Chapter Thirty-Six

"Are we ready to get started?" McBride asked, looking around the table. "Commander Riker, you know everyone already, including Lt Patel? He will be your physical therapist."

I glanced at Jai Patel, and he nodded. "I know Lt Patel," I said. Actually, I knew him better than Lt Otaka; Jai frequently played clarinet for me in my swing band.

"Good," McBride said. He opened up the folder in front of him, and glanced down at the real paper he had there. "I know," he said, smiling, "that it's a little eccentric to be using paper, but I prefer to take my notes this way."

It was a good tactic to make everyone think he was a nice guy, I thought; it was one I used myself at these types of meetings, except that I usually told a slightly risqué joke.

"The purpose of a treatment meeting, Commander," McBride began, "is twofold. The primary purpose is to update the team on the status of the patient. You normally would not be expected to attend that sort of a treatment meeting. However, the purpose of this meeting is to familiarise everyone on your team with the intensive program that I have developed, including yourself, and to set your schedule, not only for today, but for the next two weeks. In two weeks we will have a reassessment meeting and at that point we will lay out the schedule for the following four to six weeks, depending on the progress that's been made. Do you have any questions so far?"

I looked down at the padd in front of me, which had several documents in a folder under my name, including today's schedule and a master schedule that was in spreadsheet form and covered the next six weeks of my life. I was used to having new information thrown at me on the bridge; used to making spot decisions that meant life or death for the people involved. Yet this particular piece of information was just sitting there, like when you have something in your throat that you can't swallow.

Six weeks. I'd already been on sick leave for two weeks, so that meant being on sick leave for two months. There was no way that Admiral Nechayev would approve a two-month sick leave without knowing the exact reason for it. What kind of reason had Jean-Luc manufactured? He'd told me he reported a "shipboard accident," but two months would require more specificity than that. He'd have to tell her. She'd be the one to categorise me as unfit for duty, and, since my relationship with her was awful at best, I doubted that I'd be considered fit for duty again.

"What is it, Will?" Deanna was sitting next to me, and of course, I was probably drowning her in anxiety.

Jean-Luc took my hand again, under the table, but didn't say anything. McBride was patiently waiting for me, as was everyone else at the table. Why couldn't I have just succeeded? I thought. It would have been so much easier on everyone.

"It's a long day," I said, "that's all. I'm not used to long days, anymore."

"Of course," Dr McBride said, and he was using that genial tone of voice again. "If you'll look more closely at the schedule, Commander, you'll see that we have taken that into account. There are several breaks for snacks or light meals, as well as a rest period, and there are ten minute pauses between each program. Commander Riker's concern is well-taken, however," he said to the team. "He is, as we all know, in a very fragile state, physically as well as emotionally. He needs the intensive form of my program, because he is in an acute crisis; the conundrum being, of course, that the acute crisis will make it difficult for him to be treated intensively. So what does this mean? Joao?" He turned to da Costa.

Da Costa said, "We proceed slowly. We rely on Dr Crusher, or Lt Ogawa, or other medical personnel, to check Commander Riker's vital signs at regular intervals. And we relay on Commander Riker himself, to tell us how he is feeling, as to whether or not we continue with a particular treatment. We don't," da Costa said, "allow the Commander the ability to halt his treatment when it's too uncomfortable for him to continue. However, we will not jeopardise Commander Riker's physical or emotional well-being during any portion of the treatment program."

"I hope that reassures you, Commander," McBride said. "I think you're familiar enough with Joao to know that you can trust him, and, of course, you're already at a level of trust with almost everyone else on your team."

Deanna said, looking at me, "Will – " but I saw Jean-Luc imperceptibly shake his head. I noticed that both Beverly and Dr McBride had seen the communication from Jean-Luc as well; however, neither of them said anything. I continued to look down at my padd and tried to concentrate on just controlling the trembling of my hands.

"Status report, Doctor," McBride said.

"Yesterday," Beverly said, and she was speaking in her command voice, "I informed the team that Commander Riker had reached a critical point in terms of his physical state. Namely, that he continues to be dehydrated, that he has lost twelve kilos since he was admitted to sickbay, and that he continues to refuse to eat. Changes needed to be made in his nutritional program, or Commander Riker would have to be placed back in the ICU to be treated for severe dehydration. Guinan has been brought on board to act as a liaison to address Mr Riker's psychological issues with food. Mr Otaka, do you have anything to report in that regard?"

This time I knew better than to look up. I could feel Deanna shifting in her seat next to me, as if my anxiety was a physical presence that was trying to consume her. Perhaps, I thought, it was – a physical presence. It was, according to Dr Crusher, literally consuming me. Guinan had warned me, yesterday, when she'd met with me – and I knew now that that's what that was, a meeting – that I was at a point where an intervention was going to be made. I glanced briefly at Beverly, and knew, that despite Guinan's assurances that she could make a difference for me if we worked this out together, that Beverly was about to pull rank as CMO. I felt the tension draining out of my shoulders. In a way, it was a relief.

"Commander Riker met with Guinan yesterday evening," Lt Otaka said. "She was able, according to Mr Stoch, to get the commander to drink a smoothie; that is, a drink that is made with yoghurt, milk, and fruit. Guinan explained the new program to him at that point. We met again this morning," Otaka continued, glancing at me, "and the meeting was productive. Commander Riker was willing to participate. He had another smoothie and a cup of water. He put in a request for a snack and for his lunch. Guinan is not at the meeting because she is preparing both the Commander's meals and organising her work at Ten Forward. She will return at the commander's lunch, and will speak to him about the evening meal at that point. In the meantime, I went over Dr McBride's nutritional information – some of it, anyway," and he smiled at me, "with Commander Riker, and he willingly took the vitamins and supplements I gave him."

"Nevertheless, before we begin this morning's program," Beverly said, "I am going to do a complete medical scan of Commander Riker. One smoothie – or even two – does not begin to address my medical concerns. If Commander Riker is dehydrated, he will have to receive fluids. There is no way that he can participate in any physical therapy or anything else if he is dehydrated."

"Absolutely," Dr McBride agreed. "That was my concern as well. So we will make that adjustment in the schedule."

"You will note, Doctor," the captain said quietly, "that progress has been made."

Beverly said, "Duly noted, sir."

"Good," McBride said, and I watched as he used an archaic gold pen to jot down notes on one of his many pieces of paper. "After the treatment meeting, Commander Riker will undergo a complete medical scan and we will notify all of the results when that is finished." He paused to take a sip of the water that had been placed next to him, and then he continued, "If you will look at the remainder of today's schedule, Commander."

I opened the document. "Yes," I said.

"The intensive program is divided into two basic components," he said. "We will deal with the physical and holistic aspects of your treatment in the morning. Your first session of the day will be working with Counsellor Troi on a variety of different visualisation techniques, to help prepare you for your day, and to give you the training that you will need in order to participate in other sessions. For example, when you are in the hyperbaric chamber, as Joao will explain to you, you may choose to sleep, or you may work on your visualisation and relaxation techniques. You will also be learning specific visualisation techniques from Counsellor Troi and me to help you with your intrusion therapy sessions. As Counsellor Troi has worked with you on this specifically before, I'm sure that you will find this session both pleasant and relaxing."

"What's intrusion therapy?" I asked.

"It is part of your Cognitive Behaviour Therapy program," McBride said. "I will be specifically teaching you how to manage your intrusive memories and flashbacks."

"Okay," I said. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and noted that my hands were trembling again.

"Status update, Counsellor?" McBride asked.

"Yesterday's work with Commander Riker went quite well," Deanna said. "He is not resisting either visualisation therapy or breathing exercises. However, he is extremely anxious now."

"Yes," Dr McBride said, "of course he is. Let's go ahead and take a brief break, so that Commander Riker can try to process some of the information he's learned."

I said to Deanna, trying not to sound too irritated, "I have an anxiety disorder. Of course I'm anxious."

"Will," Deanna said. "I wasn't criticising you. The team needs to know when you are struggling."

"Perhaps you shouldn't sit so close to me," I replied.

"Commander Riker," she said, and she was using her therapist voice, "you could be twelve decks away from me, and I would still be obligated to let the team know that you are extremely anxious."

I pushed back my chair, and felt the captain place a restraining hand on my arm. He stood up, and placed his other hand on my shoulder.

"Come, Number One," he said. "Let's take a little walk, shall we?"

He guided me out of the conference room, saying to da Costa, who had risen to follow us, "I have this, Mr da Costa."

He moved me into the head and shut the door. "Why don't you splash some water on your face?" he suggested. He angled himself away a bit, giving me just a little privacy.

I urinated, and washed my face and hands. "Do I have to go back in there?" I complained.

He opened the door, and I followed him out and into my room.

"You don't usually complain about anything, Will," he remarked. "You're very much like our friend Worf that way. What is it?"

"I read the schedule," I said. "I don't need it explained to me. At least not the morning part."

"And?"

I shrugged. "I'm going back into the biobed anyway, so what's the point?" I said.

"The point is to familiarise all of us with your treatment program," he answered. "Including you. Anyway," he said, "I'd like to hear what Mr da Costa has to say about the hyperbaric chamber."

"Well, good," I said. "You can go hear it, and I'll stay in here until Dr Crusher is ready for me. One of the orderlies can sit with me."

"I think," Jean-Luc said, "that maybe you should just let me hold you."

"I don't want you to hold me," I said. "I don't want anything, except to be left alone. And it looks like the only way that will happen is if I finally manage to kill myself."

"So we're back to that again," he said. "That's your default position, isn't it, when something's too difficult now? I'm afraid I'm not that easy to manipulate, William."

I sat down in the chair. He walked over to me, and stood behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders, and he bent down and kissed my hair.

"You're not going to tell me what the real problem is?" he asked softly. "I can guess, I suppose, but I'd rather you tell me."

"I'm just overwhelmed," I said, finally.

He squeezed my shoulders. "Try again, Will."

I was silent. I was beginning to feel the pressure again, that feeling that I would just implode.

"You can't do this, Will," he said. "The only way I can help you – the only way we can help you – is if you tell me what is happening. Take a deep breath, mon cher, and tell me."

I tried to breathe.

"Would you like me to get Dr McBride? Will?" he asked. "Would you feel safer, telling him?"

"I don't feel unsafe with you," I said.

He sighed. "It seems to me, William, that whenever you threaten suicide to me, you're telling me that you feel unsafe."

There was nothing I could say to that. The door opened, and da Costa said,

"We're ready to begin again, sir."

Jean-Luc replied, "Would you ask Dr McBride to come in here, please, Mr da Costa?"

"Aye, sir."

McBride came in and shut the door. "Captain?" he said. "Mr Riker doesn't want to return to the meeting?"

Jean-Luc said, "He is upset, and he won't tell me what it is – although I have a good idea of what it is. He is refusing to return to the meeting. And we're back to the whole 'I wish I were dead" again." He turned to me. "I'm going to let you talk to Dr McBride, Will," he said. He started to leave.

"Jean-Luc," I said. I stood up.

"Yes?"

"You told me not to bring it up again," I said. "You ordered me not to."

"And in this case you should follow an order that was given to you last week, when I was angry and distressed?" he asked, returning to me. "Is that logical, do you think?"

"My brain doesn't do logical anymore," I said. "It doesn't do anything anymore."

"I assume, gentlemen," Dr McBride interjected, "that we are talking about the duration of William's treatment program?"

"Yes," Jean-Luc said. "I believe so."

"Sit down, William," McBride said. "Your looming over the both of us can be distracting."

I looked at him, surprised – he couldn't have been more than two inches shorter than I was – and saw that Jean-Luc looked quickly away at the floor, as if he were hiding a smile.

"Sir," I said automatically, and sat down.

"It was a surprise to you, William," McBride asked, "that we were talking about a program that would last anywhere from six to eight weeks?"

I sucked in my breath. "Yes," I said.

"And this has to do with Starfleet regulations, Captain?" McBride continued.

"Yes," Jean-Luc said. "My initial report to Starfleet indicated that Commander Riker was in an accident, a severe one, and that he was being placed on medical leave for treatment. I received an acknowledgment from the Admiralty on his change of status. That was last week."

"You did not tell Starfleet that he attempted suicide?" McBride said.

"You already know this," Jean-Luc replied. "I believe Dr Crusher told you, with Counsellor Troi's confirmation, the reasons why I sent this initial report. No, I did not tell the Admiralty what happened."

"And you have not reported Commander Riker's diagnosis?" McBride said.

"No," Jean-Luc answered shortly. "That is on what we call a 'need-to-know' basis. They don't need to know, unless they ask. They haven't asked."

"Ah," McBride said. "And when they do?"

"Then I tell them," Jean-Luc said simply. "The diagnosis, and that he's receiving your treatment."

"And the issue here is his career?" McBride asked.

"Yes," Jean-Luc said. "The diagnosis is a double-edged sword, still, I'm afraid. It's a treatable illness, according to you, and by definition. Starfleet cannot, by its own rules, dismiss someone for an illness that is treatable, or for a disability that does not impair function. My artificial heart, for example, did not cause me to be dismissed from service. And Mr LaForge was not prevented from attending the Academy, simply because he was born without sight."

"But - ?" McBride persisted.

"They can do other things," he answered. "Remove him from his post. Give him a posting that's less stressful. Promote him to a desk job," and he smiled, grimly. "A fate worse than death, to some of us."

"And would they do this, Captain, if they knew?"

"Admiral Nechayev would," I said. "She has made her opinions about me well-known."

"So you believe, if I am understanding this correctly," McBride said, "that a prolonged sick leave for Mr Riker – say the six-to-eight weeks of this intensive treatment program – would trigger an investigation by Starfleet into the commander's medical status, which would adversely affect his career and position as first officer on this ship?"

Jean-Luc shrugged. "There's no indication yet," he said, "that it will come to that."

And I said, "Yes. I will be relieved from my post. And maybe I should be," I continued, "as I don't believe that the flagship should be without a first officer for this length of time. But I have no where else to go," I said, and I sounded, to myself, like a little kid.

"And now we hear from Billy," McBride said. "Thank you, Captain, for explaining this to me. Let me speak with him alone, for a moment."

"Of course," Jean-Luc said. He walked over to me, and took my hands in his. "Will," he said. "You are anticipating something that may not happen. And I am not without influence." He pulled me to him and held me for a minute, then turned around and left my room.

"William." McBride pulled over the other chair, and sat across from me. "As I see it, you are struggling with two opposite feelings here. You are afraid you are no longer capable of doing your job, in the manner in which you are accustomed. You believe that your inability to perform your duty is endangering your captain – whom you love – and your ship, which you also love, and which you consider your home. Am I correct in this assessment?"

"Yes," I said. I could feel myself start to shake.

"Breathe, William," McBride said. "Take a deep breath. Talking about these issues is not going to hurt you, nor is it going to make anything bad happen. That's it, deep breath in. Hold it, now release. Again. Hold it, now release. One more time. That's it; you're doing fine, William. You won't lose control, young man," he said, "and if you do, I am right here to help you through it."

I could feel myself breathing again, but my hands were still trembling and I still felt that I was on the edge of the precipice, looking down.

"But you also have some hope, I think," he said. "You think that I may be able to help you. You think that the program may work. You know that you have your entire treatment team, people who have worked with you everyday for years, people who love you and who care about you, ready and willing to support you every step of the way. This is frightening, to have this hope, because in the past, hope has been taking away from you too many times. And you don't want to leave this ship, or your post. You are, according to your captain, and according to everyone else with whom I have spoken – your friends on this ship, for example, such as Mr Worf, and Mr LaForge, and Mr Data – one of the best first officers in all of Starfleet. And you are afraid that Starfleet, if it finds out that you are suffering from a serious psychiatric disorder, will take all this away from you."

"Yes," I said, looking down.

"So you want them to take it away from you, because it would be so good just to stop fighting," he said. "Because you've been fighting and struggling your whole life, ever since you were a baby, and you are so tired. So utterly tired."

"Yes." I wiped my eyes.

"The kind of tired where you just want to walk out into the snow, Billy, and lay down, and go to sleep," McBride said. "That kind of tired."

"Yes."

"But William," McBride said, "William doesn't want to do this. William has spent most of his life fighting to get what he needs, to get what he wants. William overcame tremendous odds to be where he is, on this ship, doing this job. He deserves to be here. He does good work here. And he doesn't want to give it up."

I said, "I don't want to give it up."

"In this program, William," McBride said softly, and he took my hands in his, the way Jean-Luc would, "I am going to put you back together, your two selves, Billy and William, and then I am going to give you the tools you need to be able to resolve this issue. You must trust me – and I know that you have only just met me, and the trust between us is just beginning – that I can, and will, do this. In the meantime," he said, "you must trust your captain to do what he does best. And that is protecting his ship and his crew. Which includes, William, the man he loves. You. As he says, he is not without influence. Nor is your friend Deanna, without influence, nor is Dr Crusher, without influence. There are some very important people here on this ship, and they are all behind you. I am asking you, William – not Billy, because I don't think Billy is capable of this, and so we are just going to have to console Billy when he becomes frightened – to let go of this issue for now. Let it go. Give it over to the people who can handle it for you, for now. You are not able to deal with this issue now. So let it go."

I looked at him. "You'll help me let it go?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "Deanna and Joao and I will give you specific techniques to let go of these thoughts and worries, every time they intrude. I promise you that we can do that, and that our techniques will work."

"And you'll know how to – " I didn't really know how to say this "—keep my other self – Billy – from scaring me, and from being too scared himself?"

"He does frighten you, doesn't he?" McBride said. "Yes. We will work directly with Billy. That is my job, William. That is this disease. That is how it functions. That is what I do."

I suddenly remembered to breathe. "I can do this?"

"Of course you can," McBride said. "You defeated the Borg, remember? This will be a piece of cake to you." He smiled, and let go of my hands. "Come, Commander. The treatment team is waiting for both of us."

"Okay," I said, and I stood up.

Da Costa said, "Are we continuing the meeting, Doctor?"

"Of course we are," McBride answered, waiting for me. "Commander Riker and I are on our way."