A Wes Roberts Thanksgiving (With apologies to Chuck Schulz)

[Wes Roberts 0]

23 November 2387, 0630 Aegis Relative Time

Roberts Quarters

 

Maighdin rolled over, and ran her hand along the bed where her husband should have been. She cracked open her eyes, and saw that he was already out of bed...especially with the noises coming from the kitchen. Throwing on her robe, she sleepily headed into the kitchen and into chaos. Frying pan on the stove full of sausage meat browning; a pot of stuffing warming, Tarja and Tajra peeling potatoes and turnips, a pan of jumbo Romulan mollusks seasoned and ready to go into the oven, and the bird- a gorgeous 30 lbs bird waiting to be stuffed sat waiting to be stuffed, its guts already in a pot simmering for the gravy. And coffee warming in the coffeemaker.

 

“Morning,” Wes called from the sink, up to his elbows in soapy water. Mai walked over to her husband and kissed him on the cheek, before pouring herself a cup of joe.

 

“Good morning, beloved. I see you're busy.”

 

“Well, Will and family will be over around noon, so I might as well have everything ready early. Especially since its been the first family holiday dinner we've had since we both joined Starfleet.”

 

Mai smiled. “First holiday in what, 25-30 years? I fully understand.” She sipped her coffee, and watched her husband acting domestic. “Elle and L'illa?”

 

“Still in their room, asleep.”

 

“I do wish the papers would go through. It tugs at the heartstrings every time.”

 

“I know, bessig. How do you think it feels to her?” Wes rinsed off the pan that he had been scrubbing and put it in the dish drainer. “I'll talk to Mimi after the weekend. Once the bird's in the oven, I'll get breakfast going, and we'll see if we can the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade over subspace.”

 

* * *

 

“Commander, Ranko, Xian Pu,” Wes said, as he opened the door to his quarters for Will and family.

 

“Mr. Roberts, thank you for the invitation,” Will replied, as he and his family entered. When the door slid shut, Will wrapped his older brother in a bear hug. “Its damn good to see you, Chris.”

 

Wes ruffled his younger half-brother's hair, after getting out of the bear hug. “Its good to see you too, Will. Socially that is. I don't think you ever met my wife, Maighdin, or my daughter Eilistraee. And our soon to be adopted daughter, L'illa.” Mai and Elle smiled and waved, while L'illa was a bit more circumspect. Wes hugged Ranko and then Xian Pu. “Its good to see you two as well. I'm surprised you've managed to stay with the family problem child.” The sisters-in-law chuckled. “Quit standing around my office, and come in. Elle, why don't you L'illa take your cousins to your room.”

 

Will looked around, whistling. “Being a pirate has certainly had its perks, Chris. And is the deck hardwood?”

 

Wes nodded. “Its teak, from the southern continent of Hibernia. That tapestry came from the captain's cabin of a Black Kris dreadnought, the Steinway that's pushed up against the bulkhead in the living room came from a Cunard starliner, who's passengers and crew became 'colonists'. The Persian rugs came from rich toff from one of the Core worlds. He thought himself a slaver. I despise slavers, so he had a long walk out of a short airlock.” Wes pointed out the knicknacks and tchotchkes of a second career of piracy and privateering. On the viewscreen was the Federation Grifball¹ League of the Federation's annual Thanksgiving Detroit Lions game- this year it was the Lions versus the Centaurus City Paso Leati.

 

 

The dinner was a magnificent feast, of turkey, duck (courtesy of Xian Pu), side dishes, all washed down with a well aged brivari, all served on service that once belonged to the Grand Nagus. Conversation was light, pleasant, and avoided all the usual conflict subjects that tend to turn holidays into family brawls.

 

 

With the table cleared and torn down, the kids back in Elle and L'illa's room, cordials poured, and the dishwasher chugging away. Wes set his port glass on end table. “Will, I'm your brother and all, but for all intents and purposes, 'Christopher Marx' is 'Missing, Presumed Dead.' And I'd like to leave it at that. Dad would probably understand.”

 

Will nodded. “I was kind of wondering why Maighdin didn't call you by your birth name the entire night.”

 

Wes nodded, ignoring Will Junior and L'illa were tearing up and down the corridor, with Elle and the other girls chasing after him with foam dart guns. “I've been either 'Wesley' or the 'Dread Pirate Roberts' ever since I left Arcadia. And, yes I know SOCOM taught us to treat cover identities as disposable props. And it just feels—I don't know—easier, maybe, to not be a Marx?”

 

“True. Instead of just a Romulan death mark, you've got Ferengi, Orion, Dominion, Cardassian, and probably Breen and Tholian on your head. I've seen your rap sheet, and it isn't pretty.”

 

Wes chuckled. “No, I'm pretty sure it isn't. Hell, at one point, the Federation had a bounty out on me.”

 

“No, they had a bounty out on you twice,” Will countered, as foam darts flew around the two brothers. “So what's with L'illa? I'd have never expected you to adopt a Romulan. Especially not after what they did to you.”

 

“We had an...issue a while back on the old station, wherein slavers adopted a whole slew of orphans. It seemed...right to adopt her, given that Imperial sources have been unable to locate her parents since the destruction of Romulus last year.”

Will nodded as a foam dart bounced of his brother's head. He stood. “I don't know who in the Shop Owners' Guild got it in their head, but the Commerce Level is opening up for Black Friday at midnight. I've got my staff on a double shifts starting in a few hours.”

 

“Funny, I don't recall seeing that come across the station schedule.” Wes shrugged, as he stood. “Well, try not to shoot anyone tomorrow. It would look bad for the Security, the Station and you.”

 

Will chuckled. “Thanks. And don't worry about me slipping up and calling you by your former name.”

 

1- Youtube "RvB Grifball PSA"