Here it is, the last chapter of The Collector! I'll be returning to Borrowed Time after this. I've been training hard again at my gym, now that my concussion is well past, so sorry that this update took a little longer than normal. We had a UFC fighter training with us last week! His name is Austin Arnett, and if you want to see what I was up against, you can see his recent fight in Argentina on Youtube. If you type in "Humberto Bandenay VS Austin Arnett UFC 2018" there's a great highlights video that only shows the good parts.

Anyway, I hope this is a good conclusion to Carmen's Betazed adventure. Your reviews have been such a joy to read. Jleto-that's awesome that you've been going back to my first story! Thank you so much for following along all this time, and for your thoughtful reviews!

And JWood201, you're the one who gave me the idea for even writing about Carmen's visit, so thank-you for the inspiration! And for each and every one of your reviews! I'm looking forward to reading more of your own Betazed adventures, whenever you get the chance. Even if they always make me cry haha.

Zara08-YOU GOT TO MEET HIM! Omg that's amazing! I'm so jealous! I had a dream once that I got to meet him, and I told him I was writing a fanfic, and then later he called me just to tell me how awful it was. I was CRUSHED for like a whole day, even though it was just a dream hahaha.

Two of the three moons have risen over Lake Cataria. It is almost dark enough to see all the stars now. Nana's lakehouse, perched high up on the hill, rests in their glow. I breathe in deeply, letting the evening fill my lungs. It feels as though I have never left. So much has changed aboard the Enterprise in the last seven months, and yet these muddy shores remain the same. I remember now, how it sounds when the lakewater sloshes at my feet. How it smells, when those pine needles have been in the sun all day. How it feels, to be home again.

Troubling news has been rumbling along the Romulan front. Dad keeps telling me that everything will be alright, that the war from my childhood, the war that took my first father, will not reach this place. "We'll make sure that it won't," he swore to me. I close my eyes, lingering on his promise. Then a breeze blows right through my shirt, making me shiver.

A second breeze, this one gentler, plays with the curls beside my little brother's cheek. Dark curls, like our mother's. But his eyes are blue and bright, like our father's. Stars fill their depths as his gaze wanders across the Betazed night. "You like those stars?" I ask, cradling him against my chest. "We'll be among them soon. They keep us company wherever we go. Captain Picard said they're reminders-reminders that we're never alone. You'll meet him in a few weeks. He's kind of stern, but you won't find a more compassionate captain in all of Starfleet."

His eyes find my face, and he coos at me happily. Billy likes it when people talk to him. Smiling, I rest my finger in his palm. His little hand wraps around it tightly. It is just an instinct, mom says. We are born with an instinct to hold the hands that reach out to us. An instinct to trust. We are not born afraid of one another; that kind of prejudice is taught.

Billy is only two weeks old, but already I can sense that he is just like mom. Nana says so, too. He has the same soft spirit behind those bright blue eyes. "You'll be one of those sensitive kids, won't you?" I say, and he coos again as if to agree with me. "Well, if you have any Reynold Clancy's in your class-anyone foolish enough to pick on you-just tell them you have a big sister who was trained by Klingons."

It is difficult to picture my baby brother in school. He looks so small right now, especially in dad's hands. I was afraid to hold him at first, afraid that I wouldn't know how to be gentle enough. Now I don't want to put him down.

It amazes me, how he knew our mother right away. Dr. Crusher said that babies learn their mother's voice while they are in the womb. I still remember how, when he was placed on mom's chest for the first time, the familiar soundtrack of her heartbeat soothed his cries. Dr. Crusher wiped him down as mom spoke gently into his mind, running her fingers through his damp hair. Dad grabbed me in a hug and kept kissing the top of my head. We were both emotional wrecks the night Billy was born. Not mom, though. She was strong.

The pregnancy-now that was a completely different story. Gone was the self-assured counselor, the queen of composure. In her place was some terrifyingly irrational creature with a craving for salty foods. I stopped by Dr. Crusher's office at least once a day with my concerns. "Deanna is pregnant," she reminded me often. "Pregnant women are some of the most terrifying and irrational creatures in the universe! Just be patient. She'll be back."

I'll never forget the time dad forgot how much she hates garbi fish. He was whistling to himself in the kitchen as he rubbed a blend of spices over pink little fillets. I was practicing my trombone nearby. Mom picked up a fish off the counter that hadn't been scaled yet and stared at it woefully.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Garbi fish?" she said, choking on tears. "You're making...garbi fish?" You could see the color draining from dad's face as he realized his fatal mistake.

I lowered my trombone. "We could make you something else!" I offered, a hasty plea on his behalf.

"Y-yes," dad gulped. "We could make-"

"How could you?" she suddenly roared, flinging the poor little thing to the wall with such force that it exploded upon impact. Bits of fish guts made wet-sounding plops as they landed on the floor. Mom seethed in our stunned silence, every breath rasping in her throat like a growl. It was the first time I ever heard her growl.

Dad didn't dare move a muscle. "H-how about a chocolate sundae?" he simpered, his voice trembling as bad as his knees.

After a moment of stone-cold contemplation, mom rolled her shoulders back, satisfied with his plea. "With extra whipped cream," she demanded. "And croutons."

"Croutons?" I repeated. "Don't those go on top of salad-" Dad hurriedly clamped a hand over my mouth.

"Coming right up, my imzadi!" He backed away, dragging me with him. "Just do as she says," he whispered into my ear. "And nobody gets hurt."

Billy brought our mother back. The day he joined our family, she returned. Everything felt wonderfully normal again. New and strange, yet somehow normal. Like it was always supposed to be like this.

I feel his hand squeeze my finger as if he heard my grateful thoughts. I smile at him anew. It has become our tradition, to come down to the lake so mom and dad can rest up for another long night. Nana stays awake with them, doting on Billy whenever she can, while Mr. Homn makes sure nobody goes hungry. But evenings are just for us. I have been using the time to get my little brother acquainted with Klingon history.

"Now then," I say, bouncing him gently against my shoulder the way mom taught me. "Where did we leave Kahless the Unforgettable? Ah, yes. I believe he was in the Great Hall at Qam Chee." Above, more stars have crowded the sky. They all seem to be listening to my story. "Five hundred of Molor's best warriors were knocking at the gates-five hundred! The garrison had already fled. Only Lukara stood by his side, his faithful mate. They fought those warriors one by one until the Great Hall filled with the blood of their enemies. Then, victorious, they-" I pause. "-uh, they celebrated. And thus, the greatest love story of all time began. Second greatest, actually. Next to mom and dad."

One of these nights, I will tell him their story, too. We left them in nana's front room, the room with the best view of the lake. They had tried to stay awake to watch the sunset together. When I came in for Billy, Mom was snoring from under dad's arm, her face half-buried in his side. Dad's legs were sprawled out before them in a sea of dinner dishes and burp rags. Not the most romantic of scenes, but beautiful in its own way. For I can feel their joy underneath all those sleepless nights, all the piles of dirty diapers and dirty laundry. There is a reason for their exhaustion. A reason that goes above any work they do on the Enterprise.

A light comes on. I look up at the softly glowing window. It is nana's library. I can hear mom's thoughts behind the window like an old, favorite song. Billy babbles back at me. He is so excited that little bubbles of spit form in the corners of his mouth. "You know who it is, too, don't you?" I laugh. He knows our mother's voice, after all.

The library door is slightly ajar. I push it open the rest of the way and find mom sitting in front of a big, wooden trunk. Her hair falls in wild curls around her shoulders. Her cheeks look warm and rosy as she greets me with a smile. "Come on in," she beckons. "Have a seat with me."

Billy makes happy gurgling sounds from within his blanket. I push it back so that he can see mom's face, and they both light up at the sight of each other. "Hey there, cowboy," mom croons, gathering him into her arms. I sit down cross-legged beside them, peering into the trunk.

At first, none of the contents look related. A pocket knife. A cowboy hat. A tattered notebook. Then I see a uniform folded neatly, lovingly, on top of the pile. It is red and gold, an outdated Starfleet issue, and has the markings of a lieutenant commander.

"Grandpa?" I inquire.

Mom nods. She picks up the cowboy hat and puts it on my head. "These were some of his things. We used to play Sheriff and Outlaw together, back when this hat barely fit me. It was always falling over my eyes." I tilt the wide brim back so I can see her better. It is made of soft, brown felt. Then she picks up a gold star and pins it to the front of my shirt. "There you go, Sheriff."

I laugh. "But that means you're the outlaw!"

"What's wrong with that?"

"You'd say things like, 'I'm robbing this bank please,' and then talk all your victims through their feelings."

She wrinkles her nose in a scowl, but soon her laughter joins mine. I take off the star and pin it to Billy's blanket instead. "There. He'll make a fine sheriff one day."

"He'll chase his big sister all over the ship," she says, and her smile grows. One of her hands reaches out to stroke the side of my cheek. "Thank-you, by the way. For letting us get some sleep."

I shrug my shoulders. "Billy likes the lake."

"He likes his big sister, too." Mom lifts him higher into the crook of her elbow. A yawn turns his whole face red and it makes us laugh. Then he starts to mouth on his pudgy little fist.

"He's hungry?" I ask, still learning how to read all his signs.

Mom beams at me proudly. "That's right! It's called rooting, when they do that." Even though Billy is her first baby, nurturing comes so easily to her. She innately knows what he needs and when. She knows all the terms, all the parameters, all the scientific explanations. It's a lot of work, to care for a baby.

Then I realize that I have been a lot of work, too. There were no parameters for our situation, but still she seemed to know what I needed and when. She was the first one to reach out to me, the first one to climb over those walls I built during the war. Even when I pushed her away-even when dad pushed her away-she was always there, waiting for us to come home again. I look down at Billy, who has begun to nurse. No, I tell myself. This is the easy part.

My attention returns to the trunk. I pick up the pocketknife and run my fingers over three initials on its side. I. A. T. "You would have loved him," mom says wistfully. "And he would have adored you and Billy."

"I never realized how much you look like him," I say. "Nana gave me a picture last time we were here."

"I know." Mom smiles. "I saw you showing it to your little brother the night he was born."

"You did?" My cheeks grow warm. I thought mom was asleep when I showed Billy that photograph of our grandfather. I had been thinking about what Dr. Crusher said, about how babies learn the voices of their family. He would never know Grandpa Ian's voice, and so I wanted to make sure he knew his face at least.

The cowboy hat is still on my head, I realize. I take it off and place it gently inside the trunk. "Keep it," mom says. There is a lump in her throat as she speaks, yet when I look over at her, the smile is still there. "He may be gone, but there are more days of Sheriff and Outlaw ahead of us."

I rub the soft, brown felt of the hat between my fingers. Then, with a grin, I put it back on my head. War or no war, I believe in a future somewhere out there. "This cowboy's story is just beginning," I say, nodding towards my little brother. "And he will boldly go where no cowboy's gone before!"