A slow smile spread across Picard's face as the lift doors closed behind him. He could imagine the looks of confusion on Riker's and Troi's faces. He seldom gave into their coddling so easy. But this time they were right, so instead of arguing with them, he simply complied with their wishes. He had been on the bridge for an awfully long time, through the first shift, and most of the second. Something he rarely allowed his senior officers to do.
He stretched and arched his back. His spine cracked. He'd grown stiff and tired after almost fourteen hours of sitting on the bridge. But the prospect of retiring to his cabin and sleeping didn't appeal to him. He realized he had to go somewhere, because the lift wasn't moving, merely sitting there waiting for his command. And then it came to him. The new holodeck program, the one he'd been looking forward to for the past week.
"Deck 12. Holodeck 3," he intoned.
~vVv~
Picard pulled the cuffs around his wrists, and straightened the black string tie. He reached up and touched the computer panel next to the portal. "Computer. Earth, North American Continent, United States, Louisiana, antebellum plantation. Year, 1875."
The doors rumbled open in front of him. A warm breeze drifted out. He stepped inside, his boots sinking into the thick green grass. The portal closed behind him and seemingly solidified into a magnolia tree. He breathed in deeply, relishing the scent of the countryside, the flowers, the new mown hay. He was standing next to a tree-lined dirt road, grassy meadows, dotted with black and white cattle, stretching out far to either side.
"Amazing," he murmured. "Absolutely amazing."
He walked over to the road and looked down it. A white columned mansion sat at the end, surrounded by towering old oak trees. Picard smiled. It looked just the way he'd hoped it would - stately, formal, yet inviting.
"I wonder if anyone's home," Picard thought aloud, starting off down the road with long strides.
He rubbed his eyes. There was a pressure building behind them. "That's all," he mumbled. "All I can remember."
Troi nodded. "You're doing just fine, sir." She held up her hand. In it was the small instrument she sometimes used to help place people under hypnosis.
Picard eyed her warily. "You're going to hypnotize me?" His voice shook slightly.
"Only if it's all right with you. If it's not, I wouldn't be able to."
He sighed, swallowed. "It's all right," he murmured.
Troi smiled. "Okay." She lifted the instrument up to his eye level, turned it on. A small blue light began to flash intermittently. "Just focus on the light," she said softly. "Breathe deeply."
Several minutes passed, and Picard began to relax, the tension in his shoulders eased, the pressure behind his eyes receded. He was growing tired, and his head felt heavy.
"You're very relaxed," Troi's voice was almost a whisper, but Picard heard it like someone calling to him down a tunnel. He closed his eyes, let his head fall back against the pillow.
"You're walking down the road, toward the house... "
He felt as if he were choking, and he coughed convulsively. He opened his eyes. He was lying in the middle of the road, dust rising around him.
"Jean-Luc." The voice was high, feminine, urgent.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw wooden wheel spokes and horse's hooves. A pair of booted feet were trudging toward him.
"Mister Jean-Luc." A man knelt beside him, large hands helping him to a sitting position.
"Sam?" It was the woman.
"He's all right, Miss Bethany. Just got the wind knocked out of him." He struggled to inhale, gasping.
"Easy there." The man rubbed his back.
There was a rustle of long skirts against his shoulder and the woman bent down.
A soft hand touched his chin, tilted his head back. "Jean-Luc, are you all right?"
Finally he was able to draw air into his lungs, but instead of answering aloud, he simply nodded at the woman.
"Your head," she murmured, drawing a lace handkerchief from a pocket in her dress. She gently wiped his forehead. He cringed, and pulled away slightly.
"It's not a bad cut, Miss Bethany," the man confirmed, "but maybe Lena oughta' take a look at it."
"It is bleeding a lot," she said, pressing the handkerchief against his forehead.
"Head always bleeds a lot when it gets cut open. Nothin' to worry about, Mister Jean-Luc, you gonna be just fine."
He stared up at them. The woman seemed so familiar; she looked like, even sounded like...who? Who did she remind him of?
"Let's get him on his feet, Miss Bethany." Sam placed a hand under his arm, lifted him up. Jean-Luc felt dizzy. Everything around him went gold, then black.
~vVv~
He opened his eyes, and he didn't know where he was. Wasn't even sure who he was. He was lying in a bed, his head cushioned by soft feather pillows. He looked around slowly. The room was big, the ceiling high. Heavy drapes hung over the windows, and pale sunlight filtered in around the edges. It illuminated the room just enough so that he could make out the heavy, dark furniture: an armoire, a chest of drawers, a dresser, a vanity, and beside the fireplace, a rocking chair. And sitting in it, a woman. He started to sit up, and the pounding in his head intensified. With a groan, he fell back onto the pillow.
"Best not try that again. Just lie still and maybe by this afternoon you'll feel better." The voice was rich and mellow, and it came closer to him as the woman continued. "You've had Miss Bethany all alarmed, even though I told her it wasn't more than a scratch."
She stood over him now, smiling, dark brown eyes in a warm brown face, a soft hand reaching out, inspecting the cut on his forehead. She didn't hurt him, but he stiffened involuntarily at her touch.
"Oh now, you just relax," she chided. "I've doctored more people in my life than you can even begin to count. Sides, who nursed you through that fever you had last winter?"
He stared up at her, confused. Apparently she had. But he couldn't remember; couldn't remember her or the fever, or last winter. The confusion must have shown in his eyes.
"Don't you worry about it. Like I said, it ain't nothin' but a scratch, but you're entitled to feel a bit shaken up." She pulled the quilt up around his shoulders, and he realized someone had put a clean nightshirt on him. "You just sleep now. Best thing for ya'. And if you need anything, I'll be right here.
Just call my name."
He yawned, suddenly realizing just how tired he was. And the last thought he had, before he drifted off, was I don't know your name.
"Guinan." He said the name flatly, and opened his eyes.
Troi stared back at him. "Captain?" She leaned toward him, touched him on the arm, brought his empty gaze back into focus.
"It was Guinan," he whispered, his eyes lit up in recognition.
"It was a holodeck image," Troi gently reminded him.
"Yes, of course," he agreed quickly, "but she looked like Guinan." He rubbed his head. The ache had returned. "How could I have been injured on the holodeck? What happened to the failsafe?"
Troi shook her head. "We're not sure. Geordi is looking into it. From what you've just told me it sounds like your run-in with the wagon coincides with Geordi's tests on the warp engines. It got pretty bumpy there for a while."
Picard averted his eyes from hers, stared past her at the wall. "While I was in there," he began hesitantly, "what happened out here?"
"The holodeck," Will Riker grinned up at Deanna Troi as she walked through the ready room door. He was sitting behind the captain's desk.
"What about the holodeck?" she asked, smiling at the self-satisfied look on his face.
"That's where the captain is."
"Oh," Troi's smile broadened as she took a seat in front of him, "that's good. He needs the diversion, and he enjoys the holodeck."
Riker leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. "He does enjoy the holodeck, doesn't he?"
Troi nodded. "I think our captain benefits the most from his relaxation times when he can forget for a while that he's the captain."
"Come on, Deanna," Riker rolled his eyes, "he never forgets he's the captain."
"No, I suppose not, but at least it allows him to...feel like someone else for a while."
"Dixon Hill, Private Eye," Riker laughed, then stopped abruptly as the ship lurched. "Geordi wasn't kidding when he said it may get a little bumpy."
"Geordi rarely kids about his warp engines," Troi said, then reached out quickly and grabbed hold of the edge of the desk as the ship lurched again.
A concerned look passed over Riker's face and he tapped his communicator. "Commander LaForge?"
"Sorry about that, sir," the Chief Engineer replied, "that should be the worst of it."
"That's fine, Geordi, just as long as you have everything under control."
"I do, sir."
"Good. Riker out."
He sighed with an air of possessive permanence and leaned further back in the captain's chair. Troi stared at him, a smile lighting her eyes. "We all have our fantasies, don't we?"
"What?" he asked, confused.
"Well, while the captain may be living out his Dixon Hill fantasy, I get the distinct impression that you're living out yours."
He grinned. "Captain of the Enterprise?"
Troi nodded. "It could happen. You did a fine job during the Borg incident."
He grimaced slightly. "Thanks, Deanna. But I never again want to assume command at the expense of Captain Picard."
"Of course you don't. But he may not always be a captain."
Riker's grin returned. "Admiral Picard?" The image of a silver-haired man with a moustache and goatee floated through his mind, a left-over memory from his encounter with Barash, or "Jean-Luc" as he liked to think of him. He shook his head, thoughtfully. "Yes, it could happen. But it'd be damn difficult to pry the captain away from the Enterprise."
Troi smiled. "Just like it's been difficult to pry you away."
"There's something about this ship, Deanna. She reaches out and takes hold of a person."
Troi nodded in agreement, but didn't say out loud what she was thinking. It's more than this ship, Will Riker. You know that. It's the people you work with, and care about, like the captain, and the bridge crew, Beverly Crusher...and me.
But "I know" was all she offered. Then she rose to her feet. "Well, I've got some appointments to keep."
Riker stood also.
"And you have a fantasy to live," she continued as she walked over to the door. She looked back over her shoulder at the tall, handsome first officer. "Enjoy it." Imzadi.
He smiled warmly, felt the soft touch of her mind to his. "I will, Deanna."
~vVv~
