He appeared at the door to her office the next day, standing there on unsteady legs, leaning heavily against the door frame.
"What are you doing out of bed?" Crusher scolded getting out of her chair and going over to him.
Picard took a deep breath. "Will you release me?"
Crusher gaped at him. "You can barely walk."
"Can't you give me something for the dizziness?"
She sighed. "Yes. Come on."
Taking him by the arm, Crusher led him into the main examining room, then helped him sit on the edge of the biobed. She went over to an instrument tray and returned with a hypospray. She pressed it against the side of his neck.
Picard grimaced. "Umm."
Crusher placed her hands on his shoulders, looked directly into his eyes. "That should help. But you don't need to be going anywhere."
He shook his head. "I want to go back to my cabin, Beverly."
She frowned slightly, started to protest.
"Please."
And the look in his eyes, the sound of his voice, made her realize how important this was to him. And she agreed.
~vVv~
Crusher wasn't thrilled at the idea of having him return to his cabin. It would be difficult to contact him. But Geordi LaForge found a solution to that problem. He modified Picard's communicator so that it would vibrate slightly instead of making its usual high pitched beep. When he felt the vibration, hewould know to go to his computer for any messages.
Troi and Crusher stood in the corner of Picard's cabin watching the captain and the chief engineer discuss the communication's set up. The expression on the doctor's face was deeply worried.
"He'll be all right, Beverly," Troi said quietly.
Crusher looked at her doubtfully.
"He has to prove to himself that he can still be independent," the counselor explained.
"I know," Crusher nodded.
Just then the door chime sounded, and all conversation stopped. For a second, no one said anything. Picard looked at LaForge, a confused expression on his face.
Quickly, LaForge answered the chime.
"Come."
The door slid open and Will Riker stepped into the cabin.
"Captain." He stopped and addressed Picard. "I thought you might like someone to accompany you to the bridge?"
Picard stared at his first officer blankly, unsure of what he'd said.
"The bridge?" Riker said slowly.
"Ah. Yes," Picard nodded in understanding. He looked over his shoulder at Crusher, unconsciously asking her permission.
She smiled and inclined her head slightly, then watched as Picard and Riker left the room.
~vVv~
Riker was talking. Picard knew that because he could see the man's lips moving. But despite the fact that he was doing his best to speak directly to his captain's face, Picard understood little of what he said. He simply nodded at what he felt were appropriate moments.
"We finished delivering the food supplies to the Zenithian colonies," Riker was saying. "Now we're on a heading to rendezvous with the Grissom in four days."
A blond-haired ensign walked quietly up beside Riker. He and the captain stopped. The ensign handed Riker a computer tablet, and the first officer scanned it, then accepted the stylus the ensign offered and signed it.
"Thank you," she said, then looked over at Picard. "It's nice to see you, sir."
Picard smiled slightly and nodded, realizing the ensign had spoken to him. She took the tablet out of Riker's hands, and continued on her way. Riker and Picard resumed walking.
"John Lowell, the Grissom's first officer, is an old friend of mine," Riker said. Picard struggled to understand. "We graduated from the Academy together. It'll be good to see him."
Suddenly, Picard felt a wave of dizziness wash over him, and he reached out and grabbed hold of Riker's arm.
"Captain?"
Picard took several deep breaths, then nodded, let go of Riker. "I'm all right."
~vVv~
The chair in his ready room felt good, comfortable, and Picard leaned back in it possessively. Riker stood in front of his desk, looking down at him like an over-sized mother hen.
"Is there anything I can bring you, sir?"
Picard stared up at his lips.
"No. Thank you."
"A cup of tea?"
Picard shook his head. "No."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure, Commander," he replied, annoyed.
"I'll be on the bridge then," he said meekly. "If you need me."
"I'm fine, Number One." Picard's voice was firm.
"Yes, sir."
Riker turned and left the room. Picard sighed, rubbed his forehead. The effort to understand silent words caused his head to ache. Swiveling his chair to the right, he looked over at the viewport. Slowly, he got up and went over to it, leaned against the frame, stared out into the silence of space.
~vVv~
Beverly Crusher was concerned. Picard was growing increasingly depressed. Oh, he did a fine job of concealing his emotions, but she knew him too well. He ate very little, didn't sleep well, tossed and turned all night, plagued by nightmares he refused to talk about. In fact, he refused to talk about almost anything. He had become terribly unsure of his own voice. Since he couldn't hear it, he was afraid to use it. And once, when Crusher had pointed this fear out to him, he'd gotten very upset.
His trips to the bridge became few and far between. And Crusher worried. Because the bridge and the ready room were his place, his domain. And if he didn't feel comfortable there, where would he find the comfort he so desperately needed.
Crusher visited him in his cabin several times during the day, never quite sure in what state of mind she would find him.
She stood on the other side of the room, next to the door and watched him, his elbows propped on his knees, his head cradled in his hands. She went over, sat down beside him, placed a warm hand on his back. He shrugged, pulled away. She touched his cheek, made him turn his face to her.
"Tell me what you're thinking."
He shook his head.
"Tell me, Jean-Luc. You can't keep it all bottled up inside."
He didn't respond.
"All right. If you won't talk to me, then talk to Deanna."
"No," he murmured.
She put her hand on his back again. "Jean, I know what you're going through."
He stiffened, stared at her, his green eyes blazing. "You don't know," he exploded, got up, started to pace back and forth, although he didn't feel very steady at the moment. "How could you know? You have no idea. It's all silent, Beverly. I can't even hear my own voice. People I pass in the corridors, they're all talking, I see their lips moving, but I can't hear them."
He stopped next to his desk, braced his hand against the edge for support as he experienced a slight wave of vertigo. The drugs only helped so much. "And I keep thinking the most nonsensical things. Like if a tree falls in the forest and there's no one there to hear it, does it make a sound." He lowered his eyes, rubbed at his forehead, then looked back at her. "Does it, Beverly? Does it make a sound?"
She stood up, went over to him, placed her hands on his shoulders. "Just a few more days, Jean-Luc. Then Doctor Warrick will be here, and everything will be all right."
"You don't know that. I could be like this for the rest of my life."
"I don't believe that." She tightened her grip on his shoulders. "And you can't believe it either."
He wrenched away from her grasp. "Don't tell me what to believe."
He headed back towards the couch, lost his balance and stumbled, fell against a chair.
Crusher hurried over to him, helped him up into a sitting position. She sat down on the edge of the coffee table.
"Please leave me," he mumbled.
"No."
He lowered his head; she touched his chin, tried to raise it. He refused to look up.
"Jean-Luc." She said his name, although she knew he couldn't see her lips. "Look at me." She took hold of his shoulders, shook him good and hard. "Look at me."
And he did. And the look in his eyes frightened her. "Leave," he said bitterly. "Just... go."
"No," she repeated.
He stood up abruptly, brushed past her, his gait uneven. He went to the door; it opened. He braced his hand against the wall. "I want you to leave now, Beverly. That's an order."
She went to the door. "All right. But I'll be back." She stepped into the corridor, and the door slid closed behind her.
~vVv~
"Beverly?"
Crusher looked up, startled, gasped when she realized who the woman in the middle of her office was.
"Vash!"
"Q brought me." She took a step closer to the doctor's desk. "I know about Jean-Luc. How is he?"
Crusher nodded. "Please, have a seat."
The woman sat down, and the doctor proceeded to explain the captain's condition to her.
"I want to see him," Vash said when Crusher was finished.
"He's very frightened."
"I know. That's why I have to see him."
Crusher sighed. "All right."
She walked with Vash to the captain's cabin, neither of them speaking, both lost in their own separate thoughts. Crusher was bothered by the realization that this woman might be able to comfort Picard, the knowledge that Vash could be for him what she wasn't. But that's not important now, she told herself. If Vash can help Jean-Luc then that has to be all that matters.
Crusher left the woman at his door.
~vVv~
Vash stood in the half-light of Picard's cabin. The stars outside the viewport were ghostly illumination. The man sat in a chair across the room from her, bent over, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders were shaking, and she knew that he was crying.
She went over, knelt in front of him, touched him on the knee.
He jumped, startled, looked up at her. His eyes were bright, his face streaked with tears. "Vash," he breathed, swallowed convulsively. He started to reach up with his hand to wipe his tears away, but she stopped him.
"I'm here, Jean-Luc." She touched his cheeks, his chin, pressed her lips against his forehead, wrapped her arms around his body, cradled his head on her shoulder. And Picard let her hold him while he cried.
~vVv~
Picard stepped out of the shower, put on his white terry-cloth robe, let the thick material soak up the beads of water on his skin. He rubbed his arm over his face, dried it on his sleeve, then stared into the bathroom mirror. God, you look old, he thought. And he felt old. Yet Vash had held him most of the night like a baby, rocking him gently in her arms. And he'd clung to her, like a child holding on to his mother, fearing that if he let go, he'd be irretrievably lost.
When he awoke, and found himself wrapped up in her arms, he suddenly became embarrassed, ashamed. And quietly, so as not to wake her, he crawled out of bed, and escaped into the bathroom, hoping a hot shower would strengthen him. But it hadn't. He still felt weak.
He and Vash hadn't talked during the night. Picard knew she was being silent on purpose. Several times, in the dark hours after midnight, he'd reached over, touched her lips, desperate to hear her soft voice. She'd responded by kissing his fingers, his hands. Once, she'd said his name; he knew the shape of it on her lips. And he imagined that he'd heard it.
Suddenly, there was a face in the mirror beside his, and Picard turned quickly towards the now open door. Vash stepped over to him, held his face in her hands, kissed him tenderly, her lips soft against his.
"Good morning," she said, rubbing her thumb along his jaw.
"Good morning," he murmured in return.
"I've fixed us some breakfast. Are you hungry?"
He nodded, was fairly sure he'd understood the words breakfast and hungry.
Vash took his hand, led him through the bedroom and into the main living area. She sat him down at the table, brought him croissants, orange juice, and Earl Grey tea. She sank into the chair across from him with her own breakfast.
Picard stared at his plate for several long moments, then looked up at her. "Why are you here?"
Vash studied his face, the familiar lines around his eyes and mouth, the dimple in his chin. His voice sounded different, lower, rough.
"To be with you," she answered.
He shook his head. "You shouldn't have come."
She sighed. "Probably not. After all, it isn't appropriate."
"No... it's just... it's not a good time," he stammered.
"I know. That's why I came." She hesitated. "I thought you might need some help."
Picard stared at her, unsure of what she was saying. "Help?" he questioned.
Vash leaned toward him. "Yes. What one person gives to another person in time of need."
He stiffened slightly. "I know the definition, thank you."
"But do you understand it?"
Picard looked away, and Vash reached over and put her hand on his arm. "Don't shut me out, Jean-Luc."
He pulled his arm away, looked back at her. "You shouldn't be here."
"Why?" Vash threw her hands up in frustration. He could be so damned aggravating sometimes. And no matter what his condition, she wasn't about to stand for it. "Are you afraid I'll embarrass you again?"
He squinted his eyes. "What?"
Vash picked up a computer tablet at her side, typed in the words she'd just said, and slid it across the table at him. He read it.
"No... I'm..." he hesitated. "I'm afraid I'll embarrass myself."
The expression on her face softened, realizing the courage it took for Picard to admit this.
"Not with me you won't." She went over to him, knelt on the floor beside his chair. "I'm here for you Jean-Luc." She gazed into his eyes.
He swallowed. "Thank you... for holding me last night."
Vash smiled. "It was my pleasure. Besides, Maid Marian should get a chance to rescue Robin Hood every now and then."
A look of confusion passed over his face. Vash took the computer tablet, typed in her words, gave it to him.
Picard laughed out loud. He took hold of her hand, held it against his cheek.
"If I never hear again, I might like to spend the rest of my life in Sherwood Forest."
Vash grinned. "You'd just get bored."
He kissed the hand he held. "Not if you were there."
~vVv~