Chapter Text
He’d stayed up all night putting his report into writing, so now he could stand in Picard’s office in silence, his eyes on the mementos that made up Picard’s starboard wall. The scent of hot replicated tea filled the cabin, the silence broken only by the tap of Picard’s fingertips against his PADD as he read the report.
“Counselor Troi and Doctor Crusher will submit their conclusions this afternoon,” Picard remarked. “Perhaps you’d like to join us for a round-table discussion.”
Donovan ran his finger over the hull of a model starship. The Stargazer. He’d run a consulting mission on the Stargazer once, under its new captain. “Will Commander Riker be there, sir?” he asked.
Picard reached for his cup. “Do you think that would be fruitful?”
“He is the subject of these reports.” Donovan turned to face Picard. “And your friend. Deanna’s and Beverly’s as well. Having him present might impede our ability to speak freely.”
Picard hid a pale smile behind the rim of his cup. “You’ve already made your decision, then.”
“The decision isn’t mine to make. To return to active duty, Commander Riker needs three signatures. None of them are my own.”
Picard nodded almost absently as he set his cup back down. “And you’re certain your opinion isn’t…”
“Clouded?” Donovan guessed.
“Influenced,” Picard corrected. “By your position on this ship.”
“If Commander Riker is returned to active duty, will he be reinstated as first officer?” Donovan asked politely. “Will I be reassigned to a new ship?”
Picard tilted his head to the side, studying Donovan’s face. Donovan knew, from long years of practice, that his features gave nothing away.
“Would that be so devastating?” asked Picard finally, mildly. “A year is a long assignment for a man like you, Lieutenant Commander. Have you, perhaps, come to view the Enterprise as home?”
Donovan tried, and failed, to suppress a cynical smile. Picard took that as an answer. He gave a gentle nod and returned to his PADD.
“You will not be reassigned unless you request it,” he said. “I would like to see Commander Riker resume his duties as first officer, if possible — but the hand-over process will be slow. We can discuss this later, when — if — he resumes light duties.”
“Aye, sir,” said Donovan softly. He charted the next nine months in his head. There was a research station near Bajor that would be rotating its crew by then. The commanding officer knew Donovan from way back; he’d slide in with no problem and go from there if necessary. But the prospect left a bad taste in his mouth. Too many unresolved issues on Bajor. Too many memories.
“I understand you’ve been in touch with Dr. Crusher,” Picard said. “Am I correct in assuming you’ve accessed Commander Riker’s medical file?”
“I was there for much of the initial medical analysis,” Donovan said. “I didn’t need to access his file.” He turned back to the wall of mementos eyed a shard of alien pottery sealed in a museum display case, the glass laser-etched in the corner with Picard’s initials. “The Ferengi tattoo on his wrist is a symbol of love and possession. As an anthropologist, I’d guess it’s a brand — a way to mark a particular type of slave. And if you’ve read Dr. Crusher’s report, sir, then you know there was extensive evidence of…” He lowered his head, his cheeks heating a little. “Of torture,” he decided to say. Then he pushed past the embarrassment to say it. “Sexual assault. STIs.”
“Yes,” said Picard almost inaudibly.
By then Donovan’s blush had cooled. He could almost hear an old familiar ghost teasing him about it — about his sensitivity to all things love and romance — and the memory set off a near-physical reaction, a determination to regroup, show no emotion, be cold as stone. To Picard he said, a little roughly, “Think of the optics.”
Picard’s features twitched. He stared at Donovan with dark eyes. “I’ll give you the chance to try that again, Commander,” he said in a low voice.
Chastised, but not embarrassed, Donovan said, “Think of Riker’s reputation . We need to assess where he was sold. Who came into contact with him. How fast, and how far, this news will spread.” He put up a hand to forestall Picard’s temper, but his heart rate kicked up as he did so, warning him that he had plunged into dangerous territory. “I’m not saying this to dissuade you, sir. You want to reinstate him? I want that, too. All I’m saying is we need to prepare for the day this news is used against him. It will be our duty to support and defend him when that happens.”
Picard relaxed a little, but the line of his jaw was still tight, hard. “I would like to tell you, Commander, that the officers of Starfleet are above such malicious gossip. Certainly, that we are above allowing it to influence our positions, our fleet politics.” He let out a clipped sigh. “But I think we both know better. Thank you for your report.”
Donovan nodded. He examined the shard of pottery in its case one last time. In the glass, he could see Picard’s reflection studying him.
“You were an archaeologist once, I believe,” Picard said. “Before the conflict on Kallonia?”
Donovan traced the shard’s jagged line with his fingertip. His hand trembled, and he had to clench it into a fist to make it stop.
“Commander?” Picard prompted. When Donovan didn’t answer right away, he said, “You were an archaeologist? I ask only because I have an interest in the field myself.”
“As a hobby,” said Donovan quietly. He forced himself to turn away from the artifact. “It was nothing serious, unfortunately. But yes. I had an interest in the ancient Bajoran settlements on Kallonia and its moons. I joined a dig there, fresh out of school.”
His voice trailed off.
“You were instrumental in helping the Bajorans on Kallonia regain their independence,” Picard remarked. Donovan hid his clenched fists behind his back.
“I used to think so,” he agreed, his voice light. “I’m not so sure of that anymore.” His fixed smile became a little more natural. “But it won me a Starfleet commission.”
Picard’s eyes drifted down to Donovan’s combadge. He didn’t smile. “Yes,” he said gently. “That it did. Donovan—”
But the gentleness in his voice had Donovan’s nerves jangling and his tongue fuzzy with the intense need for a drink.
“May I be dismissed, sir?” he interrupted. “It’s almost time for my shift.”
Picard hesitated. He glanced over Donovan’s shoulder at the shard of pottery — and something in his gaze softened, and finally, mercifully, he nodded his head. “Dismissed, Commander.”
Donovan bounced on his heels, a cheeky gesture that didn’t fit his personality at all, and one he instantly regretted. By the time he left, his face was burning again, and that voice was back: Luvo, young and Bajoran, lanky and smiling, his fingers caressing Donovan’s smooth cheek.
So pale, he’d whispered. And you blush so easily.
Donovan ducked into the nearest supply closet and waited for the voice to fade away.