Ghosts Within

Disclaimer: The crew of the Enterprise doesn't belong to me.

Jean-Luc Picard dreamed. Dreams that made little or no sense. Dreams that turned and twisted, shifted back and forth between light and dark. Faces from the past and half remembered voices. People he had not seen or thought about in years. And those he'd seen just that morning. And others whom he cared for and thought of often.

Jean-Luc Picard felt trapped in his dreams. As if he were caught between the past and the present, and yet hovering precipitously on the brink of a shadowed future. There were no patterns, no reasons, just images, and bits and pieces of memories, fleeting and ephemeral. Yet something... something was pulling at him in his troubled sleep, something, or someone with a message he could not grasp. He reached out his hand, searching, longing to touch that which he could not. And there, lightening his darkness, was Clarissa Trent, her slender fingers extended toward him. He reached further and took her hand in his. She was saying something, pleading with him, asking him to understand. But he could not. And then, she was gone.

Jean-Luc Picard woke with a gasp, and in that instant, he did not know where he was. Slowly, the shadows surrounding him coalesced into the familiar lines and form of the Enterprise's sickbay. The face staring down at him did not belong to Clarissa Trent, nor did the hand he held. Beverly Crusher was there, standing on one side of him, and Deanna Troi on the other.

Crusher gently laid his hand down on the bed. "Jean-Luc?" She leaned over him.

"Not so loud, Doctor." Picard winced. "I'm awake." He was surprised at the effort it took just to speak, and yet he continued. "What... what happened?" He could not remember anything.

"There was a malfunction, Captain," Troi explained.

"Malfunction?" Picard tried to push himself up on his elbows, but Crusher stopped him.

"It's been corrected. The turbolift is fine. You are not." Her hands were firm on his shoulders, her eyes even firmer. "Just lie still."

Picard reluctantly relaxed. He felt helpless and awkward with the two of them hovering over him. "How long have I been unconscious?" He swallowed to relieve the dryness in his throat.

"A little over two hours," Crusher answered.

He moved his hand to his forehead.

"Uh-uh," the doctor chided, pushing his hand away. "Don't touch. You split it open pretty badly. Give it time to heal."

Picard sighed, irritated at being treated like a child. "It doesn't hurt."

"Don't worry," Crusher replied. "It will." She gave him that look that he'd seen a thousand times before. That look that dared him to challenge her medical judgment.

He smiled weakly. Now was not the time for disagreement. "I believe you." He turned his head carefully on the pillow and looked up at Deanna Troi. There was deep concern written across her face. "I'll be all right, Counselor." He indicated Crusher with a slight shift of his eyes. "That is if I do everything she tells me to do."

Troi's features softened, and for a moment she actually reminded him of Clarissa Trent: the dark hair and soft, dark eyes.

"I know you will be, Captain." He was beginning to read her feelings as well as she read his.

Crusher lifted Picard's head slightly and held a glass of water to his lips. He took a few sips before she settled him back on the pillow.

"Now," his voice a little stronger, "I want to know more about this malfunction. In detail." A horrifying thought hit him. "Was anyone else injured?"

"No, Jean-Luc," Crusher answered, her voice reassuring. "No one else was injured."

"Thank god," he breathed. The ship... "Did it affect any of the other turbolifts?"

"No, it was just the one."

"And Geordi says it seems to be working fine now," Troi added. "I think you should let him fill you in on all the details."

"Yes," Picard agreed, "I should." He tried to sit up again. This time both Crusher and Troi held him.

"Not now," Crusher's voice was hard. "I want you to get a little more sleep."

Sleep. Dreams.

"No," he protested, louder than he meant to.

Troi reached out and touched his arm, and he realized she had sensed his fear.

"Captain?" she questioned.

Picard took a deep breath. "I feel fine." But Crusher had already pressed a hypospray to his neck. "I don't want to sleep," he mumbled drowsily as the drug immediately began to take effect.

"Doctor's orders," Crusher said, pulling a blanket closer around him.

Picard's eyes closed, and the dreams returned.

~vVv~

Twelve hours later, after a restless, dream-filled night, Beverly Crusher grudgingly released the captain from Sickbay. "I want you to know this is against my better judgment." She stood just outside the door to her office, her arms folded across her chest, a look of determined exasperation on her face.

"So noted," Picard replied, turning to go.

"If you get to feeling any worse, let me know." Her tone was one of acquiescence.

He looked back over his shoulder. "You shall be the first." He noticed the lines above her eyebrows. "And stop worrying, Beverly. It only hurts when I laugh, and I shall endeavor not to."

~vVv~

Geordi LaForge explained at great length why the turbolift had malfunctioned, sending the captain head over heels and landing him in Sickbay. Picard was aware of his chief engineer's acute sense of guilt over the mishap, and he assured the lieutenant commander that there was, by no means, any fault. Even on the Enterprise, things sometimes went awry. And at the end of the briefing, Picard was satisfied that the problem had been taken care of.

The captain stepped out of his ready room onto the bridge, and Will Riker stood, vacating the center command chair.

"Good morning, Captain, it's nice to have you back." The first officer smiled, and Picard felt, once again, that he was a participant in the age old custom of the 'changing of the guard.' A willing participant, he reminded himself, with a smile of his own.

He crossed over and settled himself in the chair. He glanced at his first officer.

Commander William Riker was tall and imposing, even when sitting, his bearded face lean and handsome. His easy smile and playful blue eyes gave him the look of a mischievous little boy. But he was a damn fine officer.

"It's good to be back, Number One," Picard responded. And indeed, it did feel good to be back in command. There really was no substitute. "Have I missed anything of great importance during my absence?"

"Not a thing, sir. Still on course for Temple Four."

"Ah, yes. Temple Four." A slight grimace momentarily marred the captain's sharp, but pleasant, features. They were in the process of delivering supplies to the planet, and Picard had always disliked using the Enterprise as a mere ferry boat. But, his was not to reason why, his was to simply do or... He stopped his rambling thoughts. "What is our estimated time of arrival, Mister Data?" he inquired.

"Maintaining our present course and speed, we should arrive at Temple Four in three-point-two-six days," Data answered crisply.

"Well, that gives us a few days to relax." Picard absent-mindedly reached up and rubbed his forehead.

"And recuperate," Riker interjected with a somewhat amused smile.

The captain pulled his hand away. "I'm just fine, thank you, Number One."

In fact, the cut had already healed nicely, leaving just a faint trace of a scar. And despite Beverly Crusher's warnings, there had been very little pain as a result of his accident. The dreams had disturbed him more, a great deal more than he had admitted to himself.

Picard spent the next five hours on the bridge, watching space unfold before him, listening to the familiar banter of his bridge crew, secretly enjoying every minute. At the end of the watch, he was reluctant to leave, but the look Will Riker gave him, the one that seemed to say 'I'll tell Beverly if you don't,' convinced him, and so the captain retired to his quarters.

~vVv~

Although his time spent on the bridge had helped to push the darker thoughts and concerns from his mind, the idea of sleep still did not appeal to Picard. He was just opening one of his antique, leather-bound books when his door chime sounded.

"Come."

The door slid open and Deanna Troi hesitated at the threshold.

"Counselor, please come in." Picard stood, laying the book on a table. He knew why she was here. He'd half-way been expecting her.

"I'm not interrupting?" She came further into the room.

"Not at all," he assured her. "Have a seat."

Troi settled herself on the sofa, and Picard resumed his chair. He studied her for a moment. She was absolutely beautiful. Breathtakingly so, he thought. And kind, gentle, extremely talented. He thoroughly understood what his first officer saw in her, for he saw it, too.

"So, what can I do for you?" he asked.

Troi smiled. "You stole my question, Captain."

"Your question?"

"I sensed yesterday, in Sickbay, that there was something troubling you." She leaned towards him.

Picard shifted his weight in the chair. "Well, being tossed around in a turbolift can be somewhat troubling."

"I know, but I felt that there was something more," she continued gently, "and I thought perhaps..."

Picard exhaled heavily. There was no use trying to evade her. He wouldn't want to, even if he could. Over the past three years, a trust and rapport had grown between them, and he did not want that destroyed. "Deanna," he began, "you know that I value your advice and your friendship. I appreciate the fact that I have been able to come to you when faced with problems and decisions." He hesitated, yet his eyes never left hers. "You know me too well not to know when something is bothering me. And you're right. There is much on my mind right now. But I think that this is something I must work through on my own."

"I understand, Captain." She rose. "If you decide that you want to talk..." She walked to the door, and it slid open.

Picard stood. "Thank you," he said, and the door closed behind her.

He crossed over to the viewport and leaned against it, the transparent aluminum cool against his body. Unbeknownst to Deanna Troi, she had summoned them back. And once again, Picard was alone with his shadows.

~vVv~