He was drowning. Suffocating. Black water closing in on top of him. He couldn't move, couldn't scissor his arms and legs to keep himself afloat. Wanted to breathe, wanted to scream. Afraid of the water, cold, so black. His lungs hurt from holding his breath. He couldn't last much longer. He opened his mouth to scream; the water rushed in filling his nose, his throat. Death reaching out, pulling down. Just as well, he cried bitterly, just as well.

And then, suddenly, hands grasping his shoulders, lifting him up, bringing him back. Strong, gentle, familiar hands. A familiar scent, a familiar body, holding him close, cradling, rocking. His eyes flew open.

He was warm and dry. In his bed. In Sickbay. The light was dim and all he could see was the blue of Beverly's uniform. He clung to her, as best he could, wrapping his arms loosely around her waist, burying his face into the softness of her chest. Her hands were warm on his back, rubbing, trying to ease away the fear and pain.

"Shh, Jean," she soothed, his body hot in her arms, "you were dreaming. You're awake now."

He was crying. Deep convulsive sobs that shook his body. Like the tears of a child, Beverly thought as she gathered him closer to her. Like Wesley, when as a little boy he'd awakened from terrible nightmares, dreams of his father's death.

Only then she'd been able to calm her child's fears. Now, she could only hold Jean-Luc. His nightmare did not go away when he opened his eyes.

She reached in, touched his face, brushed tenderly at the tears that were soaking through her uniform. His cheeks were so hot and she held her hand against them, wishing she had a cool, wet cloth to bathe him with.

"It's all right," she whispered, pressing her cheek to the top of his head. He was hot there, too, fever-hot. She moved her hand up, rubbing over the smooth skin, the bristly hair, coming to rest on the back of his neck.

After long minutes, the racking sobs subsided, slowly, tapering off to soft snuffling sounds, his breathing labored, irregular. Beverly realized that as she'd been rocking him, she'd started to hum, a tuneless lullaby. She looked down. His eyes were shut tightly, the corners of his mouth trembling. She didn't say anything more, just continued humming quietly, and rocking. Rocking him back to sleep.

~vVv~

He didn't remember the next morning. Or if he did, he didn't say anything. And neither did she. At least not directly.

He was sitting up in bed, fresh from his bath, when she walked in.

"Depressed?" she asked, taking note of his black pajamas.

He shook his head. "It's Tuesday. I have a system now. I always wear the black ones on Tuesday."

"I hadn't noticed. What's Wednesday?"

"Wait and see," he answered, eyes twinkling.

"Thanks. It'll give me something to look forward to."

"Glad I could make your day."

"You always make my day," she smiled as she sat down on the edge of his bed, brushing her fingers lightly across his arm.

He sighed. Not a sound of exasperation, but the soft, sweet sigh she'd come to recognize. The one he reserved for her.

"I asked Deanna to come down and talk with you this morning."

His eyes hardened and she felt the muscles in his arm tense.

"Why?" That one syllable carried a wealth of emotions with it.

"It's not the first time she's come to talk." Beverly tightened her hand on his elbow.

"I know," he admitted.

"So, why is this time different?" she asked gently.

The look in his eyes seemed to say "You know damn well why it's different," but he shrugged instead of answering.

"I just think there are some things you might tell Deanna that you wouldn't tell me," Beverly volunteered.

This time he said out loud what she read in his eyes. "I tell you everything."

"Jean-Luc..."

"Almost everything."

She frowned at him.

"Never mind," he mumbled. He took a deep breath. "I'll talk to Deanna."

"Good."

"As long as you stay." He held her gaze with his.

"Jean..."

"That's the deal," he bargained. "I want you here."

There was not so much fear in his eyes as there was determination. A direct order.

And she complied. "I'll stay."

~vVv~

Will Riker sat at the desk in Jean-Luc Picard's ready room, and thought, not for the first time, that he didn't belong there. It had been almost a month and it still felt wrong, like going into someone's house when no one was home.

He leaned back in the chair, swiveled it around, stared out the viewport. Space warped past, the stars never-ending streaks of light. He found himself remembering back when he was a boy. For hours he would sit and gaze at Alaska's night sky. So big and clear, but the stars had seemed so very far away. He'd longed all his life to be a part of them, surrounded by them, close. But now that he was here, they were still removed, singular pulses of light. And it had taken him a long time to learn that stars were not meant for touching.

It was just as well, because over the years he'd come to realize that the stars were not what he was reaching for. What he'd always wanted, deep down, he'd found right here on board this ship. The family he didn't want to lose.

It was that feeling that had kept him on the Enterprise when he'd been offered the Aries. The best place for him was here, with these people. And that hadn't changed. Yet.

He felt threatened and guilty for thinking about himself when the captain was struggling to hold on, to see himself through his illness. He had his good days and his bad; but lately it seemed the bad were outnumbering the good. And that worried Will. Maybe Beverly had been right. Maybe they were expecting too much of him.

The door chime sounded, so unexpected, it made him jump.

"Come," he called.

The door slid open. It was Deanna.

"May I come in?" she asked, even as she entered, the door closing behind her.

"You're already in," he observed, turning around in his chair, facing her.

"In that case, may I sit down?" She approached the chair opposite him.

"Sure," he answered, leaning forward, propping his elbows on the desk, chin against his hand.

Deanna sat, her dark eyes staring deeply into his blue ones.

"I'm going down in a little while to talk with the captain."

Will nodded.

"But I thought... you might like to talk."

"Me?"

It wasn't always one of his favorite things to do. With her. She knew him too well.

She nodded this time. "I sen-"

"Don't say it," he cut her off.

"Say what?"

"That word that begins with 's'."

"All right, I won't sense anything," she said with a smile.

"Ah," he grimaced. "You said it."

She frowned slightly. "Will?"

"Sorry," he sighed. "What did you want to talk about?"

"How you're handling this."

Will looked at her blankly. "Handling what?"

"Captain Picard's illness."

"I think I'm handling it just fine." There was a challenge in his eyes. Deanna had seen the look before. He could hide his thoughts and feelings so well from others when he had to. Best poker face on the ship. But with her, he was vulnerable. And more often than not, that put him on the defensive.

"Beverly told me about yesterday."

"Some diversion." Will's forehead creased. "He was pretty upset."

"And you?" she prodded gently.

She already knew how he felt, and so he gave in.

"I don't like seeing him like that."

"It scares you?" she supplied.

He swallowed, nervously, ashamed of how he felt. "Yes, Deanna, it scares me. It makes me feel..." He trailed off, unable to put the feeling into words, his eyes cast downward.

"Abandoned," she said quietly.

He looked up at her, opened his mouth to protest, but clamped down on the words before he said them. That was exactly how he felt. Like a child without a father. A feeling he knew all too well.

Deanna placed her hand on the desk, reached out. Will took hold of it with his own.

"I understand, Imzadi." It drifted through his mind, soft, gentle.

"He's like a father to me, Deanna." It was something he'd never told anyone, though he suspected she knew. "More like a father than my own ever was. All those arguments about my not letting him take unnecessary risks, go on away missions, it wasn't so much a fear of losing 'the captain' as it was of losing him." Will's voice was hoarse.

"I know," Deanna comforted.

"I feel like we're losing him now."

"Maybe we are. But only for a while. You know the captain. He'll find himself, and then come back to us."

"I miss him, Deanna," Will whispered.

She squeezed his hand. "We all do."

~vVv~