Beverly stared open mouthed at the padd in front of her. She'd read the news report twice now. Each time had yielded the same conclusion. Juron Sacrosanc, in his role as an admiral of Starfleet Command had known everything… the whole time. From the minute communication was lost, the minute the crew of the Apollo had beamed down to the surface of Xhandria, Starfleet had known. Sacrosanc could, at any time, have alerted the rest of Command, taken it to panel, started the process of getting them out of there. But he hadn't. He'd kept it to himself, embarrassed that the much lauded first contact with the Xhand had gone so spectacularly wrong under his watch. He had denied everything. Kept his mouth shut to save his reputation, and Jean-Luc, along with the rest of the crew, had been out there alone and suffering. Let down by the very organization they served to protect. She couldn't ever forgive this man.

The JAG office were building a case against Sacrosanc and his aide, the report indicated that Starfleet wanted to charge the pair as wholly culpable. She swallowed down the bile she felt rising as she read on. How could anyone have left them there? Not said a thing?

She felt sick. They'd left them to suffer. Hadn't tried to mount any kind of rescue attempt beyond observing from the cloaked probe. And the worst part, was that it all came down to an admiral she knew to be incredibly incompetent. She knew of him through the grapevine. Sacrosanc was older, approaching retirement, something of a blusterer whose name was attached to a series of lost ships, including one that went down at the Wolf 359, one that he'd made sure to escape from while the rest of crew perished.

She didn't know how to even approach telling Jean-Luc. If she thought she could get away with it she wouldn't tell him at all. He was so fragile, still trapped in his own head and so early in his recovery. She would have to speak to Deanna…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the comm panel in the study. She hurried to answer it, and once she'd tabbed her acceptance of the call from Labarre, Robert's furious face appeared on the screen.

"Have you read it?" he asked, waving his own padd at the screen.

"I've just finished it, yes."

"What the hell were they thinking?!"

"Robert… I don't know what to say. I'm struggling to get my head around this whole thing myself."

"Does he know?"

She shook her head, "Not yet… I don't know how to tell him. He's so..."

"I feel like going over there and smashing some heads together…" he looked away for a second, but she caught the glint of tears in his eyes.

"So do I, believe me…"

"How are you going to tell him?"

"I really don't know."

"Well, would it be okay for me to come over there? Perhaps I can be of some assistance?"

"I will ask him, call you back? He's sleeping at the moment. I'm trying to let him make as many choices as I can. Is that okay Robert?"

"Of course it is. I trust you completely. I will wait for your call then. A bientôt." He finished abruptly.

She sat back in her chair and blew out a deep breath. Robert was a godsend, since he'd learned of his brother's situation a few weeks beforehand, he'd been steady as a rock. A rock much needed by Jean-Luc. Whatever had happened between them when they were younger, was long gone. Perhaps having him here would help…

She turned to the Federation News Service channel once again. They were going to town on the Xhand story, it was a gift that just kept on giving. She watched as a JAG officer representing the survivors spoke. Behind her, Beverly could see some of the survivors huddled together. All of them were ashen faced, thin, their eyes seeing beyond what lay before them. She recognised that distant look, she was living with it. She thought of Jean-Luc, peacefully asleep finally, completely unaware of the fury unfolding around him. God, how was she going to tell him?

Will had called already, he was beyond furious. He knew the guy, had worked with him since he'd been located on Earth at Command. As a picture of Sacrosanc appeared on the screen, she recalled an odd moment when she had passed him at Medical. He'd introduced himself, had the audacity to ask how she was getting on, asked after the boys… told her it was such a shame to lose someone as great as Picard – his lost was a loss to the entire Federation. She swallowed down the rising nausea. This man had to go down… for a long time.

The Federation itself was bringing charges, there was cause to open up civil claims if the families wanted, the Federation would support them and provide JAG officers to take on the case. There was to be a court-martial and some form of punishment.

She tabbed off her terminal and took a moment of silence to think. He needed to know, no doubt about that, and it was up to her to break it to him.

She took him a cup of tea and perched on her side of the bed calling his name in the hope of waking him gently. He gasped with a start and sat up quickly, trying to work out where he was. Unsure as to what had woken him, he looked around, found himself to be in his own bed, in his own bedroom. He flopped back on the mattress, closing his eyes once again, the bars of his cell imposing themselves over the image of his room. He'd been woken so many times; suddenly, violently. Sometimes, the first he knew of it was a punch.

"Hey…" she said gently.

He opened his eyes, turned in the direction of her voice, tearing himself away from the visual memory of Xhandria. The image of one of the Xhand lingered… its big visage snarling flatly at him. He reached out to touch her face tentatively, "Bev…"

"Everything okay?"

He didn't answer for a few seconds, long enough for her to worry, "I just… I didn't know where I was… for a moment."

It was still early, she got herself comfortable, sitting up against the headboard, the padd in her hand. He curled up against her, the duvet pulled tightly around him. She put one reassuring hand on his back.

"I'm sorry…" he sniffed, pulling away from her touch.

She knew he hadn't slept all night, he'd only managed to drop off just an hour or so ago. She'd been aware, through the night of his restlessness, that he'd lain awake staring into the darkness, tucked as closely as he could get to her body.

"You don't need to be sorry Jean… it's going to take time." She said, rubbing his arm. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm starv- could use some breakfast." She had instantly regretted her poor choice of word, but he appeared to be too lost in his own thoughts to have noticed.

"What?" he mumbled sleepily.

"Breakfast?" she said cheerily, glad her faux pas had gone by unheard.

He turned over then, taking the duvet with him, his eyes closing. She hadn't missed the fact that he seemed to find it easier to sleep once morning broke. She heard his breathing deepen, watched as his body relaxed. She wondered if she should mention it to Deanna when she arrived later, she could hold off leaving until she got here.

She climbed out of bed, stretched, and turned to look at him again. She still couldn't believe he was here, lying in their bed, alive…

He looked so peaceful but she knew he was anything but. He hadn't been sleeping, aside from the few hours he managed each morning after the sun rose. He was exhausted, his eyes were ringed with redness, huge shadows etched underneath. He still needed to gain some weight. While his skeletal appearance had filled out somewhat, he was well under his usual. He still looked terrible.

She peeled back the duvet a notch, put her hand on his back, right where the brand had been. All that was left now was a startling pink outline of the intricate pattern against his pale skin – enough to remind her of the ugly, festering scarring that had been there. Bloody, blackened, branded… She would have to get him to medical so they could work out a way to heal it completely, restore his skin. He groaned, his face tightening into a grimace.

He had a long way to go… they had a long way to go. But she'd be with him, as long as it took, she'd be there. The news could wait, he needed his sleep, she would ask him about Robert later.

She left him to sleep and closed the bedroom door behind her. She bumped into Louis on the landing, he stumbled blindly past her and into the bathroom, barely awake, but crucially, on schedule. He grunted on seeing her, it was the best she could hope for.

Ted was coming home later on to spend the holidays with his family, and now the story was out there, she knew he wanted to be at home. She couldn't wait to see him, but she knew he would be nervous. Louis had grown used to the shadow of his father haunting the house, but Ted had seen him only a few times since he had arrived home. He'd had leave from university for the first two weeks – a family emergency upon which he couldn't elaborate, but since then mostly, she'd made him stay on Lunar, she didn't want his studies interrupted, besides, there really wasn't anything practical he could do and his being at home, would only have drawn attention. Jean-Luc was best off in Deanna's hands right now.

She continued down to the kitchen to make breakfast for her and Louis. She held out hope that Jean-Luc would eventually join them, maybe once he'd been home a little longer. For now, she couldn't get him to eat anything beyond a few bites. Another thing she needed to speak to Deanna about. She'd leave him to sleep this morning, by all accounts, he'd had a taxing day the day before. Deanna had warned her he would be feeling pretty worn and raw. She hadn't asked, and Deanna hadn't offered… both of them knew too well the boundaries of their professions.

Sure enough, he hadn't said a word all evening, he'd taken himself off upstairs and she'd found him later on, sitting in an armchair next to their bedroom window. Just out of sight of the outside world. The night had fallen and he sat in the dark, really not caring about anything beyond his own head. She'd gone to him, helped him undress, got him into bed, but he'd been unresponsive, lost…

"Maman…" Louis said as he arrived on auto-pilot in the kitchen.

"Loulou, good morning my love. Sleep well?" She asked, putting a mug of tea in front of him.

"Very well…" he started, then took a sip of his drink. "Thanks… where's Papa?"

"He's sleeping, I don't think he had a good night."

She turned back to the replicator and ordered up some pastries, and a bowl of porridge for Louis.

"You might as well know… I was late for school yesterday. I asked Papa for a lift but… Tante Deanna took me."

"She did mention it…"

"I don't know what Madame Beaulieu will say… she'll kick me out."

"I'll call her, don't worry. I'm not mad with you."

"What will you tell her?"

"How about the truth?" She smoothed his hair, unable to stop herself from reaching out to him. "This isn't easy for any of us… I think all this is a legitimate reason for being a few minutes late one morning. Unless… there isn't anything else you need to tell me is there?"

"No! Maman..." he said, shocked. He chewed at a mouthful of porridge. "Papa seemed really…" he paused, searching for the right English word. "I don't know how to describe it."

He scooped his spoon into the bowl, taking another huge mouthful of oatmeal. She swept her hand through his hair resting on the back of his neck. "Don't worry. I know what you mean…"

He put his spoon down, "Is he going to be okay?"

She sat down then, suddenly defeated. She took a sip of her own drink, hedging while she worked out what she was going to tell their youngest. "I don't know Louis. Starfleet is still tying itself up in knots over what happened on Xhandria. The court martial is ludicrously complicated… Your father is really struggling to talk about it, and now the press are all over it. Whatever happened, it was pretty bad."

"I think it's perhaps it is like with the Borg?" He said unsure of himself. They'd told both boys, when they'd been old enough. They needed to know before the children at school used the knowledge of their father's assimilation as a weapon. Ted and Louis had been shocked, both of them withdrawn while they worked it out for themselves. The Borg were the stuff of nightmares… rumours and half-truths abounded, and more often than not, their Papa's name came up whenever the topic was discussed.

"It's right up there… You have to remember that he was gone for a long time. With the Borg, it was a week. You don't need me to tell you how long he was away this time. We know he was poorly treated, held prisoner. He's not ready to talk about it yet…"

"I hate this."

"So do I…"

"Sometimes I wonder what if he hadn't come back…" He admitted, dropping his head, pulling the hood of his sweater up over his head, "I'm sorry."

"Oh Louis…" she said, pulling him into a hug. "You don't need to be sorry. We're all feeling a lot of emotions at the moment, and every one of them is valid. Even the ones that don't feel good to admit. The important thing is that we keep talking – to each other. And that we are here for Papa."

"I know."

She kissed him, pushed his hood down and neatened the pulls. "I love you. Know that. Always."

He smiled sheepishly, a grin so familiar to her, his father's smile. "I know."

"Come on, you need to get a move on – one late mark is enough for this week." She said, smiling and tousling his hair.

"Maman?" he said, standing. "Thank you."

She hugged him again, reaching up to get her arms around him. "Louis… You're doing a great job. Now get going."