The BLTS Archive: Tapestry Universe
Truth In Rain
by Unzadi (unzadi@aol.com)

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Archive:  ASC, please.  Anybody else, please ask.

Disclaimer:  Paramount owns everything even vaguely related to Star
Trek, including the famous Uncle Ernie.  The Tapestry Saga, however,
belongs to Pleasant Little Kingdom.

Notes:  This story was the first thing that popped into my mind for
the Soothin' Summer Shower challenge.  It's not Tapestry Saga canon,
since a certain movie doesn't happen in that universe, so the AU tag
applies.  Hmmm...some purists might put AU on Tapestry anyway.  AUAU
just looks silly, though.  Spoilers for those following the print
Tapestry zines. 

This is just one scene from a larger work, with a few other details
thrown in. This scene takes place about seven years after events in
"The Snow Quartet" stories.  Don't hurt me for the ending.  That'll be
in the whole zine, minus the STIX references.

Many thanks to Terri and E for beta reading extraordinaire.

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The summer sky was hot, heavy and ready to break.  The woman at the
top of the hill stood alone, her spine straight and resolute.  A long,
pale braid hung down her back, the end dangling below her buttocks, in
dramatic contrast to the black of her uniform. 

At the bottom of the hill, the man watched her, wondering if he could
ever find the key to let him back inside her defences.  Words hadn't
worked, and when he had reached out to touch her, she had pulled away
from him as though he were made out of antimatter.

In the distance, the sky crackled a thin, white, jagged line of
electricity causing the ground to rumble.  "Come inside," he said, 
his voice half request, half plea. 

She didn't move.  That was answer enough.  The man cast his eyes and
his heart heavenward; looking past the blackening clouds that rushed
in like ground troops.  This mission, of getting her to turn around
and speak to him again, was more important and more impossible than
anything Starfleet had set before him.  The Dominion was nothing
compared to her.

He tried again.  Raising his voice above the distant rumble of
thunder, he cupped both hands about his mouth to carry the sound. 
"Sarah!  Come inside."

Still nothing.  It was as if she hadn't even heard him.  Her back was
ramrod straight, in obvious mimic of his own usual posture.  Damn, she
was good.

Riker raked a hand through his hair, over his face.  His beard rubbed
against his palm.  He remembered the soft and tender touch of Sarah's
hand on his cheek an eternity ago and the crack of her hand there just
this morning. 

She wasn't going to make this easy, and he knew he deserved it. 

You don't drop a bomb like this on a woman like that.  Riker chided
himself for at least the hundredth time since they'd last spoken. 
Forget easy.  She's making it damned near impossible.

So why try to explain at all?  Why try to do anything?  Why not just
leave her out there and let her get soaked to the bone?  He toyed with
the idea of going back in by himself, to bare feet  and cool water. 
Of breaking open a pack of rations and playing a chip of Count Basie
tunes until she came in of her own free will.

He shook his head at that, knowing the idea for the fantasy that it
was.  Sarah Cromwell wouldn't turn and run down the hill, heading for
shelter.  No, she'd stay right where she was throughout the whole
thing, letting the storm rage and blow around her like some
mythological wizard.  Like the elements were hers to command, an echo
to her rage.

Worf would love this, Riker thought, his eyes trained on Sarah's
still, proud form.  Any woman betrayed was a force to be reckoned
with, but this one. . . this one was something that twenty-plus years
in Starfleet hadn't even touched on.  Nobody had ever told Riker that
silence could be such an effective weapon.  Nobody had told him that a
back turned could outgun a whole fleet of ships.

The first drops began to fall, fat, wet drops that splatted on the
grass, the leaves, the toes of his boots.  On Sarah.  Still, she
showed no signs of movement.

Riker turned for the shelter.  The hell with her.  The hell with all
women.  What did she want from him, anyway?  It had been years since
they'd seen each other.  Years filled with other jobs, other lives,
other people.  Riker's chin jutted out as his hand hovered near the
latch on the door. 

He'd had every right to spend time with Deanna, every right to try and
be twenty again.  To try and make one last grab for lost youth.  So
what if it didn't last?  Few things did.  Hell, Sarah was the one
who'd gone and gotten married in the meantime.  She's the one who'd
had children, for pete's sake.   Weren't they on even ground now, the
two of them, with one dead husband and one ex-Imzadi between them?

Thunder crashed again.  Louder this time, and closer.  Riker looked
over his shoulder, knowing as he did what he would see. 

The rain had turned Sarah's braid into a sodden rope, moulding the
uniform to her dancer's body.  Time and childbearing had only enhanced
her assets, Riker noticed, his pulse quickening.

Cursing himself, he charged up the hill before he could think better
of it.  Placing determined hands on her shoulders, he turned her to
face him.

Angry violet eyes snapped with a fury that echoed the lightning.  She
could give it lessons, he thought as a bolt connected to something in
the distance.

"I didn't do anything wrong," he said, nearly shouting to be heard
above the storm.  He could feel each drop of rain that found its way
inside his collar, down his back.  He took note of every bit of
moisture that turned his boots into rice paddies.  "Neither did you. 
These things happen, Sarah."

Her mouth pressed into a thin line, as though she was considering
whether or not to allow the words to pass her lips.  Her tongue darted
out to lick the raindrops away.  "Yes," she said at last.  "Yes, you
did.  I don't care what you did, or whom you did it with.  Just as
long as you tell the truth about it.  You lied, Willie."  She pushed
past him, starting down the hill.

"And you didn't?"  The words tore themselves out of Riker's gut,
forcing their way through the now-driving rain.  "Dammit, Sarah.  I
had a right to know."

She whirled about, her braid whipping around her like a Ferengi's
neural energy whip.  "The right, but not the interest.  Isn't that the
whole truth of it?  You never asked.  All these years, and you never
asked," she added, more quietly.

Riker felt as though someone else were putting one of his feet in
front of the other, making his way down the slick, grassy slope.
Maybe, he thought, this was the answer to his prayer.  This time, when
he touched her, she didn't pull away.   He put one knuckle under her
chin, tipping her head up until their eyes met.  "All right," he said,
choking the words past the chunk of pride lodged in his throat.  "I'll
ask you now."

Her eyes dared him.  Do it,  they said.  Do it now, or lose your
chance for another five years.  Maybe more than that.  Maybe forever. 

That was one gamble Will Riker wasn't willing to take.  "Sarah."  No,
that wasn't right.  Not the name that everybody from her mother to her
CMO called her.   She was more than that, more than that to him. 
"Brit."  Ah, that was it.  He could feel her muscles relax, her
posture soften.  "Is Cynthia my daughter?"

(end scene)

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The End