Comfort

He came to her cabin late one night, pacing the width of the door frame twice before steeling himself to ring for admittance.

"Come," she answered at once and again he worried that he was interrupting her. Perhaps she was waiting for someone?

"You're not disturbing me a bit. I was just catching up on some reading. Please have a seat." She rose gracefully from her place on the sofa and he saw a flash of satin beneath her robe. She either didn't notice or chose to ignore his sudden hard swallow.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Damn her sweet innocence. Didn't she know what that honeyed voice, that feline slink of a walk did to him? To any man?

The replicator made a noise as it produced her tea and he realized she was looking at him waiting for an answer. He really needed a shot of something mind-deadening so he wouldn't embarrass himself. Instead he shook his head then focused on the wall over her shoulder.

"Nothing, thank you."

She carried her hot beverage carefully, setting it on the coffee table with a tiny clink of china against glass. Then she curled up on the sofa again, the skin of her long lovely legs visible for an eternity before she wrapped them in her robe.

*This was a huge mistake.* he decided, ready to leave. But she was holding out her hand, reaching out to him and he couldn't refuse her. Just as he could never refuse her. He took the closest chair, then reached out to accept her offering.

She didn't push. She never did when he came to her like this. Whatever was hurting him, whatever brought him here would come out. She just needed to be patient.

Her thumb caressed the skin of his hand. It was rough in places, toughened by old calluses that spoke volumes about him. She knew the history of those hands, or at least most of it. But there was always so much more to learn. So she waited, giving him a gentle smile.

He closed his eyes for just a moment, feeling the strength of her hand. The strength of their connection. She was always so strong. After all wasn't that why he was here? For her strength?

Slowly. With much effort, the words formed. He spoke of himself, his youth and finally of the son that had been thrust upon him then cruelly ripped away.

Sometime during his disjointed monologue she left her seat and knelt beside him, never breaking their contact.

He promised himself he would not cry. That he would not shed tears over something he could not have. When he finished speaking and opened his eyes, he realized that he had broken that promise. Hot tears rained down onto her delicate hand and trailed streams of saline down her arm.

Embarrassed he tried to pull away. She wouldn't let him. Instead she drew his face down to hers, kissing away the wetness.

Her kisses were loving and tender, given innocently and he took them the way they were meant, returning the favor as he kissed away her own tears. Tears she shed in sympathy, mirroring his pain with her own.

After all, that was why he had come to her. Because she alone could understand what it meant to lose a child yet still be strong enough to offer comfort to another.

He wrapped his arms around her, sorry for his selfishness. Sorry for bringing her tears. Sorry she had so very much sadness in her life.

She knew what he was thinking, even as he thought it.

"It's all right." She promised him, kissing his wet cheek again. "It will be all right."

They stayed there, intertwined, sharing sorrow and strength. The sense of loss he felt over the boy, who for just a short while had been his son, lessened just the slightest bit. And Will Riker managed to find a tiny smile for the beautiful red head he held in his arms.

He believed her.

:::end:::

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