Interlude: Seven
Exhausted or not, Picard woke at precisely the same time he always woke, about an hour before his shift. He lay, briefly, with his eyes closed, listening to Will's ragged breathing next to him and the sounds of sickbay gearing up for the shift change, feeling the puffs of air from Will's breath on his neck. He stretched, and opened his eyes, glanced at Will, who was as close to him as he could possibly get, in what seemed to be his default position when they shared a bed. Still, it wasn't an unpleasant sensation, after so many years of sleeping alone; to have the large heat-generating furnace beside him that was Will. He'd forgotten to shut off the lights completely, so they were still on at ten percent, and in the dim light he could see Will's face, still swollen from the emotional outburst of the night, looking much younger than his thirty-odd years.
He still, despite the reassurances of McBride, felt responsible for Will's triggered response and his swift and unexpected descent into hysteria. Rationally, of course, he couldn't be blamed for the placement of his arm; he knew that. But he'd wanted so desperately to make Will feel better, to give him some pleasure in what had been two weeks of unremitting pain, that he'd gone against his own better judgment and had enjoyed it too, and, given the nature of the horrific memories that were tormenting Will, he couldn't help but feel certain that the placement of his arm was incidental to Will's reaction. Will was too fragile for intimacy, it was as simple as that; he'd known he was too fragile and he'd let his own desire, newly discovered and so powerful, overtake his common sense.
Instinct made him want to take Will in his arms, but he was worried that disturbing him while he was asleep might set off yet another terrifying memory. And yet if he left the bed, and Will woke while he was gone, he might see that as a further rejection – in the same way that he'd taken simple irritation at being awakened and transposed it into "yelling". He hadn't been yelling; of course he hadn't. He never yelled. He couldn't recall exactly what he'd said, but the result – having his indomitable first officer, the most affable of men – weep because of it had shaken him to his core.
He watched Will sleep, and he felt old and overwhelmed.
The noise of the shift change wakened him a second time. This time he was dismayed to learn that he'd overslept, something he didn't think he'd done since he was an ensign on the Reliant. He turned to Will, who was stirring beside him, and brushed Will's hair out of his eyes, a gesture he'd known he'd done before, and Will's blue eyes opened and he gave his trademark grin. Picard was suddenly overcome; he'd hurt the man, a man who was already suffering, and yet that same man's first reaction upon waking was to smile. He sublimated the instant desire he felt into affection, and he pulled Will to him and kissed him gently on the mouth. Will's response was, as always, sweet, and Picard held him, enjoying his still sleepy warmth.
"It's time to get up?" Will murmured against his chest.
"Indeed," Picard said softly, "I seem to have overslept."
Will had started to shake, and, worried, Picard pulled his face up, only to realise Will was laughing.
"I told you you would be a bad influence on me," Picard said. "Stop that, it's not nice."
"I am always nice," Will responded.
"Are you suggesting that I am not?" Picard asked gently, and he let Will rest his head on his chest and lightly ran his hands through Will's hair.
"No," Will answered, sighing.
"But I yelled at you last night," Picard reminded him, and kissed him on the top of his head.
Will lifted his head and his eyes were troubled. "I said, last night," he began tentatively, "that you didn't understand – I could try to explain what I meant, but I don't want to have another day like yesterday," he finished. "I don't want to be difficult."
"Mon cher," Picard said, "as I recall it, I was the one who was difficult for most of yesterday, not you." He tightened his arms around Will. "It appears they are allowing us to sleep. I would like you to explain, if you can, without upsetting yourself."
"Okay," Will said. He didn't bother looking up at Picard, just kept his head resting on Picard's chest. "I'll try to explain, but you have to promise me you'll be patient."
That smarted, justifiably so, Picard thought. "I promise to be patient," Picard said, and again kissed the top of his head by way of apology.
Will said, quietly, and Picard could feel his strain in the trembling of his hand that was bunching Picard's sleep shirt, "Dr McBride told you that my brain isn't working right? He used the word 'disordered' to me."
"Yes," Picard answered.
"It made me angry at first, when he said that," Will continued, "but he's right. My brain isn't working, not the way it used to. I'm not sure how I can explain it. When I – " he paused, and Picard felt him tremble, briefly, as if he were trying to maintain control, "—broke the mirror, and all the sherds of glass fell on the floor – " He stopped, as if he were unsure how to continue.
"Yes?" Picard prodded gently. "I remember."
Will said, "It's like that inside my head. As if my brain were in pieces. And the pieces don't talk to each other. They're separated, like the sherds of the mirror on the floor. So some things work sometimes and then at other times they don't. And nothing is connected anymore."
Picard said, not knowing what else to say, "I love you, Will."
"I know," Will said simply, "or at least I do right now. I'll probably forget, though."
"Then I will remind you," Picard said, "as I promised to."
"Yes," Will began, but then he added, "I was going to say something, but you ordered me not to talk about it."
"I have taken today off," Picard said, "so I can be here for you the whole day. So you don't have to worry about my duty to the ship. She is in capable hands at the moment, and we are where we are supposed to be."
Will sighed. "I think I can explain it this way," he said. "You talk to me as if I were still me. As if I were normal. And you expect me to answer you, and understand you, as if I were still normal. But you don't understand how hard it is for me, how hard I have to work, to try to understand what you want, and to answer you the way you want me to, the way I would have before. It wears me out, Jean-Luc. And sometimes – sometimes I don't understand at all, and then I have to guess, and when I guess wrong, you get mad at me, or it seems to me like you get mad at me. Because – " Will paused, and Picard could feel him gathering himself up, as if he were trying not to cry again, "I'm not me anymore. I don't know who I am. Sometimes you talk to me and it's not me who answers. This doesn't make any sense," he said, finally. "I don't seem to be able to explain it at all."
Picard held him close, and kissed him again. "It does make sense," he replied. "Dr McBride tried to explain this to me yesterday when we were in Ten Forward. So what can I do, mon cher? So that I'm not demanding from you what you can't give?"
"I don't know," Will said miserably. "That's part of the problem, I guess."
"Can you tell me, when you don't think you understand?" Picard asked.
"I don't know," Will repeated. "Half the time I don't even know when I don't understand."
"Oh, Will," Picard said. He held him tightly, and was rewarded by Will relaxing against him just a bit. "Dr McBride said he would speak to me this morning, I'm assuming after the treatment meeting. I'll talk to him about this then. I'm sure he will have a suggestion," Picard said firmly; he didn't really believe this, but he hoped Will did.
"Maybe," Will said doubtfully. "Am I going to this treatment meeting? I still don't have a schedule for today."
"Yes," Picard said, grateful there was something he could answer. "Yes to the treatment meeting. Yes, you will have your schedule – our schedule – then."
"You're on my schedule?" Will glanced up at him, and the anxiety seemed to have vanished from his eyes, to be replaced by what Picard had truly missed, his old mischief-making self. "In your hugs-and-kisses capacity or as the captain?" Will asked, and his mouth twitched.
Picard felt himself start to roll his eyes, and Will grinned. "I am sure, William," Picard said, mustering up some dignity simply to please Will, "that it will be as myself, not as your captain."
"Hugs and kisses it is," Will said, and Picard replied, fondly, "You have always been a very silly man."
There was a knock on the door, then, and Picard resisted the urge to untangle himself from Will – he would fight his innate desire for privacy, which he knew was merely a convenient cover for his own damned shyness – simply because he would not do anything which could hurt Will. So he took a deep breath and he said, "Come." He felt Will tense a bit, almost as if he'd expected Picard to do exactly what he'd resisted doing. He gave Will's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, just lightly, and he felt Will relax.
"Sir?" It was Joao da Costa, holding the door open a bit. "The treatment meeting will begin in forty minutes. And Guinan is here to meet with Commander Riker."
"Thank you, Mr da Costa," Picard replied.
"Sir," da Costa acknowledged, and he closed the door.
"Well, Number One," Picard said. "The day begins."
Picard showered first, while Will had his nutrition meeting with Guinan and Gwyn Otaka, and then accompanied Will to the shower, so that he could have the water shower that he preferred in relative privacy. He wasn't wearing his uniform, having given himself the day off, and Will was wearing the trousers and shirt da Costa had remembered to bring him. Picard leaned against the wall and watched Will finish dressing and comb his hair.
"You are in need of the services of Mr Mot, Number One," Picard said. "Your beard is looking Biblical."
"Good luck with that, sir," Will said, grinning. "I'm not allowed out of sickbay, and I've never seen Mr Mot outside of his domain."
"It's not that you're 'not allowed' out of sickbay, Will," Picard replied. "You really haven't been well enough to leave."
"For all I know," Will said, "the rest of the Enterprise is merely a figment of my imagination."
"And thus have imagined us all?" Picard asked. He was trying, and only somewhat succeeding, not to laugh.
Will turned around and said, with just a hint of his old cheekiness, "I suppose I'm giving myself too much credit, sir."
"Indeed?" Picard kept his face blank and waited for the missile to be launched.
"I could never have imagined," Will said, as he edged towards the door, "that Captain Picard –" and he put that silly emphasis of his on the elongated "i" vowel, "—would accept the position of chief purveyor of hugs and kisses," and he ducked out of the head.
Picard was glad Will had left the room, as it wouldn't do his recovery any good to see that the target had struck home. He waited until his face was its normal colour again before he left the head, and he was still smiling when he saw Guinan.
"I'm glad to see you smiling, Picard," she remarked. "I heard it was a rough night."
"I'm learning," Picard said, "to simply accept the moments when he feels better, and to enjoy them."
"As McBride said," Guinan commented, "he is remarkably resilient."
"I don't know how much you know," Picard began, "but that he survived at all is a testament to his resiliency."
"And yet," Guinan said, and her demeanor became serious, "in order to live now, he has to learn to stop doing what he does best, which is surviving."
Picard said, "I'm not sure I understand."
"You can only survive so long," Guinan said. "Some of us can survive even for centuries. For Will, it's been thirty years, give or take a few. But surviving, Picard, is not living. Eventually the soul shrivels, the terror overwhelms, and you die." She glanced at Will's room, where he was apparently still meeting with Lt Otaka. "That's where Will is now."
"You speak from experience, my friend. What must Will do, if he is to live, but not survive?"
Guinan made eye contact with him and she said, "William must choose to thrive. It is the exact opposite of surviving."
"How does he do that?" Picard asked.
"Let's hope your friend McBride knows how to teach it to him," Guinan said. "He hasn't the time I had, to learn this lesson."
Picard remembered that old saying, of someone walking on his grave. "What do you know, Guinan?"
"I know that once the body and the brain begin to shut down, it's very hard to reverse the process," she replied. "One smoothie is not enough to halt what's already started."
Picard was silent. He was remembering a younger Will, beardless and full of hope and self-confidence, towering over even Worf. He said, "Dr McBride believes that he can help Will. I must believe that he can, if only so William will believe it."
'And I as well," Guinan said. "He has agreed to have another smoothie this morning, and he asked for an apple. He has requested what Dr Crusher says is 'comfort food' for his lunch."
"And what is that?" Picard asked curiously.
"A grilled cheese sandwich," Guinan said, and she smiled. "Something children eat, apparently."
"Perhaps," Picard said thoughtfully, "it was Billy who asked for that."
"If it was," Guinan answered, "then progress is truly being made. I won't stay for the treatment meeting, Picard. I'll let Gwyn do that. I have a smoothie to make, an apple to find, and to figure out how to make a grilled cheese sandwich."
"Make one for me too, Guinan," Picard said. "Billy and I can eat it together."
He watched as she left sickbay, stepping aside to allow McBride, and Deanna, and Lt Patel to enter. Beverly came out of her office, and Picard joined her in the medical conference room; Will arrived with Lt Otaka and took his seat between Deanna and Picard. Despite his earlier cheerfulness, Will's face showed signs of strain, and Picard noted that Will's hands were trembling. He gave Will a minute to sit down, and then he took Will's hand into his own, and held it. He saw Will relax, then, and he kept Will's hand in his.
He said, as Will bent his head in so that he could hear him over the noise of the pre-conference chatter, "I am keeping my promise to you." He kept his eyes focused on Will, hoping to see that Will indeed understood that which he was referencing.
"Every hour," Will answered, and he shifted his chair, just a little bit, closer to Picard's.
"Every hour," Picard agreed.
Will sighed, and Picard watched McBride get his papers in order, and so the treatment meeting began.