Worf arrived a full five minutes before the transport window to find Riker waiting patiently. It had all been set up, they were to transport from Riker's office using personal transporters, then return dirt-side with Picard, transporting him directly to his home. Everything had to happen under the radar, off the grid. Riker had arranged everything to the second.
"Admiral Riker."
"Ambassador Worf…" he replied, returning the greeting equally as formally. "Ready?"
"Always. The ship is nearing orbit?"
"Yes, she's two minutes out. Three until we're due to transport."
They waited, each of their minds racing through the steps ahead of them. As soon as they boarded the Phoenix, they would be taken by Captain Olawayo to sickbay to collect Picard. Neither of them knew what to expect, how he would be. Added to the situation was the simple matter of secrecy. It was imperative that they were able to escort Picard to his home without being spotted themselves. The ship's crew were being cleared from their route as they waited, Riker had run the medical staff, knew they were unknown to them. The only flaw in the plan was Worf… being the only Klingon in Starfleet made him pretty conspicuous.
The computer announced the ship's arrival in standard orbit. "Worf?"
"Let's go."
He knew they were coming for him. Any second now, Riker and Worf would arrive… He sat on the edge of the biobed in the room that had been his home for the last eight days. He swung his legs and chewed at the skin around his nails. He kept glancing to the door, what would they expect from him?
He had no luggage, of course… dead people didn't have belongings. They'd given him some clothes to wear for the journey and Abra had popped in earlier to give him a warm coat and a hat. She'd hugged him, told him she would miss him. He hadn't known what to say…
He'd been scanned to within an inch of his life, injected with enough painkillers to get him through the next few hours, and all in all, he was in as good a possible condition as could be expected.
He touched the coat, felt the softness of the imitation fur lining it, practicing the grounding drill the counsellor had reminded him about. He felt the fur between his fingers, took a deep breath, and placed one booted foot on the floor. He could do this.
Everyone had been cleared from sickbay. He'd been told that his return had to remain classified. He wasn't sure he cared too much about what Starfleet were up to, he had more immediate concerns.
He was used to silence. There had been months when he had had zero auditory input. Somehow though, he was really feeling it right now. He'd found the familiar sounds of sickbay reassuring, he supposed it was because sickbay meant safety, meant Beverly… Over the years he'd formed a strong enough association that even this ship's sickbay, one he didn't know, still felt somehow comforting to him.
He let himself ponder the prospect of returning home. He'd dreamed of this moment… the one thought that he had fled to when things had been at their worst. He couldn't bring himself to believe it was actually going to happen… until he was there, it was just a dream, a stray thought. Not a fact he could rely on.
His head snapped to his left, suddenly alert to the sound of marching boots. His heart started pounding immediately, his mouth went dry. He looked around the room urgently, he needed a way out, fast.
They'd found him, he knew this had all been too good to be true.
He jumped down from the bed, felt along the wall for a hatch to a Jeffries tube. The footsteps drew nearer, they sounded heavy, forceful. His fingers found a hatch release but he was fumbling, he wasn't strong enough. He crouched down, thought briefly about hiding behind the door sensor, wondered if he could lock it somehow, yes… yes, that's what he would do. He backed himself into the corner next to the door. He felt a little safer in the shadows, knew he had to find the right moment to run. Once they were here… when he was sure they'd all entered the room, he would make a run for it then.
The footsteps drew nearer still, he estimated they were only a few metres away now… He held his breath, tuned his ear keenly in the direction of his assailants… any second now.
A man's voice. "So, he's just through here. We've been taking good care of him."
Then another man's… "That is good to hear."
Didn't he recognise that voice? It sounded like… that wasn't right. He was in danger. He needed to get out of here. He couldn't give in to fantasy now…
"Mister Worf?" said the familiar voice again politely.
A huge shape filled the doorway casting a long shadow across the floor. Too late. He let out a breath slowly, quietly. He could hear his heart hammering away.
"Are you sure we're in the right room Captain Olawayo?"
Another voice… another one he knew. Was this a trick?
"Absolutely, I'm uh…" the strange voice stopped on entering the small room.
From his position in the corner, he took a moment to assess the situation. Even from this obscured point he knew, recognised, Worf… Riker… there was no doubt about it. Reality returned to him. He felt ashamed, foolish, his face burning with embarrassment. How was he going to explain his odd position?
"Worf?" he whispered huskily. He stepped out of the shadows slowly.
Riker turned suddenly, making Jean-Luc flinch at the movement and step back quickly into the corner. His heart was still pounding, his breathing ragged.
"Jean-Luc?" said Riker.
He hesitated before answering, Jean-Luc… he hadn't heard his name aloud in years. "Yes… yes it's me."
Riker had the good sense to stay right where he was. He desperately wanted to reach out and hug his friend, but Deanna had warned him what to expect, and he'd listened. "Oh, my god… I'm so glad to see you…" he said, tears springing unbidden.
Worf too had been well briefed, he stayed just inside the entrance, quietly, stoically.
He couldn't handle it, he didn't know what to say, what to do. He stayed still, right where he was. This was really happening, "I…"
"Admiral Riker…" Worf said pointing at the transporter cuff on his own sleeve.
Riker looked at Worf, "Right, of course." Then turned to Jean-Luc, "Okay, are you ready?"
He nodded then flinched again when Riker reached out with a transporter cuff for him to take. "Sorry... I uh…"
"It's okay… I understand," said Riker quietly, "Just wrap it around your arm, then I'm going to activate yours at the same time as I get mine… is that okay?"
He nodded again, glad Riker was taking charge. He fumbled with the cuff, dropped it, bent down to pick it up.
"Can I help you?" Riker, whispered.
"No, no…" he replied, still fumbling. His fingers and thumbs were unused to fine motor movement. He stopped, suddenly tired, overcome. "Maybe… yes. Please." Then he held out his arm so Riker could fix the cuff securely.
"No problem. Here… okay, done." He took a moment then to make sure all three of them were ready to go. "Anything we need to take with us?"
He shook his head, he had nothing.
"Alright then, I'm going to activate yours and mine at the same time. Mister Worf, ready?"
"Ready," said Worf. He stood ready to act should anything untoward occur in the process. He would protect Picard with his dying breath.
"Okay then, on three: one, two, three. Energise."
And with that, they shimmered out of the reality of the Phoenix leaving the winter coat and hat abandoned on the bed.
