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Chapter Text

Part 1

Beverly Crusher had no medical reason to keep him in sickbay. She had performed the micro-surgery and restored him to his pre-assimilation status. The physiological injuries (what they deem physical-medical) would heal quickly and certainly did not require further intervention of the Chief Medical Officer. The psychological damages, largely outside her professional purvey, however, would necessitate a more complex and lengthy recovery. Thus, the captain of the Federation’s starship was released into the care of the ship’s counselor and, despite his vocal protests, ordered off duty.

Picard was to recuperate in his quarters and gradually reintegrate himself back into his surroundings, life on the Enterprise and normal duty routine with the assistance of Troi and a strategy they could construct to accomplish the goal of restoring him back to the person he was prior to his becoming Locutus. So, during the day Picard read the latest briefings provided by Riker, La Forge and the department heads, he went to Troi’s office and dispassionately retold the story of how he came to be responsible for the deaths of his comrades, and he counted every hour. He tried to move on, and he presented the facade that he was the ever unwavering, unfaltering Captain, and every minute he died inside. And at night, the ghostly sounds of the collective voices of the drones would torment his dreams, the unconscious reminder of the most tragic, unforgivable experience of his entire life.

As the door hisses open, Beverly glances up from her desk to find Troi with an unsettled expression on her face.

“Hey,” Beverly, acknowledges, looking up from her computer display.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Deanna begins, walking over the threshold. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” Beverly replies, leaning back and providing Deanna her undivided attention.

Deanna lowers herself into the visitor chair in front of Beverly’s desk. “I’m concerned, about the captain.”

Raising a brow, Beverly almost smiles. “I can’t imagine why.”

Exhaling audibly, Deanna shakes her head. “He hasn’t slept. He’s not exactly…forthcoming with me in our discussions. All he wants is for me to authorize him to return to regular duty.”

Half-smiling, Beverly rests her arms on the desk. “I know. I went to…check in on in him this morning before my first patient and he asked me if I could talk to you about his return to full duty.”

Leaning forward, Deanna lays one hand on the desk. “He desperately wants to get back to routine, to who he was before all this. He wants to be Captain Picard again, but he hasn’t fully come to terms with who he was and what he did when he was Locutus.”

Grimacing, Beverly troubles her bottom lip. “This is going to be a long recovery.”

“He’s not giving himself the time to heal,” Deanna states pointedly.

“No”, Beverly exhales deeply. “I suppose that’s his nature.”

“Whenever I try to delve into anything beyond the superficial details, he entirely evades me. He hardly opens up. I’m up against a brick wall. He’s built up a defence, but I can feel that the emotions he’s trying to process are threatening to break through.” Hanging her head, Deanna almost feels helpless, wishing she could do more to reach the captain, or, rather, the man inside the captain who desperately needs her help.

Looking at her friend in empathy, Beverly sighs deeply. “I know what you mean.”

“I’m at an impasse, Beverly,” Deanna states, tapping the desk with her hand. “I need you.”

Lips curling slightly, Beverly straightens. “Me? I’ve done the best I can do, Deanna. It was simple…”

Shaking her head, Deanna puts a hand up. “No. You’ve known him for over twenty years. He considers you a close friend. You…share a special relationship. I think if anyone can reach him, it’s you.”

Frowning, Beverly leans back in her chair. “I’ll certainly see what I can do. But, Jean-Luc Picard is incredibly…strong-willed.”

Grinning, Deanna rises from her seat. “I think you’re a good test to that will of his.”

Raising a brow, Beverly stands out of her chair. “What do you mean?”

Laughing, Deanna heads for the door. “You’re a good match. You’re the only one as stubborn as he is.”

Hands on her hips, Beverly’s expression is half-perturbed and half-amused. “Don’t you have an appointment, counselor?”

“Thank you, Beverly!” Deanna calls gleefully as she ducks around the corner.

* *

When the door to Picard’s cabin had slid open to reveal the Chief Medical Officer with a determined expression and med kit in her hand, Picard had been mildly surprised, but not displeased.

“Hello, Doctor. Did the counselor send you here for a talk?” Picard asks dryly, retreating to allow Beverly access to the entryway.

“No. Do you want to talk?” replies Beverly with a raised brow, setting the med kit on the ground and surreptitiously appraising the captain.

“No,” Picard huffs, turning his back and retracing his steps to the sofa.

Watching the captain return to the sofa in a casual grey tunic, Beverly notices his laboured movement and pale complexion.

“Good. How about a drink?” Beverly suggests, padding over to the replicator.

Lowering himself to the sofa on top of a green knitted blanket, Picard rotates to observe Beverly. “You want to drink?”

Programming the replicator, Beverly shakes her head. “No.”

“Doctor, what are you doing here?” Picard asks as the replicator delivers the ordered drink.

“I’m here to take you to bed,” Beverly says directly as she takes the white mug from the replicator.

Eyes wide, Jean-Luc leans forward, his lips parted in a crooked smile. “I beg your pardon?”

Turning on her heels, Beverly makes toward the sofa with a mug of warm milk. “I’m here to put you to sleep. This is a prescription.”

As Beverly hands him the mug, Jean-Luc looks up at her in bemusement. “But, you said….”

Sliding onto the sofa beside him, Beverly studies his face. “You haven’t been sleeping. I want to ensure you get you a good rest.”

Pursing his lips, Picard slips his fingers around the mug. “So, Troi did speak with you?”

Bringing her knees to her chest, Beverly bobs her head. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having such difficulty sleeping?”

Almost smirking, Jean-Luc raises a brow. “So the crew could have another reason to think the captain has gone mad?”

Face falling in displeasure, Beverly leans closer. “I’m not the crew, and no one thinks you’ve gone mad.”

“Don’t they?” Picard challenges, setting the mug on the end table.

“Jean-Luc,” protests Beverly.

Jean-Luc puts a hand up to stop her. “I just want to go back to…before. Just let me go back to duty.”

Reaching for his hand, Beverly stares into the eye that once held an ocular implant. “Your physical injuries were very minor. I removed the implants, the nanoprobes, and reversed the assimilation process. Physically you’ll make a complete recovery in short order. But, you’re not allowing yourself to recover psychologically from the experience.”

“I didn’t want to do this. I don’t want to discuss…” Running his hand over his face, Jean-Luc sighs.

“You brought it up,” Beverly points out.

“I just want my damned ship back!” Picard grumbles.

“I’m not arguing with you,” Beverly tells him. “You’re miserable and won’t listen to reason. Come on.” Standing off of the sofa, Beverly urges him to move.

Looking up at her, Picard is puzzled. “What?”

Beverly reaches for his hand. “Get up. We’re going to bed.”

“Excuse me?” Jean-Luc’s eyes dilate.

Leading him in the direction of the bedroom, Beverly is professional and composed. “I came here to make sure you get a good night’s sleep.”

“This…is outside of the scope of the duties of your position,” Picard remarks as they enter the bedroom.

Grinning, Beverly removes her lab coat. “I would agree. I wouldn’t do this for any other patient.”

Jean-Luc watches cautiously as Beverly pads over to the bed.

“Come on. I’ve had a long day,” Beverly jests, turning down the covers.

Jean-Luc crawls into the bed slowly, tentative. “You’re going to stay here all night?”

Slipping between the sheets beside him, Beverly nods. “If you won’t sleep I have sedatives in my kit. I’m hoping we can avoid using them.”

With her playful tone, Jean-Luc tries to smile as he lays his head against his pillow. “I’ll go right to sleep then, Doctor.”

“Good.” Beverly turns on her side to face outward, laying one hand under her pillow and one hand under her cheek. Lifting her head, she rotates her neck to glance at Jean-Luc. “Oh, and try not to hog the blankets. I get cold in the night.”

Smiling for what feels like the first time in eons, Jean-Luc watches as Beverly returns to lying on her side. “Noted. Good night, Beverly.”

“Sweet dreams, Jean-Luc,” whispers Beverly.

Blinking up at the ceiling, Jean-Luc can see the starlight from the viewport dancing across Beverly’s hair in his peripheral vision. He can hear her faint rhythmic breathing, smell her perfume, feel her leg pressed against his. Closing his eyes, he wonders if her presence will not exacerbate rather than cure his insomnia.

Chapter Text

Part 2

It’s hot. Stifling hot. Humid, so moist and damp. Beads of sweat drip down his temple. Everything is grey. There’s no colour. Shades of off-white and black and greys. He’s running, along an indistinct corridor of metal and bulkheads and indistinguishable rows of blurry parts. He can see in his tunnel vision the uniform drones, but they make no effort to intercept him. He pushes forward, pumping his legs as fast as they can go. He knows precisely where his destination lies in the seemingly infinitely endless cube and he has an almost survival instinct to get there. The lactic acid is settling in and he’s heavy and in pain, but he knows he must get there. A bloody-curdling scream reverberates throughout the cube and a shiver vibrates down his spine. It’s her. Steadying the phaser rifle in his hands, he knows it will be no deterrent. Pumping his leaden legs as fast as he can will them, he closes the distance between himself and the target. It’s too late. He can’t reach her. She cries his name and there’s a strangled cry and as he approaches a door he’s over-powered by the deafening sound of silence. “Beverly!”

A hand on his shoulder and another feeling his clammy neck. “Jean-Luc?”

“Jean-Luc, it’s okay,” Beverly tells him calmly, feeling his racing pulse.

Blinking rapidly, Jean-Luc opens his eyes and orients himself, focusing on Beverly’s concerned face hovering above him. “Beverly?”

“You’re alright,” whispers Beverly, touching his cheek and kneeling over him on the bed.

Clearing his dry throat, Jean-Luc lifts up to balance his weight on his elbows, trying to mask his obvious embarrassment. “Beverly…”

“Take it easy,” Beverly cautions, easing him back into a lying position. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

Jean-Luc watches as Beverly slips off the bed and makes her way through to the bathroom. Closing his eyes, he attempts to regain his composure. He can feel his heart beating profusely against his chest, the cool sweat layering his skin. This is not how he wants to be seen, and he is ashamed that Beverly had awoken to find him in this state.

“How are you doing? Beverly inquires, re-entering the room with a short glass in one hand and cloth in the other.

Plastering on a weary smile, Picard shifts upward. “Just grand.”

Sliding on top of the bed beside him, Beverly hands him the glass of water. “The colour’s returning to your face. Your breathing’s regulating.”

“Beverly, I’m sorry…” Jean-Luc starts hoarsely.

Dabbing at his forehead with the damp washcloth, Beverly shakes her head. “Don’t even…”

Grimacing, Jean-Luc covers her hand, halting her activity. “You don’t need to be tending to my nightmares like I’m a toddler.”

Dropping her hand, Beverly locks their gazes. “At least I can understand now why you’re having trouble sleeping.”

Averting his eyes, Picard shifts to set the glass down on the night table.

Beverly crosses her legs underneath her, studying Jean-Luc as he lays his head back. “You were calling my name…in your dream.”

Jean-Luc turns to look at her, remorse plaguing his eyes. “The Borg were assimilating you.”

In the dim starlight shimmering through the viewport, Beverly can see in his haunted eyes a part of him is back in the nightmare, back on a Borg cube. “Jean-Luc, it was a dream.”

Grimacing, Jean-Luc exhales audibly. “I knew where they had you. I was trying to get there. I was too late. You…you were screaming. Then…then they did it.”

Inching closer, Beverly grasps his hands. “It wasn’t real, Jean-Luc. I’m right here.”

Her hands are warm and for a moment he allows himself to be comforted by her touch, despite the fact that he know he does not deserve the comfort, and he certainly does not deserve her touch. “Yes.”

“No one was hurt,” Beverly points out, running her hand along his arm.

“Actually, eleven thousand people were hurt,” Jean-Luc retorts evenly.

Exhaling, Beverly tries to hold his gaze when the captain bows his head. “Jean-Luc…”

Sighing, Jean-Luc reclaims his hands. “Every night, I think I can still hear the voices. It’s bad enough, but I can cope with the sleepless nights. What truly haunts me is knowing that I’m responsible for the death of my comrades.”

Beverly scoots closers so her knees are resting against his leg, laying a hand on his shoulder. Looking earnestly into his eyes, she shakes her head. “You are not responsible, Jean-Luc. You are not responsible for the crimes of Locutus.”

Lifting his chin, Jean-Luc meets her eyes. “It kills me to think I could have destroyed the Enterprise, could have wiped out our entire crew.”

Moving her hand to his neck, Beverly shakes her head. “You didn’t. This was a tragic, horrific encounter. It won’t be easy for you to come to terms with this. But, you have to believe that this not your fault. You must learn to let it go.”

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Jean-Luc closes his eyes. “I…I came so close to hurting you.I…I saw you on the cube. Beverly, I could never forgive myself if anything had…if I had in any way harmed you.”

Half-smiling, Beverly leans her forehead against his, using her spare hand to lace her fingers with his. “I’m fine, Jean-Luc. Look at me.” Trailing her hand from his neck up to his cheek, she gazes directly into his tormented hazel eyes. “Look at me.”

Looking into Beverly’s clear blue eyes, Jean-Luc’s heart pounds against his chest. Somehow, she always knows exactly what he needs. Some way, she gives him precisely what he could never ask for. “I think we’ve exceeded the normal parameters of your function as Chief Medical Officer.”

Chuckling, Beverly is glad that Jean-Luc’s spirit has made a welcomed return. “I would say we left the uniforms at the door.”

“You’ve still got your uniform on,” Jean-Luc points out, bringing his free hand up to stroke her jaw while his gaze falls to her lips.

Face flushing, Beverly leans forward so their lips are almost brushing. “Maybe you can help me rectify that.”

With her warm breath on his lips and open invitation, Jean-Luc’s defences are down and he no longer wants to put up a fight. Cupping her cheek, he draws her into a long kiss.

A part of her knows that he is vulnerable and they should not be engaging in this behaviour, but as the hand that had been holding hers comes to encircle her back, Beverly’s pre-frontal cortex is over-shadowed by the desire to be closer. Her rational side is over-powered by her need to connect with the man with whom she had been in love for decades. Struggling internally, Beverly knows she has to slow down. Running her hand down his chest, Beverly breaks off their embrace. “We shouldn’t…”

Breathing heavily, Jean-Luc lays his hand on her neck, looking longingly into her eyes. “Do you…want this?”

“Yes,” Beverly whispers, resting her forehead against his, her chest rising and falling with her laboured breaths.

“Then why…resist?” Jean-Luc teases, trailing his forefinger down her side, along her ribcage.

Grinning into his lips, she can feel the blood rushing to her face. “You’re funny.”

Picard laughs for the first time in far too long, taking Beverly by the waist and pulling her into his lap. “Thank you. For everything.”

Looking down, Beverly traces his jaw and drops a sweet kiss to his lips. “Always.”