A month later and the first ice-cold chills of early December were making themselves known. After the initial press interest when the news broke, and Beverly had told him about Sacrosanc and the court martial, life had quickly reorganised itself into a new kind of peace.

Jean-Luc was still very much recovering, but he had started to take control of his life. The small things came back first; he found himself able to make decisions about what to wear, he was finally eating, not enough according to Beverly, but nonetheless… His fine motor control was coming back and, he had even been with Beverly to pick out some clothes from the mall.

Thankfully, when he'd been gone, she had taken her time in getting rid of his things. Most of his mementoes, general belongings were still intact and in place. She'd concentrated, in the first months after his supposed death, on donating or recycling his clothes. She'd kept a few of his shirts, the ones she had liked him in best. At first, he couldn't have cared less what he was wearing. She'd replicated a few sweaters, joggers, comfortable, warm things that she thought might be easiest. He'd needed her help with dressing for a while, but slowly and surely, he'd managed to regain his dexterity and his hands had stopped shaking.

On their shopping trip, they'd started small, with a well-respected department store so he didn't have to visit more than one place, they could just get in and out with ease. By the time he'd found the courage to go, he welcomed the opportunity to choose his own clothes. He was finally in a place where he could make at least some decisions for himself that were admittedly contained, but nonetheless his to make.

He thought back to that first week or so while he dressed. He'd felt so lost, in between who he was, and who he'd become: Admiral Jean-Luc Picard and the dead man he'd been forced to embody. He dressed carefully in a pair of pants, a thermal long-sleeved t-shirt, and a thick sweater. He was going out for a walk along the shore with Ted, he'd need the warmth. Though he had regained some weight, he was still far too thin, and he was feeling the cold.

At a knock on the bedroom door, he shook his head clear of the memory and smiled at his oldest son. Ted had returned home diligently, whenever he had been allowed by his mother. It had been a few weeks, but now he was home for the holidays and Jean-Luc was thrilled to see him again.

"Ted! When did you arrive?" he said, surprised.

"Just now, hi Papa… how are you?" he asked cautiously.

Jean-Luc frowned, "Oh come on… enough of that. Ready to go?" He finished pulling on the sweater then gestured for Ted to lead the way downstairs.

"Yes. I thought we'd walk the long route? If you're feeling well enough?"

On reaching the bottom of the stairs, Jean-Luc started pulling on boots, a parka and beanie. "Why not?"

"We can always cut back… if we need to," added Ted. He pulled on his own boots then opened the front door.

Jean-Luc paused for a second on the porch, checked left and right to assuage the lingering fear he had of being taken again, and followed behind his oldest son. As they walked, they chatted about Ted's university course, how he was finding life on Lunar and living away from home. Ted told him all about the missing years; his final year at the lycée, how he'd chosen quantum physics, and all about the string of romantic failures he'd endured.

Jean-Luc was utterly absorbed by what his son was telling him. As much as he would give anything not to have been held prisoner on Xhandria, that he and Ted had such a close bond after everything he'd been through, gave him a sense of pride, and a more than passing glow of fatherly accomplishment. He was so absorbed in his son, but his attention was drawn to the movement of a fisherman casting out. The man had waded till he was standing in the ocean up to his thighs. Near their position on the shore, he'd stashed a box, ready to contain his catch, a lid haphazardly placed across its top. Jean-Luc found himself transfixed by the box. He felt a prickle of fear run down his spine and gooseflesh broke out over his body. He couldn't take his eyes off it, and he didn't know why. There was something about it… something connected to a memory he'd stashed deep, deep down.

"So, when she dumped me, it was pretty much the end for me. I uh… really liked her. I was thinking of bringing her home to meet Maman and Louis. I fell hard for her… Papa?"

He was jolted back to awareness by the sound of his name. "Oh Ted, I'm sorry. That must have been horrible. I remember how that feels, very well…" he replied. Before he could open his mouth to form the next question, a young woman passed him, too closely, knocking into his arm. He flinched, banging into Ted to his left. "What the..?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, please, excuse me." She shouted as she passed them, not even bothering to look back. It was only a minor bump.

She walked on, her speedy pace at odds with the peace and tranquillity of their surroundings next to the shore.

"Where's she off to in such a hurry?" wondered Ted aloud. "Are you okay Papa?"

They stopped for a moment and Jean-Luc rubbed at his arm, she'd really thumped into him. He felt confused. Between the woman and whatever the box had meant… His mind was immediately on alert, the seeming peace of the morning just a brief lull in the vigilant hyperawareness he'd been maintaining since his return. He started walking again, slowly at first, and focused on the sound of Ted's voice, needing something to ground him and stop his mind running away with him. "Keep talking… please," he grunted.

"Uh, okay… I don't know… um… did I tell you about Louis and the girl Maman caught in the middle of the night?" he started, speaking quickly and jogging a few steps to keep up with his father who had suddenly sped up.

While Ted talked, Jean-Luc focused on his son's voice and the story he was telling. Slowly but surely, his heart slowed from its racing pace, and breathing became a little easier. He was getting better at not allowing himself to fall into a panic attack or flash back… well-practiced at least. He still couldn't understand his reaction to the harmless box, something he couldn't access.

"…Then he had to give her a ride home and Maman was so furious. She gave him hell the next day."

He forced himself to consider what Ted was telling him and push the box, and the woman, to one side. When he'd left, Louis had been too young for any kind of real escapades but he certainly skirted the edges of acceptable behaviour. He remembered his own youth easily and had always known Louis had inherited his maverick tendencies and hare-brained plans from him. It was his guilty secret. He laughed, "Nobody wants to be on the receiving end of one of your mother's episodes of hell-giving. I have had that pleasure on more than one occasion… naturally."

Ted laughed then, more out of relief than anything else. Louis had warned him about all the odd little episodes their father had had since his return. "Shall we head back?"

Jean-Luc nodded, glad for the wisdom and maturity of his son. They wandered back to the house slowly, and Ted filled him in on the rest of Louis's more colourful moments keeping up the one-sided conversation dutifully. He had managed to pass the box, whatever memory it was trying to alert him to, was lost to him. He pushed it to the back of his mind, he had enough to deal with when it came to the aspects of his captivity he could remember, in vivid detail.

Once they reached home, Ted made sure his father rested in the living room, then called for his mother. She replied from the far side of the house.

"Where's Papa?" she asked, a flash of worry evident on her face for an instant.

"He's fine, he's sitting down. Maman?" he asked, unsure how to explain what had happened.

"What happened?" she asked, knowing instinctively that something untoward had occurred.

"It was odd, I wouldn't have said anything but I have a weird feeling about it."

"It's okay Ted, did Papa do something strange?"

"Non, no… we were walking along, chatting. He was just like his old self actually. Then he started staring at a box a fisherman had left on the path, for the fish. I couldn't get his attention… and then, well a woman walked right into him. He was really shaken."

"Is he okay?" she asked urgently. She was half-way to grabbing her tricorder.

"He's fine… really. It was just so odd, with the box. She didn't even look back just banged into him and then sped off with a quick apology."

"At the beach?"

"Yes, along the shore."

She hugged him, "Thank you for telling me. You did the right thing." She hurried into the living room to find Jean-Luc sitting on the sofa, his eyes closed.

"Jean?"

"Hi… don't worry, I'm fine."

She laughed, tenderly. She went to sit beside him and he pulled her close. "Really?"

"Yes. There was a moment… Ted was a big help."

"He's worried."

"I know. I wish he weren't. I wish you didn't all have any cause to have to keep worrying about me."

He couldn't even begin to verbalise what had happened with the box. In the time between getting home and Ted going off to find his mother, a feint flash of memory had come back to him. Something vague, being on a transport, being inside a box, the discomfort… bindings biting into his skin… someone who hadn't hurt him. He couldn't get hold of it, make it form into something more concrete… he would mention it to Deanna. No need to add to Beverly's burden, not when he couldn't even make sense of it for himself.

They sat, in peaceable silence for a few minutes and he felt the first fluttering of sleep gnawing at him. He could feel her start to shift next to him, knew she had something to say that he probably wasn't going to want to hear.

"Out with it." He rumbled, eyes still closed.

"Okay then… there's been some movement with the court martial."

"And?"

"The hearing has been brought forward – to next month."

"Oh…" his face paled, his body tensed. He opened his eyes and turned to her.

She smiled at him, trying to reassure him, "You don't need to be there, there is zero expectation that you attend. Riker and I have some skin in the game so to speak, so I'm going to go with him. And one other thing…"

"Go on…" he said guardedly.

"A few of the other… survivors have formed something of a group. They wanted to talk to you. They sent a message, it arrived just before you and Ted got back. They sounded quite urgent."

"Absolutely not."

"Jean…"

"No. I can't… I don't want… No. Beverly, please. I can't do that."

"It's okay… it's okay. Nobody is going to make you do anything you don't want to. I thought it might be a good idea, but it's really okay."

He pulled away from her, dropped his head into his hands. She could hear him taking big breaths trying to calm himself. "This is just… endless."

"What do you mean?" she asked, rubbing his shoulders tenderly.

"It seems… every day seems to bring some fresh horror… I was feeling good this morning. Then, a little bump at the beach, a message… such inconsequential things have the capacity to derail me… so easily." He left out the part about the box…

"It won't always be this difficult. I know you might not think it, but I know that you've come such a long way, even in the short time you've been home. Jean, you are so strong. Please… it will get easier."

"I just can't see it…"

"I promise, it won't always feel this bad. I wish I could take it all away." She sat back from him, gave him some space. Every part of her felt the urge and need to gather him into her arms and hold him. He'd made it very clear that he wasn't ready for such physical expressions yet. Deanna had taught them all what to expect before he'd come back, she'd been horrified that he might be in such bad shape but had done her best to do as Deanna had suggested; she'd kept her distance, resisted the urge to touch him, fought back the need to express her love for him with her actions. Words would have to do, for now.

He sat up, then stood wearily. He needed to pace, blow off some pent-up feelings he wasn't going to express. "Do you want the truth?"

She looked up at him, surprised, "The truth?"

He couldn't meet her eyes, he wondered over to the window and looked out, his back to her. "I feel so ashamed."

She swallowed back her first instinct, knew it wouldn't help him that she couldn't see any reason at all for him to feel anything nearing shame. "Ashamed? How so?"

"Because I was supposed to keep them safe. It was my responsibility."

"Jean-Luc…"

"In the first weeks, when I was still held with them all, they had to help me. I was beaten so badly…" he hesitated, wasn't sure if he could go on. He rubbed at his stomach nervously. "I was a mess Beverly. Beaten to a pulp… I wouldn't have survived… if it weren't for them. They had nothing, nothing. And somehow…"

"I didn't know…" she said quietly. She knew how seriously he took his responsibility for any crew he was serving with. She'd seen it for her own eyes countless times… that he'd been forced into such a position that she imagined he saw as a weakness, couldn't have sat well with him. "Jean-Luc, if it helps…

He shook his head, he needed to keep going or he would lose his nerve. "I just had to bear it… I didn't have it in me to resist… wasn't anything I could have done. No solution to the box after all…" He was referring to something he'd said to her once, when they had both been held on Kesprytt, but the word made his skin crawl anyway.

She'd known he'd been beaten. It was the only conclusion they could have drawn when he'd first been found but he hadn't said anything to her about it yet. Somehow, hearing him express it out loud made it more real, and all the more painful an admission.

She stood slowly from her position on the sofa and held her arms out, hoping he would see that she meant no harm. She needn't have worried, he went to her quickly and she pulled him into a tight hug which he allowed. She felt him start to weep, felt the movement of his body as the ugly emotion he was fighting leaked from him.

"I can't face them…" he said in a whisper. He pulled back from her then, physically spent. He took a seat on the armchair and dropped his head back into his hands.

"It's okay… now is not the time. Nobody is going to make you do anything. Jean… look at me…"

He looked up at her, his eyes brimming with tears. "Please…"

"You are in control of how this goes. Whatever you want, that's what we'll do. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. I promise."

He sniffed, and bravely tried to smile, "Thank you."

"Hey… come on…" she replied, smiling. She sat down beside him, and reached out to wipe away the last of his tears.

He pulled back reflexively, gasping, "Sorry…"

"Jean… I'm the one who needs to be sorry."

"Why?"

"Because I can't stop thinking about all that time you were out there suffering, and I was here being well looked after by our friends and wallowing in my grief instead of trying to find you."

"That's absurd Beverly."

"Well, it's how I feel…"

"How could you have known?"

"I just want you to know how sorry I am."

"You didn't do anything wrong. Thinking of you all here, kept me going. If I'd thought anything had happened to you or the boys… I just feel like I let everyone down, I couldn't get us out of there."

"Jean-Luc! You haven't done a thing wrong. But I want you to know… we will get through this… together. You're not alone anymore… no need for bravery, no need for Admiral Picard to put on a brave face. It's just you and me. I love you."

He closed his eyes, thought about her words for a moment, then remembered how this had all began, "Where's Ted? Is he okay?"

"He's fine… I left him in the kitchen getting a bowl of something… probably something deeply unhealthy." She replied, holding out her hand to him.

"Okay then… and the inquest?" he said, taking the offered hand in his own.

"Next month, the new year."

"Okay then… next month."

"That means they've reached a decision sooner than expected. Riker says this is a good thing. He's pulled every string he can to get the intel."

"I see…"

She moved slowly to kiss him on the cheek and he allowed it. "Come on… let me get you a snack and some tea; we'll sit in the garden room."

"I'd like that," he replied. He stood slowly, carefully and followed Beverly through the house. They would sit looking out over the garden from the safety of their home, together. They would talk if he felt up to it, but most importantly, he would be with her, the love of his life.