Chapter Text
During his service in Starfleet, many things had unnerved Will Riker, although it was harder to do so these days. And yet, Deanna Troi continued to find ways. He hadn’t expected it today, though, not as they closed in on the Brittain.
The uncertainty in her voice when asked about life on board the ship made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Great. During the hours of travel to this remote spot, Will had taken plenty of time to consider that they might need an away team to board the missing ship. He’d laid out plans for everything from a team to help with minor repairs to quadrant searches if they failed to find the ship.
Risk had always held a certain appeal to him, but boarding a ship blind wasn’t something he was looking forward to doing.
“Commander, I need to come, too.”
They tried to stay as professional as they could while on duty, but that didn’t mean that Will was used to hearing her refer to him by his title. It was an effort to school his features. He hated this. Absolutely didn’t like the idea of taking his partner along for whatever they were walking into. But Will knew that Deanna didn’t take these responsibilities lightly, and he wouldn’t be doing his job as First Officer if he held her back professionally. And so he nodded tightly and tried to remind himself that she was a highly trained officer and had good instincts.
The bridge of the Brittain was dark, and his first impression was one of deterioration. The smell of decomposition hit a moment later and had Will rounding to the captain’s chair. God, he was glad he hadn’t brought along any younger officers. Not that it was easy to see the carnage strewn across the space.
He remembered the first time he saw someone die in the line of duty, back in his days as an ensign. One misstep by another ensign meant that one moment they were working in tandem to repair a conduit, and a moment later his shipmate was dead from electrocution. His stomach turned at the thought.
Collecting the bodies and finding the captain’s log only expanded the morose puzzle, rather than providing answers. In retrospect, Will should’ve expected some sort of fallout from the whole event. The stillness of the ship had unnerved him, and it was more disturbing to find a traumatized man holed up in a locked room than if they’d run into anyone armed or screaming.
And by the fifth night in a row Deanna was ripped out of a nightmare, sitting bolt upright and gasping for air as though she was drowning… well, that was the creepiest part of all.
Two nights ago, he’d attempted to calm her, like he had the other nights. Low lights to attempt to dispel the fears lingering in dark corners. Various teas. Giving her space to herself or to meditate. Long hugs when she’d said something about deep pressure and a sympathetic nervous system– or was it the parasympathetic?
This time she had startled awake so badly that he’d nearly ended up on the deck. His pillow had, at any rate. Before he could attempt to assure her, or even get a word out, she had burst into tears.
“I’m s-s-sorry,” she sobbed, breath hitching as hot tears poured down her cheeks.
“Hey, hey, it’s … it’s alright,” Will attempted to assure her, all while knowing it certainly wasn’t alright that she couldn’t seem to escape the horrors of the ship. It had to be what they had seen, right? He gave her shoulder a soft squeeze and slipped from their bed. On his way to the replicator, Will rescued his pillow and tossed it back on the bed. Within moments, he was returning with her robe and a hot chocolate.
While they had compromised a bit on the temperature of their quarters, he remembered that after the initial shock of the bad dreams wore off, she was often chilled and the unsettled feeling lingered. Like the tiredness nagging at him. At both of them, really. He wasn’t sleeping that well himself. He wasn’t going to bring it up to Deanna, but he was sure she had noticed. Whether it was their bond or his own discomfort with what they had seen…
Her hands scrubbed at tears, and she took a stuttering breath as she accepted the warm mug. “Thanks,” she whispered, flushing a little, though he couldn’t think what she had to be embarrassed about.
“The same bad dream?” Will slid into place beside her, leaving the lights at a quarter while she took a slow sip and nodded. He gave his pillow a few punches, shaping it, and already knowing he wasn’t going to settle back into sleep any time soon. “Anything new from Hagan?”
It had struck him as odd that the only survivor was the Betazoid. Betazoids were notoriously pacifists. And while Hagan had a bigger build than the average male from Betazed, the man was hardly a fighter. It was yet another part of this weird story that didn’t make sense. Whatever had happened, Will doubted that the officer would ever fully recover from whatever trauma he had seen and endured.
She gave a slow shake of her head, then shivered before taking a long drink. He was glad he had opted for something that would warm her from the inside. “The same phrases again and again. Telepathically… and I can’t… I…” Another long drink and she set the mug on the bedside table. “It’s like he has these fragments, and he’s handing them to me… but I can’t… seem to piece them into a picture I recognize.” Her hands rubbed over her face, and she sighed, shoulders dropping. “Or maybe it’s that I’m so tired…”
“C’mere,” Will invited, opening his arms and feeling the closest to comfort and almost like his body could consider resting when she curled against his chest. Her fingers tangled into the lapel of his pajamas, and his hand slid to the back of her neck, attempting to rub away the tension. They could figure this out. Would figure this out. They just needed some sleep first. Everything would be better by morning. It… had to be.