Troi made him recount it all again. For the eighth time, he realized as he contemplated the existence of that fifth light. He knew, mentally, that having him discuss his ordeal in complete detail over and over would help him come to terms with it, help him accept it. But emotionally, it still took a lot out of him every time he related the events.
Troi knew. That's why she always positioned herself beside him on the sofa, the thigh of her left leg touching his right one, her hand resting on his arm. Letting him know, without saying a word, that she was there, and he was not alone.
He sighed deeply, rubbing his hand up over the back of his neck. He looked up at the counselor. "It really doesn't get any easier to talk about," he admitted, knowing that she sensed his discomfort.
"No, but you are dealing with it much better."
Picard leaned back against the sofa cushions, stretched his legs out in front of him and winced when his knee came in contact with the coffee table. "It's a very exhausting story," he conceded. He glanced back at Troi. "How many more times do you really want to hear it?"
Troi smiled slyly. "Well, to be honest with you, not for at least another week."
Picard blinked. "Really?" Suddenly, he wasn't so sure he wanted to be released so easily and abruptly from her care.
"Yes, really," she confirmed. "But that doesn't mean I'm through with our sessions." He exhaled the breath of air he was unconsciously holding. "No," she continued, "I'd like for us to spend some time talking about...other things."
His feeling of relief shifted to apprehension. "What...other things?"
"The first few days you were back were very traumatic for you," she said softly. "We haven't talked about that time."
Picard was aware that her hand was still on his arm, the pressure of her fingers increasing slightly. He stiffened. He hadn't been expecting this. "I... I don't really remember much," he stammered.
"What do you remember?"
He shook his head. "I..." he began, and then sighed heavily. "I remember talking to you in my ready room, and then..." His voice trailed off.
"And then?"
He sat up straight, pulled his arm away from her touch and shifted his leg away from hers. "Counselor," he said curtly, "I really don't see what this has to do with my recovery. I...had a few...difficult days. Some episodes that I really can't remember and would just as soon forget. So, if you don't mind-"
"I do mind, Jean-Luc."
Troi caught him by surprise using his first name. He turned and stared at her, feeling himself beginning to tremble.
"If you really can't remember those episodes, then there would be nothing to forget." She hesitated a moment, but her eyes never lost contact with his. "I think you do remember more than you want to admit."
Picard swallowed. His throat felt tight, rough; his eyes burned. He lowered his gaze.
"I think we need to talk about it. I think you need to know that what you felt, what you went through during those days was acceptable. It doesn't make you any less of a man, or of a captain." Troi touched his shoulder.
He didn't pull away. He swallowed again, felt warm, wet tears gather in his eyes. He'd always suspected that his counselor knew him better than he knew himself. He'd been too afraid to even think about those times with Troi and Crusher and Riker. Those times. Were they really only a few days ago? A tear rolled off his cheek and landed on his chest. He rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. "I...I really don't remember everything that happened."
Troi's grasp on his shoulder tightened. "I know. Tell me what you do remember."
"I...um," he cleared his throat, took a deep breath. His jaw was shaking; it was difficult to speak. He tried anyway. "I... I couldn't move."
"When you were sitting in front of the viewport, when Will found you," Troi helped him with the memories.
He nodded. "I didn't know he was there." He closed his eyes, consciously remembering that moment for the first time. "But...I knew Beverly when she held me. I felt... I felt safe."
Troi's hand moved from his shoulder, took hold of his hand and squeezed it gently. "Go on," she whispered.
"I knew when I was back in my cabin. She was there. I couldn't..." He stopped.
"You couldn't what, Jean-Luc?"
"I... I couldn't let her leave me. Not like..." A muffled moan escaped his throat, and he turned away from Troi, his back to her. Pulling his hand from hers, he propped his elbows on his knees, and lowered his head into his open palms. He couldn't stop the tears, his shoulders shaking with each sob.
Troi's hands ran over his back, soothingly. She allowed him to weep for several long moments, and then said, "You couldn't let her leave you like she left you on Seltris III."
The words slapped him into awareness. "No!" he denied them, although he knew what she was saying was what he'd felt. Still felt. "Bev...Beverly didn't... leave me," he mumbled around heaving gasps of breath. His whole body shook uncontrollably. "I thought... they'd taken her, too."
"I know." Troi continued to massage his back. "But, for whatever reason, she wasn't there, with you. And when you returned to the Enterprise, you needed her."
Picard's head moved, nodding in agreement with the counselor's words. 'Yes," he rasped. "I needed her."
Troi leaned closer and wrapped her arms around the captain's trembling shoulders, rested her cheek against the back of his neck. "It's all right, Jean-Luc. It's all right to need her. It's all right."
And she held him while he cried. And he cried for a long time.
~vVv~
He was restless that evening. He'd spent the late afternoon worried that his emotional session with Troi would preclude any plans for his return to limited duty the next day. The counselor had assured him that it would not. But still, he was concerned.
He admitted to himself that perhaps it wasn't so much his return to duty that bothered him, as it was the emotional content of the afternoon's counseling session. This need for Beverly Crusher disturbed him. Yet at the same time, it made him feel safe, secure. Like a child with a loving, protective parent.
He shuddered, tried to turn away from the thoughts that flooded through his mind. Troi hadn't pressed him any further that afternoon, hadn't asked him any more questions about the regressive post-traumatic episodes he'd experienced. He knew she would. And he knew he would have to respond. He did remember more than he wanted to.
The door chime sounded. Beverly.
"Come," he said, turning away from the viewport.
The door slid open. Crusher came in. "I know I wasn't invited to dinner, but I thought-"
Picard crossed over to her. "Forgive me for not inviting you. It was an unfortunate oversight." He smiled hesitantly.
Crusher reached out and touched his arm. Troi had spoken to her. He could tell, could feel it in the pressure of her touch.
He glanced away, staring at a spot on the wall just past her right shoulder. "I won't be returning to duty tomorrow, will I?" he asked, his voice dull.
"You don't want to?" Crusher returned pleasantly.
He looked back at her. "Yes, of course, I want to. But I thought..."
"Yes, Jean-Luc, Deanna and I did talk about your session with her today." She placed the palm of her other hand against his cheek. "We both find you guilty of needing someone," she smiled softly, "and that crime doesn't carry any punishment with it."
He lowered his eyes and stared down at the floor. She stroked her fingers along his jawline, and up over his right ear. "I am so sorry I left you," she murmured.
Picard shook his head. "No, you didn't leave me. You and Worf had no choice. I'm just so grateful that they..." He inhaled a deep breath and raised his eyes back to hers. "I am so grateful that they didn't take you."
Crusher smiled and drew him into her arms, held him for several moments. He relaxed in her embrace, allowed himself to need the comfort she gave him.
"I am grateful they gave you back," she whispered in his ear.
"Even after all the trouble I've given you these past few days," he murmured.
Crusher nodded. "Even after all the trouble." She released him and took a small step back, her hands taking hold of his. "We love you, Jean-Luc. All of us."
Picard blushed slightly, unsure of what to say. But before the silence stretched too far, Crusher dropped his hands, and took a step toward the dining area.
"So, where is this dinner you've just invited me to?"
"Ah, well." He turned and followed her over to the table, staring down at the empty surface. "Dinner..hasn't been... prepared," he answered meekly.
"Well, then," Crusher placed a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him into the nearest chair, "I suggest you have a seat, and I'll have the replicator prepare something."
Picard leaned back with a grin on his face and watched her as she went to the wall unit.
She turned and looked back over her shoulder. "Any requests?"
"Anything," he responded, "as long as it's not tuna fish sandwiches."
~vVv~
"I'm fine, Number One," Picard said quietly to the man seated to the right of him.
Riker abruptly sat up straight, realizing that he'd been leaning closer and closer to the center chair. "Yes, sir. Of course you are, sir." He exchanged a glance with his commanding officer and then smiled in spite of himself. "I'm sorry, sir. It's just...It's good to have you back."
Picard nodded. "It's good to be back." He allowed his gaze to circle around the bridge. Everyone, including himself, was in their proper place. Worf at Tactical, Data at Ops, Ro at Navigation, Troi in the chair to his left. He took note of the guarded concern in her eyes. "I am fine, Counselor," he assured her.
"Yes, I know. But you have been here several hours..." she began.
Knowing where this was heading, Picard interrupted her. "Yes, I have. And I believe I shall take a break in my ready room." He stood up before Troi had a chance to protest his choice of location. "Number One, you have the bridge," he intoned, striding toward the ready room door.
"Aye, sir," Riker replied, glancing over at Troi as he moved into the center seat.
She shook her head and smiled. "I'll give him a few minutes, and then check to see if he's really resting."
"It is good to have him back," the first officer said again.
"Yes, it is," Troi agreed.
~vVv~
"I'm taking a nap like a good little boy."
The doors had barely closed behind Troi when those words welcomed her into the captain's ready room. She looked over at the sofa. Picard was lying down with his head on a pillow, one arm draped over his eyes.
"Beverly would be pleased."
He raised his arm and looked at her. "And aren't you pleased?"
"I still think your cabin would be more comfortable."
Picard laid his arm back across his face. "Ah, yes, but that wasn't necessarily a stipulation of my limited release."
Troi sighed. "No, I suppose it wasn't. Although, I had thought it understood."
"I'll be fine, Counselor," he assured her.
"Very well. Can I get you anything before I leave?"
"No, thank you. Just please tell Doctor Crusher that I am taking my nap."
Troi shook her head. "I will tell her that you are being a very good little boy."
"Umm," Picard grunted as she walked out the door.
~vVv~
He had been sleeping so very lightly that the faint sound of his communicator jolted him awake.
"Captain to the bridge," Ricer's voice intoned.
Picard rolled off the sofa and was on the bridge in a matter of seconds.
"Report, Number One," he requested before he even took a look at the viewscreen. He came to a halt in front of his command chair and turned just as Riker opened his mouth to speak.
"Sir, we've encountered-"
"Cardassians," Picard choked, his voice suddenly rattling uncontrollably.
The large Cardassian ship loomed off their port bow. Riker took a step closer to the captain.
"It came out of warp from literally nowhere," the first officer began to explain. "I've raised the shields."
"Sir," Worf's voice came from the tactical station, "they are hailing us."
"On screen," Picard barely breathed the words, but the Klingon heard and opened a channel to the Cardassian ship.
In an instant, the bridge of the Enterprise was blinded by...
Four lights...
~vVv~
He saw them, he knew he had, and behind them had been Madred: the jagged planes of the Cardassian's face, the eyes that stared through him, shadowed by the presence of the lights. Four lights... five lights...
"Four lights." Picard wasn't sure if he'd thought the words or spoken them out loud. He felt a hand rub along his arm, and he jerked away from it.
"It's all right, Jean-Luc." It was Beverly Crusher's voice.
Picard opened his eyes, realizing that they had been closed. His ready room surrounded him. The doctor sat to one side of him on the sofa, Deanna Troi on the other. Riker leaned against the desk in front of him, arms crossed solidly over his chest, the fingers of one hand stroking down over his beard.
The captain met his first officer's gaze straight on. "The Cardassians?"
"They're gone," Riker returned.
Picard nodded. He knew that. He remembered. Now. The ship had been there, but it had merely been delivering a final message from Madred, a taped communique consisting of one question: How many lights are there?
The open link had been severed abruptly, and the ship had accelerated into warp and was gone before anyone on the bridge moved. Picard remembered Riker's hand wrapping around his arm, and then the younger man leading him into his ready room, settling him on the sofa, calling for the doctor and the counselor. Picard had buried his face in his hands and he hadn't moved, hadn't acknowledged anyone's presence until now.
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Take care of the bridge, Number One," he said quietly.
"Data's there, sir," Riker reassured him.
"Please, Will," he insisted, shifting his gaze toward the floor, his voice breaking. He drew in another breath, seeming to gasp for air.
Troi nodded at Riker, and the first officer straightened. "Yes, sir," he replied. He crossed to the door, hesitated before leaving. "If you need anything, Captain... just let me know." Then he left, the door whispering closed behind him.
Picard sat for several long moments, continuing to stare at the floor. He could feel the pressure of Crusher's hand on his arm, and Troi was sitting so close to him that he could feel her breathing. He felt trapped between the two women, and he got to his feet, strode blindly to the viewport and leaned one shoulder against it.
He could hear them move on the sofa, shifting uncomfortably; he imagined the looks of concern that passed between them.
"Captain?" Troi was the first to speak.
"I froze," he murmured.
"The Cardassian ship took you by complete surprise," the counselor began to reason.
"I couldn't move." And yet he was moving now, trembling, pressing his body closer to the window for support. "Couldn't talk."
"Jean-Luc," Crusher's voice, soft, gentle, "after what Madred did to you, it's understandable that-"
"Damn it!" He slammed his fist against the viewport. "Will had to lead me off the bridge like...like an invalid, or a..." He gasped in another breath, and then another, fighting the sobs that threatened to overwhelm him. "Or a frightened child." He leaned his head forward; it bumped hard against the glass.
Seconds later, he felt Crusher's hand on his neck, cool fingers rubbing tenderly over the knotted muscles. "Shh, relax. You just need some more time, Jean-Luc."
"According to your medical report, I don't have any more time," he mumbled, his voice thick with unshed tears.
"You could take shore leave," Crusher suggested.
He turned on her, eyes glaring brightly. "You mean medical leave, don't you?"
"It's not a bad idea, Captain." Troi stood near them, next to the desk. "You could take a couple of weeks, go somewhere, give yourself the time you need to recover completely." She reached out and placed her own hand on his. "You have been through a lot. Physically, the torture, the drugs, the nerve damage. And mentally. The pain. The fear. It's going to take you a while longer to heal."
He blinked at the counselor, allowing her words to sink in. Yes, he had been through a lot. He'd been to hell and back, and he was tired, so very tired. He leaned toward Crusher, and she took him in her arms, cradling his head on her shoulder.
"I'll go with you, Jean-Luc," she whispered. "You're going to be all right."
Tears slid down his cheeks and onto the doctor's uniform. But she didn't seem to mind. She just held him tighter, and rocked him gently...back and forth, back and forth.
~vVv~