Chapter Text
Geordi La Forge sipped his drink, hovering on the outskirts of the wedding reception at Château Picard. Jean-Luc and a Romulan: who’d have seen it coming?
For his part, Geordi had always assumed that his former captain would end up with Beverley Crusher. Their unresolved sexual tension had been the subject of many a chat round the poker table back on the Enterprise. But apparently nothing had ever come of it—at least, nothing that anyone had ever felt any particular need to tell Geordi about.
As if reading his mind, Beverley flashed him a quick smile from across the room before turning back to her own husband, a Trill man who looked young enough to be her son (though appearances, in this case, were very much deceiving).
Picard and Laris. Beverley and Odan. Will and Deanna. Miles and Keiko. Even Worf had remarried—this time to a fearsome-looking Klingon noblewoman named Khal’ris.
And then there was him. Just him.
“Uncle Geordi!”
He felt a smile creep across his lips. “Soji!”
The young android caught him in a hug. “I figured I’d see you here!”
Geordi returned her hug fondly. It had been more than two years since Jean-Luc had introduced him to Data’s “daughter” following their standoff with the Tal’Shiar, and the two had quickly become friends. They’d had a fair amount to bond over—chiefly her father, of course, but La Forge’s own civil rights advocacy during the Synth Ban had done a lot to endear him to her. It was good that it had had some social payoff; God only knew that it had cost him quite a few friendships during the ‘80s and ‘90s.
“How’re things on the gladhanding circuit?” he asked, pulling away after a few seconds.
Soji gave her eyes a small roll. “I’m finally done with that, thank heaven. What’s up with you? I heard that there was a council inquiry?”
Geordi shrugged. “Yeah, well. Only just proved what I already knew: that I’d been the target of a smear campaign by the Tal’Shiar. Still, it’s nice to actually have someone in officialdom acknowledge it for a change! Might even be able to work as an engineer again, now that my reputation has been cleared up.”
Soji smiled at him sympathetically. There were few words that set Geordi on edge quite as much as “Tal’Shiar.” It had been more than thirty years since they’d tried to brainwash him into assassinating a Klingon ambassador, and his opinion of them had not improved one iota since he’d started advocating for the rights of artificial lifeforms. If Laris hadn’t turned out to be one of the loveliest people that Geordi had ever met, then he might have taken Jean-Luc’s decision to marry a former member of that organization personally. He sighed heavily.
“You should come to Coppelius,” said Soji. “My siblings will respect you there. They know what you’ve done for them.”
“Hm. Yeah. I could be ‘uncle’ to an entire nation.”
Geordi had intended the line to be a joke, but it came out ringing bitter in his ears. And Soji’s too, if her expression was anything to go by.
“There are worse things to be.”
That at least was true. ‘Traitor of Utopia Planitia’ for one. ‘Synth-fucking pervert’ for another. Geordi downed his glass.
“Sorry,” he replied. “It’s just…the last time that I was on Coppelius…” His voice trailed off.
“You saw him everywhere.”
Geordi chuckled and smiled sadly. “Yeah.”
Data had lived on in every look and gesture at Coppelius Station. Every tilt of a head; every pair of golden eyes staring back at him with a curiosity that was at once both inhuman and the most human thing that Geordi had ever seen. It had gladdened his heart to know that his friend, in a way, was still there; but it had driven him mad to know that Data himself was always and forever just out of reach.
Soji laid a hand on his shoulder. “Think about it, at least. I worry about you, uncle.”
Geordi patted her hand. “I’ll think about it.”
She inclined her head. They both knew that it wouldn’t be happening.
“Oh Soji!”
The call came from a surprisingly earnest looking young Romulan across the room. He waved at her dopily. “Soji! Soji! It’s me, Elnor!”
Soji paid a last glance to Geordi, who smiled. “Go be with your friend.”
She nodded, kissed her ‘uncle’ quickly on the cheek, and took off.
Geordi smirked at the Romulan as he watched Soji join him. He’d remembered when he’d acted like that with Susanna Leijten back on the Victory. Probably even dopier, come to think.
Poor Susanna. Her ship had gone down with all hands in the Battle of Benzar. There had been a lot of that going around.
He made his way over to the bar, poured himself a fresh glass of Bourgogne, and leaned back as he surveyed the room. Will. Deanna. Beverley. Miles. Worf. Jean-Luc. His friends from the Enterprise. Minus one, of course.
Every single one of them had stood by him after the attack on Utopia Planitia. Every single one of them had offered their support when he’d gone to the mat against the Synth Ban, using his standing as the director of the very facility that had been bombed. Every single one of them had sent him messages of support and solidarity when the whisper campaign had started up against him, the people on the newsfeeds “Just Asking Questions” about how the director of Utopia Planitia had “just so happened” to survive when the Rogue Synths had killed so many of his colleagues; and wasn’t it just the most remarkable coincidence that Director La Forge had been so chummy with that Synth, Data, back in the day? His friends had tried to use their influence to prevent him from getting sacked by the Starfleet Corps of Engineers after he’d been arrested at that protest march outside of the Federation Council Chamber (it hadn’t helped); they’d tried to testify to his good character. But, as it turned out, even in a society with no money, it was still possible to rob a man of his reputation.
Geordi became aware that he was clutching his wine goblet with a death grip about its stem. He set it down on the bar beside him and took a deep breath.
He was grateful for his friends. They’d made efforts on his behalf. But, at the end of the day, they’d all still gotten to have lives, to get married, to be happy—while he’d been disgraced and vilified, left to eke out a meagre existence maintaining ships for the Fenris Rangers and giving occasional speeches at hologram rights rallies.
And now, he’d emerged on the Right Side of History.
It was a shitty consolation prize.
“Hello, Mr. La Forge.”
Geordi’s breath caught in his throat. His ocular implants drifted over to his right, where the Borg Queen sat with an almost absurd degree of casualness by the bar.