By the end of the week, dressing himself became second nature to Jean-Luc. Even the buttoning, tying, and hooking of trousers was getting easier, although he still needed Beverly's help sometimes - usually when he was overly tired or upset.

Beverly was amazed at how he changed from day to day. He was gaining in both confidence and ability. He was already reading some adult level books, although he still held on to the old familiar ones as well. Deanna was re-teaching him how to write and work on the computer, and some mornings they would go to the holodeck. Deanna would program different areas of the ship so that Jean-Luc could grow accustomed to them without having to worry about well-meaning, but curious, crew members.

Slowly, Beverly had increased the time she spent at work. She still came back to their quarters for lunch, but after tucking Jean-Luc in for an afternoon nap, she would usually return to sickbay. Deanna stayed with him most of the time while Beverly was away, but they had begun to reintroduce him to some other members of the crew. Will came by often, and so did Guinan. Jean-Luc liked them both, and was fairly content to spend an afternoon with either of them. Sometimes, Will would take him to the Curtis Creek program on the holodeck, and Guinan helped him remember how to play chess.

They were all pleased with his progress, though none of them really knew how far he could go or how much of the old Jean-Luc Picard would come back.

Beverly wrote in her journal every night. She was keeping a record of Jean-Luc's recovery. It was partly for medical reasons, but mostly it was personal: her thoughts, and fears - her observations, little incidents when she saw Jean-Luc's personality shining through the haze of confusion. It was therapeutic to put her feelings into words. At least, that's what Deanna had said. Beverly smiled. The counselor was right, as usual.

With a tired sigh, Beverly switched off the computer and glanced at the chronometer on the desk. She was surprised to see that it was almost 2300 hours. She looked toward the bedroom and saw that the light was still on. Pushing herself away from the desk, she got up, silently chiding herself for letting him stay up this late.

She stopped in the bedroom doorway, and stood there for several moments watching him. He was sitting in bed, an open book propped against his drawn up knees. Even from a distance, she could see his eyes intensely scanning the pages, his lips moving slightly. Such concentration, such effort, she thought, remembering what a pleasure reading had always been for him, those nights he'd fallen asleep with an old book on his chest. And now...

Jean-Luc frowned and yawned, rubbed his eyes with his fingers. It was much too late for him. Way past his bedtime. But still, he continued to read. Or tried to.

Beverly cleared her throat. "You're supposed to be sleeping."

He jumped, surprised at the sound of her voice. He lifted his eyes from the book. "I was reading," he said quietly.

"I can see that," she replied as she walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. Gently, she ran her hand along his arm.

He blinked, swallowed nervously. "She... That..." He sighed as if he were exhausted. He probably is. "That woman gave it to me." He indicated the book in his lap.

That woman? "Deanna?"

He gave her an embarrassed smile, his cheeks blushing slightly. "Yes. Deanna." He said the name firmly as if he were trying to commit it to memory. There were still some things that he had great difficulty remembering.

Beverly closed the book and turned it toward her so that she could read the title. "Ah. A Midsummer Night's Dream." She stared into is eyes. "How do you like it?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I can read the words, but... I don't understand them."

Beverly felt her body tense, and she forced herself to relax. "That's all right. Shakespeare takes a while to get used to." She gave him a reassuring pat on the knee. "Just keep reading it. It'll make more sense."

He started to open the book again, but she stopped him. "Not tonight. You need your sleep." She took it out of his hands and laid it on the bedside table.

He rolled his eyes at her. "You always say that."

"That's because I always mean it."

She stood up and reached for the blankets at the end of the bed. "Now, under the covers," she instructed, and Jean-Luc slid down until his head rested on the pillow. She pulled the blankets up over him. "There." She smoothed the antique quilt over his chest, tucked it around his shoulders, made sure that he had his green blanket. "You get some rest," she whispered, leaning over and kissing him on the forehead. She brushed her hand against his cheek. "I'll be in the next room if you need anything." She turned to go, but he stopped her.

"Beverly?"

She looked back.

"Don't leave."

She smiled softly. "I'll just be right next door."

Jean-Luc pushed himself up in bed slightly, and stared at her, his green eyes fastened securely to her blue ones. "We're married." His voice was calm, firm, but she could see that he was trembling. She was suddenly trembling, too.

She took a step back toward the bed. "Yes, Jean-Luc, we are." She drew in a deep breath. "Do you remember?"

He nodded, the expression on his face confused. "I'm not sure. I just..." He swallowed deeply. "I just knew."

She could see tears fill his eyes, and she went and sat beside him, took one of his large hands in hers. "I didn't think I should tell you until you remembered it on your own."

"You're... my... wife," he said slowly, as if each word were foreign to him, and yet at the same time familiar.

"And you're my husband." She held his hand to her cheek. "I love you, Jean-Luc."

"Please... don't leave me," he whispered. And with his other hand he drew back the blankets.

Beverly hesitated for a moment, and then, without shedding her uniform or boots, she climbed into bed beside him, curled her body around his, and held him until they both fell asleep.

~vVv~

Sometime in the night, they had reversed positions. Instead of Beverly's body curled around Jean-Luc, he was now curled around her, his warm, solid chest pressed against her back, his arms enfolding her. His face was nuzzled into the nape of her neck, and when Beverly awoke, she felt a dampness there and realized that he'd been crying. She lay very still and quiet for several seconds, listening to his breathing. It was deep, steady and even, and she wasn't sure if the tears had come while he slept. Perhaps they had, brought on by one of his many nightmares.

Slowly, she shifted in his arms, turned over so that she could face him. Her movement caused him to stir, groan slightly, and then open his eyes.

Beverly smoothed her hand along the side of his face. "I didn't mean to wake you," she murmured.

He didn't say anything, just stared at her, a frightened look in his eyes.

She moved closer to him and tenderly kissed each cheek, tasted the saltiness of his tears.

He closed his eyes and pushed his face closer to hers. She felt his lips move and realized he was whispering something, although she couldn't hear what he'd said. She pressed her hand to the back of his head, held him close. He whispered again, and this time she heard.

"Love... you... Beverly."

~vVv~