” she said, looking at the two of them, knowing them well enough to know that they were deeply happy and satisfied in that moment of finally formalizing their relationship after so long – and after her, for that matter. “In that case,” she said, standing, “will you accompany me for a moment?”

Confused but more than willing to follow her, he rose to his feet. “Of course.”

“Excellent,” she said. To his surprise, she laid a hand on his back and began to half-guide him as they started walking. “This way,” she said.

His deep surprise at the physical contact lasted just long enough to understand where she was walking, and what was about to happen. “Miss T’Val,” he said in abrupt panic, trying to conceal it and defaulting back to formality.

But it was no use. Without replying to him, she made sure she had the attention of the man they were specifically walking toward and said, “Hello, Grandfather.”

Ambassador Sarek turned to face the two of them, and Picard could feel his intestines liquefy under that gaze. “Granddaughter,” Sarek replied.

“This is Lieutenant Jean-Luc Picard, helmsman of the USS Stargazer. He had been hoping to speak with you, among other members of our family. Lieutenant Picard,” she said to him with undeniable amusement at his flushed face, “this is my grandfather, Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan.”

Jean-Luc’s jaw worked up and down inside his mouth, trying to find something, anything to say to this remarkable man. Sarek, for his sake, merely nodded. “Lieutenant Picard. You have my appreciation for attending the wedding of my son and his bride. You are welcome here.”

Picard could feel his mouth curling into a smile without his express permission. He hoped it wasn’t too absurd of a smile, but judging from the fact that T’Val looked even more amused, he assumed it was. “Ambassador. It’s very kind of you to have me here, and to meet you –” Already it was going wrong. “I mean, it’s an honor to meet you, sir. Your efforts in building and preserving the Federation are –” The correct words slipped from his mind, as did all the others momentarily. “Well, it is an honor.”

T’Val looked at her grandfather, who was regarding the lieutenant with gentle confusion, and possibly a trace of pity. “I thank you for your kind words.”

Having thoroughly embarrassed himself in front of a legend, Picard opted to find a comfortable place to curl into a ball and gently expire. Or, to a lesser degree, extricate himself. “If you’ll excuse me, sir,” he said. Then he turned to T’Val, and for a moment wished he could be angry. But no; that had been well-played, and anyway, he’d enjoyed their conversation. “Miss T’Val, it was a pleasure.”

“Lieutenant Picard,” she replied. “I hope you find the rest of the ceremony enjoyable.” Without another word, Picard walked off; she was uncertain whether he would return to the area she’d first spotted him, or whether he’d find somewhere even less conspicuous.

Once the lieutenant was out of sight, Sarek turned to her and said, in a low tone, “Granddaughter, that was unkind.”

“Perhaps,” she admitted. “But he will likely tell the tale of meeting the great Ambassador Sarek for years to come, even if the meeting was brief.”

“I suppose,” he said, sounding as if his infinite patience was being tried, just a little.

“Besides,” she added, “he has a presence about him. It suits him well.” After a moment’s thought, she added, “And so does his uniform.”

That prompted Sarek’s eyebrow to raise as he looked at her and she remained focused forward. “He is very young, T’Val.”

“And since when,” she replied, “has anyone in our family been mindful of age differences in relationships, Grandfather?” She looked at him and returned the raised eyebrow.

It was clear Sarek was doing some calculations, about both himself and his late wife, and about the bride and groom. Once the math was done, his eyebrow returned to normal. “That is a fair point, and I concede it to you.” He took a deep breath as T’Val forced the amusement off her face. “No doubt this penchant for mischief is inherited from someone other than me.”

“No doubt, Grandfather,” she agreed, and his face could not hide the warmth he felt toward her. She looked out at the crowd once more; Lieutenant Picard remained out of sight. In her opinion, he was a man of bravery under extraordinary circumstances – even if she had imposed those circumstances herself – and he had the beginnings of a bearing that she expected him to grow into very well as he grew older. Plus there was no denying he was handsome, for that matter.

Idly, she wondered if they might meet again someday.

T’Paal, Vulcan

Earth Year 2363

INCOMING REALTIME CONNECTION REQUEST – CAPTAIN SAAVIK, USS HYPATIA

Her desktop monitor’s screen pinged softly but insistently, and T’Val sighed, accepting that her concentration was thoroughly broken. It was just as well: her latest creative work was an attempt at an abstract sculpture, and was proving to be of far more worth intellectually than aesthetically. Besides, it was her mother calling. She wiped her hands on her light work robe to remove the clay, then said, “Accept connection.”

The screen lit up to reveal her mother’s ready room, and her mother sitting at her desk facing the viewer. As always, there was a still image of the two of them and her father clearly visible behind her; T’Val frequently wondered if the placement was intentional or not. “Daughter,” Saavik greeted her simply, looking comfortable in her Starfleet uniform – T’Val still wondered how, sometimes, given how awkward they looked.

“Mother,” she replied. “This is unexpected, but welcome.”

“I do not wish to interrupt anything,” the captain replied. “How is your current artistic endeavor proceeding?”

“Not to my satisfaction, so this is not an interruption.” T’Val said. “I am unlikely to complete it, nor allow anyone to see it.”

“I understand,” Saavik said, and T’Val suspected that she wanted to see it anyway, but would respect her wishes. “It is concerning your art that I am contacting you. I recall that you painted an image of a Galaxy-class vessel in flight some years ago.”

“I did,” T’Val said. It had been completed en route to Earth two years prior, and was one of her preferred works of her own; whenever she grew uncertain of her talents, she would often remember it, even look at it to remind herself of her skill. She had been taking many looks at it during her current project.

“Do you still have it?”

“I do; why do you ask?”

Saavik adjusted her posture in her chair, and T’Val took this as a sign of the import of what her mother said next. “It is not public knowledge yet, but the captain of the third Galaxy-class starship has been named for when it is expected to launch later this year. I seem to recall your interest in offering it to Captain Varley when the Yamato was launched; would you be interested in speaking to the next such captain?”

She would be sorry to lose it, but the potential of her work going to a Galaxy-class captain, perhaps even being displayed on that vessel somewhere, outweighed any hesitation. “I certainly would. I understand if you cannot divulge the captain’s name, but if there is a way that you could connect us when able, or perhaps even act as an intermediary –”

“There is no need,” Saavik said, and – what exactly was that hiding behind her eyes? “I have the captain holding on the other line; he expressed great interest in speaking with you.”

“Oh,” she said. She looked down at her simple clothing – easily cleaned, comfortable, but not particularly presentable – but decided against any further delay. “Thank you, Mother. You may put them through.”

“Excellent,” said Captain Saavik, and reached forward to tap a command into her console. The picture changed to a split-screen; one side still had her mother, but the other –

No amount of control could have kept the surprised, even delighted look off T’Val’s face as she recognized the other captain. He, in turn, was not even trying to hide his happiness at seeing her. “Hello, Miss T’Val.”

T’Val found the ability to speak at last. “Jean-Luc Picard,” she said in wonder. Then, quickly: “Apologies; Captain Picard. It has been quite some time.” Enough time that androgenetic alopecia had run its course, leaving his scalp quite hairless. She added it to the list of things that suited him.

“I will allow you two to speak,” said Captain Saavik, and at last her daughter identified what was lingering on her face: glee at her plotting this surprise. She closed her end of the channel, leaving just Picard and T’Val on the line.

T’Val took a moment to compose herself. “I can only assume that my mother knows about our previous interaction at her wedding,” she said. “My grandfather accused me of having mischief that day, and wondered from whom I had inherited it. I think I now have certainty.” Picard laughed, his smile still filling his face with happiness. “I apologize if I caused you any embarrassment that day.”

“No apologies are necessary,” he answered. “Once I had stopped being quite overwhelmed by the experience, I found I had quite enjoyed it.”

T’Val glanced to the side, needing composure again, suspecting that her cheeks might have grown a touch greener at that comment. “It would be disingenuous to deny the same,” she answered. Looking for a change of topic, she continued, “Congratulations on your new assignment as well, Captain. I understand that it is not public information, and you may not be able to share certain details, but I would be interested to hear what you can share. I’m afraid I don’t recall which of two vessels will be launched third; will you command the Challenger, or…?” It was absurd to hesitate at that name, but it was a name and a history with great importance to the Federation and to her family specifically.

He filled in the blank for her. “It’s the Enterprise,” he said with well-deserved pride. “The Enterprise-D, of course.”

“Of course.” Starfleet, whether intentionally or not, had set the name and registry aside since the loss of the Enterprise-C almost twenty years prior. It seemed proper, even to the most passionless of beings, that the bravery of Captain Rachel Garrett and her crew in the defense of the Klingon outpost of Narendra III, giving Federation-Klingon relations a major boost right when they needed it most, was worthy of respect and recognition. “I have no doubt that your leadership will bring further credit to an already-auspicious name and legacy.”

He was clearly delighted by such high praise. “That’s very kind of you.”

“I simply believe it to be fact,” T’Val said, though not without a small smile. “I’ve followed your career since we met, and it’s been impressive.” As she said it, she wondered if she might have said too much. After all, an admission that she’d been keeping tabs on a man she’d only met once, briefly, almost a quarter-century prior, might lead one to suspect her reasons for doing so were not fully emotionless or logical. Not that she prioritized emotional suppression and control, of course, but her family and culture made it an occasional reflex and concern.

“I see,” he said in a neutral tone. T’Val was briefly concerned that she was being judged until he said, “And I’ve been following your career as well, if I’m honest. I haven’t managed to make it to one of your installations, but I’ve always appreciated your work. You’re an excellent artist, T’Val, with a clearly strong talent and vision.”

Now T’Val was confident her cheeks had greened a bit. Not only had her admission been accepted, and not only had he paid her a strong compliment in return… he had dropped the honorific and simply called her by her name. “I thank you for that high praise… Jean-Luc.”

A soft chuckle from the man confirmed that his had been an intentional choice, and he was glad it had been echoed. “So, on the matter of your Galaxy-class painting –”

“Yes,” she said, relieved to be returning to business even if she was enjoying their repartee. “I do prefer to hand-deliver my works of art, as I’m sure you can understand. Under normal circumstances I would ask some time to finish my current project, but given its unsatisfactory state –”

“Another painting?” Picard asked.

“A sculpture,” she said. “And I think the most complimentary thing I can say about it is that it confirms that my talents do not lie in that direction.” She hesitated, then felt something surrender in her. She turned the monitor to bring her sculpture into view.

“Ah,” Picard said as he saw it. She could see his face settle into puzzlement as he tried to find something good, or at least gentle, to say about it.

“You are not obligated to be tactful, Jean-Luc. Or to lie and say it is of good quality.”

“I would prefer to compliment it,” he replied. “But I would also prefer not to lie, so I am at an impasse.”

T’Val shook her head, amused by his eloquence and honesty. “Then say nothing. I would not want to cause you such a dilemma.” As he chuckled again, T’Val continued, “In any case, is there a time that would be most convenient for me to visit Earth and bring the piece to you?”

“The Enterprise does not launch until later this year,” Picard said. “So I have a great deal of free time. But I was under the impression that you had a showing at a studio in AraKahr in a few weeks.”

T’Val shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was; apparently he really had been following her career. “In that case, if you are available to attend, I can bring it to you then.”

“I look forward to it; I’ll make sure my travel plans are set as soon as possible.” His smile returned in its full warmth, and T’Val felt something bubbling cheerily in her soul. “I look forward to seeing you, T’Val.”

“And I you, Jean-Luc.” She thought there was more to say, but it did not occur to her. “I will see you soon.”

He nodded in acknowledgment, and closed the connection.

T’Val stood there, in front of her monitor, processing the conversation she’d just had. Most unexpected, she decided. As was the fact that her heart seemed to be beating a tad faster. It seemed absurdly emotional of her, but upon reflection, under the circumstances it might be nothing more than logical.

USS Enterprise NCC-1701-D

Earth Year 2367

The last few repairs were proceeding; Enterprise would be ready to launch in only a few more days. But even after his shore leave, Picard suspected that his damage might linger a bit longer.

Throwing himself into work and into command would be much easier once this ship had a mission, a destination, a purpose again. But for now, the ship was idle, so for the most part so was he. Commander Riker had left the ship for some meeting with Starfleet brass, no doubt deciding what to do with him and the promotion he’d earned while –

Picard’s eyes shut, then clenched, and he drove those thoughts away the best he could. He had spoken to so many people, whether trained in counseling and therapy, or whether his trusted officers, or whether his family by blood or marriage. The overwhelming consensus was to tell him: it is acceptable, natural even, to be in pain. It didn’t make the pain any easier, especially as he looked out his ready room window at Earth, and was reminded of what he had almost done, almost been forced to do. And then what he had been forced to do, with visions of nearly forty starships burning in space by his hand, the Federation taking the threat seriously but nowhere near seriously enough.

But worst was the fact that, in the quiet moments, he thought he could still hear their voice faintly, if he listened hard enough.

The overhead in the room chimed, and Picard started, though he was glad to be torn from those thoughts. “Bridge to Captain Picard,” came the unmistakable voice of Lieutenant Worf.

“Picard here,” he replied, preparing to get himself into blessed distraction via action.

“Captain, there is a personal communication coming in from you. It originates from Vulcan.”

“From Vulcan?” Picard softly mused. He sat down at his desk and swiveled his monitor to face him directly. “Put it through to me here, Lieutenant.”

“Aye, sir; relaying it to you now.”

He only had to wait a few more seconds before the link was complete, and he saw who was calling. In surprise, he leaned toward the monitor. “T’Val,” he said.

“Hello, Jean-Luc,” she said. Her hair was pushed back by a headband and was slightly wild behind it; she wore a simple light gray dress, and was sitting at a table with her hands folded in front of her. “Am I calling at a convenient time?”

“Of course,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I have been meaning to contact you for the past month, to offer my appreciation for the assistance you provided my grandfather during his negotiations with the Legarans.”

Understanding, Picard nodded, and managed a small smile. “Of course. I was simply glad to be able to help, even in some small way.”

“It was no ‘small way’, Jean-Luc,” she replied, sounding almost chastening. “It was courageous, and kind, and quite possibly very dangerous of you to do what you did. I am not the only member of my family that has expressed that we all owe you a debt of gratitude for allowing him to complete his final mission.”

He nodded again, at a loss for words from such a reaction. “How is Sarek?”

“He is maintaining control as best he can, but his doctors have said his deterioration is accelerating. I travel to ShiKahr as often as I can to visit him; my grandmother could use the relief, I’m sure. My mother has also visited… as has my father, briefly.” Her eyes locked onto his via subspace, and her briefly-raised eyebrows spoke volumes about Spock and Sarek actually communicating after their long-standing distance – one that, thanks to his actions, Picard had felt second-hand from the latter’s point of view. “My grandfather has asked for his privacy, but has chosen to no longer hide his condition. He feels that it may help facilitate research into treatment.” She paused. “Even if it will likely come too late for him.”

Knowing that was likely true, Picard bowed his head slightly and said nothing.

“So,” T’Val continued, “I have been spending the last month, between visits, trying to come up with some way to properly and completely express my thanks for what you did. I still haven’t found the right words; however –” She paused, and Picard looked up and saw her face, clearly deeply concerned. “However, it became clear that, even if my words were not fully composed, it would be wise to reach out anyway.”

“Why?” Picard asked.

She continued to look at him, into his eyes, through his eyes even. “Are you being disingenuous, Jean-Luc? Or, do you really not understand why I feel the need to speak to you now?” She shook her head. “I apologize, I don’t mean to be rude or overly blunt, but… are you all right?”

For a moment, he was unable to stand the intensity of her eyes; looking away barely helped, as his gaze landed on her painting, proudly displayed in his ready room. It was difficult to provide an answer to her of all people, really. Turning back to the screen, he said, “I am healing; I will be fine in time.”

“That did not answer my question,” T’Val pointed out, her tone gentle.

“I know,” he admitted. “But… speaking of my pain, of my wounds and scars, has never come easily to me.” Doing so to his brother Robert had been difficult but cathartic; doing so to T’Val seemed far too personal for someone he’d only met face-to-face twice, even if both meetings were memories he enjoyed revisiting. Sometimes he thought of her as a greater presence in his life than she really was; sometimes he wondered if she really was that great a presence, even at a distance.

“I think you can believe me when I say I know the phenomenon all too well,” T’Val said, raising a very Vulcan eyebrow before giving him a very un-Vulcan sympathetic smile, no matter how small. “And I can accept that it is not a comfortable topic for you. However, if you ever wish to discuss it – or anything else – with me, I hope you will reach out.”

He meant to decline, say he would be fine, and thank her for her offer, but what came out instead was, “Thank you, T’Val. I can’t guarantee if I’ll ever be ready to talk about it, but when I am, I will talk about it with you.”

“Thank you,” she said in return. “I should allow you to return to what you were doing, but there was one more thing I wanted to tell you.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“I know you well enough to say this with confidence, Jean-Luc: you tried to stop them. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

As her words sank in, he swallowed hard, feeling unbidden tears rising to his eyes. Before they could escape, he forced the words from his lips: “Thank you, T’Val.” With a hand starting to tremble, he tapped the control to close the channel.

He sat back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling of his ready room, forcing himself to push it down, push it away, take it all and pack it into a box that he could put in the corner of his mind and ignore forever. He desperately wished for some modicum of Vulcan control to be lingering from his meld with Sarek, but given the purpose had been to grant Sarek Picard’s control, he knew there would be none to be found.

It all flashed before his mind once more: everything the Borg had made him do as Locutus, everything they had forced from his mind, all the lives lost at their hands. And then came T’Val’s words: You tried to stop them. What happened wasn’t your fault.

Picard was surprised to find that he was starting to believe that.

ShiKahr, Vulcan

Earth Year 2368

“Enterprise to ShiKahr Transport Hub,” T’Val overheard. It was a Human voice with a lilting accent she couldn’t place. “Ready for transport when you are.”

“Proceed, Enterprise,” said the woman manning the controls. T’Val stood from the chair she’d been seated in and faced the transport pad.

A whirling column appeared, glittering and sparkling in the familiar effect and eventually resolving into the man she was waiting for. For the sake of decorum, she kept a physical distance and tried to regulate the formality and flatness of her tone. “Captain Picard,” she greeted him simply.

Clearly Picard was also aware of how public their meeting was. “Miss T’Val,” he replied. “I appreciate you meeting me here.”

“It was only appropriate,” she answered. “I apologize that you were not able to transport directly to the family home; I hope it is clear that the prohibition did not come from me, or from any member of my family.” While she did understand the Vulcan High Command’s prohibition, feeling such an action to be grossly inappropriate and possibly a security risk, it had required her to leave her grandmother and mother behind at the house and bring a groundcar to retrieve him. Others had offered to give Picard the ride instead of her, but if the task was necessary, she intended to be the one to fulfill it.

“I had assumed that was the case,” he replied as they walked through the crowds toward the exit closest to where she had left her vehicle. He wore a formal dress uniform; she may have been biased, but she thought he wore it with far more dignity than anyone else she’d seen in it, her own mother included.

As for her, she suspected it was the single most austere outfit he’d seen her in: heavy black robes of ritual mourning that completely obscured all but her head, hands, and feet, the latter shod in black leggings and shoes comfortable for walking and standing. She suspected it didn’t suit her, but then, it wasn’t meant to. “The more public ceremony,” she said, “will take place at sunset, at a facility close to the ancestral home; once it is complete, there is a smaller, more private recognition as well. You are, of course, invited and welcome to both.”

“Thank you,” he said, still formal, still controlled; she appreciated his strength.

She tried to ignore all the news screens surrounding them, all of which were on various news programs, all displaying the same story. On each, the chyron – a strangely universal development, it had been discovered – read the same or something similar, proclaiming the death of the legendary Ambassador Sarek.

The inside of the transport hub was packed with people, but once outside, the crowds thinned almost immediately. Once she no longer felt the eyes of the planet upon her, T’Val reached out for Jean-Luc’s hand. With barely any surprise at all, he took hers and held it. “Thank you for coming,” she said at last, letting her shoulders sag in the exhaustion she could allow herself to feel now.

“How could I not?” he asked in return, and she gave his hand a squeeze for that. “I grieve with thee, T’Val.”

“And I with you,” she replied. “I take it my father will not be in attendance.”

Picard sighed. “He said he wasn’t able to leave Romulus at this time.”

T’Val snorted gently. “I am not surprised.”

He stopped walking, and with her hand still in his, she was forced to do the same. “T’Val,” he said, firmly but with great warmth. “I melded with him before we parted ways. He shared his thoughts with me, and I know he was not being evasive or misleading when he said he could not come. He wished he could, truly. But the goal he is working toward is so fragile, especially now, and could yield such fruit in the future, that though it was a very painful choice for him, he had to stay.”

She was about to reflexively minimize what he’d said, but between him having just melded with her father, and him simply being him, she accepted his words instead. “I see. I suppose I am used to the two of them keeping a distance, that I assumed it would linger even now.” She took a breath. “Thank you for telling me, Jean-Luc. I appreciate that.”

“Of course.” He held her hand tightly, and they met eyes. His free hand came up, rested on her shoulder for a moment, then rose to rest his palm against her cheek. It was warm, almost hot against her skin – he was Human, after all, and had a much higher body temperature – and felt comforting and soothing.

She closed her eyes at his touch, and for a moment, she sensed him coming closer. She didn’t stop him… but he quickly stopped himself, releasing her hand and stepping away, leaving her cheek cool. She opened her eyes and saw the conflicted look in his eyes and on his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to –”

“Shh,” she said, putting a finger across his lips; he stopped speaking in surprise. “You shouldn’t apologize. You have now seen me through my grandfather’s eyes, my father’s eyes, and your own. My father and grandfather always looked at me with love – familial, of course, but love nonetheless. And though the two of us haven’t had a great deal of contact, I don’t think you’d deny at least a small interest in me.” She raised an eyebrow. “At least, I hope you wouldn’t, or I’ve wasted quite a few stray thoughts on you, Captain.”

She dropped the finger that was on his lips as he smiled unabashedly. “I certainly wouldn’t,” he said. “But I’m glad you understand: this is all a great deal to work through.”

“And you’re not obligated to work it through quickly, or at all, really. After all, our lives intersect only infrequently. It’s understandable: you are the captain of the Enterprise, and I’m a humble artist.”

“From a prestigious family,” he pointed out.

“True. But none of that prestige really comes from me, unless you count my occasional art installations.” She took his hand again. “That’s not to say that I’m beneath you, or you’re beneath me. We just exist in different circles, different planes of existence. It’s not judgment, merely fact. None of that, though, diminishes my gladness that you’re here now… or my gladness whenever we do have contact.”

“Or my own,” he replied, and he took her other hand as well as they faced each other. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, and she let him, loving the lingering warm tingle even that brief contact left. “Thank you, T’Val, for understanding.”

“And thank you again for coming, Jean-Luc.” She released his hands with some reluctance. “The groundcar is not much further.”

Once they had climbed into it, however, with her in the driver’s seat, she did not immediately activate anything but the cooling system. “It is not a long drive,” she said, “and we have plenty of time before the public ceremony. Would you mind if we sat here for a little while? I cannot guarantee good conversation – or any at all – but I am exhausted, and I think a small rest would be appropriate while we have the chance.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Picard replied, with great care in his tone. “Even if we sit here in silence, we can rest until you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” T’Val said, and leaned back in her chair, focusing on regulating her breathing to seek out some calm. Picard sat beside her, his own thoughts deep and complex enough to allow him to sit quietly without feeling an awkward silence. After a few minutes, T’Val closed her eyes and leaned her head on his shoulder, still saying nothing. They stayed like that until they were truly ready to continue.

La Barre, France, Earth

Earth Year 2371

From this distance, among the vines, Chateau Picard looked perfectly intact and undamaged, despite the terrible events that had happened here.

Jean-Luc strove to appear the same.

He tried to take another step forward, toward his childhood home, but his feet rebelled and would bring him no closer. After all, if he came any closer, the facade might crack and the destruction might shine through. For both him and the house, really.

He ought to choose, either to finish his journey to the house, or to walk back to the nearest public comm station to request an aircar or groundcar back to his hotel. But the latter seemed like cowardice, and the former too daunting to handle.

This is absurd, he told himself. It’s just a house. It’s the house where your parents lived and where you grew up, which your brother inherited and where he in turn flourished, finding himself a wife and having a son. This is where…

Where your brother Robert, and your nephew Rene…

He clenched his fist, pushing those thoughts away. If he wasn’t going to finish the journey, why had he come here?

You know why, his mind told him. And he did.

His feet shifted in the mud, his boots making wet noises as he steadied himself. Without thinking, he tugged at the hem of his top as if to straighten his uniform top. But he wasn’t in uniform right now; between the gray informal shirt, denim trousers, and boots, he couldn’t look less like the captain of the flagship of Starfleet right now. Which, he supposed, he wasn’t anymore.

That’s why he’d come, after all. The loss of his brother and nephew would have inspired him to throw himself into his work on the Enterprise. The loss of the Enterprise likely would have inspired him to come here. He’d already looked for some sort of answers or comfort on what was left of his ship, and found none. Now he was making a last-ditch effort to find something, anything, here in La Barre.

And still he was frozen, because he knew he would find nothing, or at least nothing useful. He was lost.

“Jean-Luc!” called a voice from behind him.

Picard frowned hearing that voice, not because it was unfamiliar, but because it was very familiar but incongruous here, of all places. He turned and held up a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, trying to see who had called his name.

It was indeed T’Val. She was walking toward him, sure-footed despite the mud. She, too, was wearing solid boots, and the rest of her outfit was very Human as well: a teal jacket over a loose white shirt and brown leggings. Her hair, usually so carefully prepared and voluminous, was pulled back in a ponytail.

As he started to walk in her direction, minimizing the distance she needed to travel to reach him, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” she explained. Once she no longer had to raise her voice to be heard, she explained, “I came to Earth because I heard about the Enterprise, and I wanted to seek you out. I –” She looked past him, and he knew she was looking at the house, the fire damage undetectable from here. “I heard about the rest once I was already on-world; I see I was correct in assuming you would come here.”

“So it would seem,” he agreed, trying to smile but unable to manage the feat. “But surely you didn’t come all this way just to see me, console me on the loss of –” My ship, my brother, my nephew. Anything hurt too much to say, so the sentence hung there unfinished.

She took a careful step closer and took his warm hands in her cool ones. Meeting his eyes, she asked simply: “Didn’t I?”

At an utter loss for words, he looked deep in her eyes, finding not just the simple truth, but a deep caring and need to offer comfort there. His breath hitched, and at last the dam broke. He began to weep, sob, finally feeling the loss of so much that had mattered to him, all of it at once, leaving him completely adrift and rudderless. He wasn’t sure whether T’Val reached out first or he did, but their arms were wrapped around each other before he knew it.

She held him close, rubbing his back as his sorrow overwhelmed him, keeping him close and whispering, “I know, Jean-Luc. It’s okay. Let it out.” She felt him starting to sag, his knees wavering and threatening to buckle, and she helped him down so they both knelt on the ground, uncaring of the mud soaking their clothes.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped in a moment of calm, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to fall apart like this.”

“Shh,” she said gently, meeting his eyes once more. “It’s just the two of us. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” She ran a hand over his bare scalp, and he closed his eyes and sighed with some modicum of relief. “May I ask about your sister-in-law, or would that be too much right now?”

“Oh,” he said, some comfort in the redirection. “Marie’s in stable condition, from the last I heard. She still has some recovery in front of her, but she’s going to be fine. Physically, at least,” he amended.

“Of course,” she said. “And, the business?”

“There was no damage to the business itself, only the house. Naturally there will be some time needed to find whose hands it ought to go to.”

“Perhaps you might take over,” T’Val suggested.

Jean-Luc had certainly thought about it. “I’m not sure the vineyard and I would be a good match,” he admitted with a smile. His knees were starting to ache from the kneeling, so he accepted the inevitable and sat, the mud giving a mighty squelch as he did. T’Val followed suit, managing to minimize the rude noise as she did. “This place feels like my past – a past I’ve come to appreciate far more than I did as a younger man. And there was a future here,” he said, thinking of Robert and his son Rene. The pain in his heart was still sharp, but perhaps a little less than before. “But it was not my future.”

“I understand,” she said softly, because she did. “I suppose, then, that you’re waiting for another assignment.”

“It would seem so,” he said. “The court-martial wasn’t strictly a formality, but it didn’t take long to decide that the loss of the Enterprise wasn’t –” He stopped short, then smiled, feeling the synchronicity of the moment. “Wasn’t my fault,” he said, and T’Val, too, recognized her own assurances from four years ago, the corners of her mouth rising just a little.

“I think that was the correct conclusion,” T’Val replied; her mother had once again provided her some information that wasn’t public knowledge, knowing that there was a connection and concern between herself and the captain.

“Oh,” he said, his face falling. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t able to recover your painting from the –” Crash. Wreckage. Debris. “ – ready room.”

“That just means I need to make you another, then,” she said quite sensibly. “Given the chance, we could review my unclaimed works and see if one seems appropriate. Failing that, I am willing to be convinced to start a new piece, just for you.”

“I would appreciate that,” he said with a smile.

“Then that is what we will do,” she concluded. “Also, I am growing uncomfortable.” She struggled a bit getting back to her feet, wiping her muddy hand on a spot of her leggings that wasn’t already dirty. “This environment is not conducive to cleanliness.”

“That has been my experience,” Picard chuckled, though he had less trouble getting to his feet due to a bit more practice. He remembered the last time he’d been covered in the mud of the Chateau Picard vineyards: what had started as a physical fight between himself and his brother had rapidly turned into one of the most cathartic conversations he’d ever had, finally making peace with his brother and quelling the animosity between them. He looked at T’Val, remembering her reaching out shortly after that same fight. And on the topic of cathartic healing moments in the mud, they were becoming a pattern as well. “Thank you for coming, T’Val.”

“I thought it was necessary, even before I knew all the details.” She took both of his hands again, her face calm and relieved that she could be of help. “So, do you suppose they’ll let the name rest again?”

It took him a moment, but he understood the question. “It rested for twenty years, then saw service for eight. I assume there will be another Enterprise soon.”

“And will you be on it?”

“That’s not up to me, but I certainly hope so.”

“So do I,” she said. “And, until then? What are your plans?”

He took a deep breath in thought. “I don’t know. I don’t suppose I have any, until I’m told otherwise.”

“I see,” she said. “It is interesting: I have never taken a vacation in the Bourgogne-Franche-Comte region of France on Earth. I’m sure it would be a rewarding experience, but I would need a guide who knows the area well to make sure I don’t miss anything.”

“Ah,” Picard said with a smile. He knew all too well what T’Val resorting to hyperformality meant, at least in private conversation. “I believe I may have some insights into what to see in the region. Perhaps I could be of service.”

“I would find that ideal,” she replied, then dropped the act and gave him a warm, slightly-impish smile.

“I would as well,” he answered. “But we should probably request transport from here; I don’t think anyone would pick us up in this state without a trip to the refresher.” He looked down at his muddy trousers, and hers, then looked at the house. It would probably be easier to just walk there, use the refresher there… but he felt as if whatever he might have found there, he had already received, and he gave himself permission to not approach further. He turned back to T’Val. “Where are you staying while you’re in the area?”

She hesitated before answering, “I haven’t found lodgings in the area yet. I considered finding and speaking to you of higher priority.”

“In that case,” he said, “I hope you won’t think it ungentlemanly of me to offer the usage of my refresher to clean up, and perhaps my room as well to stay in.”

“On the contrary, Jean-Luc,” she answered, taking a half-step closer. “I would consider that very gentlemanly.” With that she gently kissed his lips.

He returned the kiss, and they released each other’s hands to allow them to embrace each other tightly. The kiss was not long, or passionate, but it brought Jean-Luc plenty of comfort and peace. Through the contact, T’Val felt the comfort he was receiving from her, and received it back in return.

Once the kiss drew to a close, they met eyes and lingered like that for a few moments. Then, with arms around each other’s waists, they easily navigated the mud of the vineyards to find a public comm to request transport.

T’Paal, Vulcan

Earth Year 2374

INCOMING REALTIME CONNECTION REQUEST – CAPTAIN JEAN-LUC PICARD, USS ENTERPRISE-E

The inevitable could be delayed no longer, it seemed. T’Val knew that sending him a message requesting contact had meant this moment was coming, but still. She knew that the rising agitation in her chest was both unreasonable, and completely understandable.

The irrationality continued as she checked her reflection in the nearest mirror. Anticipating Jean-Luc’s call, she had dressed impeccably, fixed her hair in the style she (and he, she believed) thought looked best, and had dressed in a dark blue dress, not the same she’d worn the day they met but certainly reminiscent of it. Deciding that any further delay would be counterproductive, she accepted the connection.

The screen on her wall filled with what was clearly Jean-Luc’s quarters on the Enterprise, with the man himself dead center. “Hello, T’Val,” he said gently, and the tone of his voice made her think he’d had a tiring day. It was an understandable theory, given he was the captain of the flagship in time of war. But then he saw the look in his eye as he saw her, and a new theory formed.

She felt her shoulders sag, and she looked down at her feet. “You already know,” she said softly. “Don’t you?”

He seemed equally pained by the words they weren’t speaking, at least not yet. “I had heard rumors. Subtle mentions.”

“I apologize,” she said, her eyes slipping closed for a moment. “I had been trying to compose a proper way to tell you; it was only today that I decided such a way did not exist. I did not anticipate the rumor mill informing you more quickly than I.”

“You don’t need to apologize, T’Val. I understand.” She lifted her head to look at him, and she could tell through his clear pain that his words were true. “What’s his name?”

“His name is Sinak,” T’Val said. “He is a visual artist like myself, and has had several showings in the area that have brought him great attention. He is widowed, with an adolescent daughter. His wife served as security chief aboard the Majestic when it was lost during Operation Return.”

She could see the small chill that ran through him at that name. Operation Return had been a key battle of the ongoing Dominion War, retaking Deep Space Nine after it had been taken by the Jem'Hadar and Cardassians. By all accounts, it had been a brutal battle and a narrow victory by the Federation and Klingon forces.

T’Val pushed on. “He’s a very good man, Jean-Luc: a talented artist, and a loving father to his daughter. I was social with them all before his wife’s death, and he seemed an excellent husband as well. After she was lost, he was so broken, and I tried to help him find solace in his deep sorrow.”

“You have always been excellent at that,” Jean-Luc said with a genuine, warm smile. “At least in my experience.”

“Thank you,” she said, looking down once more. “So have you.” She took a breath. “And then, as Sinak and I spoke more frequently, we grew closer, and our conversations became more and more…” She sought the right word to describe them, one that would avoid bringing Jean-Luc any pain, but no correct expression occurred to her.

“I understand,” he said again, and T’Val still believed him.

She lifted her head to look at his image on her screen. “You are, of course, welcome to attend the wedding, but you should not feel obligated.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able,” he said, and she believed he was speaking both as the flagship captain during war… and as someone with whom she had been intimate and close.

T’Val nodded. “I understand.” She wished she could reach out and touch him, one more time, but she knew it was both impossible and improper. “I wanted to make sure that you know, even if our time together was infrequent, I will treasure what we had just as much as I always have. And I would prefer, if possible, that this is not the last time we speak.”

“I would prefer that as well, T’Val.” His smile renewed, but was still tinged with pain. “And congratulations; Sinak is a very lucky man.”

“Thank you, Jean-Luc.” She paused, unconsciously biting the inside of her lip gently in thought. “I wish I had more to say.”

“I wish I did, too. But failing all else:” He raised his hand in the traditional Vulcan salute. “Peace and long life, T’Val. And the same to your future husband, Sinak.”

She felt a lump in her throat and a pain in her heart as she followed suit. “Live long and prosper, Jean-Luc.” They might speak again, she knew, but this was the end of an era for the two of them.

Their gaze lingered on each other for a few seconds longer, then Picard ended the call. As she looked at the darkened screen, T’Val felt that the proper end had been achieved. But she suspected it would continue to hurt for some time to come.

Paris, Earth

Earth Year 2381

“... but most of all, I’m so grateful that it was you that was chosen to lead the Romulan relief efforts. I’m sure I’m not the only one to think that the entire situation could not possibly be in better hands than yours.”

Captain – no, he reminded himself, understanding that habits of forty-eight years were hard to break – Admiral Picard straightened his uniform as a rush of appreciation and warmth flowed through him at the compliment, especially given its source. “Thank you, Ambassador. That’s very kind of you. And if I may say, you are looking very well.”

“Well, thank you. It’s been a very hard few years,” admitted Ambassador Lwaxana Troi, who did seem more subdued, less energetic than in their meetings aboard the Enterprise-D. “As I’m sure you can sympathize. But I have trust that, whatever light can be found, you will find it.” She smiled, just as dazzlingly as ever. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have been in Council meetings all day, and if the verbal shouting didn’t give me a headache, the mental shouting certainly did. I’m going to find a refresher and splash some cold water on my face. Wonderful to see you again, Admiral.” She turned and walked down the hall.

As she went, Picard shook his head. He shouldn’t be surprised, he realized; he had always suspected that Lwaxana Troi had iron buried deep within her. Clearly the events of the past years had brought it far closer to the surface. She had gone from frivolous to formidable, while remaining no less fearful.

Pleased with that composition in the confines of his own mind, he checked the time. He could easily reach his next meeting even if he walked at a casual pace; it was a briefing on the USS Verity with his new first officer, a Commander Musiker. And speaking of first officers, he was still tempted to check in with the Enterprise, but he knew he would only be bothering newly-minted Captain Worf for no reason, so he let it go.

“Admiral Picard,” came an unfamiliar voice. He turned and saw a young Vulcan woman – early-to-mid-twenties, he would guess, dressed simply but warmly given the chill of the Paris air outside, in light colors and with dark brown hair down past her shoulders. He frowned, trying to place her, as she gently reiterated, “You are Admiral Picard, correct?”

“I am,” he said. “I’m sorry, I’m not certain if we’ve met before.”

“We have not,” she said. “But, if you have a moment –” She turned to look over her shoulder and raised her voice to be heard down the corridor. “It is Admiral Picard.”

“Excellent.” A pair of older Vulcans came into view, one male one female, dressed similarly to the younger woman – warmly, simply, though in a wider variety of colors. If the similar attire didn’t already shout family to Picard, the resemblance between the older man – who had spoken – and the younger woman certainly would. And as for the older woman…

Picard smiled in understanding, even as the man approached him directly. “Admiral Picard. I am Sinak. This,” he said, indicating the younger woman, “is my daughter V’Lin. I trust my wife requires no introduction.”

“Mister Sinak,” he said with a smile. “Miss V’Lin.” His smile only grew as he addressed the very-familiar remaining member of the family. “Ms T’Val.”

“Admiral Picard,” T’Val replied with a soft but undeniable smile. “It is good to see you again; it has been too long. And congratulations on your promotion and new assignment.”

“Thank you very much,” he said, still unable to remove the joy at seeing her again from his face or heart. “What brings you here to Federation HQ?”

“My father,” T’Val said, to Picard’s surprise. “I’m sure it will seem sensible that he saw fit to leave Romulus and return to Earth to formally resign as a Federation ambassador and offer his services in researching the upcoming Romulan supernova, in hopes of preventing it or mitigating its damage.”

“That does seem sensible,” Picard confirmed. “I’m sure he’ll be an asset to whatever groups are pursuing that goal.” After just a moment, he asked, “Is Spock here?”

“He is,” T’Val said. “But he said there was someone he was most eager to speak with and took his leave.” T’Val raised an eyebrow and gave a subtle shrug, as if to say, Parents.

“Also,” Sinak added, “we took the opportunity to visit V’Lin. She is studying interplanetary relations at Oxford University here on Earth.”

“It is a challenging, but very rewarding topic,” V’Lin said. Picard agreed, impressed.

“No doubt without my father-in-law’s influence, we would be restricted to the outside of the building,” Sinak said. “But he was able to gain us access, not only to enter, but to speak with Federation Councillor T’Latrek of Vulcan. She seemed to V’Lin’s grades and extracurricular achievements more than satisfactory.”

“Father, you exaggerate,” V’Lin said, averting her eyes and idly playing with the necklace she was wearing.

“I do not,” he replied. “Otherwise, she would not have requested continued contact, with the intent of offering you a position as her attache after you graduate.”

Picard watched the two of them interact, Sinak’s pride and V’Lin’s imperfectly-suppressed excitement both shining through in their interaction. He looked to T’Val, who was watching the two of them with clear love and happiness. She had found comfort in being part of their lives, their circle, and he doubted that she ever could have found the same in his. He looked for any trace of sadness in his heart for the loss of her, but it was all washed away or overpowered by his gladness at how content she was.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you both,” he said, intending to excuse himself. “And of course, to see you again, Ms T’Val. I unfortunately have yet another meeting to go to –”

“Before you do,” Sinak said, addressing Picard directly. “I hope this is not too forward of me, Admiral, but T’Val has been very honest and open about the nature of the relationship you two shared over the years.” So many years, Picard thought, realizing it was over half a century now since they met. He wondered if Sinak had received all the details of their association, before the man continued: “It would be illogical of me to object to any close, intimate relationship that T’Val had before she became my wife. But I understand that she has been of great comfort to you in difficult times. I can sympathize with that experience, very thoroughly.” He looked at his wife, and there was so much love in his face that Picard genuinely wondered if the man was fully Vulcan in ancestry, upbringing, or both. Then turning back to Picard, “And I also understand that you have been of great comfort to her in return when needed. So you have my appreciation, Admiral.”

Picard hadn’t been sure what to expect from Sinak, but he was confident it wasn’t that. He straightened his uniform top once more before speaking, “I appreciate your view on the matter, sir. And I am gratified that I could be of help to your wife.” He glanced over at T’Val, who was watching him in rapt attention. Still to Sinak, he continued: “But I also trust that you will prove more than capable in the same capacity. And I hope you will both agree on how fortunate the circumstances were that led to your meeting.”

Sinak nodded acknowledgment, hands clasped in front of him. “I am very aware of how fortunate I am, Admiral. And I thank you.” He looked at his wife, who was still looking at Picard, though certainly with more wistfulness than any current feelings. “V’Lin,” he addressed his daughter, “I believe that President Bacco is due to speak shortly; I would like to attend.” Then to T’Val, “I will see you when you catch up.”

Father and daughter departed, leaving Picard and T’Val alone. Neither spoke for almost a full minute, until at last T’Val broke the silence: “Do you really have another meeting, or were you just trying to leave the conversation?”

He chuckled. “I do, but it is not far and not immediate.” He took a deep breath. “You two seem excellent for each other, and it’s wonderful to see.”

“We do seem to be a very fitting pair,” she replied. “And V’Lin is a wonderful young woman, one who makes me proud to be a part of her family. My only real concern is you, Jean-Luc.” She touched his arm, briefly. “Are you all right?”

It was a well-loved, familiar question, and he had no hesitation in answering it. “I am absolutely fine, T’Val. Seeing you so happy and satisfied is a wonderful thing, and I am delighted.”

“All right then,” T’Val said. Their eyes lingered on each other’s for a moment until T’Val added, “We’ve been here before, haven’t we?”

“We have,” Picard said, understanding the reference. “But this time it’s face-to-face. And now I’m not wishing I had more to say.”

“Because,” T’Val agreed, “everything has already been said.” She smiled, and he followed suit. “It was wonderful to see you again, Jean-Luc. Good luck on your new endeavors, for the sake of all concerned.”

“And I wish you, and your family, all the satisfaction and happiness you desire.”

“Thank you.” She took one more breath, then said, “Goodbye, Jean-Luc.”

“Goodbye, T’Val.” He turned and began to walk away, feeling little to no sadness in the moment. If that was the last time they ever had, Picard decided he would not feel as if he were cheated or missing out. It was all proper and complete, their association concluded.

La Barre, France, Earth

Earth Year 2387

T’Val had always taken some satisfaction, even some enjoyment, from dressing like a Human while she was on Earth. She was, though, beginning to rethink her choice of a black knit sweater and dark gray flowing skirt on this day; it wasn’t because they didn’t suit her, but she was growing worried about the mud, remembering the last time she’d been here. Her boots were caked with the stuff, but thankfully none had risen any higher. She also feared she looked entirely too somber, but that, at least, was excusable at this point. He would understand.

A sharp, animalistic noise sounded through the vineyards, one of demanding and rallying attention. She quickly located its source: a dog, of the pit bull variety if she wasn’t mistaken, clearly not at full maturity and equally clearly taking its duties of guarding the area very seriously. Or at least she thought until the dog reached her and raised its front paws in the air, begging for her attention and inflicting paw prints on her skirt. Still, it was a dog, and likely didn’t know better, but above all, was clearly a very good dog. She leaned down enough to scratch by its – she checked quickly – his ears, which was clearly what he wanted most in the universe at the moment. “Yes, hello,” she said. “It’s good to see you too. But I’m afraid you’re not who I’m here to see. I know you must be disappointed.”

“Number One?” came a shout in a very familiar voice, and the dog got down and ran toward the source of it; as she brushed away what dirt she could, she heard the voice again. “What is it, boy? What did you –?” The dog preceded Jean-Luc into her line of sight by only a second or two; Jean-Luc clearly spotted her immediately. “T’Val?” he asked.

“Hello,” she said, suddenly feeling awkward, as if she shouldn’t have come.

“Hello,” he echoed as he stood motionless, clearly trying to process her presence. Once he did, though, she saw his eyes go to her dark clothes and the simple arrangement of her hair, adding them as clues in the puzzle. The light dawned in his eyes, and after a moment’s extra thought, he said, “Won’t you come in?”

“Yes please,” T’Val said, taking the last few steps onto steadier ground. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you as well,” Jean-Luc replied, but he was still reserved in his speech. She believed she knew the reason; hers was no doubt similar.

No more words passed between them as they entered the house; she left her muddy boots by the front door and continued in her black socks. He waited for her there, not leaving her sight but not speaking either.

“And who is this?” came a sharp voice with an accent whose lilt would have been quite pleasant if it weren’t employed so harshly. She looked up to see a woman and a man, both scrutinizing her, the woman who had spoken crossing her arms. The man was clearly Romulan, judging by his frontal lobe; the woman might have passed for Vulcan if it weren’t for the fact that both had shaved their heads and drawn ritual mourning sigils on their skin, following an old Romulan tradition. They weren’t the only ones she’d seen in the past few days. In fact, T’Val had even heard some Romulans had permanently tattooed the sigils on their scalps and kept them hairless.

“A friend, Laris,” Picard replied. “You and Zhaban can stand down.”

“Hmph,” Laris said, looking at her fellow Romulan – husband? T’Val guessed. She said, “He asks for seclusion and privacy, then brings strange women into the house.” She patted Zhaban’s chest in a way that confirmed they were a couple at least, then said, “Come on, let’s give them their privacy.”

“Laris,” Zhaban chastened her gently with a smile. To T’Val, he said, “Welcome,” and then the two left.

Alone with T’Val again, Picard seemed at a bit of a loss. “Would you like some tea?” he asked. “I’m sure I can make some, if there isn’t any.”

“No thank you,” T’Val said, having trouble looking straight at him, worried that any further silence might go straight past awkward to painful. “But I would appreciate the chance to speak with you. Privately,” she added with a small smile.

He nodded with a smile of his own. “Of course. The study is this way.”

As he led her through the house, T’Val took in her surroundings with great interest. “Forgive me, but: was this portion of the chateau damaged in the fire?”

“There was some damage, yes,” Picard replied. “But the team that did the restoration work did an excellent job; I sometimes forget that this isn’t exactly the home I grew up in.”

“And, your sister-in-law? She is well?”

They entered the study, and Picard slid the door closed behind them. “Marie is well. A few years ago, though, her mother grew ill and needed her to live closer. When I asked if I could stay here temporarily after –” The pause was barely perceptible. “– I resigned, she said I could have the place if I wanted it. So I’ve stayed.”

“I understand,” T’Val said. “And I sympathize. My own mother has preferred to keep me close by in recent days and weeks, so I’ve been staying with her. Sinak understands and accepts it. And V’Lin, of course, has been very busy thanks to a number of circumstances in her life.” She was confident that he would know that V’Lin was still serving as T’Latrek’s attache; the rest wasn’t her story to tell if Picard didn’t already know.

“Yes, of course,” Picard said in a tone that told her he did know, which wasn’t too unexpected. He sat in one of the chairs in the room; T’Val took another, close by. “And how is your mother?”

“She is…” T’Val tried to find appropriate terms that would respect her mother’s privacy. “Recovering from recent events. As you can imagine, a great deal of disturbance was caused by –” She hesitated, but this time for her own sake.

Picard held up a hand to forestall any need to continue. “I would imagine so.”

“She has been in need of great comfort, and seeking peace, as I’m sure you can imagine,” T’Val said, voice wavering.

“You have always been very good at providing those,” he said softly.

She nodded, and if anyone but Jean-Luc had been there to see it, the tear that ran down her cheek would have been embarrassing. “But I find that, in helping to lift her out of the hole, figuratively speaking, I remain in it.” She met Jean-Luc’s eyes. “And I assume that my mother is not the only one in need of comfort right now. Nor am I,” she added as she flicked the tear away with her thumb.

Jean-Luc heard her words, and his head hung. “No, you’re not,” he agreed, his gaze drilling into his lap with both sorrow and fury. Knowing he could say it freely, he spoke the two words that had been his mantra ever since the Romulan supernova, when all he’d done and all he’d attempted turned to dust: “I tried.”

“You tried,” T’Val echoed, reaching out and laying a hand on his shoulder. “And my father tried.” Her voice cracked, just for a moment. “So many people tried. It’s not your fault that it failed, and it’s certainly not your fault that you were not allowed to do everything you could. You know that, I hope: it’s not your fault.”

“I keep telling myself that,” Jean-Luc said. “I’m trying to believe it. I should have fought harder, I should have stayed in Starfleet until they did what was right –”

“My mother said the same,” T’Val pointed out. “You remember she resigned shortly after you did.”

“I do,” he said. “I grieve with the both of you, T’Val, not just for the loss of that world, but…”

“But for my father,” T’Val completed his sentence. There weren’t many stories that could be bigger than the death of the legendary former-captain, former-ambassador Spock of Vulcan; losses in the low eleven-digit range thanks to the Romulan supernova had rendered it a footnote. “And I grieve with thee as well: all the lives you doggedly wished to save, but were denied from doing so. You took the Romulan relief program very seriously, very personally, and its cancellation even more so.”

“That is true,” he said, sounding utterly hollow. Then he frowned. “Forgive the question, T’Val: is Sinak aware you’re here on Earth, instead of on Vulcan with your mother?”

T’Val processed that question, and gently scoffed in twisted humor. “Jean-Luc, are you asking if my husband knows I’m here with you?” She could see him trying to find the words to clarify his meaning, but she took pity on him. “Yes, Sinak knows I came to Earth. I didn’t need his permission to visit you, but I sought it anyway. I didn’t want any appearance of impropriety. But he expressed that he trusted me, and respected you, enough to know that nothing untoward would happen.”

He nodded, but seemed to have nothing to say.

So she soldiered on. “I am here to ask a favor from you, Jean-Luc. And you should feel free to decline if you see fit.”

“Anything,” he assured her. “Name it.”

“Don’t say anything yet,” she replied. “Not until you know what it is.” He shifted to get more comfortable in his chair as she continued. “You once told me that you had seen me through three sets of eyes: my grandfather’s, my father’s, and your own. Two of those perspectives are lost to me now,” she said, and thumbed away another tear. “And the third, I don’t think will ever again be what it once was.”

Picard’s smile was wan, but he clearly anticipated the request.

“Would you be willing to share those perspectives with me?” T’Val asked. “To share your thoughts and memories, and whatever lingers from theirs?”

It was strangely a relief that he had to think about it for a few moments. “You wouldn’t consider that too much of a closeness?” he asked, with an implied, And neither would Sinak?

“We’ve been close before, Jean-Luc,” she said. “Intimate, even. We have shared our thoughts and emotions in the past. Just, never as directly as I am proposing.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I have – had melded with my father, and my mother has shared what he shared with her, to a degree. But I would be very interested to see what they both shared with you, no matter how small.”

There were lines in that statement, and she could see Jean-Luc reading between them. She had no intention to hide the unspoken: I would also value seeing what you choose to share with me. And I have much to share with you as well. “Then I will share, T’Val, and gladly.”

“Thank you,” she said, her emotions swirling in her mind and behind her eyes. “Wait.” She took the chair she was sitting in and moved it to face him more directly. Now with their eyes locked on each other, she reached up and, after a brief moment of trepidation, laid her fingers on the katra points along his temple and jaw. She adjusted her touch – finding the precise best placement occasionally took some effort – then once she was satisfied, she spoke. “My mind to your mind, Jean-Luc. My thoughts… to your thoughts…”

And without hesitation, the connection was complete.

A roiling mass of anger and frustration and humiliation at his terrible lack of control, mixed with deep regrets at words not spoken, feelings never expressed. This was clearly the remnant of Sarek, and T’Val’s admiration of Jean-Luc accepting this solution surged. She was overwhelmed at this small, lingering portion; facing the full fury of it cowed her.

Jean-Luc swept aside the pain and pushed memories forward. Saavik, her belly gravid. The conflicted thoughts of his son and his young ward creating a life together. The deep satisfaction of a grandchild. The resolution to do better by this generation than he had the previous one.

The wedding. His son and his new bride. Seeing them together and appreciating their closeness. The realization that neutral language was unnecessary; seeing the love that Spock and Saavik shared. Remembering that love all too well; wishing Amanda yet lived to be here.

His mischievous granddaughter practically thrusting a young Starfleet lieutenant toward him. His embarrassment at how young and silly he looked – that thought was not Sarek’s, but Jean-Luc’s, she knew from his amusement. Fading into Sarek permitting himself amusement at his granddaughter’s antics.

A thousand small memories over the course of decades, all tinged with the deep love and satisfaction of being the grandfather of a remarkable woman. Some T’Val did not remember; those she did, she felt her own memories fortified by knowing they were just as treasured to Sarek as they were to her.

The tone and timbre of the memories changed.

For a moment, a double perspective of Spock in a cave on Romulus, and Jean-Luc in that same cave. Her father’s memories, then, as two minds became one.

Saavik’s final cry of effort; T’Val’s first cry of life. No more regrets or turmoil at the circumstances that had led them to this moment. Holding his daughter; permitting himself one tear of joy.

Years of being present when he could. Staying as close to Vulcan, as close to Saavik and T’Val as he could manage. The connection between himself and her mother growing into affection and love. Watching T’Val grow from a remarkable child into an amazing young woman. Her first forays into visual media; undeniable pride at her talent and other emotions provoked, as intended, by her work.

The wedding again, but this time from the groom’s perspective. The sense of this moment changing nothing and everything at once. His wife – her mother – looking radiant in his eyes; his daughter – herself – doing an admirable job in the ceremony, uncaring that her happiness at her parent’s wedding was so obvious.

Memories of family: of himself and his daughter; of himself, his wife, and his daughter; even memories of himself and his father. Appreciation that circumstances had led to them all coming closer.

The sting of betrayal and offense on behalf of his mother as his father remarried. The illogical but no less potent desire to lash out; lashing out publicly. Regret, but telling himself he was justified.

The tone and timbre changed back.

His son lashing out publicly; his knowledge that this disagreement was not the true source of the growing chasm. Telling himself he was justified in remarrying and publicly holding a position contrary to his son’s. The loss of that justification in time; deciding that having his son in his life was preferable to maintaining his correctness. A deep desire to reconnect; a deep love for his son.

Another shift, and they were back in the Romulan cave. Jean-Luc pushing that thought from Sarek toward Spock. Spock closing his eyes and smiling as he finally felt the love and affection from his father that had never been fully expressed; the pang of knowing he could never reciprocate and admit the same, even after the tumult in their relationship.

Memories from both blended, just for a moment. Sarek’s appreciation for his daughter-in-law and granddaughter keeping lines of communication open with his son. Spock’s appreciation for his wife and daughter keeping lines of communication open with his father.

And then, T’Val saw something that she assumed Jean-Luc had not meant to share. But it was in sharp detail, and layered. She quickly recognized it for what it was: it had been a stray thought, yes, but not in this meld. This is something Jean-Luc had accidentally revealed to her father. Or perhaps it had not been an accident at all:

Jean-Luc read the message on the Klingon padd twice, thrice, and yet again, trying to vocalize it, but also trying to process the turmoil it left him in. He looked up at Commander Data’s impassive face and said simply, “Sarek is dead.”

His second thought was how this would complicate this mission to Romulus. Now, not only would Jean-Luc have to confront Ambassador Spock about his reasons for leaving the Federation covertly to travel to the homeworld of an adversarial power, but he would also have to inform him of his father’s death.

His first thought, however, was of T’Val, and the effect this news would have on her.

The memory receded.

Her father’s interest in this memory; a query, a curiosity hanging in the liminal space of their meld. A hesitation, then another memory offered. Her father seeing Jean-Luc’s memory of his first meeting with T’Val; understanding, acceptance, even assurance there was no need for awkwardness.

The tone and timbre of the thoughts changing again, but not back to Sarek’s.

The wedding for a third time, but this time from the outskirts. Knowing he had no real right to be here; grateful that Admiral McCoy had insisted so firmly. His distracted thoughts interrupted by a voice; looking up and seeing a young Vulcan woman in a blue dress that flattered her deeply. His realization of her lineage doing nothing to change his aesthetic opinion of her. Wishing he wasn’t so taken aback by her. Meeting her grandfather, briefly, and making a fool of himself. Wishing she hadn’t seen that, even if she’d prompted it. A quick exit. Trying to catch sight of her again in the rest of the ceremony; succeeding a few times.

T’Val gratefully accepted Jean-Luc’s memories, and provided her own in return:

Seeing a handsome young Human wearing the uniform of a Starfleet lieutenant. Appreciating his proud features and his bearing that would undoubtedly grow into stature. The joy of being playful in conversation with him, increased by introducing him to her grandfather. A touch of pride at how he handled himself. Watching him go with some disappointment. Trying to catch sight of him again in the rest of the ceremony; succeeding a few times.

She offered him more: her concern hearing that the Stargazer’s captain and first officer had been killed, leaving second officer Lieutenant Commander Picard to take command. A battlefield promotion, soon made permanent. Considering reaching out; deciding not to.

Years later, further concern hearing about an incident at Maxia Zeta where the Stargazer was destroyed. Confirming Captain Picard had survived; considering reaching out again; deciding not to again.

Jean-Luc’s quarters on the Stargazer; looking at a notice of an art installation by T’Val of Vulcan. This was not her memory, but his.

Mutual gladness that they really had been keeping tabs on each other over the years.

And at last, memories began to align.

Asking her mother to connect her to the next Galaxy-class captain; waiting eagerly while Captain Saavik connected him with her daughter.

Deciding she should not wait any longer and reaching out to him after the Borg incident; seeing her face and her painting in conjunction and being overwhelmed with gratitude that she’d reached out.

The transporter beam fading, and already feeling relief from her sorrow; the transporter beam fading, and hoping he could comfort her.

Holding him as he finally crumbled under the weight of losing his family members and his command; feeling her arms around him and knowing it was safe to let himself feel it.

Seeing his face and perceiving that he knew; seeing her face and knowing.

Meeting him again after her marriage, hoping he would be pleased for her; seeing her so happy with her husband and stepdaughter that he could not help but be pleased for her.

Seeing him walking into sight between the vines, and knowing with relief that her pain would be eased; seeing her standing between the vines, and knowing with relief that his pain would be eased.

A shared moment of quiet; in unison presenting their full impressions of each other. Accepting them gladly, happily, pleased with how they were seen.

The realization that little else remained to be said or done.

T’Val removed her fingers from Jean-Luc’s temple, and he shivered slightly as he wrapped his sense of identity back around his mind. Their eyes met, and while his smile was larger, hers was undeniable. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome, T’Val,” he replied. He wanted to say more – perhaps something like, you have been one of the most treasured parts of my life. But he knew full well that she already knew, and reciprocated, anything he would be able to express. “Do you think we’ll meet again?”

She was clearly considering the truth, that this moment had felt conclusive to them both. But then, so had others. “There are always possibilities,” she decided.

“Of course,” he said. Together they stood. “Are you staying locally?”

She shook her head. “I have already booked passage back to Vulcan tonight.”

It seemed wise to him; better to keep certain doors firmly shut. “Then may I walk you to the door?”

“Please do,” she said warmly.

He led her back to where her boots were waiting for her; there was no sign of Laris or Zhaban, which might have been for the best. As she slipped her feet into her shoes and began to lace them up, he said, “Please give my regards to Sinak. And my thanks.”

“I certainly will,” she said, tying her second boot snugly and standing up straight. “And thank you as well, Jean-Luc. If you ever need anything, just reach out.”

He was confident he wouldn’t, but like she said, possibilities. “The same to you.” He opened the door for her.

In that moment, they both knew that they were wrong; something still remained to be said if this was to be the last time they spoke. The traditional Vulcan salute seemed inadequate somehow. And so what Jean-Luc said instead was, “Goodbye, T’Val. May whatever paths you walk be smooth beneath your feet.”

She sighed and accepted that with a lingering smile. In return, she said, “Goodbye, Jean-Luc. May the ground hold you up while the stars sing your story.”

They shared one more silent moment, filled with the joy and comfort they had brought each other. And then, with his hand on the inside and hers on the handle, they closed the door between them.

[only-in-december]

Hello, I was the Kirk bros anon haha. Two things I would love to have discourse about: one, I feel like Sam isn’t going to make it off the Gorn ship 😭 and if we get a Jim reaction scene I think it’ll actually kill me, and two, do you think that Jim and Sam had nicknames for each other as kids (am I writing a fic? What? No…) like J or JT or Jimmy and Sammy or even Georgie. I have a lot of feelings about this. 😪

Well, howdy, Friend! Oh boy do I have a lot to say on all of that!! Before I get into it all, I want to apologize for taking so long to respond to this. Work has been long lately lol.

So. Let's start with the Gorn Ship part. Sam making it off the Gorn ship is something I deem highly probable, personally based on one key point: SNW is marketed as a direct prequel to TOS. (This isn't saying that I personally see it as being set in the same timeline, but that's a different discussion.)

Canonically, Sam Kirk doesn't die until Stardate 3287.2, and according to Memory Alpha, Hegemony takes place in Stardate 2344.2 which is a few years prior. (Although Stardates aren't always the most consistent. So take that with a grain of salt.) I do hope think we'll get to see more of Jim as they get Sam (and everyone else, I guess) away from the Gorn. But I don't think Sam will die, because of "Operation--Annihilate!" being such an iconic episode, so he's got a little bit of plot armor there.

But Jim's reaction to his brother being taken by the Gorn? Oh My Lanta, I might cry at the thought. That sounds heartwrenching regardless of Sam's survival. I am always up for conversation about this sort of thing, so feel free to disagree with me!!💙

But onto your second question. Childhood nicknames. Those can be tricky, especially coming from siblings. I do think that Jimmy and Georgie were used frequently by their parents, but between the two of them, it's a little more nuanced.

One of my favorite SNW headcanons that you can pry from my cold dead hands, is that Sam didn't really start going by "Sam" until he left home. Jim was the only one who called him that when they were growing up. So in a way, Sam is his childhood nickname. For Jim, I think it was a combination of things. Jim, Jimmy, Jay, JT was a good one too. But really, I think that he probably had some stupid 'brother nickname' like "Mocking Jay" or "Sonny" or something. One of those nicknames that requires like a full ten layers of context that just leaves everyone a little bit confused. I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts on that, though!!

[kosmos2999]

Star Trek: The Animted Series 50th Anniversary Episode Review

Episode: The Infinite Vulcan

Season: 1

Episode: 7

Stardate:

Original airdate: October 20, 1973

Written by: Walter Koenig

Directed by: Hal Sutherland

Music by: Yvette Blais and Jeff Michaels

Executive producers: Lou Scheimer and Norm Prescott

Studio: Filmation Associates

Network: NBC

Series created by: Gene Roddenberry

Cast:

Captain James T. Kirk (voice by William Shatner)

Mr. Spock, Spock 2 (voice by Leonard Nimoy)

Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy (voice by DeForest Kelly)

Lt. Uhura, Computer Voice (voice by Nichelle Nichols)

Lt. Hikaru Sulu (voice by George Takei)

Eng. Montgomery Scott, Agmar, Dr. Stavos Keniclus 5 (voices by James Doohan)

Nurse Christine Chapel (voice by Majel Barrett)

Synopsis:

The Enterprise is engaged in an exploring mission. A newly discovered planet on the pheripheral portion of the galaxy. An away team composed of Captain Kirk, Doctor McCoy, Mister Spock and Lieutenant Sulu is assembled to being beamed down to this world full of natural beauty but full of mystery.

At the arrival, they have found a city apparently abandoned by its inhabitants. They get confusing signals on their scanners and the readings of a power source on a building in front of them. While his teammates explore the inside of the building, Sulu finds a mobile plant and gets hurt mortally by one of its thorns. Kirk, McCoy and Spock came to his rescue once they listen to his scream for help.

The doctor applies one of his antidotes, but it is useless aganist the plant's poison. Then, a group of plant-like beings suddenly appeared. Their leader, Agmar offers a cure for Sulu but McCoy refusses the help. Kirk accepts the help from the natives and just when they apply their antidote, Sulu recovers very fast.

Agmar, the Phylosian told to the crew that they had an earlier contact with humans. One that brought the an infectious bactery that killed a generation of their own, but he also helped them to survive. As they are entering thru a cave, a flock of dragon-like flying plant-lifeforms attack the Enterprise's crew and kidnap Spock.

The Phylosians got a system that makes phasers not working, then a giant human appeared and the natives made a bow to him. He identifies as Doctor Stavos Keniclus 5, the man who saved the natives from extintion. He told the team that he needs Spock for his plans and also told them to leave the planet.

Kirk orders to beam up the rest of the crew.

On the bridge, Kirk orders Lt. Uhura to investigate any data about Keniclus 5. Meanwhile, the doctor tries to find a way to defend themselves against the plant-lifeforms by using a recepie for a pesticide from his gran-grandfather's farm.

Uhura found a record of a scientist Keniciclus who left the Earth after loosing the Eugenic Wars. Kirk is surprised and trying to guess how he survived after more than 200 years.

Kirk, McCoy and Sulu return to the planet's surface but much prepeared to rescue Spock. The natives brought them to a underground compound where Spock is located.

Inside the cave compound, they encounter again with Keniciclus 5. He reveals himself as the fifth generation clone of the original Dr. Keniciclus. His plan is to imposing peace by strenght to the galaxy by invading every single planet they could. For that reason, he produced a Mr. Spock's clone, Spock 2.

As soon as they learned Keniciclus 5's plans for galactic conquest, a new wave of the dragon-like flying plant-lifeforms made an attack. This time, the team is ready to counter using McCoy's pesticide formula as a weapon.

After a successfully defeat of the flying creatures, Kirk triex to reason with Keniciclus 5 that he is unaware of the present time. That there is no need to continue wars from the past because the Federation had brought peace thru the galaxy. Then Kirk had a conversation with Spock 2 about the illogical action of imposing peace thru strenght. Some that goes against the Vulcan philosophy of infinite diversity in infinite combinations. Something that simbolize the elements of truth and beauty.

Spock 2 asserts Kirk's words and changes his mind. Meanwhile, the original Spock is dying in a chamber because of a memory drain performed by the mad scientist, Keniciclus 5. Spock 2 performs a Vulcan mind meld to help his original self to recover.

At the end, Keniciclus 5 was feeling useless after his plans failed miserably, Kirk and the original Spock convince him to use all of his knowledge and strength to help on the restoring of the Phylosian civilization with the help of Spock 2. All of them agree on that.

Fascinating Facts:

This episode was written by Walter Koenig. Due to budget restrictions, Koenig was not cast for playing the role of Lieutenant Chekov in The Animated series, but he made his collaboration by writing this episode.

The Koenig's main source for inspiration for writing the story was the fact that cloning was a very discussed subject in that time.

The mobile plant-lifeform who attackes Sulu has the name of Retlaw. It is Walter spelled backwards. The idea came from a story of a comic book series where the aliens spoke bakwards.

The first reference to the Vulcan philosophy of Infinite Diversity In Infinite Combinations (or IDIC) was made in the third season episode of The Original Series titled “Is There In Truth No Beauty?” At first, Leonard Nimoy refused the idea for a symbol because he thought Gene Roddenberry's idea for merchandising its pin.

[thethirdromana]

DS9 Rarepair Week: First Meeting

[Computer-to-computer instant messaging, Terok Nor, stardate 42177.]

> Remove your tracker from the station security feed immediately. Odo. 

> My dear station constable. What a pleasure it is to meet you, even in such an impersonal manner.  Unfortunately, as I don’t have a tracker on the station security feed, by definition I cannot remove it. 

> I don’t know who you are, but rest assured that if you don’t remove that tracker, I will find out, and your punishment will be severe. Odo.

> Such dedication to your role! I am pleased to meet a non-Cardassian who has such a love of the Cardassian state.

> My feelings for the Cardassian state have nothing to do with it. I serve law and order on Terok Nor. Your tracker infringes that law, and you will remove it. Immediately. Odo. 

> My dear Constable Odo – may I call you Odo? – surely, if you are able to detect this alleged tracker, you also have the power to remove it yourself? I am afraid I can’t do it myself, as I’m unaware of the tracker, and furthermore, not responsible for it.

> You can use my name if you tell me yours. Odo.

> A little forward, I think. Perhaps we could go for a drink, get to know one another a little better, first? This has been one of the most stimulating conversations I’ve had since I arrived on Terok Nor. It would be a pleasure to continue it in person. 

> Hmm. You’ve arrived recently, then? Odo.

> Myself and a few hundred others, Constable. I’m afraid that if you’re trying to identify me, you’ll have to do a little better than that. I can see that you’re trying to track the source of these messages, for instance. A promising idea, but one that I fear will not avail you. 

> If you remove the tracker, there’s no need for me to identify you. Odo.

> Back on the tedious subject of this so-called tracker, constable? A pity. I thought we might explore more varied conversational topics. Have you ever read the literature of Adarak Prime?

> The tracker. Remove it. Odo.

> I hope you’re exploring other avenues for this tracker, Constable. For instance, I am sure that the Ferengi who runs the bar is up to something. 

> Quark is always up to something, but I have that situation entirely under control. He is not responsible for the tracker. You are. Odo. 

> This monomania seems almost unhealthy! I have a proposal. Come out for a drink with me, and we can discuss this face to face. Perhaps I can help you hunt down whoever is really responsible for this tracker. I have a certain amount of experience in the penetration of Nor-series surveillance systems. 

> Hmm. I’m surprised that you’re willing to admit to it. Very well, then. Quark’s, 2300 hours. I will meet with you, but only on the condition that by 2400 hours, that tracker is gone. Odo. 

> As the poet Rax Dran once said, “justice is merciless, but justice is kind.” Thank you, Odo. I do look forward to seeing you later. 

> Odo out.

[tkbrokkoli]

afhjgdsdgh guys she has already replied!!!! And apparently she's already put me on the list for the group!! So theoretically, it's happening!!! I'm gonna go to therapy!!!

🤢 sent an e-mail to that therapist abt trans stuff

[izzysarchivedblogs]

Leonard is CAREFUL to be as quiet as he possibly can as he VERY carefully lays down in just the right position ( On his stomach, supported by one good elbow so one hand was free to VERY gently trace soft circles on Linda's baby bump.) his head leaning down so he could WHISPER so he hopefully wouldn't wake up Linda who was just trying to peacefully get a nap in.

"Hey there jumping jelly bean.. I can see ya in there trying to do flips.. but maybe do you think you could do me a little solid and give yer mama a break? For me?" the KICKING in question, gave the slightest little kick in response right where Leonard's hand just happened to be resting on Linda's stomach.

A soft chuckle...

"C'mon now... don't be so fussy..shhh...shh..." Leonard's voice only grew softer with every word he spoke, his head inching all the closer until he was placing a GENTLE KISS on her stomach. (He couldn't help himself.) He hummed softly, just some soft little tune that had been stuck in his head.. though he still took care to keep his voice as quiet as possible.

STARDATE 2266 -> quiet afternoon

Getting here to this moment, in the broader spectrum had taken time; two years of deciding and trying, doing what she and Leonard could do to make her body and boost their fertility, and she would say that it was worth the months of trying, of nothing until they got here. She felt deep down that they would, and so thy kept trying after the nothings and negatives, and now here she was four months pregnant. How Linda got here this particular day was taking an early morning shift, seeing to a few of the crewman who had always been her patients by appointment and there was a development with one of the technicians from one of the lower decks that she’s been monitoring that she fears will need to be brought to the CMO and the captain as well.

After the work shift, to what had contributed to the decision to take a nap, had been that the ship was within range of federation satellites that allowed for her to had to communications and get in contact with her own family. Check in with her parents and brother, it was rarer for her to get the chance to catch all of them. Linda loves her sister-in-law Becca, and she gets it; or thinks that she does. Everyone was trying to be helpful since this was her first time being pregnant, telling her all the things she is finding out for herself in her late forties. Things that she knew about from a third side, as a medical professional who had to do rotation of obstetrics and gynecology, who lived, studied, and worked at one of the largest interstellar medical facilities between the alpha and beta quadrant.

She knew things and this wasn’t her husband’s first baby, and he happens to be a doctor as well with experience. It’s already starting to feel a little draining, hearing from all the women in her life who had been pregnant before about this and that; followed by the advice. Her sister-in-law was well-intended, but she definitely was desperate for conversation other than what to expect. Or at least, she’d prefer to find out on her own or take advice from Leonard. The highlight of her call has been her mother and seeing her three nieces, all growing up to be the absolutely cutest things to be. Imogen had much to show off, and the twins were chatty, always talking over the other.

Linda had been and was delighted when she had started to notice the movements of the baby. The kicker, which pun may be intended, was that she always been a light sleeper. That’s still been an adjustment and taking a nap today after a stressful morning in the medical bay and a call with a chatty overly advisory sister-in-law was proving to be somewhat of a task. She had already asked the computer to dim the lights, laid herself out on her back and she’ll forever be glad that Leonard’s always been particular about the mattress, the blankets, and the pillows. Its comforts were felt immediately until whatever grace period she had been given was over. In fairness, she had only been trying to nap for about thirty minutes now despite the movements when the door to their home slid open.

That took her from teetering on the edge, to being more aware of her surroundings and body. Twists, kicks, and turns all happening from her stomach, all feeling like a light flutter given the size. A little more awareness, but she still had time before she would be back in blue uniform for part of the evening, so Linda kept her eyes shut even as she listened to Leonard try to quietly move about. The peace would probably end if Jojo popped in early, but that girl liked to be everywhere on the ship all the time when she didn’t have school.

To Leonard’s credit, he was being as quiet as he could be, but heavy sleepers were neither of them. However, Linda’s not about to let him know that she’s more awake than sleeping as of present; so, she pretends not to notice as he lays down in bed with her or does that as best, she can, though there’s some of her own shifting which possibly gives her away. She wouldn’t know as he makes no indication, and Linda was still trying to slip into sleep.

Such a notion proves harder when Leonard does one of her favorite things, that hasn’t gotten old or tired yet (it probably never will) and that’s talk to her bump, hand over her stomach and she’s sure he’s feeling an ounce of the activity that she has. JELLY BEAN ⸺ how her heart does sing over this man and maybe he’s managed to convince said jelly bean to settle back down. It’s not as though Linda had ever needed convincing, because when the talks had come with Leonard the answers were easier found, decisions came about quickly because she really wanted him; Linda’s done rash and romance, and failed and had a whole plan, vision of her life, and then Leonard Mccoy happened to paint a prettier picture with her; and she’s glad.

Linda can’t help herself but give away that she has been woken. One of her hands moves to where Leonard is, tracing up from his shoulder to lightly drag through his hair. ❝ Hey there, Leo.❞ Her voice incredibly softly, to keep the relative quiet and she hums a little, trying to find his tune as her hand brushes back and forth. ❝ Little one just started; all still for when I was talking with Becca, not a single movement. I think little one wanted to greet daddy, or napping for me isn’t allowed. It’s one of the two. ❞ There’s a sigh there at the mention of Taggart’s wife. Linda gives her own chuckle as she talks, and she rolls her head a little. Dark hair sprayed crossed the pillow as she tilts to open her eyes just to see Leonard in the dim lighting, she normally kept for nap time. Gazing down at him, and how does he do that get her heart all in a twist after so many years, over kissing at her stomach.

The weight of his hand and the warmth of nice. ❝ Everyone says hi, Mom said you will have to catch them next chance we get for contact, Jojo too. We had our usual baby update talk. ❞  She gives little details of the call, filling in on what was new with the Carters, their three nieces, and what about pertaining to their future little one, how he is coming along. Linda quiets for a moment, just focuses on brushing her fingers through his hair and she hopes he’s staying for the reminder of her rest period. ❝ Mhhmmm, and you? ❞

She could frame this moment, wanted to pause and stay in quieter moments when Leonard is laying there like this, humming to the bump forever. He's been her greatest love, and she loves their children so much; loves the family that she now has had and looks forward to growing from three to four. Linda brings her hand down, back of her fingers brushing against his cheek then go over where his hand is on her stomach. Resting her hand over his. ❝ Stay for a nap with us, please. ❞

[discotreque]

Red yarn & thumbtacks

I’ve been thinking a totally normal amount about the LCARS graphics in the closing credits of this season of Picard, and I haven’t jumped to a single unhinged conclusion or ludicrous conspiracy theory.

I’ve got several.

Theory #1: Jack Crusher is a clone of the Jack Crusher

Let’s make this storyline even stupider, shall we? There’s a ton of DNA-related imagery throughout, and it’s directly associated with Ed Speleers’s name—just like Seven of Nine’s “performance evaluation” appears when Jeri Ryan’s credit does.

Ridiculous? Yes. Possibly even more offensive than Bev just hiding a kid from Jean-Luc this whole time? Also yes. But on a show that’s never met an outlandish plot twist it didn’t passionately embrace, “he’s definitely their naturally-conceived child and she never told Jean-Luc about him” feels like it can’t be the whole story. Not this early.

Also? This is the melody to “Pop Goes the Weasel,” and in a cadence that evokes old mechanical wind-up music toys. Like you might find in, for example… a jack-in-the-box. A CLONE BOX. *drops mic*

Theory #2: Captain Shaw was at Wolf 359

*picks mic back up*

The USS Constance (NCC-10387; a Constellation-class like the Stargazer) was lost in action under redacted circumstances, on a stardate right at the beginning of TNG Season 4.

I think Liam Shaw was a junior officer on the Constance when Locutus destroyed it, he got PTSD that almost ruined his career (per Vadic’s taunting about his psych profile), and that’s why he’s got a chip on his shoulder about ex-Borg and an aversion to wham-bang escapades.

Theory #3: The ultimate target will be the Fleet Museum

What is truly irreplaceable to Starfleet? Not to sound callous, but you can always replicate more materiel, build more starships, recruit more adrenaline junkies. From an evil antagonist’s point of view, blowing up recruitment centres or even entire starbases is just costing Starfleet resources. How can you subject a post-scarcity society to meaningful loss? Like, psychologically?

Well, you can destroy its history. They can commission a Voyager-A and -B, but they can’t replace the actual ship that went to the Delta Quadrant and back. They can make new Enterprises all the way down to -Z, but they won’t be the same NCC-1701-A that went to the centre of the galaxy and killed god. The USS Excelsior is… also there. And so on.

I’m guessing that Moriarty or Sela or the insects from “Conspiracy” or whoever’s actually pulling the strings here is going to attempt an existential blow to the entire Federation by wiping out the legacy (!) of its most historic surviving starships.

Theory #4: We’re already in Moriarty’s holo-trap

What if Picard and Riker’s conversation in 10 Forward in the very first episode of this season was actually in a holodeck?

What if this entire season so far has been inside a holodeck?

What if everything since TNG Season 6 has been inside a holodeck???

Miscellaneous bullshit:

I don’t recognize this alien script, and couldn’t find anything even close on Memory Alpha. Those are the little fighters deployed from the Shrike, though, right? So maybe it’s that clicky language Vadic’s crew speak. Weird that it’s integrated right into the LCARS like that…

Uhhhhhhh, Garth Nix crossover?

Yeahhhh, okay, I’ve got nothing.

[tarrevizsla]

you still haunt the corners of my heart // read on ao3

[Begin transcript.]

Riov's personal log. Stardate… date: Exactly 140 years after the Battle of Caleb IV. [soft sigh.] It’s still hard to believe I’m — now. If the Elements had accepted me, 140 years ago —

[sound of a drink being poured.]

Well. There’s no use dwelling on could-have-beens. I’m here, now. Still gave up the hundred years I could have spent then — for her. It eats away at me, knowing she thinks I died for her, knowing that she’s gone and I’m still here. I don’t know whether or not she mourned for me. I don’t know whether or not I want her to have mourned.

[a glass clinks on a surface.]

Did I teach her the rites? Did I tell her to give all she had of me up to Fire? Would she have, would I have wanted to her, should she have burnt what she had of me as an offering or kept me with her for a thousand years, should she have left me behind again — no, that’s cruel. I told her to go. I stayed behind. I left her with nothing but memories. I left her no body to bury; I left her with a thousand thousand conversations unsaid, and told her to give up the hope we could ever have them.

I still haven’t, though I know I should; I should lay her to rest, not carry her with me, but these memories I have of her are what I warm myself beside when all other fires and Fires flicker and die. And if I keep her here, in my head and heart, maybe I can make her immortal, or at least keep her alongside me. We almost died together on that day, a century and a half ago; maybe we were always meant to.

Elements. Was it selfish of me to die for her? To take a death that should have been hers by right, as my captain, my riov? Did I dishonor her? Do I dishonor her now, an eternity — a lifetime later, by living in these memories, by gorging my weakness on reminisces of the way she took my hands?

[a soft laugh.] I loved her, didn’t I? Beyond an officer to their captain, beyond a friend to a friend, even beyond a brother to a brother — I loved her. The Vulcans have a word — t’hy’la. I loved her. Burned with it; burned for it. But the truth is more than that: I love her. Fires burn and die, the universe expands, and stars collapse, but this at least will not change: I love her. I could love her for the rest of my life.

[sob; refill drink.]

So. A toast to her. To the fearless Captain of the U.S.S. Minerva. To the Commander she was when we met; to the wise Admiral I know she became. To a friendship cut short; to a debt of honor never repaid; to —

To my friend. To my Captain.

O Captain, my Captain—!