cHAPTER sIX
The turbolift doors swished open.
Picard lingered in the turbolift a moment, breathing in the familiar smell of the main Bridge. The leather from the seats, the slight piney odor that he had insisted on having after he was used to being the captain, Worf's strange Klingon 'perfume', and the general human smell.
He didn't know why, but he was amazingly happy to be alive. Alive, on the Enterprise. His Enterprise. The beautiful, graceful, glorious Enterprise. They'd been through a lot. She's still strong, Picard thought, still hanging in there. And.she's mine. In some weird way, I feel like the luckiest man alive. I have the Enterprise, and I command her. But not really her. Her crew.
He stepped onto the Bridge.
"Captain on the Bridge," Data reported. Picard smiled. The captain's on the bridge. I wouldn't give much for any Romulans' chances in battle now. Not while Jean-Luc Picard is on the Bridge.
He walked to his chair. Deanna looked at him with her sensitive, deep brown eyes. "I feel it to, captain. Everyone does. The near brush with death has left everyone feeling happy to be alive."
Picard frowned. "Near brush with death?"
--What the hell? Something's wrong.--
Deanna looked mildly surprised. "The battle. With the Klingons. The rebel band. You just commanded your way through a good battle." --This calls for stronger language. I need to know what going on. Tact, Jean-Luc, tact.--
"Then, tell me, Deanna, why was I in Sickbay?" "You had a slight headache."
"But Zakal told me we went through a Romulan minefield."
Deanna looked confused. "Captain, who is this.Zakal?"
"Beverly's new medical assistant. He transferred here a week ago." --Remember, Deanna, he gave you that scale carving of the Enterprise made out of chocolate. You loved in more ways than one.-- "Captain, Zakal died in battle three weeks ago. He was in Security. A lieutenant commander." --Shit.-- "Maybe I should go back to Sickbay."
"Captain, why would you want to do that?"
"I thought we went through a minefield, and it's a battle. If I don't know what's going on, how can I respond to any threats?" --Ah, a glimmer of intelligence. What a surprise. DAMMIT, Q, GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!!!-- "Captain, we're docked at Starbase 100639 AT. What threats could possibly arise?"
"Damn." Picard whispered, all residual traces of his earlier euphoria gone. He had no idea of what was going on. Minefields, Klingon rebels and Starbases had nothing in common.
And if he was going mad-but how could he be going mad? He'd seen an insane person once, when he was a small child. He'd had rips in his tattered clothing and skin, and he was holding a long, sharp steel knife, gesticulating with it wildly and screaming curses. His hair had been brown with silver streaks going down the sides, ratty and snarled. His face had been bright red. And he looked so lost and confused. The police and civilians gathering around him and shouting were terrifying him; even at 2 and a half Picard understood that. And he'd decided that he'd help him any way he could, though his method of helping was something coming on that he couldn't control. He'd cried.
His mother had picked him and tried to soothe him, not realizing that it was help for both Picard and the insane man, but though he calmed quickly, the insane man had the attention off him. He walked calmly to one of the police, gave her his knife, and walked calmly to the restraining officers.
He only remembered that because Lwuxana Troi had stimulated that memory. But it consoled him slightly. He wasn't insane. He was-flash-in a-a bar?
Picard whirled around, looking for a familiar face. But in the choking smoke he couldn't get precise enough details. Calm down, Jean-Luc. Go outside, try not to step on any tails or feet, keep your eyes averted, just in case, and walk outside. Damn, these clothes hurt.
A/N So, whaddaya think? Took me forever to get this. It's pretty dark now, but it turns from 9B to about 2B in the next chapters. For those non- artists, 9B is the darkest grade of pencil. 2B is the fifth lightest.
The turbolift doors swished open.
Picard lingered in the turbolift a moment, breathing in the familiar smell of the main Bridge. The leather from the seats, the slight piney odor that he had insisted on having after he was used to being the captain, Worf's strange Klingon 'perfume', and the general human smell.
He didn't know why, but he was amazingly happy to be alive. Alive, on the Enterprise. His Enterprise. The beautiful, graceful, glorious Enterprise. They'd been through a lot. She's still strong, Picard thought, still hanging in there. And.she's mine. In some weird way, I feel like the luckiest man alive. I have the Enterprise, and I command her. But not really her. Her crew.
He stepped onto the Bridge.
"Captain on the Bridge," Data reported. Picard smiled. The captain's on the bridge. I wouldn't give much for any Romulans' chances in battle now. Not while Jean-Luc Picard is on the Bridge.
He walked to his chair. Deanna looked at him with her sensitive, deep brown eyes. "I feel it to, captain. Everyone does. The near brush with death has left everyone feeling happy to be alive."
Picard frowned. "Near brush with death?"
--What the hell? Something's wrong.--
Deanna looked mildly surprised. "The battle. With the Klingons. The rebel band. You just commanded your way through a good battle." --This calls for stronger language. I need to know what going on. Tact, Jean-Luc, tact.--
"Then, tell me, Deanna, why was I in Sickbay?" "You had a slight headache."
"But Zakal told me we went through a Romulan minefield."
Deanna looked confused. "Captain, who is this.Zakal?"
"Beverly's new medical assistant. He transferred here a week ago." --Remember, Deanna, he gave you that scale carving of the Enterprise made out of chocolate. You loved in more ways than one.-- "Captain, Zakal died in battle three weeks ago. He was in Security. A lieutenant commander." --Shit.-- "Maybe I should go back to Sickbay."
"Captain, why would you want to do that?"
"I thought we went through a minefield, and it's a battle. If I don't know what's going on, how can I respond to any threats?" --Ah, a glimmer of intelligence. What a surprise. DAMMIT, Q, GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!!!!-- "Captain, we're docked at Starbase 100639 AT. What threats could possibly arise?"
"Damn." Picard whispered, all residual traces of his earlier euphoria gone. He had no idea of what was going on. Minefields, Klingon rebels and Starbases had nothing in common.
And if he was going mad-but how could he be going mad? He'd seen an insane person once, when he was a small child. He'd had rips in his tattered clothing and skin, and he was holding a long, sharp steel knife, gesticulating with it wildly and screaming curses. His hair had been brown with silver streaks going down the sides, ratty and snarled. His face had been bright red. And he looked so lost and confused. The police and civilians gathering around him and shouting were terrifying him; even at 2 and a half Picard understood that. And he'd decided that he'd help him any way he could, though his method of helping was something coming on that he couldn't control. He'd cried.
His mother had picked him and tried to soothe him, not realizing that it was help for both Picard and the insane man, but though he calmed quickly, the insane man had the attention off him. He walked calmly to one of the police, gave her his knife, and walked calmly to the restraining officers.
He only remembered that because Lwuxana Troi had stimulated that memory. But it consoled him slightly. He wasn't insane. He was-flash-in a-a bar?
Picard whirled around, looking for a familiar face. But in the choking smoke he couldn't get precise enough details. Calm down, Jean-Luc. Go outside, try not to step on any tails or feet, keep your eyes averted, just in case, and walk outside. Damn, these clothes hurt.
A/N So, whaddaya think? Took me forever to get this. It's pretty dark now, but it turns from 9B to about 2B in the next chapters. For those non- artists, 9B is the darkest grade of pencil. 2B is the fifth lightest.