When next he woke, he appeared to be on some sort of shuttle. There was a large padd next to him filled with Standard and French words.

You have been very ill. Try not to worry. You are en route to Earth for further treatment.

Someone came and put their hand on his chest. He felt blankets being pulled up over him. They lifted his head, plumped the pillow, lowered his head back turning it gently so he could see the padd.

He was moderately suprised, the last place he expected to be was on a shuttle. He couldn't really focus, he just felt incredibly tired. He closed his eyes.

He woke again and thought drowsily about all the times when he'd landed badly in a shuttle. His mind was drifting… he couldn't keep his eyes open. He closed them for a moment. Then he felt like he was slipping out of time. He pulled in air, sure that he was out in the vacuum of space. His chest felt constricted, he was cold… really cold.

Someone rubbed hard on his chest. He tried to bat the hand away but it was persistent. He opened his eyes and waited a moment as the owner of the hand swam into focus.

"Huh?"

Someone he didn't know smiled back at him, gently taking his chin and directing his face toward a computer terminal on a table next to his bed. Where was he again?

You're going to be okay. You have arrived on Earth, you have been admitted to Starfleet medical. You've been very ill. Just relax, take a nap. Don't worry.

He squinted, took his time reading the words, thankfully the French was underneath. Yes, he understood. Earth then. Well, that made sense. He saw a bird fly past the window. Yes, Earth made sense. Blue sky, birds flying. Okay.

"So let me get this straight, you're both paying the same rebels? You have been sabotaging yourselves?" Riker said. He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

When the Jendo and Kloz representatives had called this urgent meeting on the surface, he had thought things were going to take a turn for the sinister. Never in his wildest dreams could he have anticipated this crazy curve ball.

"It would appear so." Said the Kloz representative, a sombre looking guy named Izun. At least he had the good grace to look embarrassed.

Riker stared at the Kloz secretary, "And this faction have been using their technology to poison you both, the Jendo and the Kloz?"

"Yes. In our defence-" began the Jendo adjutant, a more ostentatious character by the name of Pelko.

"In your defence? Are you kidding me? Let's put it this way, you have all but guaranteed the Federation will be rescinding your allied planet status. As soon as we get out of this communications dead zone and back into Federation space I'm sure our Fleet Admiral will be very interested to hear what you have been up to."

Data tilted his head to one side, there was something he just didn't understand, "Can I ask about the original intention?"

"The intention?" asked Pelko.

"Before all this began, what was it that you both hoped to achieve?" Finished Deanna delicately.

"Well, we hoped to achieve greater access to the supplies of jarokeen."

"Jarokeen?" she queried.

"Yes, we use it in our combustion process, prices have been steadily rising and over the last few years, have risen so much it has out-paced our financial… capabilities."

"It has?" said Izun, surprise written clearly on his khaki green face.

"Well, yes. May we now ask for the charity of clear skies, to guide our path without subterfuge."

"And for the Kloz?" said Riker. He was close now, he could feel it. The big reveal was seconds away.

"For us it's the baroken."

Pelko slapped his hands down on the table, the sound ringing out around the room. "Hah! This is too much!"

"Sir?" asked Deanna.

"Baroken is our fuel source." Admitted the Kloz sheepishly.

Riker could see it now, but he couldn't quite believe this was all coming to a resolution beyond ridiculous. "Are you kidding? You have both been fighting over renewable fuel? When you could have just… How did this happen?"

"If I might venture a guess Commander? I can only presume that the overtly secretive nature of both the Jendoken IV and the Kloz has resulted in both factions developing an overdependence on fuels farmed by the other population. Without realising it, they have, over many years of industrious evolution, engineered their technologies and developed a complete reliance on fuels they had no need for. In effect, they have been arguing over nothing sir."

"So let me get this straight. You have the jarokeen? You need the jarokeen? But you have the baroken while you need the baorken?" he said pointing at the appropriate representative in turn.

"Yes, and we each have these raw materials in great abundance."

"Yes, we Kloz have been growing jarokeen for millennia. Initially our two cultures co-existed peacefully and our relationship was productive, supportive. Over the years, as we drifted apart in repsonse to the many wars we have endured, jarokeen has been modified to specifications set by the Jendo. It seems our due diligence hadn't thought to ask the simplest of questions in order to determine its usage."

"It's a similar story on Jendoken IV. We have behaved foolishly. Our ancestors grew dependent on the fuels of their enemies and our drive to secure more and more of it has resulted in this... situation. We simply have acted on the basis of sand... Let us be clear Commander Riker, now that this has come to light, our planets are… shamed. We have resolved to be entirely candid in an effort to forge a permanent, and mutually beneficial, trade deal between the planets."

"Well at least you have the strength and good sense to own up to this." He said, rising. He'd really had enough now. They could figure it out from here. And if they couldn't? Well, the Enterprise would be long gone. Thankfully, the Prime Directive didn't have anything to say about Federation interference in matters of civil stupidity. "Here," he continued, slamming down a med case on the ostentious onyx table. "the medication you require to cure the parasitic infection you have given your own people. The PADD contains all the data you need to start replicating your own supplies."

With that, he turned on his heel and marched out of the great hall, Deanna and Data hurrying to keep up with him. "Oh and one more thing?"

"Commander?"

"Captain Picard's name will be completely cleared, yes?"

"Of course, we will see to it immediately."

In the end, it had taken Beverly a full week of by the seat of her pants shuttle-hopping to make the journey back to Earth. She'd done her time: the Jendo and the Kloz had been given the simple antidote to the poisoning they'd inflicted on each other, and she really couldn't hold it against them that Jean-Luc had been laid so low by it. A simple fact of difference between one species and another – by way of a little technological assistance. She was glad to hand it off to command… she'd done her duty and now, she could concentrate on her oldest friend. Medical had allowed her to join his team, an easy ask given that she was the one who'd finally cracked the solution. All he had to do now was get better.

Beverly wandered through to his room just in time to see him start to wake. She wondered what was in store for her this time. He was still so confused and, she hated to admit, much more able to verbalise it.

"Hey there." She said, the padd transcribing what she said automatically in to Standard and French.

He looked around, careful to keep his head still. He remembered the pain. His head was pounding behind his eyes and he could feel something snaking down his throat, sharp shooting pain flared every time he swallowed.

"Where am I? Beverly?" he asked in Standard.

"You're on Earth, at Medical. You've been very sick." She said patiently. She took his hands in her own, they were warm but nothing near as hot as they had been.

"San Francisco? What happened? I don't think I can hear…" he pulled his hands away and padded at his ears.

She tapped him on the chest, pointed to the padd as she spoke, "It's a long story but you've been very sick. Your hearing is damaged, but it is temporary – try not to worry. Are you thirsty? Hungry?"

He nodded. Wasn't he in Paris? Why was there so much French running through his head? Words of long-forgotten tongue twisters ran on repeat through his mind, he was really trying to find the right Standard words. Was he even talking properly?

Beverly brought over a drink of water with a straw and raised it to his mouth. He sucked on the straw making his mouth pucker triggering a flash of pain quickly followed by deeper pain down in his gullet as he swallowed. His ears rang out with a high-pitched squeal. He raised his hands to his ears again, pressing to try and stop the noise.

"My ears!" he yelled, too loud, unable to hear his own voice.

"Okay, don't worry, let me get you something." She pressed a hypo to his neck, rubbing the skin there to distract him while the medication made its way into his system. "You've got some pretty nasty pustules all over – inside and out. That's what is causing the pain. We're going to get you into surgery later and drain them."

"Am I in France? Is my brother here?" he asked in French.

This was really disconcerting, that he was switching between the two languages and not oriented to place. She kept her most reassuring smile on her face regardless, he just needed some time.

"You're at Medical, in San Francisco."

"Why am I here?"

"Jean-Luc, you've been very sick. You've had a terrible fever. You will be feeling quite confused right now but try to get some rest." Sometimes it was easier when the patient was unconscious…

She held his hand, he turned his head toward the window, squinting into the light of what was a beautiful sunny day.

"Okay. San Francisco? Not Paris? Are you sure?"

She turned his chin toward the padd before she responded, "Yes. I'm sure, we're here at Medical. I'm going to stay with you, and make sure you get better."

He laughed, "I thought it must be Paris. Je n'arrête pas d'entendre le français. C'est tres bizarre."

She smiled at him, squeezed his hand tightly. The UT kicked in and translated for her, he can't stop hearing French... Everything had been set up for him to maximise his comprehension and orientation.

"And you're here Beverly? How come?" he asked, genuinely perplexed.

"I'm going to take care of you."

"Am I sick?" he felt okay, a bit odd, perhaps a little disorientated.

"Yes."

"Oh. What's wrong with me?"

"Stay there, get some rest Jean-Luc. I'll be back in a few minutes. Okay?"

"Oui."

She headed straight to the office and started updating his notes. This was the longest he'd managed to stay awake and it seemed he had questions, the answers to which he couldn't retain. This was going to be a tough road to recovery. She needed to find some reserves of patience she wasn't sure she had…

A few hours later and he was still awake. Beverly watched just out of sight at the entrance to his room as some orderlies attempted to bathe him. Thanks to his deafness, his voice had grown louder, she could hear everything he was saying.

"Do you know why I'm here?" he asked.

The orderly pointed to the screen on the side table it had been programmed to respond to all variations of this kind of question with a shortened version of the answer, You have been very sick, you are at Starfleet Medical. Try not to worry. Beverly stifled a snigger, he was nothing if not persistent.

She checked his stats, once the fever had broken, he had managed to stay moderately in the safe zone at 37.8 degrees. Just under the official fever mark, high but not dangerously so. Enough to make him feel terrible on top of the damage that the infections had done to him. Physically, he'd got off pretty lightly all in, the hearing, the language issues, some muscle wastage. The device draining his remaining Borg implant was still in place busily working away to fight off any remaining waves of the parasite, his cardiac implant was also working harder than ever to maintain a constant rhythm, despite his best efforts. It was still kicking him back to normal every few hours.

She couldn't put it off any longer, she would have to face his questions. She was going to assist in the surgery to try to drain the dogged pustules. They were undoubtedly responsible for at least some of the confusion, that kind of toxic presence was never helpful.

"Hey there Jean-Luc. We're going to take you to surgery now." She spoke and her words appeared simultaneously on the screen.

"Beverly?" he asked surprised to find her there before him. He tried to push himself up higher on the bed but he was too weak to make much of an impact. "Is this the Enterprise?"

She shook her head and smiled. All they could do was to keep reassuring him. He was asking the same questions endlessly, variations on a theme that told them he was still struggling to orient. She nodded at the orderly who tapped at the bed's controls and it started to move off to the surgical suite.

"See you in there Jean-Luc, hold tight." She whispered as the orderlies guided the bed past her and down the corridor. She'd be right there with him, always.