Interlude: Thirteen

It had taken almost another hour to calm Will down, and get him properly medicated, for his nausea, and his pain, and his insomnia, and his fear – or perhaps terror might be a more appropriate word. In the end, there'd been half of sickbay in their room, as Sandoval had commed Beverly, and finally, he'd felt perhaps a little bit of what Will had been experiencing all along, just completely over-stimulated, and McBride had taken him aside and quietly given him permission to leave the room.

Outside, in sickbay, even the orderlies were busy, and he'd retreated into the head, just to give himself some privacy and a chance to collect his thoughts. His sleep shirt was soaked with Will's tears, and he left the head only long enough to replicate himself a new one, and then he took a brief but very hot water shower. Even though McBride had told him to leave the room he'd seen the look on Will's face as he left, and while part of him had wanted to turn around, to climb back in the bed and just take Will in his arms and hold him until William understood through sheer force of his own will that he was safe, and loved, there was another part of him that had reacted with irritation, and with anger.

Picard left the head and walked into Beverly's office, where he ordered a mug of tea, and he sat at Beverly's desk and sipped it. He knew damned well why he'd chosen to be alone, all of these years, and it was because he didn't want the responsibility, didn't want the dependency, the clinginess of someone else in his life. Robert had once accused him, when he was twelve and Robert fifteen, of being the most selfish being on the planet Earth – that he wanted what he wanted when he wanted it, not before and not after, and with no strings attached. Perhaps he and Robert had constantly been at each other's throats because Robert knew him in a way no one else did, and that knowledge was something he – Picard – couldn't or wouldn't tolerate.

He was a selfish man; he could admit that to himself. He liked things that were simple in line and construct, things that were beautiful in their simplicity, that were aesthetically pleasing, and that didn't have an emotional life. Archaeology, he thought bitterly, was the perfect science for him: things which were long dead could not control you.

And yet here he was, in a relationship with his first officer, something he'd sworn he'd never do, and it was the exact opposite of what he preferred in a relationship – clean, simple, beautiful for a time, and temporary. No clinginess, no over-involvement, no dependency – it was what had intrigued him with Vash. If the object of one's love was supremely self-sufficient, the relationship would never descend into the messy, nor would it ever disturb the privacy of one's own inner world.

"Jean-Luc?" McBride stood in the doorway. "Would you mind terribly if I shared a cup of tea with you?"

Picard took a moment to still himself. "No, of course not, Doctor," he said. "Help yourself."

McBride stepped inside Beverly's office, and closed the door gently. He walked around Beverly's desk, where Picard sat, and ordered an herbal tea from the replicator, then smiled apologetically at Picard. "It's really too late for Earl Grey," he said as he sat in one of the chairs in front of Beverly's desk.

Picard wondered if McBride would be able to sleep. He was sure he wouldn't. "How is he?" he asked.

"Asleep," McBride answered, smiling gently, acknowledging the unspoken thoughts of their own lack of sleep, "finally."

Picard sipped his tea. He said, "And this is what you do for a living?",

and McBride snorted with sudden laughter. "No one told me about your sense of humour, Jean-Luc," he said, "it's been a delightful surprise."

Picard didn't know whether he should be offended at that, so he sipped his tea instead.

"You are overwhelmed," McBride said, "and, perhaps, wishing you were somewhere else."

"You are an empath," Picard responded, "like Deanna."

McBride nodded. "Not as developed as Deanna is, no," he answered. "But there's an ability to sense underneath sometimes. And a knack at seeing truths, perhaps, that others don't want to see."

"A day or so before all this started," Picard said, "I told Will that I had a strong desire to fix things, to see that everything was shipshape, and in order. He laughed, and asked me if I were trying to fix him."

"And every time you think that William is on his way to being fixed," McBride finished, "he has another relapse, and appears to be getting worse, instead of better."

"Yes," Picard said.

"Does this frighten you, Jean-Luc? That we may not be able to fix Will?"

Picard thought about what he wanted to say, and how he wanted to say it. This man had offered him an outlet for his fears and his frustrations, when they had last met; had promised that he would bring his therapeutic mind to Picard's part in his relationship with Will. He thought about the last time he'd been forced to "talk" to Deanna, how irritated it made him feel, how exposed. He looked inside for those feelings now, and found that they simply were not there. Will had said that he didn't understand it; there was just something about McBride that calmed him. At least in this regard, Picard understood what Will had meant.

"Everything about this whole process frightens and disturbs me," he said. "I can't understand a man like Kyle Riker at all. I've met many dangerous – and even evil – men before, but this….it baffles me. And –"

"Yes?" McBride said.

Picard sighed. "I love him," he said, "I do – but half the time I don't understand what sets him off, or why he behaves and thinks the way he does now, when he never seemed to have any issues at all before – "

"Didn't he?" McBride asked. "There's more than one reprimand, in his file. A court martial, a trial for murder, an accusation of rape, fighting – relieved of duty for insubordination – refusing command – which issues didn't he have, Jean-Luc?"

Picard said, "You are over-canvassing, Doctor."

"Is that a nautical term, Captain?" McBride asked, and then he sighed. "Jean-Luc. You are entitled to feel however it is that you feel. You are the captain – and so you are supposed to be a tower of strength at all times – but, Jean-Luc, you're not the captain in this relationship. And William does not need you to be the captain."

"What does he need, then?" Picard asked. "Because I simply do not know."

"He needs you to be human," McBride said. "He needs you to be who you are, feeling what you currently feel. If you're feeling trapped and irritated, or frustrated, or angry with him – you're entitled to those feelings, and you're entitled, Jean-Luc, to express them. William doesn't understand what's normal in a relationship – for him, because he is stuck, emotionally, at such a young age, where everything is either good or it is bad – he doesn't understand normal, complex, adult emotions. Where you can love someone and be furious with them for not being well. For not being able to see that you have needs too – a decent night's sleep being one of them. Where you can desire a relationship – and yet want to flee it, too, when it's hard. You have been through an emotional wringer, Jean-Luc – acknowledging a new relationship, beginning to explore it, physically and emotionally, and then having to deal with an attempted suicide, heart failure, hysteria, mood swings, flashbacks, night terrors, anorexia – you are entitled, I think, to want to run away. It's all right, Jean-Luc. I understand."

Picard was silent, looking down at his tea. Then he said, "In this – therapeutic – relationship, that I have with you, Doctor –"

McBride smiled. "Yes?"

"I vent, and you give me some sort of validation, is that how it works?"

"If you want it to work that way, yes," McBride answered.

"There are other ways for it to work?"

"Of course," McBride said. "I could, for example, give you a prescription."

Picard felt the edges of his mouth turn up, and he said, "For? Some sort of hypo spray, as with what you give Will?"

"I don't think," McBride replied, grinning, "Jean-Luc, that you're in need of an anti-psychotic medication at this time."

Picard was surprised. "Is that what you're giving him?" he asked. He wasn't terribly familiar with psychotropic medications, but, still, he'd thought Will was receiving medication primarily for his anxiety.

"Jean-Luc," McBride said, and there was absolutely no hint in his voice that he might have explained this information before, "William has the most severe form of this disorder. He is suffering from visual, auditory, and olfactory hallucinations. He has had at least one break with reality that I have witnessed. Yes, he is taking an anti-psychotic medication, along with his other cocktail – anti-anxiety, blood pressure, pain medication, and a sedative."

"Dieu du Ciel," Picard breathed. "But it's not helping him."

"It is, Jean-Luc, helping him. He is largely coherent. He mostly understands what's happening around him. He is mostly present. He can function in his adult self for short periods of time." McBride paused, and then he said, quietly, "He is not catatonic. He is not dead."

"Does he know?" Picard asked.

"That he's taking an anti-psychotic? Yes," McBride answered. "He's been on one before. When he was a child, in the behavioural unit. He and I have discussed it. He's not happy about it, but he understands why he's taking it." McBride stood up, and took his cup to the replicator. "You're out of tea, Jean-Luc. Would you like another cup?"

"No," Picard answered. "It's almost, isn't it, time for breakfast. I'll share a cup then, with Beverly, before I go on duty."

McBride said, "McBride tea mix, hot," and took his steaming cup back to where he'd been sitting.

"What would you prescribe for me?" Picard asked curiously.

"Will you take it, if it's offered?" McBride asked. "I am your doctor too, Jean-Luc."

Picard said, surprising himself, "Yes."

"It's called respite care," McBride explained. "Necessary, indeed, for any caregiver. For you, twenty-four hours away from sickbay and away from Will. Don't take the day off, but don't come here for lunch, or to see how he's doing. I don't need you with him this afternoon for his therapy – we won't do memory retrieval today. Don't come after dinner in Ten-Forward. Don't spend tonight with him. Instead, Jean-Luc, when you get off shift, I want you to go to the gym. I understand you fence. That's the perfect exercise for you, today. Then I want you to go the Holodeck. You ride, don't you?" McBride waited a moment, and Picard nodded. "Good. I want you to go riding. Some nature trail, I expect you've got a few interesting programs. Come to dinner with us, and then, Jean-Luc, go to your own quarters, take a bath, read a book, and go to bed."

"But Will – " Picard began.

"Is perfectly capable of making it through one day without you," McBride said. "You are exhausted and overwhelmed. You are at the very tip of beginning to resent Will – his mood swings, his complications, his crying all over your pyjamas."

Picard shifted in his seat, hoping that he wasn't colouring, as McBride had once again demonstrated his uncanny ability to hit the nail squarely on its head.

"He'll feel rejected," Picard said, wishing that he'd accepted the offer of another cup of tea.

McBride nodded. "Yes," he agreed, "he will. And that's an issue he and I can discuss in his therapy session today. It will be good for him to focus on something outside of himself for once."

Picard found himself wanting to agree with McBride, and wondered if that, too, was part of this man's gift. He said, "You're right, of course." He rose, realising that he was still in his sleep shirt, and discovered that he didn't really care. Another part of the McBride effect, he thought. He said, almost as an afterthought, "I found – " and he hesitated, trying to figure out exactly what it was he was trying to say, "I found that I didn't much care for sleeping by myself, while Will was in the ICU."

McBride rose as well, and he said, as he rested his hand on Picard's arm, "Of course you didn't, Jean-Luc. But tonight you'll have respite care, so you can sleep an entire night without interruption, so that you can get up tomorrow and not feel as tired – and as frightened – as you do right now. I don't know who runs this ship at night, Jean-Luc – but I was thinking that one of Will's friends might sit with him tonight. It would give him something to look forward to, and will distract him from the fact that you won't be there."

An image appeared in Picard's mind, and he did his very best not to laugh. Still, the picture of Will weeping all over Worf was something that he'd enjoy for the rest of the day.

"Where to now, Doctor?" Picard asked, opening Beverly's door.

Sickbay had quieted down, was running the noiseless way it did in the hours just before dawn. Dr Sandoval and Lt Fisk were apparently in the other office; Beverly was gone; and clearly Mr Stoch was at his post next to Will.

"I'll go change and then on to my office, Captain," McBride said, as he disposed of his cup and followed Picard out of Beverly's office. "And you?"

It was a little less than two hours towards the end of alpha shift, and Picard had no desire to start his day quite this early. "I'll stay with Will," he said, "until shift change. Then I will do exactly as you suggested."

"Good," McBride said. "I will see you at dinner, then. Enjoy your time off, Jean-Luc."

Picard nodded, still feeling mildly silly standing in the middle of sickbay in his pyjamas, and he walked quietly to Will's room, and pushed open the door. Stoch acknowledged him immediately.

"I'll stay with him now," he told Stoch in a low voice, and Stoch answered, "Sir," and left the room, pulling the door shut.

Will was mostly on his bed, or at least his head was on Picard's pillow. Picard slipped into the bed and nudged Will until he moved a bit. He lay down and rearranged the blanket on Will, and then he simply rested, his eyes closed, listening to Will breathe.

"I thought maybe you'd gone back to your quarters," Will said. "I'm sorry about your shirt."

"It was easily taken care of," Picard answered. "I thought you were supposed to be asleep."

"You thought I was knocked out, you mean," Will said, and he gave a ghost of a grin.

"That too," Picard admitted, and he brushed Will's hair out of his eyes.

Will exhaled, which might have been a small sigh, and Picard took him into his arms and kissed his head. Will wrapped his arms around Picard in a tight hug, and then he said, "So you aren't leaving me, then?"

"I was talking to Dr McBride," Picard replied.

"Did he talk you out of it, or into it?" Will asked.

Picard said, "Now who is the one who is incorrigible?"

Will was silent, and then he said, "Did it help? Talking to McBride, I mean."

"Yes, Will," Picard answered, "it helped."

"So you're staying, then?"

"Where else would I go, William? It's my ship," Picard said, and when Will looked up at him, he was grinning.

"So you have to stay," he said, and there was that mischievous glint in his eyes.

He looked, Picard thought, thoroughly pleased with himself. Picard pulled Will to him, and he said softly, in Will's ear, "You'll have to do more than this, Mr Riker, if you want to run me out of this job," and he cupped Will's face, and kissed him, hard. He pulled back and said, "Now be quiet and go back to sleep, Number One. That is a direct order."

"Aye, sir," Will said. He was quiet for a moment, and then he added, "I didn't really think you would leave."

Picard sighed, and he said, "I didn't really think so, either."

"I'll sleep now," Will said.

"Yes," Picard answered, closing his eyes again. "It's all right, Will. I'm right here."