Chapter 10

To a man whose career, whose personality, whose reputation revolved being in control of the situation, the prospect of having random flashbacks was terrifying. Not only could it completely humiliate him in front of his colleagues, but it could also jeopardize his career. He was not fit for duty now…that was an understatement. How would he ever be sure that he was fit for duty ever again if these things hit at random? Troi assured him that they would become less frequent and that recognizing them early on, he would be more able to control them…but how would he ever know for sure if he would snap at a crucial moment? When, and not if, he faced a Cardassian again, how would he react? Would he start screaming that there are four lights? Worse…would he say there are five? The more he thought of what could happen, more helpless he felt. And that just made him even angrier.

Deana had left Beverly and the Captain after their brief conversation at his breakfast. They needed some doctor/patient privacy, and Troi told the captain that they should meet that afternoon. He reluctantly agreed. After she left, Picard stared sullenly down at his hands that he rested in his lap. Beverly was retrieving something from her medical kit and returned to the table.

"Do you feel better after eating something?" she asked him as she sat down next to him.

"Yes."

She scanned him with the medical scanner, nodding in approval of whatever it told her. She closed the tricorder, stowed the scanner in the top of it, and put it on the table in front of her. "The numbing agent I gave you for your headache should be wearing off soon. Are you feeling any pain returning?"

"No. I'm fine." He was still looking down.

"Jean Luc, look at me." He didn't look up. "Jean Luc, look at me," Beverly said gently reaching up and turning his chin towards her with her hand. Although his face was turned towards her, he couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye. "Look at me," she repeated quietly.

Finally, he lifted his eyes to hers, shame radiating from them.

"Tell me what you're feeling." Her voice was soft and soothing. "Jean Luc, I'm here for you. Whatever it is, you can tell me."

He continued to look at her for only a moment more. His facial muscles betrayed his fragile emotions and he quickly looked away before he lost control over them. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"About what?"

He shook his head, still looking away from her. His face was set, fighting whatever emotions were welling up within him.

Beverly lowered her hand from his face and put it on his knee. He jumped slightly at the touch but quickly gathered himself. "Please let me help you."

Jean Luc just shook his head, the light from the nearby aquarium reflecting off the unshed tears in his eyes.

It was clear that he wasn't ready to talk. "OK," she said. Heart breaking, she looked at him for a moment longer before taking her hand off of his knee. She set two neural suppressors on the table in front of him. He glanced at them. "You're exhausted. You didn't sleep much, if any, yesterday or last night, so I want you to take a good long nap and…"

"I don't want to sleep," he said interrupting her. The thought of the nightmare brought a tangible anxiety. He leaned forward in his chair, eyes pleading for compassion. The image of Beverly with the knife slicing across her throat flashed into his mind, and he looked away.

"You have to sleep..."

"No." He leaned back in his chair and swiveled it slightly away from her.

"…and that's why you will wear these neural suppressors so that you won't dream," she said sternly, indicating that she was not taking "no" for an answer. "Jean Luc, I know you're having nightmares, but you have to sleep. You can set the timer on these for however long you want to sleep. I recommend at least four hours. Six would be better."

"But..."

"But nothing." She voiced her full authority as chief medical officer in her tone. "You are the captain of the Enterprise, Jean Luc Picard, and you are unfit for duty without sleep. The Enterprise may be your ship again, but I have not yet cleared you for duty, and I will not do so until you cooperate with your doctor. No arguments," she warned. "At 2200 hours, Nurse Baldwin will come by and start your physical therapy."

Brow furrowed and mouth drawn into a tight frown, he clenched his teeth to keep from yelling something he'd regret. The muscles in his jaws visibly knotted at his temples, and he didn't have to say anything for Crusher to see his anger rising.

"Do you want full mobility in your shoulders back?" she asked authoritatively, voice firm.

Unconsciously flexing his shoulders, which were still incredibly stiff, he grudgingly consented and nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Then you're going to have physical therapy. Now take a nap," she said softening her mood.

"Yes, Sir," Picard said darkly.

"That's right," she said as she got up from the table, taking his comment as humorous instead of sarcastic. She wasn't sure which it was. "If I find you are ignoring me, I'll bring you to sickbay and sedate you." She was saying it with some humor, but Picard knew she meant it. She backed out of the room pointing a finger at him. "Physical therapy at 2200 hours and then talk to Troi…and you are officially taking sick leave for the rest of the week…and take that nap." The doors closed on the word "nap."

Picard sighed in frustration. Damn, she could be pushy! He got up from the table, fuming at having his day planned for him and shoved his dishes into the replicator to recycle them. Looking back at the table and the two neural suppressors, he wondered if they would really keep him from dreaming. He was terrified to find out…but Beverly was correct. He was exhausted and he couldn't go without sleep and expect to recover or even think clearly. He rationally knew this, but he was angry nonetheless. The irrationality of his emotions enraged him even more.

Crusher would, of course, get her way. He walked back to the table and picked up the two devices. The thin grey rectangles fit easily into one hand. He looked down at them. "Alright, dammit. I'll take a nap," he said under his breath. He looked into the bedroom, which was still in disarray and decided the couch was a better option. "Picard to Riker," he said to the intercom system.

"Riker here."

"Will, I'm taking the day off and the rest of the week per doctor's orders. You have the bridge until further notice."

"Aye, sir. Would you like an update on ship status later today?"

Picard hesitated. "Only if something needs my immediate attention, Commander. Tomorrow, though, an update would be welcome. Picard out."

Flopping down onto the couch with a sigh, he set the timers on the neural suppressors and put one on either side of his forehead. They would silence the horrors in both hemispheres of his brain…at least for a time.

Picard woke up disoriented. Blinking his eyes, the fog began to clear from his mind, and he realized that he was lying on his couch. Bringing his hands up to rub his eyes, his fingers bumped the neural suppressors on his forehead. Oh, yes. He slowly rolled up, removing the devices from his skin and tossing them onto the coffee table. He was incredibly groggy. "Computer, time."

"The time is 2130 hours."

Half an hour before physical therapy… He stood up stiffly and shuffled like an old man over to the replicator to get some water. After three glasses of water, he replicated some coffee to try to wake up. He rarely took naps during the day, even on his lieu days, so this one had discombobulated his internal clock…but so had staying awake the entire night before. It could have been the first thing in the morning for all his body knew. Night and day on a starship were relative things anyway. He walked around his quarters sipping the coffee and letting the warmth of the liquid wake his mind. He wandered over to his desk where his eyes came to rest the Klingon dagger Worf had given him. The back of his neck prickled as the jevenite-studded handle glinted in the overhead light.

He blinked in surprise and stepped back, startled. The door chimed, and the sound made him jump. Looking anxiously at the door and then back to the dagger, he saw only dull black metal where the jeweled handle had been just a moment before. Damn! He blinked again. The knife had no jewels on its handle. The door chimed again. Picard took a deep breath to compose himself. "Come," he called with a tight voice.

Nurse Baldwin walked in. "Good afternoon, Sir. I'm Lieutenant Baldwin here for your physical therapy." The nurse was a burly man in his thirties with a warm smile and relaxed demeanor. "I am a few minutes early. I can come back if this is a bad time."

Picard set his coffee down on his desk next to the knife and brushed his fingers over the dagger's handle to confirm that he was only losing his mind. It was smooth. Picard looked up at the nurse and attempted a half grin. "No, now is as good a time as any."

"OK then," the nurse said smiling, ignoring the captain's obvious anxiety. "Let's get those arms working again!"

Picard forced himself to be pleasant.

Troi showed up soon after Baldwin left. Picard was really not in the mood after having been twisted and stretched by the physical therapist. For such a happy nurse, he was certainly capable of inflicting considerable pain on his patient with very little compassion. Picard had to acknowledge though that he felt better and more flexible in his shoulders. Baldwin would be back tomorrow. Fine.

Troi stepped into his quarters to find the captain sitting on the couch massaging his left shoulder, a dour expression on his face. "How are you feeling, Captain?" Troi asked perkily. Everyone was so damn perky.

"Better." He quit massaging his shoulder and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees.

"How did the physical therapy go?"

"Fine."

"If you would like for me to come back later, I can."

It would just delay the inevitable, and he wanted this over with. "No, now is fine, Counselor."

Troi sat down carefully across from the brooding man and waited for him to start. When the silence became uncomfortably long, Picard looked up at her with a "what do you want me to say?" expression on his face.

"Captain, I know it is not easy for you to discuss your emotions, but talking about them will help you come to terms with them. After a traumatic event, it is common to experience strong, conflicting, and often irrational emotions."

He snorted, looking down at the floor.

"Should I take your reaction to be a confirmation that you are experiencing such emotions?"

"Yes," he said quietly, not looking at her.

Troi stood up and walked over to the replicator like she owned the place. He had expected for her to plant herself in front of him until he spilled his guts, but her sudden change of tactics made him look up. "Are you thirsty?" she asked.

Thirst…such painful, intense thirst! Picard watched Madred sip his tea. "Thirsty? Yes, I'm sure you are."

"Can I get you some tea?" Troi asked when he didn't respond.

"Uh…no thank you," he said blinking the image of the Cardassian out of his head, realizing quickly where he was.

"Hot chocolate," she ordered from the replicator. It materialized and she took the steaming mug from the replicator pad. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure." He ran his hands over the smooth fabric of the couch, trying to "ground" himself like Troi had described earlier.

Troi sat back down and crossed her legs, sipping the warm chocolate. She sensed his anxiety rise. "Are you OK?" she asked casually.

He nodded a little to quickly. "Yes, I'm fine."

She returned to her hot chocolate as if she took him at his word. "I find that chocolate has a way of calming my nerves. It should be the opposite with the caffeine, but for some reason, this is the best remedy for a stressful day. Will has his trombone. Worf has his holodeck battles… Everybody has their own remedy."

At nearly any other time and place, her idle chitchat would have amused him, but Picard was quickly realizing that this chat was a bad idea. "Look, Counselor, I appreciate what you're doing, but I'm not feeling very talkative right now."

"What exactly am I doing?" she asked innocently.

"You know very well."

"I'm just drinking hot chocolate. Any ulterior motive is something you've thought up."

He signed. "You're trying to engage me in meaningless small talk until I cave in and divulge to you my innermost demons."

"Really?" She looked at her hot chocolate. "This is powerful stuff," she said admiringly at the beverage.

He couldn't help but grin at her feigned innocence. "You're too good at your job, Counselor."

She smiled. "That's why you hired me. Now tell me about the flashback you just had."

Despite his annoyance of having Troi and Crusher dictate his daily routines for a week, he had to admit that both of them had been correct on everything they had prescribed. The physical therapy had worked wonders for his mobility, and he had been able to get restful sleep with the help of the neural suppressors. Crusher wanted to wean him off of them, though, and he was apprehensive about what dreams he might have…but he couldn't rely on that crutch forever. His conversations with Troi remained somewhat strained. She was correct though that he would be able to feel a flashback coming on and be able to stop it early before it became full blown. He recognized unexpected shots of adrenaline as warning signs and used her grounding technique to keep himself in the moment. Picard found that the quartz crystal that he kept in his ready room was the best thing he had found to ground himself. By forcing himself to focus on its smooth, cold facets both tactilely and visually, he could pull himself back from the brink. The frequency of his flashbacks was unsettling. Sounds, smells, words, situations… practically anything could remind him of the torture.

He didn't feel like the same man he had been just a few weeks prior. His body was healed, but emotionally, he was a wreck. Practically everything angered him. He didn't want people meddling in his business, and he certainly did not want to talk about his ordeal. It was over and done with, and he would bear the burden of his shame alone. Talking about it would change nothing. He was damaged goods. The part of it that enraged him the most was his reaction to the presence of Dr. Crusher. The shame he felt at betraying her ran so deeply that he didn't feel deserving of her presence, much less her ministrations. One-word answers and avoidance were now his default behaviors when she came to check in on him. He hated this. He hated how it made her feel. He hated himself for shutting her out. It was like something took over him and shut him down every time he saw her…and when she left his quarters in sorrow, not understanding, rage welled within him. Picard had never been a violent man, but pounding something to a pulp was foremost on his mind. What was happening to him?!

Picard stood looking out of the windows of his quarters, fists and teeth clenched. Troi had just left. She accused him of hiding something from her. He denied it, but they both knew it was a lie. But how could he tell her that he would have been willing to sacrifice the life of the woman he loves just for the chance of ending his torture? This would remain a secret…a dark, malignant secret that would eat his soul. The fury he felt towards the Cardassians for what they had made him become was going to burst through his chest. Picard knew what he had to do. He turned on his heel, grabbed his quartz crystal off of his desk, and stalked out of his quarters.

When he reached the holodeck, the crystal was already warm in his hand. He gripped it as if it would try to escape. The doors opened and he stepped into the gridded room. When the doors closed behind him, he could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. "Computer, show me a Cardassian soldier."