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When Ro Laren returned from her advanced training, she visited with a number of people. Riker heard how she was doing second hand, and that was good enough. He didn't seek her out, she didn't seek him out, and that was probably for the best. They were likely just as volatile now as they had been before she left. He hadn't changed much, and he doubted she had either. Better not to stir things up unnecessarily when he'd heard she had an important mission coming up.
The turbolift had other ideas. He'd been riding up from Engineering when it came to a halt on deck thirty-two, revealing Ro.
Her expression twisted into one of mingled distaste and unease. “Oh.”
He stepped to the side and raised an eyebrow. If she wanted to wait for the next one, that was up to her, but surely they were both professional enough to share a turbolift for a few moments.
He could tell she took that as a challenge. Her expression set and she strode in firmly, taking the exact middle of the turbolift. He looked down at her, getting a fierce look in return, and faced forward. He didn't yield to her brashness. He wasn't picky about personal space; she could stand as close as she liked.
“Please state destination,” the ship reminded her.
She startled at the reminder, and cleared her throat. “Bridge.” The lift resumed. “You too?” she asked him.
“Deck eight, as a matter of fact,” he answered. “Heading to my office.”
“You actually use it?” she said, a little amused.
“Sometimes.”
Silence fell between them for a long moment. “So,” she said. “Nice court martial.”
“Halt turbolift,” he snapped.
She stumbled slightly as they braked. “Hey!”
He turned to face her, completely serious. “Do you honestly want to talk about my court martial?”
She frowned at him, thinking. “What happens if I say yes?” she asked, suspicious.
“We arrange a meeting to discuss it,” he answered. “Privately.”
She tilted her head and smirked. “What, afraid to ruin your reputation?”
He took a breath. Apparently they couldn't be professional enough to share a turbolift, or at least she couldn't. He'd try his best. “I owe you an apology,” he said measuredly, going over the lines Deanna had had him write out and practice. “As Councellor Troi has been insisting, I have a bad habit of being harsh to people that have files that look like my own. I was too hard on you, and I'm sorry. You are a good officer; I respect your drive. I'm glad to see you've found success in spite of me.”
Ro stared at him, wide-eyed in shock. After a moment, she scowled at him. “How often have practised that one?”
“Just because I practised it doesn't mean it wasn't sincere.”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” she said, her words drenched in sarcasm. “My mistake.” She snorted. “And I remind you of yourself? Was that supposed to be a compliment?”
“You don’t think we have anything in common?” Will challenged her, folding his arms and glaring down at her.
“As a matter of fact, I don’t.”
“Divided loyalties. You are being pulled in two completely different directions. Sooner or later, they're going to come into conflict, and you will have to choose, Ro. God only knows what that'll lead to.”
She folded her arms tightly. “It's great to know how little you trust me.”
“That's not what I'm saying.”
“It really sounds like it is, Commander. On the eve of my mission to infiltrate the Maquis—”
He froze. “Your what? And you accepted?!”
She gave him a look. “I don't run from a challenge like some people, Riker. Certainly not for twelve long years.”
His shoulders hiked up. “There is a very obvious problem with your mission and the Maquis. Care to hear it?”
“I'd rather not.”
“They're the symptom, not the problem,” he told her. “The problem is the Cardassians. There are reasons to go to war, and whether or not the Federation is in a position to do so, the Cardassians have given us those reasons. A damn appeasement strategy is only allowing them to strengthen their position before we inevitably have to go to war, and the delay is costing innocent lives. We have seen this pattern in the history of war across multiple planets, again and again, and yet we're falling back into the very same trap. The Maquis are right that something should be done, but I don't think much of their methods, and it isn't personal to me.” He looked her dead in the eye. “Tell me you can join a Maquis group and betray them. That you think that would be right.”
“Because I'm Bajoran?” she fumed. “Because you think I can't follow orders?”
“Because I think you're smart enough to question orders—unlike me,” he said pointedly. “Aren't you?”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to be honest with yourself! Can you turn on the Maquis, even knowing that there's a possibility they'll be handed over to appease the Cardassians sooner or later?”
“I may be Bajoran, but I don't care about their cause,” she growled. “I'm out of it all.”
“This mission doesn't sound much like being ‘out of it all.’”
“It's just a mission!”
He raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “And you have no desire for revenge? For justice? None at all?”
She opened her mouth to respond, then shut it, glaring at him. “You really are a lawyer, aren't you?” she gritted out. “I thought better of you than that, but given your court martial, I should have known.”
“Do you want to know about my court martial?” he demanded again, his hands fisted at his sides. “I'll tell you about my court martial. I wanted my justice and I got it. I didn't care what happened to me. I would have accepted being kicked out of Starfleet just the same as Pressman. I deserved it just as much. And I think that you are exactly the same way.”
“I'm not.”
“Which would be worse? Being just, or being a traitor? Oh, wait. That's right, you'd be a traitor either way.”
“Shut up and leave me alone!”
“Tell the truth! Do you really think you can stomach it? How are you going to live with yourself after this mission, Ro Laren?!”
“Commander Riker, is there a problem with the turbolift?”
Data's voice interrupted the argument and demolished the rising tension before it could snap some other, more violent way. Will felt himself deflate, stepping away from where he was looming over her. Ro glared back at him, shaking with rage, and reminding him that he had just said all the things he had been determined not to say to her. He ran a hand over his face, ashamed. “I'm sor—”
“Shut up,” she hissed at him.
He held out his hands in concession, taking another step back to lean against the side of the turbolift. He cleared his throat and tapped his commbadge. “No, Data, nothing's wrong,” he answered, his voice just a little hoarse.
“Are you certain, Commander?”
“Yes. Resume,” he added to the computer, wrapping his arms around his torso and refusing to look at Ro.
“I should have waited for the next one,” she muttered under her breath.
I should have gotten off , he thought back, though he didn't answer aloud. The turbolift stopped at deck eight , and he got off, leaving her plenty of room as he did. He sincerely wished that Ro would have the restraint to stay away from him, for both their sakes. He'd certainly try to stay away from her.
Riker stepped into the captain's ready room. Picard didn't look up, studying his PADD with furrowed brows. “You asked for me, sir?” he prompted.
He started, then exhaled heavily. “You've been quiet, lately,” Picard mentioned, looking at him closely. He cocked his head in answer, and the captain raised an eyebrow. “Tell me, what do you think of Lieutenant Ro's reports so far, sparse though they are?”
“Ah,” he answered with a grimace.
“Ah,” Picard repeated. He gestured to the chair.
Riker took a seat, thinking about how to address the situation. “You know we don't get along well,” he said carefully.
“I am aware.”
“What you probably don't know is that we fought right before she left for her mission. After that, I thought I ought to recuse myself.”
“Did you?” Picard asked pointedly, unimpressed.
“I lashed out, and it was inexcusable,” he insisted. “I overstepped badly, and I know I'm biased when it comes to the lieutenant. I didn't want to give you such a flawed perspective.”
“I can't believe you would do so out of nowhere, Number One.”
He hesitated, then conceded the point. “She made a point of discussing my court martial.”
Picard hummed thoughtfully. “It seems you were both out of line, then. Did you expect it to occur?”
“We were just riding a turbolift together. I thought we wouldn't have enough time to get to each other like that. I was determined not to let myself get out of hand.” He shook his head, frustrated. “I shouldn't have taken the chance.”
Picard interlaced his fingers. “Biased in what way?”
“She's trapped between two worlds, Captain, and I don't think it's a sure thing which one she'll ultimately choose. I don't trust her to choose us, but then again, I never have. My opinion of her has changed very little, even with all the work she's put into her career. So you can see my blind spot, I think.”
The captain's expression fell. “Unfortunately, I believe your suspicion may prove correct.”
Will winced. “Sir, there's still time—”
Picard shook his head slowly. “You did warn me from the start.” He sighed heavily. “Carry on.”
He got up and left in silence.
To hell with orders.
That was his primary thought when Picard wound up giving him notice to prepare to join Ro on her mission with the express expectation that he would keep her on task. To hell with orders, she was going to make her choice sooner or later, and he didn't want to be in the vicinity when she did. But the alternative was to let someone with a future, a real career take his place in the blast zone, and that sat with him even worse. So he did as he was told, and thought about the consequences in silence over the real whiskey Guinan had poured for him in spite of the synthehol he'd ordered.
“She wanted to apologize to you before she left, you know.”
He glanced at Deanna and frowned. She sat across from him at the corner table, taking his hand in hers. “Who?” he asked.
Deanna gave him a knowing look. “Ro caught brief glimpses of you before she left for the mission, always with a heavy feeling of remorse, but she was never able to corner you somewhere private to talk to you.”
“I would have guessed murderous rage,” he joked, sipping his whiskey.
Deanna smiled. “There was a little of that, too.”
Of course. He sighed, looking down at the whiskey. “I lost control and overstepped badly.”
“Yes,” she agreed, “but you were also honest, and she knew that. She knew, looking back, that she had provoked you first—intentionally—and that the fact that you lashed out at her for it in a way she wasn't prepared to handle was a result of that.”
“You had a chat with her?”
“She doubted she could really complete this mission, after what you said. Those were very heavy questions you gave her.”
“Do you think she can?”
“Do you?”
He shook his head slowly. “I don't know.”
Deanna frowned in concern. “Should you really be going on this mission, then?”
“Do you honestly see me leaving it for someone unaware of the possibility?”
Deanna sighed. “Will.”
He shrugged and finished the whiskey.
“At least tell me you'll give her a chance.”
“I will,” he promised. “She could just as easily choose to complete it, but it is up to her. I will do my best to see the mission through either way, and that's that.”
“That's that,” she repeated, her brow slightly furrowed. Be careful, she added mentally, her worry insistent.
Of course, he projected back, squeezing her hand.
It took the Maquis a little while to warm up to him, but he knew how to play his role. They'd suffered a devastating loss recently, he could tell. That made it harder, too, making him seem like a cheap replacement. Ro hadn't helped with how she'd introduced him, but he hadn't expected her to. “He's my cousin, distant,” she'd said with the air of resigned disgust reserved for unwelcome family. “He's not good for much, but he can fly well. He offered to help.”
“And you trust him?”
Ro stared at him for a moment. “He's not going to betray me,” she said flatly. “You can depend on that.”
He gave her a sardonic salute, and she turned away in disdain. The rest of the Maquis engaged in small talk, and he tried to be at least moderately charming without looking like any kind of threat. He talked piloting, a little bit of politics, and a bit of backstory. It had been frightening to realize that parts of his childhood were all too easy to adapt to sound as if they'd taken place in a Bajoran refuge camp. Mostly good memories, or maybe “less bad” by the measure of a refugee camp, but still. At least his introduction had gone well enough in the end.
That night was not nearly as enjoyable. When he woke up abruptly, reaching for the weapon under his pillow, he found himself shoved back down to his cot with a hand clapped over his mouth and a knife at his throat. He froze, trying not to breathe too heavily, fighting not to swallow when the knife was already so close to cutting his skin. He glanced over, trying to see who had taken him captive, but unable to tell in the dark.
“You just had to wake up,” Ro hissed at him. “Shout, and I tell them who you really are.”
She drew her hand away from his mouth slowly. The knife didn’t move, so neither did he, keeping his breathing shallow. Ro growled low in her chest, sounding upset. “I should have told them the truth from the start. Can you imagine the leverage of having the second in command of the Enterprise at our mercy? The only question is whether the Federation or the Cardassians would give more to get their hands on you.”
“Cardassians,” he advised in a whisper.
The knife twitched against his neck, making him inhale sharply. After a moment, the pressure eased slightly. Ro huffed. “I can't do that. Not even to you.”
“Made a choice yet?” he asked her.
The pressure increased immediately. “Shut up.”
That was a no. He studied the ceiling he couldn't see, waiting.
“How are you so calm?” she demanded. “I have a knife to your throat.”
“I’m worth more to you alive than dead,” he said easily. He also didn't think she was really capable of killing him. After finding out who had taken him at knife point, he was more concerned with making sure there weren't any accidents. The only reason he didn't tell her that was because he really didn't need it taken as a challenge.
Ro fished his weapon out from under his pillow before drawing the knife away. He slowly rolled onto his side to face her, just able to make out her silhouette. He waited silently, and after a few heartbeats she shifted. “Not going to try to convince me that Starfleet is the way to be?” she asked.
“Would it help?”
She shook her head.
Will hesitated for a few long moments before deciding to say it. “ Ut autem pugna iniustitiam maior, ” he quoted.
“What?”
“It's what convinced me that Pressman could be taken down more thoroughly by not just shooting him dead,” he explained. “It means ‘to fight the greater injustice.’”
Ro sat silently.
“I’ll say to you what a much wiser person said to me then,” he told her. “You're in a key position right now. You have a chance to weight the scales of justice, one way or another. Whichever option you choose will effect the future—will make it easier for that same thing to happen again. It's up to you to choose what that will be.”
“It sounds like you're telling me to join a terrorist organization.”
“Is that what you think is the just choice?”
“Is that what you think is the just choice?” she countered.
“I think I still don't agree with Maquis methods, no matter what I think of the Cardassians.”
She stayed silent for a while, then. “I'm sorry,” she said gruffly.
“Sorry?”
“The—thing,” she answered lamely, waving the knife in explanation. “Our last fight.”
“I crossed the line.”
“I crossed it first,” she muttered. “I ought to know better than to stab at vulnerable points with you. You stab back.”
He gave a quiet chuckle at the irony of that.
“Oh, shut up,” she mumbled. “But tell me this. Why did it take you so long?”
Will shrugged. “Who are you willing to put in danger for your own ends?”
Ro didn't answer. “Did you know,” she said quietly, “I think if Captain Picard had said what you just did at our last meeting, I would be sure about sticking to the mission?”
“What did he say?”
“He said it didn't matter what I thought of him,” she muttered, picking at the knife handle with faint plinks of fingernail against metal. “That I was throwing away everything, that he was prioritizing the mission, that he'd have me court-martialled if I got in the way.” He could feel her glare. “That he didn't trust me.” She kept picking at the knife. “I just…whatever I do, I don't want to let him down.”
The magic of Jean-Luc Picard. To know him was to love him. “His look of disappointment is worse than any formal dressing down I've ever gotten,” he agreed. “I hate it.”
“So now you are telling me to go with Starfleet.”
“That's not—” he sighed heavily, frustrated. “Ro. I'm not going to get in the way of your decision. I'm going to assume we're working together unless you prove otherwise, but I'm not trying to influence you. As if I even could.”
She folded her arms.
“I don't agree with how he went about that,” he added. “You had a rapport and he ignored it—damaged it, even. But, knowing him, he sent me as support and a warning. If he didn't trust you it wouldn't have been me. It wouldn't have been anyone. He'd have set you up and made it look like you followed through with the mission anyway.”
Ro shuddered slightly. “He would, wouldn't he?” She curled into a ball. “I don't understand it. I don't understand how he can help the Cardassians.”
“You probably didn't hear, off at training.”
“Hear what?”
“Last year, he was abducted by Cardassians and tortured for information he didn't have. Then they just tortured him to break him.”
Her breath caught. “And you let this happen?” she hissed.
“I did what I could right away. I ended up getting relieved of duty until the replacement captain figured he would have to stomach me to get ahead of the Cardassians,” he replied. “And then we got him back.”
“Replacement captain. What idiot dreamed that up?”
That was surprisingly gratifying, even if she'd only been considering Picard when making the statement. “He doesn't think he is helping them, Ro,” Will continued quietly. “He probably thinks the only way to save the Maquis is to capture them, and keep them in Starfleet custody rather than Cardassian. But he still trusts the Admiralty. I don't. We've argued about it before.”
She jerked in surprise. “You two fight?”
“Often enough,” he allowed. “Apparently, doing it privately means that no one's ever noticed it.”
“No, it's…” Ro waved a hand at him. “Anyone could see that you'd follow him to the ends of the galaxy, and into a black hole besides. Hard to imagine you'd bring yourself to contradict him.”
“Lawyer, remember?”
Ro stifled her own unexpected laughter at that. The conversation faded into nothing as they waited together, and Ro continued to think of what she might do. After a few minutes, she set his weapon beside him and withdrew in near silence. Riker tucked it back under his pillow, rolled over, and went back to sleep.
Tell him I'm sorry.
The flight back to the Enterprise was nigh unbearable. The weight of Ro's actions sat on his shoulders, making him wonder if he should have tried harder to convince her—tried at all. But he couldn't say he disagreed with her choice.
The scrutiny she'd face now…how long had the other Maquis known? Had they overheard their conversation, or had she told them later? Had they just found out and still accepted her, even though she gave up the shuttle, a resource they dearly needed?
She could have either killed or captured him, just the way she had mentioned doing that night, but ultimately he had been right. She didn't have it in her to kill him. Moving forward, that was likely to cause her trouble. There was a reason that the more ruthless Maquis cells met with greater success. If she held to her principles, the road would be much harder. But if she didn't…well.
He landed and stepped out, only to find the captain waiting there for him. He swallowed hard, trying to think of how to explain what had happened—
Captain Picard swept a furious but controlled look over him before locking eyes with him, bitterly disappointed. The captain turned and left even as Ro's words were still dying on his tongue. The captain had relied on him to bring Ro back. Instead, he had let her go, practically with his blessing. And maybe, just maybe, Picard had finally realized that Will had turned his back on him in favour of the JAG back when Pressman came on board.
Will hated working with people who had divided loyalties. He hadn't a clue why Picard seemed drawn to them.
fin