Author's Note: Originally posted to ASC in December 1996, and updated in 2000. I have been rewatching the series on Blu-ray the past couple of years and decided to update the archives. I'm far from the only one to have followed up on "Chain of Command" with another encounter between Madred and Picard, but I did try hard to ground it in an actual plot. Readers can judge if that was successful or not. Fair warning, it starts off dark and doesn't stray much from that tone. Standard disclaimer (characters aren't mine, just borrowed for awhile!) applies.


Earth
La Barre, France
Two years after 'Generations'

He stared out at the sunny vineyards, reflecting that he probably would miss this place when it was gone. But just as the sight saddened Marie every time she looked out, reminding her of Robert, of Rene, the vines could never bring him happiness again either, not since... He turned away abruptly. After all this time, thoughts of her were still so close to the surface of his mind. It might have been surprising but for the fact that he had retired here to his childhood home with precisely the aim of never allowing himself to forget.

The doorbell rang and he frowned bitterly. Why doesn't she leave me in peace? he asked himself as he went to the door. He didn't try to mask his despondence; it was wasting useless energy in the company of his expected guest. There was no point. But then, there was no point in anything anymore, nor had there been for a very long time. "Good day, Deanna," he greeted her, gesturing her to enter.

"It's wonderful to see you, sir," she replied, favoring him with a bright smile.

Despite himself, Jean-Luc Picard managed a small smile. "Thank you, though I'm not sure why." To divert her attention from that statement, he asked the question, though he'd been told in several communiques: "When are you due?"

"One more month," she answered, patting her rounded belly. "At least according to Dr. Selar, but I think the little guy will be out sooner than that. It's Will's baby, after all." She smiled, but realized quickly she had made a rare error at voicing the physician's name.

Picard's face had darkened. "Yes, well, all the best," he murmured.

"Captain–"

"It's not 'captain' anymore, Counselor," he cut her off sharply, then cursed himself for being so rude. She wasn't to blame for his long done actions, was she? "Forgive me."

Deanna waved it off, quickly changing modes from old friend to professional psychologist. "I have something to deliver to you, Jean-Luc, but I thought perhaps we could talk awhile."

He stood stiffly. "Counselor, I don't think that would be such a good idea."

She brushed past him anyway. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

He wavered, but his ingrained sense of courtesy took over. He certainly didn't want to deny a seat to a pregnant woman. "If you'd like. May I get you something to drink?"

"No, thanks." She watched him take a seat across from her in the parlor. "How are you feeling, Jean-Luc?"

Picard sighed, resigned. "If you must know, the same as I have for the last eighteen months."

Deanna Riker studied his face. It had shocked her somewhat to see what eighteen months of those feelings had done to him. He had aged, the lines on his face becoming more pronounced. He didn't look as though he'd smiled since that time. She knew that if he didn't get it out, he would just waste away... "Everyone else believed that you were retiring at the pinnacle of your career," she said quietly.

"But you knew better?" he said, without a trace of mockery.

She shook her head, then dared pronounce the name. "I knew that it was Beverly. I knew you were shattered by her death. What I didn't know, and don't know, is why you feel so guilty."

He laughed, but it was a harsh sound.

"She didn't suffer in the accident, and you weren't to blame."

Nearly choking on his next breath, he glanced up at her dark eyes and the intensity in his, suddenly burning, shocked her as much as the mental outpouring that statement provoked. My God, she thought, it's so close to the surface, there's so much guilt, and his thoughts were so strong that she actually sensed them as words: You know nothing, you know nothing of my guilt, it was all my fault and she died because of me, of my cowardice, of my failure ...

"Jean-Luc," she breathed a minute later, leaning forward, "this is killing you. Whatever happened, you can't keep it all inside, you have to take control. If not in me, then confide in someone else. But don't continue living like this."

His eyes were empty now, the flaring of emotion under that tight control he had, but he stood up and walked to his desk across the room. For a long moment he hesitated, but then worked up his courage and pulled a padd from the top drawer. "Do you recognize this?"

She made a guess. "Is it the padd the Cardassian aide gave you after the treaty ceremonies were concluded?" She knew that it was after receiving that the despair he'd felt since his recovery had nosedived to a point where no one could recover him. A day later had come his resignation. She'd always wondered ... but he'd never confided anything.

He nodded, though the action was a while in coming. "Yes." More reluctance. Finally he held it out to her. "Deanna, you don't have to watch; I understand. If you do ... please mute the sound ... I can hear it in my sleep, but please don't play it out loud."

Her face tightened in curiosity and apprehension as she accepted the padd, but she knew this was vital to helping Picard. She touched the "view" button, then glanced up in shock at the sight–


Deep space
Somewhere between the Cardassian neutral zone and the Enterprise E
Eighteen months earlier

"These shuttles are so cramped!" moaned Beverly Crusher as she maneuvered herself out of the co pilot's seat to stretch. "Especially over long periods of time."

"What, are you getting tired of my company?" Picard asked neutrally. He busied himself making course adjustments so she wouldn't see the wry smile on his face.

She made a face at his back, then fell back onto the couch at the rear of the shuttle. "Mmm, I think I'll decline to answer that one, Captain, on the grounds that it might incriminate me."

He threw an amused look in her direction, but she had closed her eyes and was relaxing. For a moment, he let himself watch her. It was a pleasure to see her truly relaxed, as she always pushed herself so hard on her job. He was proud of her, of course; her hard work had paid off in many ways for her career and she was one of the most respected physicians in Starfleet. And yet, she was also the woman he cared most about, and he wished sometimes that she would take time away, take care of herself.

He had to admit some selfish motives in persuading her to take time off and attend this conference with him, once Riker had called it to his attention. Ever since their experience on Kesprytt, nearly every moment he spent with Beverly was full of more meaning for him. He was comfortable around her, his best friend, more so than with anyone else, and welcomed every chance to be near her. But still that ache existed in his chest, from when she had turned him down with those words, "Or perhaps, we should be afraid . . ." He still hoped that someday, she might acknowledge the love he felt, that she surely felt as well . . .

He sighed inwardly. "Well, it's only a half hour more," he assured her.

Crusher opened her eyes and moved back to the front of the shuttle, checking over Picard's shoulder to confirm his reading. "Just making sure," she told him with a wicked grin.

Picard laughed. "She doesn't want to be around me, and she doesn't trust me," he complained to thin air, setting the shuttle on autopilot. "Where did I go wrong?"

She patted his shoulder. "I probably shouldn't answer that question either." She offered her hand to pull him out of his chair and they shared an affectionate smile. As they settled next to each other on the couch, she adopted a more serious tone, bringing up a subject she had dropped the day before. "So, do you think you're ready to go into these negotiations?"

The smile left his face and he sighed. "I don't know," he admitted, honest with her in a way he could be with very few others. "I've dealt with the Cardassians many times, of course, since my ... abduction. But since Admiral Nechayev forwarded the list of people I'll be dealing with …."

"I meant to ask you about that," Beverly said, concerned. "You seemed upset when you read it yesterday before the day's events. Who's going to be there?"

It was still hard to even pronounce the name. "Gul Madred."

She understood immediately; her eyes widened in dismay. "Oh, Jean-Luc."

"He is to be Gul Dikir's chief aide. To her credit, Admiral Nechayev tried to change things, but she was not able to." Picard glanced down at his hands, clenched together. The breathtaking display of bad faith did not bode well for either himself or the actual negotiations, but he'd understood they had little leverage to employ in the matter. "I assured her I was perfectly capable of dealing with the situation."

"But you're not entirely sure of that," she observed, an edge to her voice. He knew her anger was directed at the Cardassian.

"No." It was a difficult admission to make, even to her. "The measure has been made to intimidate me, of course, as the primary Federation representative. I cannot let it do so. Whatever control he exercised over me two years ago, he will not now. And yet, the memories are still there, and I have no doubt he will exploit that at every opportunity."

Crusher leaned forward, her blue eyes intense. He could sense her tamping down her fury at the Cardassians and Starfleet alike, her concern for him foremost. "Jean-Luc, you have beaten him already. He was never able to break you."

Picard didn't respond to that. She was correct, in a sense: though it had been a near thing, he hadn't ever given up his mental control and told Madred there were five lights when there were really four. But he also remembered, as he looked at her, the time when he'd been offered his freedom in exchange for her safety. His choice to stay with Madred so she would not be tortured was one he had never confided to her, but in that instant he had been broken. He broke out into a light sweat now, recalling the shadowy dream of the night before brought on by the day's revelation.

"Jean-Luc?"

He realized she had said his name once already, and he managed a reassuring smile, laying a hand on her forearm. "I'll be perfectly all right, Beverly, don't worry."

"I am worried," she countered frankly. "I'm worried you're going to let him affect you again, when this time you're the one in control. You have to remember you won. He should have no basis for intimidation here."

"I know." His voice suggested otherwise.

She raised his chin until his eyes met hers. "You will be fine, Jean-Luc, I know that. You're the strongest man I've ever met. You just have to go into those meetings and be resolved not to let one comment he makes rattle you. All right?"

His smile was real now. "Yes, sir."

She nodded firmly. "Good." She squeezed his hand where it still rested on her arm, and for a moment he just enjoyed the comfort that simple touch gave him; his hazel eyes locked with her blue ones, communing silently.

The comm signal beeped from the front of the shuttle, breaking the moment. Picard exhaled quietly, stood and moved to the cockpit. "It's the Enterprise," he told her as she came up behind him again. His tone changed as he answered the call. "This is shuttlecraft Oneida," he said into the speaker, his voice cool and professional.

"Captain," came Riker's voice, "we wanted to confirm your ETA."

He glanced down to see how much time had passed. "We read it as 1730, Number One."

"Very good, sir. I trust you and Dr. Crusher enjoyed the conference?"

"Oh, indeed, Commander. It was quite an educational experience."

"I look forward to hearing about it," Riker said. "We'll see you soon, then. Riker out."

He felt Beverly's presence against his back as he broke the connection. "That was an interesting choice of words," she said innocently.

"What do you mean?" he asked cautiously, glancing back at her over his shoulder, sure he was getting set up here and not knowing how.

"'Educational experience,'" she reminded him. "Jean-Luc, the conference was on Lytellia, a satellite of Risa. How exactly do you suppose Will Riker is going to interpret a comment like that?"

Picard's face colored slightly. "I'll grant you that might not have been the best words to choose to describe it," he smiled, turning to face her. "I never thought about it, but he might have had an ulterior motive in suggesting the two of us go off to it."

"You never thought about it," she repeated skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "Good. Because I didn't have any ulterior motives in agreeing to go with you."

He became suddenly attuned to the fact that the space between them seemed to be shrinking. "Do you think we should tell them nothing happened?"

The corners of her lips curved upward. She loved his voice, that endearing accent. "What? And spoil whatever lurid pictures they've conjured up? Jean-Luc, we can't stop the rumors now, I bet they're just getting interesting."

Eyes locked with hers, he couldn't resist suggesting, "We could add some substance to them."

Beverly kept her tone light, her expression innocuous. "Oh really? How?"

He found her hand, twined her fingers with his and pressed his lips to hers, intending the kiss to last only an instant lest he overstep his bounds. As he began to pull back, she sought his mouth again and deepened their kiss for some long moments. Their lips finally parted and he leaned his forehead against hers, breathing deeply, now unwilling to break their connection. Having been surprised by the intensity of her own reaction, Beverly had to catch her breath before she whispered, "Substance. Right."

Picard broke into a smile as he pulled away to regard her, sharing the wonderment of her tone. "Beverly, will you join me for dinner tonight?"

Impish now. "Just dinner?"

"We'll have to see about that."

"I'd love to."

After a lengthy pause, eyes never leaving his, Beverly rubbed a finger on the inside of his palm and then took a step back from him and slid into the copilot's seat. She finally dropped her gaze to the panel and slipped into professional mode. "We'll be dropping out of warp in forty seconds," she reported.

He took his own seat reluctantly. "Very good. Checking impulse engine status . . . all clear."

They waited in composed silence. Thirty seconds later, they decreased speed and came upon the Enterprise-E. Beverly glanced over at Jean-Luc and noted the way he regarded his new ship: always with immeasurable pride in her, and a certain awe at the technology that was his to command. He loved his job, she knew, more than anything; he respected the responsibility that had been given him with this new ship and he had infinite trust in the people around him to hold that same respect. She smiled for an instant at those thoughts of him, colored now with the promise of new dimensions in their own relationship, before looking back down at the panel. "Ready to begin docking procedure."

At that moment, their world changed.

The proximity alarms began clanging, and Beverly looked up in confusion. "What–?"

But Picard had already taken in the familiar shaped ship that had appeared to port. "Merde," he cursed. "Cardassians. Oneida to Enterprise–"

"Captain, this is Riker. This ship isn't scheduled to be here. I'm hailing them . . ."

The Cardassian vessel began to fire at the tiny shuttle. "Initiating evasive maneuvers!" Crusher shouted, moving into action. One bolt hit the shuttle, causing a panel to explode in front of her and her hands jerked away for an instant. "Shields are down! Inertial dampeners failing!"

"Riker, can you beam us out?" Picard demanded.

"Trying . . . Calloway! We need emergency beamout, now!"

Picard grabbed Beverly's arm and pulled her out of her seat back to the transport area. They could hear the voices from the comm panel: "There's too much interference, sir, I only have a lock on Dr. Crusher."

"Get her out of there, Calloway." To the lieutenant at weapons: "Fire on that vessel as soon as she's out."

Beverly looked at him, trepidation evident in her eyes, for a timeless instant. He nodded as reassuringly as he could, bracing himself against the wall as the shuttle pitched. He reached for her arm to help steady her as well, but she was already faded from view in the transporter glow.

"Sir?" It was Calloway, panicked now. "Sir, the signal's gone!"

Picard's stomach knotted instantly.

"What do you mean, gone? Get it back!" Riker shouted. "Increase power to the pattern buffer–"

"Will, do you have her?" Picard demanded, not bothering to mask his horror.

"Commander, she's gone, sir, the pattern fell apart with the interference."

Riker swore feelingly. "Can you lock on the captain?" he tried.

At that instant a Cardassian soldier beamed into the shuttle. Picard fell back against the comm panel and grabbed for his phaser. "Will," he shouted, "they've boarded the shuttle–" He tried to get his arm around for a shot in defense, but he wasn't quick enough. The intruder fired, and he fell, and his last conscious thought was an anguished cry of her name.


"The Cardassian ship is breaking off," Guerra reported.

"Ensign Ryan, set course to pursue on my mark," Riker ordered immediately.

"They have sent one message: Any attempt to follow will result in the captain's death," Guerra added. "They've jumped into warp, sir."

Riker whirled around furiously. "No," he said, frustration and horror burning in him.

Deanna Troi spoke from where she stood beside her chair. "We can't take that message lightly," she said, a stunned expression still on her face. "Will, they've captured the captain before; they'll make good on that threat."

Riker turned away from her, his face falling into a mask. "Data, get me a secure comm link to Admiral Nechayev in the captain's ready room. Now."


She saw him reach out for her but the transporter claimed her first. When she felt herself standing on her own weight again, she immediately started to call Riker to ask about Picard. A hand stopped her cold, tearing off the communicator from her navy, form-fitting shirt. She looked up insensibly before realizing quickly she wasn't on the Enterprise... "Oh God," she whispered. Then the hypospray pressed to her neck brought darkness.

When she was awakened, her arms were bound behind her back and she was led to an empty room. The guards spun her around to face the door again and she stumbled, but the muttered curse at them died on her lips as a new Cardassian entered the room. The two guards gave him a wide berth and she surmised quickly that he was in charge. For a moment he studied her, and she suppressed a mental shudder at the hardness in his eyes. "Doctor Beverly Crusher," he said finally, with a cultured, intelligent voice. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I'm sure it is," she said flatly. "Who are you?"

"Oh, come now," he replied. "I'm sure Picard has mentioned me in passing."

And she knew, recalling the name from the painful, terrified accounts drawn out slowly from Picard over the long weeks and months, and from their conversation not an hour ago. Her eyes flashed with long stifled anger at the man who had tortured her best friend. "Gul Madred."

He smiled, but it was not a pleasant sight. "Very good, Doctor."

"He's here, then, too." Her face was now devoid of emotion. "You've brought us both here. Why?"

He wasn't going to answer her directly. "You've had a long history with Picard, haven't you?" he asked rhetorically. "First associations came more than twenty years ago, when your husband and he served together. Then your husband died. You didn't see Picard for a long time, but now you've been together on the Enterprise for several years. I wonder, Doctor, what's happened during these last few years? I imagine the two of you have become quite close." He was standing at arm's length in front of her.

She stared at the wall over his shoulder, her mind barely grasping where Madred's words were leading.

"Did he ever tell you that I gave him a chance to go free in the middle of our interviews?"

She remained mute, but the confusion must have shown on her face.

"He didn't? I can't say I'm surprised. Allow me to tell you, then. You will recall that he had no way of knowing that you and your Klingon had escaped from our little ambush. I decided to play on that gap of knowledge, Doctor. I told him he was free to go, to return to the Enterprise if he wanted. The only condition was that I had you in custody and if he left, you would be the next to be interrogated. He chose to stay, Doctor."

Her eyes darted to Madred in silent shock, mind coming to terms with everything that statement implied. He could be lying, but what would be the point? She saw with utter clarity that Madred had discovered at that time exactly what it would take to break Picard: Her. That thought by itself was enough to send her thoughts reeling. Why her? She'd seen all the physical and emotional scars left by this man, knew how terrifying the torture had been. If he could have left it behind . . . She finally managed, "He would have done the same for any crewmember."

But would he have? With almost anyone else, he would have rationalized that he could better serve them by working from the Enterprise toward their rescue. With anyone else, he would never have continued to be subjected to the pain. With anyone else . . . But with her . . .

Madred was voicing her thoughts. "I don't think so, Doctor. And that is why I have brought you here along with him. With the power to back up my intimations of harm coming to you, I believe I have found the key to my adversary."

It was all she could do to keep from shaking in rage. "What do you want?"

"It's not difficult," he smiled at her discomfort. "I want him to make a confession admitting to a plot by ten named senior officers to invade the Cardassian Empire."

"But that would mean war," she protested, her voice sounding distant to her own ears.

He shrugged. "If you can persuade him, we won't need to harm you."

She snapped out of her shock. "You're going to kill the negotiations, throw away months of work because of your need to revenge him," she pointed out sharply. "You couldn't deal with the fact that in the end, he had more integrity after being beaten down and tortured for days than you ever had in complete control."

The gray countenance stared at her coldly. "Fortunately, my goals and Cardassia's coincide quite nicely at this junction," he informed her. "Your concern for . . . the negotiations," he emphasized the words, knowing she was protecting Picard first, "is not necessary."

"Why?"

He shook his head. "Enough questions. I believe it is necessary for you to understand what will happen if you do not persuade Picard to make this confession." He stepped forward with an odd expression and ran his fingers lightly down the side of her face, pausing for only an instant before letting his fingers trail lower. She froze, instinctively trying to shrink away from him, hating herself for the concession to weakness. Reflexively she tried to pull her hands from behind her, but the bindings held fast. Madred watched her carefully. "I would regret it, of course," he said with a fair amount of sincerity as he let his hand fall.

Crusher let a shudder of revulsion pass through her. "I will not be subjected to that," she informed him in a low voice.

"Oh, there are other options, of course," he replied. "I'll show you one thing more. You never witnessed firsthand the effects of the device I used on Picard, did you?" He gestured to her chest, but she refused to look, as if even that much compliance with the bastard was too much. But she was suddenly aware of the cut in her shirt, in her skin . . .

She felt a searing pain in her stomach, in her head, and the air left her lungs in a convulsive gasp at it. Pain, more than she'd ever thought was possible to endure at once, filled her body, and she tried to lean over in a reflexive movement to alleviate it somewhat. But Madred's hand pushed her shoulder back against the wall and forced her to stand straight. Lights exploded in her field of vision; her mind raced incoherently through the haze of pain. Oh god Jean-Luc is this what he did to you it hurts it hurts I knew and I didn't know— Just when she thought she would collapse at the agony, he stopped what he was doing to her.

Her breath came in short gasps as she bowed her head. He grabbed her chin and tilted her face up, studying it impassively. "I think it will be harder on him, actually," he assessed.

Beverly managed to stop the moan that wanted to escape her lips, instead saying, "Let go of me."

He did so, in no hurry, to remind her it was because he wanted to and not because she had ordered him.

She swallowed once, her heart still pounding against her ribs. "I want to see Picard."

"You will, in due course. Although he cannot help you unless he signs this confession." His hand produced a hypo from somewhere and he continued, "I'm sorry to have to do this again, but it really is necessary."

Beverly had craned her face away, but was unable to avoid him as he pushed the hypo into her neck. "Jean-Luc," she cried thickly, and then she passed mercifully into unconsciousness.


"You abducted me in full view of my ship, Madred, and the negotiations are scheduled to begin in three days. You will not get away with this." Picard was furious and, to some extent, scared at facing the Cardassian in front of him again; he had only felt so helpless as when taken by Madred at one other time in his life, when he had been assimilated into the Borg collective. The man had assaulted his dignity, his humanity, in some long days of torture. He had attacked him physically, but much, much worse, he had attacked his mind. And he had nearly won. Picard had been shaken to the core of his soul at that, and recovery had been a long, painful process. Yet now, Madred could not possibly believe he had the upper hand. What Picard was telling him was true: the Enterprise had seen Beverly killed, heard him being taken, would not allow it to happen. Then why . . . ?

"Of course I will. Not only will I get away with it, but you will help me. You will sign the confession." Madred spoke with an utter certainty that made Picard extremely uneasy.

"What makes you so sure?" he asked cautiously.

Madred smiled at the expression of doubt on his subject's face. He turned away from the man and started circling slowly, showing his complete lack of concern for any threat Picard might pose him, in every way asserting his control. "The last time we met, you and I," he began, "I found out much about you." Picard stiffened. "I found out about your family, I found out about your ship. And–" he stopped now and leaned close to Picard's face to whisper the words, "I found out what will make you break."

He froze, remembering all too well what Madred was alluding to: that moment when he had turned around, turned to stay in the desperate hope that Madred wouldn't harm her. But she was dead. He said so, mechanically.

"Willing to bet her life?" This was said with a smile, a cold, cruel smile.

God, no. "What have you done to her?" Picard demanded, his voice deathly quiet.

Madred pulled back, satisfied that he'd indeed been right and pleased with the reaction. "Nothing, Picard. Not yet. But I can't promise that she'll continue to be unharmed, if you refuse to sign this confession."

Picard sat there, in shock at the full implications of this remark. "No," he breathed hoarsely, and then looked up, eyes blazing as he felt the blood rush to his head. He had to draw Madred's focus from her, had to somehow gain control of the situation that he knew on some level was already lost. He grabbed the weapon out of his surprised guard's hand and shoved Madred back against the wall in one short, uncharacteristically violent movement. The other guard shouted at him and raised his own blaster, but Picard ignored him and pushed the barrel into Madred's throat. "You," he said, his voice still tightly controlled, "will let me contact my ship and release both Dr. Crusher and myself."

"I will do nothing of the sort."

"Then go ahead and shoot," he challenged.

"I don't have to," Madred answered, his voice even though his eyes were focused on the blaster Picard had pressed into his neck. He swallowed once and raised a hand so Picard could see. "I can use this." He saw the horrified recognition in the man's eyes at the device, and knew he'd won. "I don't think you want me to hurt her because of you."

Slowly, Picard stepped back and dropped the weapon. It fell to the floor with a clatter that seemed too loud, breaking the moment of silence. He felt, distantly, the guard slam him across the face with the recovered blaster and push him back into the chair he'd been in. The side of his face stung with the impact, but he took no notice, knowing it was nothing compared to–

Madred, composure already regained, rebuked the guard for having struck Picard, then turned again to his prisoner. "I had given orders that you not be touched, Picard. My apologies." He glanced at the device in his hand, as if suddenly recalling its presence. "As for the doctor, I'm afraid that if you don't sign the confession, I will have no qualms about using this."

He wouldn't. Picard was certain of that. He tried once more to draw the focus to himself, having no illusions about his own abilities to withstand anew the torture, knowing only how much worse it would be to see her suffer in his stead. "Madred. Be reasonable. She has nothing to do with any dispute between us. Let her go."

"Make the confession." Madred paused, then continued pleasantly, "No? Very well then. Would you like to see her? I imagine that, independent though she is, she's probably feeling quite alone at the moment."

Picard felt another surge of anger at the gibe, but cooler thoughts prevailed. No matter that Madred was taunting him, manipulating him – he had offered him the chance to see Beverly, and he needed to. Picard nodded once, his face ashen, thinking with increasing dread over what would be done to them . . . to her . . .