"Come," Jean-Luc called harshly. He was bent over the computer screen on his desk, his right hand massaging his neck. He looked up to see Beverly, the door closing behind her.
"The next time we play hide-and-seek, Jean-Luc, you might want to find somewhere else to hide. I'll find you here every time."
"I'm sorry, Doctor. I remembered I'd left some work undone."
Beverly crossed over and sat on the edge of his desk. Jean-luc leaned back in his chair, drawing himself away, eying her warily.
"Respect me enough not to lie to me. You've done enough of that in the past few days."
He winced. Her words stung. "Are you going to report to Sickbay, or am I going to have to get Security to carry you there?"
"As soon as I'm finished with this," he said, gesturing towards the computer screen.
"No, now."
"Beverly," he began to protest.
"Jean-Luc, you're not well, I know it, you know it, and half the bridge knows it."
"Half the bridge does not know..." he began. He saw the sobering look on her face.
She sighed. "Will and Deanna are concerned."
He looked away from her.
"Jean-Luc," her voice was soft, gentle, "what symptoms have you noticed?"
"I really haven't..." He stopped himself. He could not lie to her anymore, nor did he want to. But he was afraid of telling her the truth. And yet he knew he must. He breathed in deeply.
"I've felt a weakness in my hands and legs," he answered, eyes downcast. He couldn't look at her, couldn't let her see the fear on his face. And he didn't want to see it on hers either.
"I thought so. This morning, when you fell, did you experience any dizziness, before or after?"
"No. My legs just sort of gave out," he mumbled.
Beverly nodded. "Let's get you down to Sickbay, and figure this out." Her hand wrapped around his upper arm.
"I can manage on my own," he said abruptly, standing up and shrugging free of her grasp.
He maneuvered his way around the desk, stopping in the middle of the room, and looked over at her.
"Beverly, what do you think is wrong with me?"
She shook head. "It could be any number of things."
He swallowed hard. She saw his shoulders tremble slightly.
"But we'll find out what it is, Jean-Luc," she assured, "and then we'll take care of it."
~vVv~
"Promise you'll never do that to me again." Jean-Luc's voice was low, husky.
He was lying on his side, covered to the waist by a sheet. His face pale and drawn. He looked small and helpless on the examining table.
Beverly reached down and rubbed his arm.
"Sorry. Unfortunately, spinal taps haven't changed much in five hundred years. They're still extremely painful."
He grimaced. "That, Doctor, is an understatement."
"And I can't promise you that I won't have to give you another one."
Jean-Luc closed his eyes. They were still wet with unshed tears, of pain, of fear. The pressure of her hand on his arm increased, warm, reassuring. He opened his eyes and smiled up at her.
"I'm all right," he murmured. "I don't blame you for your barbaric medical practices."
"Thank you." Beverly pulled the sheet up, covering his bare chest and shoulders. "Why don't you get a little sleep while I run some more tests."
He nodded. "I'll try." The pain in his lower back lingered, radiated along his spine.
"You may want to remain on your side for a while," she suggested.
"No problem. I'm too tired to roll over."
Beverly held her hand to his cheek, leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. How she longed to be able to smooth the creases away. To kiss him and make him all better.
Jean-Luc cleared his throat, nervously. "That's quite a bedside manner you've got there, Doctor."
Beverly smiled. "That's only because I've got quite a patient."
~vVv~
He woke with her hand on his cheek.
"Are you going to kiss me again?" he murmured, wondering if this was going to become a habit. Half hoping it was.
"Do you want me to?" her smile played enticingly across her lips.
"Not with her here," he replied, grumpily, shifting his eyes towards the counselor.
Deanna laughed softly. "It seems I've missed something."
"Not much," Jean-Luc sighed.
"He's intrigued with my bedside manner," Beverly explained, lifting his head and placing a pillow under it.
Jean-Luc yawned and reached up slowly to rub his eyes. His arms felt heavy. He lowered them.
"What is it, Beverly?" He looked up at her expectantly.
"It's called Guillain-Barre Syndrome."
He frowned. The something had a name. And a French name at that.
"Guillain-Barre Syndrome," he repeated.
Beverly nodded. "Also known as polyradiculoneuritis. It usually occurs one to three weeks after experiencing a fever associated with a viral infection- "
"But I haven't been ill lately," Jean-Luc interrupted.
"Or after an immunization," she continued.
Light dawned. "The vaccines you gave the crew two weeks ago," Jean-Luc said.
"Probably. Chances are you developed a fever, so slight you didn't even know you were running one."
"And that slight fever caused the weakness I'm feeling now?"
"Yes," Beverly answered hesitantly. How much should she tell him?
Jean-Luc stared at her. There was more. "What else?"
She sighed. "First there's the weakness. It usually starts in the legs and spreads upwards. Your case was a little different in that it started with your hands. But that's not terribly unusual. The weakness may persist for several weeks, or several months. It may get better, or..."
"It may get worse," he finished her sentence.
"Jean-Luc." She fought to keep her voice from shaking. "You'll probably develop paralysis in your arms and legs."
He swallowed. Beverly saw the muscles along his jaw harden.
"When?"
"It could happen anytime now. I'm a little surprised that it hasn't already. Your onset has been slow."
"But we think that may work to your advantage," Deanna said, walking to the other side of the table and touching his arm.
Jean-Luc's eyes followed her. "Why?"
"We're hoping your symptoms won't become too severe," Deanna answered.
The word set off an alarm.
"How severe can this paralysis become?" He shifted his gaze back to Beverly.
She answered him with a calmness she didn't feel.
"It could impair your thoracic muscles, which would impede your ability to ingest food orally. And it could affect your breathing." Beverly paused. "Some patients have been placed on respirators."
Jean-Luc closed his eyes. They'd told him more that he wanted to know. And yet, he looked back up at them and asked another question.
"So, what do I have to look forward to?" There was a bitter edge in his voice.
"You can look forward to getting better." Beverly smiled. "It cures itself. Most cases are resolved completely within six months at the most."
"And in the meantime?"
"In the meantime, Captain," Deanna offered, "we're going to pamper you like you've never been pampered before."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "That, Counselor, is what I was afraid of."
Beverly patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, Jean-Luc. Let's just take this a step at a time. Right now, a couple of medics are going to help you to your room."
"And when you're all settled in, Captain, I'll come down and see you." Deanna added.
Two members of Beverly's staff stepped over and moved him onto an anti-grav stretcher.
"I'll look forward to your visit, Counselor," he murmured as they took him out of the room.
Beverly looked at Deanna.
"What is he feeling?" As if she needed to ask.
"Frightened." As if she needed to answer.
"Aren't we all, " Beverly sighed, turning towards her office.
Deanna followed. "He is going to be all right?" she asked.
"I think so," Beverly replied, "Most cases do recover completely."
She leaned against her desk, Deanna stood in the doorway.
"But you're still terribly worried."
Beverly nodded. "About the meantime, Deanna. I'm worried about the meantime."
~vVv~
