My goodness you guys... reviews are GOLD. There are literal tumble weeds running through my inbox ;)
Spare a thought for this poor old writer, she's writing her socks off.
The rhythm of each day fell into a regular pattern; Ted had returned to Lunar a few days after his return, Beverly started work on reduced hours again two weeks later, and Louis had returned to his lycée.
Now, almost a month later, he went through the motions each morning; he woke, showered, dressed, drank glass after glass of water, and attempted to eat – all those normal things denied to him for so long somehow falling back into place, forming the bedrock of his days.
Almost as soon as he'd finished moving the food he wasn't going to eat around on his plate, Deanna would arrive, like clockwork, every morning. He'd offer her a drink, she would take a cup and he would order up a fresh one for himself. Then they drank in companionable silence until she prodded him with a question designed to get him talking. They called it debriefing, but he knew otherwise. He was in treatment...
"It's been a few weeks now, how are you feeling about being home?"
Straight in there this morning, no hedging, he turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow, vaguely surprised by her direct question.
"What?" she asked, feigning innocence.
He cleared his throat, "You're not usually so direct, so early on…"
He stood then, leaving his drink forgotten on the table. He wondered over to the French doors, stood for a moment, lost somewhere in his own thoughts. His arms hung loosely by his side, his shoulders slumped, as though his body didn't have the energy or confidence to hold itself upright.
She stayed in her seat, keeping her distance. He wanted the space, he was feeling hemmed in, she could recognise the signs. First, he would move himself away, discreetly, and most likely subconsciously. Then he'd open the doors, step out onto the deck. If she were lucky, he'd take a seat once he was outside, if she were not so, he'd take off, walk away across the garden, leave her right there.
"I know you can handle the question."
He turned suddenly to face her, "You do?" he said, almost laughing.
She smiled at him, keeping her body still, her movements gentle, soft, and small. She nodded, encouraging him to keep talking.
"I don't… I don't uh…" he dropped his head, rubbed at his brow with his fingers. His face was knotted revealing the tension he couldn't express. He took a seat, near the window, as far away from her as he could get without leaving the room.
"Beverly tells me you haven't been sleeping?"
He shook his head, then leaned forward elbows resting on his knees. He kept his eyes closed, frowned. "A few hours maybe… here and there."
"And eating?"
"Yes… Some."
She knew he had been starved. Knew that he'd been ravenous when he'd been recovering in sickbay on the Phoenix, eating platefuls of food, eating till he vomited. Since he'd been back on Earth, he'd had trouble keeping anything down. Beverly had tried her hardest, kept serving up tiny portions of nutritious 'nursery food', he'd called it. Deanna could see how skinny he was, his low weight amplifying the hollows of his cheeks, the shadows under his eyes, the hooded, guarded expression that haunted his face. It made a remarkable difference, he was almost unrecognisable and it gave him a kind of broken wildness, she tried not to think about it too much.
"Tell me more, about the sleep." She nudged.
"I… I uh… I sleep maybe for an hour, then… well, nightmares… and apparently a spell of sleepwalking of all things." He paused, threw his hand out as though his problems should be obvious.
"It's to be expected… after what you've been through."
"I know that. Doesn't make it any easier." He snapped, standing suddenly.
She struggled to read him, everything he was feeling was buried deeply. She knew they hadn't even scratched the surface of what he had endured. Knew they weren't even at the starting gate of his therapy. He didn't though… he'd been diligently trying to engage with her, but she knew he wasn't ready yet.
She tracked him as he opened the doors but remained in her seat. She sipped at her drink, waited him out. Sometimes, he would come back in, sometimes she knew they were done for the day, with anything approaching therapy at least.
She glanced around as she waited, keeping her empathic sense tuned into him as he worked through whatever it was he wasn't prepared to tell her. His mind was a mess. She could sense a swirling maelstrom of negative emotions. Feelings she couldn't quite place. Right up front was a potent sense of grief for himself. But underneath, there were layers upon layers of unidentifiable feelings, the ones he wasn't ready to acknowledge existed yet.
On the credenza against the wall, there was a photograph of them all; Beverly, the boys, Jean-Luc. They were on a beach somewhere, all of them relaxed, happy… The boys were little; Jean-Luc had Teddy on his shoulders, Beverly had Louis on her hip. She thanked the deities that Kestra and Will were safe. That she would be returning to her happy home as soon as she left here. Kestra would be doing homework, getting ready for her gym class, Will would be cooking, making a mess, listening to music. Family life as it should be, harmonious and untroubled – as it should always be.
To be lost for so long, to be declared dead, then to return home… never easy. Thankfully it was still so rare, despite worsening tensions and the developing situation with the Xhand. As had happened to him years ago, with the Borg, he was one of the one of the few to make it home, one of the lucky ones…
After a few minutes, she sensed his fight against the decision to run start to turn. He'd been willing himself to stay in the garden, near the house. His resolve was growing stronger, she knew he'd make his way back inside momentarily.
He appeared then, self-consciously, resumed his position on the armchair nearest the door. As long as he had an avenue of escape. She was glad he was here, at home, on Earth. Plenty of space to escape too, she briefly imagined what this would have been like to manage back on the Enterprise.
"Sorry," he said sheepishly.
She smiled, he didn't need to apologise. "How are the boys doing? Ted's back at university, Louis's in his final year I think, Beverly said?" She was trying to come at from an adjacent approach, a strategy not unnoticed by its target.
He laughed for a moment, recognising full well what she was trying to do, he was too experienced when it came to therapy. "I think they could both probably do without all this."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, to have their father disappear… be declared dead… then…" he finished, gesturing to his body, finishing with a tap to the side of his head. "And to not be able to tell anybody, to have to keep it all to themselves? I don't think that can be easy. Do you?"
"No, I suppose not. But how about this, how about seeing things from a different perspective. Their father is alive, home, and on the road to recovery. Whether he knows it or not." she finished, smiling warmly.
He nodded, lost to his thoughts again. After a moment he started speaking, haltingly at first, "When we first landed, there was an ambush. Straight away, before I'd even finished materialising, we were all knocked out with a sonic weapon…" He slowed, remembering those first horrific days.
She hadn't managed to get him to talk like this yet, she didn't dare breathe in case he lost his momentum and couldn't go on. It was as though speaking of the boys, then his recovery, had given him the strength to push himself further.
"Then… perhaps it was a few days later… we were in cells. Four of us in each one at first… before they started…" He took a moment while he reached for an appropriate word, "Reducing the numbers. Then I was alone. I could hear some of the others… hear terrible noises sometimes... I was gagged, blindfolded but even through that I could tell that the cells were bright, blindingly so. By then I didn't know whether it was day or night… nor how many days had passed. They just left us there, blindfolded… well, me anyway…"
He stopped talking, dropped his head into his hands and remained silent for long minutes. She stayed still, soundless, hoping that he might go on. She didn't know where this was coming from, nor what had triggered it but she allowed a kernel of positivity to blossom. It was a start… at long last, a start.
"I don't really know how long they held us like that… I tried to keep a track of it at first… I was convinced a rescue team would arrive – two weeks I thought, at the maximum. Then nobody came, and soon enough, the days just drifted together. I thought I could hear the others eating, scraping bowls, hear water being poured... A few times a week, they'd push a bowl of something through the door, a glass of water more frequently at least. Just enough… and not enough at all. I couldn't think past the hunger… Such a basic need, such a simple strategy; as a torture device. Withhold food, stimulation, and soon enough, your prisoner is desperate, broken…"
He stopped again, closed his eyes, and rubbed at his forehead. His breathing quickening. She could sense he was trying to gather himself, keep himself in the moment, stop himself from falling back into that place.
"I don't think I can keep going…" he whispered into his hand.
"What do you mean?" she asked gently, keeping her worry well hidden. There was more than one way to interpret what he had said.
He looked at her then, held her gaze. His eyes were full of despair. He had opened himself up to her empathy, was allowing her to read from him what he couldn't express verbally. "Oh… I see."
He stood up again then, turned so his back was to her. She could sense his emotional shutters crashing into place, blocking her violently.
"You can. You might not think it right now, but I know you have the strength. You are an immensely strong man. You survived... it doesn't matter that they didn't choose to kill you, that is arbitrary. What matters is that it is your strength, Jean-Luc, that got you home. And you're not alone any longer."
She'd read the reports from the others. They had each been aware that he was being held alone, in isolation. They'd been held together, and at least had each other for company, been able to talk to each other. And hadn't been gagged or blindfolded. Each of the recovered survivors had immediately asked after him, had he been returned? Was there a rescue underway? All of them had been highly concerned about him, and couldn't understand why he'd been singled out so brutally. Deanna didn't think she could mention that quite yet though...
He laughed again, "Oh… I am… nobody knows… none of the others… I can't…"
He sat back on the armchair, his sudden activity a warning to her that he wasn't able to contain his feelings, she sensed that he needed some kind of physical outlet.
"You don't have to tell me anything more right now." He looked at her, relief pouring from him. "Shall we go for a walk?"
He nodded, his face looked like he was about to crumble. Her heart was breaking for him. She wouldn't have anyone else treat him, she could do that for him at least. They had years of therapy to fall back on, she knew he trusted her implicitly. She was Head of Psychiatry; she didn't see many patients anymore. She would do this for him, for Beverly, even though it hurt.
They pulled on jackets to thwart the cooling temperature of late Autumn, and he matched his with a flat cap as much to hide his identity as to keep the cold out. He was too thin. They walked the block or two to the shore, found the path that ran along it and headed in the direction of the sun. They walked silently, she linked his arm, trying to keep him tethered, to let him know she was there. If she had dared to drop her shields, she knew she would be overwhelmed. He had always had the ability to prevent her from reading him, but now, his emotions were running wild, his legendary control shot to pieces. She was assuming a lot about what had happened to him based on the treatment reports from the others were being treated, and the little bits of information he'd divulged back on the Phoenix. She knew she'd picked up the general gist of the whole saga, but until the hearing got underway, they all remained none the wiser – how had it all gone so wrong?
She could feel him shivering beside her. His pace was slow, she knew he had residual pain, knew he wouldn't ever recover fully his fitness. It had been too long. He focused on the ground, keeping his eyes low, trying his best not to be seen.
"We can go back? If you're cold?" she said quietly so as not to startle him.
There was nobody else around today, it was a weekday morning and the weather was too unpredictable. It suited him, nobody to hide from. He was still supposed to be keeping his reappearance a secret. They had allowed him a modicum of freedom here on Île de Ré but he was not allowed, under any circumstances, to leave the island, use any form of transportation… it was too risky. It was a strategy enacted as they drew nearer the announcement of his rescue. It had allowed him to settle back without the glare of the press or well-wishers. Command were at least now trying to do their best by him.
"I'm fine."
They continued walking, she could feel him tire once they'd covered just a kilometre. She didn't sense any desire in him to turn back.
A few metres away, she spotted a bench. "Well, I might just sit here a moment, take in the view, if it's alright with you?"
"Hmm? Oh… yes… of course. I'm sorry."
They sat next to each other on the bench, silently. She watched as the waves crashed against the shore, the approaching winter starting to make the sea rougher than she'd seen it here before. She and Will had been on Earth for a few years now, he to take his place in the Admiralty, and she to head up Psychiatry. Before the Xhand, they'd fallen instantly back into their friendship with the old Enterprise crew – had in fact, got to know Jean-Luc better than they ever had back on the ship. They spent lots of time with Jean-Luc and Beverly – lots of time, here or in San Francisco at their place… Right up until his last ill-fated mission. After that, she'd kept in close contact with Beverly and the boys, who would come to them more often than not. She thought they were trying to get away from being surrounded by memories of him. She didn't blame them.
He shook his head, stared out to sea. As they sat, a jogger appeared on the horizon catching his attention, "Perhaps we should be getting back now."
She turned to the direction he was looking, "It is getting a little chilly. Back the same way?"
"Hmmm?" he replied vacantly, his attention still fixed on the distant runner.
"Is it the same way? The way back?"
"Oh… yes."
They walked back, going more slowly than before. She could feel the tension in his muscles, he hadn't stopped shivering. Then she realised that every so often, he was turning back in the direction of the bench; the creeping sense of his paralysing fear was palpable. He was turning back with increasing frequency and simultaneously picking up his pace, despite the fact that he was tiring with every step.
"Everything okay?" she asked neutrally.
"Do you think he's following us?"
"Who?" she asked, turning back to look. "The jogger?"
"Yes, yes. He's following us. I'm sure of it."
"Jean-Luc, I'm sure he's just out for a run. I don't think we have anything to be worried about."
She felt his fear kicking up a notch at the same time as he increased his speed, almost dragging her with him. He had tight hold of her arm, his feelings almost overwhelming her such that she was starting to feel the weight of fear in her own stomach.
"We need to get out of here, come." He said, dragging her more forcefully now.
It took everything she had not to give into the fear he was projecting. If she'd let him, he would have pulled her under, had her running scared as well. As fast as he was setting their pace, she took a moment to flatten her receptors, re-tune to her own emotions, and block his out.
"Jean-Luc." She said, forcing him to stop. "Let's just think about this for a moment."
He stopped, unwillingly. He stared at her, his expression incredulous. "Are you kidding?"
"Just… stop. Take a second. Ground yourself. Feel the earth beneath your feet, breathe in the scent of the ocean, feel the cold of the air on your skin…"
"Don't be ridiculous, we need to go." He said nastily, tugging on her arm.
She turned him as she spoke, held both of his hands in hers, and projected every ounce of calm she had in his direction. She held his gaze, forced him to look her in the eye. She squeezed his hands rhythmically, tethering him to the moment. "Just breathe, take a moment."
"I…"
She stopped him, squeezing his hands. She nodded at him, closed her eyes. "Just a moment."
He tried, for a second, she could feel him really trying to stop and reconsider what was happening. She could sense that every part of him wanted to run.
She was also aware that the jogger was drawing nearer, "Jean-Luc, I am sure the man running toward us is just a regular guy, out for a run. Perhaps he's one of your neighbours. Someone who lives here on the island. That is the most rational explanation."
He was trembling now, fear shining in his eyes. She continued, "Don't forget, you're with me. I'm Betazoid, remember? Don't you think I would know if he was a threat to us?"
He was panting, his eyes darting everywhere, looking for a way to escape. She kept a tight hold of him, trying to convey calm holding his gaze, smiling, her face relaxed despite the intensity of his emotions.
"It's going to be okay, you're safe. We're just going to go home, we don't need to worry about anything. Jean-Luc, you are safe here."
He wasn't calming. She started to walk knowing that staying here like this would soon draw attention. She walked with intention, she didn't rush, just maintained a steady pace, the jogger drawing nearer with every step. She had him linked through his elbow so that he didn't have any other option than to match her pace. She kept her own focus on the direction in which they were travelling, back the way they had come. Next to her, his fight or flight reflexes were still very much pointing in the direction of flight, his head darting round every other second to check the progress of the runner.
"He's getting closer." He whispered breathily.
"I know, but that's okay. I'm here, with you. He's just a regular man, out for a run. And we're just walking, going home."
And then, after a few more minutes of her steady pace, the runner finally passed them, thankfully to her right and so avoiding Jean-Luc on her left, "Bonjour!" He called as he jogged casually past them.
"Bonjour!" she called back, returning the greeting pleasantly.
Gradually, ever so slowly, as the man receded into the distance, she felt Jean-Luc's stress start to dissipate. His breathing slowed, his body started to relax, and he allowed them to slow the pace of their walk.
They drew to a halt, and before he even had the time to react to his own emotions, she knew what was coming. He was weeping, quietly, trying his best not to let anything he was feeling show. "I thought… he…" he said, wiping at his eyes, his head low.
She maintained their pace, knowing that he needed to be at home. "It's okay. Perfectly understandable. Just remember, you're safe here. I'm with you, and I wouldn't let anything happen to you. Besides, Beverly would kick my ass."
He laughed at her unexpected comment, his tears still falling. "She would…"
She pulled him a little closer, squeezed his hand, "Come on, let's get back to the house."
