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."