When he woke, he was disorientated. He sat up slowly, tried to get his bearings. The room was bright, but when he'd fallen asleep, it had also been daylight.
He thought back to his arrival, the shock of the transport. Then, his family, right there in front of him. Real and solid, beautiful.
He sat up, he was alone. The house sounded quiet. The bed next to him looked neat, smooth. He seemed to be wearing the same clothes as they'd given him on the Phoenix, no clues there either.
"Computer," He began, his voice was too weak, he cleared his throat and tried again. "Computer, time."
"12.45pm." it replied, in French. He was vaguely surprised at the hour but had no benchmark. Was it still the same day as when he'd arrived? It took him a second to register the computer voice, why had she changed the language?
He looked around the room, his head was pounding and he was aware of how weak he was. In his cell, he hadn't had anywhere to go, anything to do. Now he was home, he couldn't work out what he should do. Every possibility seemed too difficult. He thought back to what he used to do on waking, before: he would use the bathroom, shower, dress. Eat… The thought of making so many decisions made him feel nauseous now he was faced with the liberty to do so.
He thought back to all the times he'd dreamed of being home. He had spent hours plotting imaginary days in intricate detail, every decision he would take for himself, every action he would commit. In those endless days of nothingness, such daydreaming had kept him alive. Whether he'd been asleep or awake hadn't mattered, his life wasn't worth living. He'd been reduced and there had been no prospect of anything otherwise.
There had been times he just lain there on the floor, in one position. Too weak to move, to broken to care. Maybe it was hours, maybe even days.
He stood slowly, felt his joints and muscles complain. His head swam for a second, and as it cleared he took a few steps to the window. He wasn't supposed to be seen, he was supposed to remain in the house, or the garden, under a security quarantine. Nobody was supposed to know he was back. He peered around the shutter and looked out upon their street – at once familiar and terribly, horribly strange. It was quiet, the few large homes that neighboured their own housed busy working professionals so he didn't think it unusual to witness such stillness. After a few minutes, he saw one of their neighbours from across the street come out, aiming for his flitter. He watched as the man climbed in and powered up. He stared wide-eyed at this perfectly normal moment and watched as the man reversed then manoeuvred the ground car around and headed off.
He felt exhausted suddenly, feeling a wave of lethargy sweep his body from head to foot. He sat down on the armchair near the picture window, dropping his head into his hands. Tears came freely and he was powerless to stop them, or to understand them.
Downstairs, Beverly sat at the terminal in the study. Will's face occupied the screen, and he was angry.
"So you see, there was a Federation probe in orbit, apparently cloaked… borrowed Romulan technology. It was there the whole time." He said angrily.
"That means…"
"That someone knew… someone knew the crew of the Apollo, that Jean-Luc, was there. The whole time."
"My god…"
"Something like that…"
"Will…" she said, a warning tone in her voice.
"I know."
"I can't… this is too much. Jean-Luc… he…" she said, unable to finish. She looked in the direction of the stairs. "He's still asleep. Twenty hours and counting. I can't take this on as well… the boys –"
Will cut her off, "Beverly, you don't need to do anything. Just be there, look after Jean-Luc, the boys – yourself. Leave this… situation to me. Believe me, I am just as furious as you. Look, just, sit tight. I'll be in touch. Deanna is on her way but please remember, this is still a sensitive situation, nobody can know he's back. Not yet."
She nodded her head, tears pooling in her eyes. "Understood Will… thank you."
He smiled back at her, "I can't believe he's home."
"Me neither…" She tabbed her screen off and allowed herself to think through what Will had just told her. She was furious… This whole thing had been entirely unnecessary. Someone had known, all along… she was mad as hell.
A week after his father had come home, Louis approached the front door in the dead of night and hoped his little re-programming job had worked. He had needed a little freedom, some room to be himself, with his friends... He had been prepping for this particular scheme for weeks, even before he'd known about his father, so that the door didn't track his bio-signature, and crucially, that it didn't register the time either.
He wasn't supposed to be out. He certainly wasn't supposed to be trying to sneak back in at three in the morning.
He took a further step and held his breath. The door flashed its indicator, the usual precursor to its chime, then… nothing. Silence. He breathed out, smiling. He'd done it.
He went through the door ever so quietly. Maman would kill him if she found out. The house was dark, silent. His own breathing sounded amplified somehow, as though it would reveal his crime at any moment despite him. He thought he could hear a tap running somewhere but dismissed it as a sign of an overactive imagination.
From the far side of the house, a whisper of light was leaking from under the kitchen door. Without giving it much thought, he went on autopilot to switch it off. Then he realised that the sound of the tap was as real as he was.
He crossed the hallway and pushed open the door. There, in front of the sink with a glass in his hand, was his father. The tap was running and had long since filled the glass many times over, the water pouring down past the overfull glass and into the sink. The tap unit was flashing a gentle amber light and repeating over and over that it deemed this much water to be too much. His father was staring vacantly toward the window.
"Papa?" he whispered, not wishing to startle him. There was no reaction, and as he drew slowly closer, he realised that his eyes were unfocused, staring past any kind of focal point. How long had he been standing there?
"Papa?" he tried again. Still no response.
He reached out to touch his father's arm, worry suddenly filling him with dread. Suddenly, Jean-Luc turned and looked deep into his son's eyes. "They'll come for you. You need to be quiet. They'll come for you." Then he put an ice-cold finger to Louis's lips, "Shhhh…"
Louis felt a shiver running down his spine. He was terrified. He turned the tap off, then tried to take the glass from his father's hand.
"Louis?" he gasped suddenly, pulling his hand out of danger.
"Papa? Are you okay?" he asked in French - the only language they ever spoke except in company.
"Whe– where am I? I was… Where?" he stuttered, confused returning his first language.
"It's okay Papa, are you thirsty?"
Jean-Luc looked down surprised to find a glass of water in his hand. "I think… I…" he finished, nodding.
Louis held his father's shaking hand, helped him bring the glass to his mouth. Jean-Luc gulped at the drink as though his life depended on it. Louis looked on, his mind working a mile a minute. What should he do?
"Do you need more water?" he asked tentatively.
Jean-Luc nodded, Louis took the glass to refill it, then held it to his father's mouth again but he refused it, shook his head, tears welling in his eyes.
"It's okay Papa… shall I help you upstairs? You can go back to bed." He whispered gently, taking the glass and placing it on the counter.
Jean-Luc had a distant look in his eyes and seemed to be searching Louis's face for guidance. He nodded slowly, taking a final look at the glass of water before starting to move painfully in the direction of the hallway and the stairs.
Louis put a hand on his father's back and could feel his ribs far too easily. He retracted his hand but stayed close. His father walked robotically upstairs, panting a little as they reached the top. He groaned as he bent his knee for the last step so Louis put his hand on his father's arm. Jean-Luc flinched, jerking his arm away violently. "Don't touch me." He hissed venomously staring past his son with glazed eyes.
"It's okay Papa, this way." He whispered, terrified of what his father might do or say next.
He guided his father along the hallway to his parents' bedroom, pushing open the door quietly. He could see the outline of his mother, rolled into the duvet facing away from them. Jean-Luc waited on the threshold of the room, terror clear to see on his face. Louis didn't know what to do. "It's okay… this way, come on." He reached out his hand, hoping his father would take it.
Jean-Luc started sobbing quietly. Louis could see he was trembling. Now he really didn't know what to do. He took a seat on the armchair next to the window. He didn't want to wake Maman, didn't want her to start piecing things together and discover his sneaking back in way after curfew. His father looked lost, terrified and Louis wondered if he might be sleepwalking, he hadn't seen him do anything like this since he'd come home.
"Louis? Whas sa matter..?" said his mother groggily, taking the decision from his hands.
"It's Papa… I don't know what to do. Maman."
She sat up immediately, suddenly completely awake. She looked in Louis's direction and he gestured toward his father. She turned to the doorway and found Jean-Luc almost falling forward, he was leaning heavily to one side, clutching his stomach with tears running down his face.
"Oh… I see… okay. It's okay Loulou… I think he's asleep," she whispered. She stood then and went to the doorway. She ran her hand down Jean-Luc's arm then guided him from under his elbow back to bed.
He turned to her, his eyes seeming to look through her. "What are you doing to me?"
"I'm just helping you, it's okay. Everything is going to be okay," she said. She steered him to the edge of the bed then placed a hand against his chest to make him sit down.
"It hurts… it's so painful. Please…" he pleaded.
"I'm sorry Jean…" she replied in a whisper. She made him lie down then grabbed a hypo from the drawer and rubbed at his arm as she pressed it against his neck. Then she scanned him with her tricorder to make sure he wasn't in any medical trouble she didn't already know about.
Jean-Luc sighed heavily, sniffed, and wiped at his eyes. "Bev-ly…"
"I'm here, I'm here, it's okay, you're going to be alright…" she cooed, soothing his brow. He closed his eyes, his breathing deepening instantly.
"Maman?" Louis whispered.
"It's okay Loulou, I'll take it from here," she said looking over towards him. "You get yourself to bed, and we'll discuss you arriving home in the dead of night in the morning. Understood?"
He could only nod his head in reply, he'd been well and truly busted.
