When Beverly Crusher arrived home later that day, he'd been dozing on the sofa. Drifting in and out, lulled by the gentle sounds of the ocean lapping at the shore. His arms were crossed over his chest, legs sticking straight out, and his mouth had dropped open at some point. Added to that was the awkward position of his head and the sound of his gentle snoring, which, Beverly thought, added up to the very opposite of the consummate Starfleet Captain persona she knew was important to him.
She kissed him on the cheek then left him to it and wondered into the kitchen. She had the rest of the day to herself and really, his check-up was the most spurious of official reasons for managing to wrangle an early finish. He'd promised her afternoon tea and she was going to take him up on that, he knew she had a soft spot for tiny sandwiches and macaron.
"Hey Banda, how are you?" she asked.
Banda whipped round, surprised by the voice joining her in the kitchen, "Oh Doctor Crusher, there you are – can I get you something? A coffee? I've just made one?"
"Coffee would be perfect, thank you." She paused, took a sip of her drink, felt it sooth her inside out. "So, tell me honestly, how're you coping with the captain?"
Beverly knew she herself had years of experience when it came to this particular captain, knew she had him wrapped round her little finger, even if he would never have said so.
"Well, I don't think he's one for enjoying a little time out really. He's quite er…" she paused, trying to find a suitable word that wasn't offensive. "Quite er… well. He-"
"Say no more, I completely understand Banda." Interjected Beverly rescuing the woman from certain slander. "He can be very difficult. Believe me, I've had to put up with him in my sickbay more times that I would care to." She finished, smiling.
"Well, as long as you said it and not me," said Banda, winking. "No, he's fine, I've had far worse. And it's not like he'll be running rings round me any time soon. Poor thing, my heart breaks for him really."
The two women enjoyed their drinks together, safe in their shared knowledge of Captain Picard's more private moments. Soon enough, Beverly heard him call from the living room, his voice husky and weak.
"Beverly? Is that you?"
"Yes, it's me Jean-Luc – wait there I'm coming through."
The second she walked into the room she could tell his temperature was elevated and that he was in some not inconsiderable pain. The original infection he'd endured had a nasty habit of reactivating every now and again, and he had almost no control of his thermoregulation system. He was trying to get comfortable on the sofa, and clearly failing. His skin was flushed bright red, and his face was tight with pain.
"Don't suppose," he grunted. "You've got some sort of hypo-spray in your medbag have you?"
For him to have asked, he must have really been feeling bad. She rushed over to him and put her hand to his forehead, he was burning hot, that had come on very suddenly. She wasn't worried just yet, this had happened numerous times since his release from Medical and they'd developed a pretty sure-fire protocol of medication to wrestle back control of his immune system before it spiralled out of control.
"Oh, now Captain, what have I told you?" said Banda coming in with a tray of tea for him. "Don't let a beautiful woman get you so hot under the collar."
He managed a huffed laugh as he tried to move into a better position. Every bit of him was aching, he couldn't find a comfortable way of sitting without something else starting to hurt.
"Here, let me help…" Banda said. She held him up while she fixed a bank of cushions behind him and helped him draw his legs up onto the sofa, turning him so he could lie down.
Beverly hunted in her medkit for the hypo she'd brought and her tricorder, "Well then, looks like you'll have to suffer my company for the rest of the afternoon," she said as she pressed the hypo to his neck and then started scanning him. "We can't have you fading out on us like this…" she finished. She looked over him, taking in his glazed eyes and the pained expression on his face. She checked the tricorder again and noted his temperature was starting to come down now she had administered a generous dose of the medication they had found was best at treating both pain and heat. "Give it a second, we'll get you feeling better."
His face started to relax, and his eyes drooped under the influence of the potent medicine, "I'm so…sorry," he muttered. "I don't know what hap…happened…"
"Well so much for that afternoon tea you promised me." She said, smiling. She smoothed a blanket over him and ran her hand over his head, much cooler now. She would stay with him for the rest of the day, make sure the medication had finished off whatever had caused this relapse. She wouldn't send him back to Medical, if she did every time he had one of these episodes, he'd never make it out of there. She could handle this here, at least with Banda close by.
He slept soundly there on the sofa, and Beverly expected he would do so until the next morning. "Well, that was unexpected, how has he been today?"
"He was fine, pretty energetic – well, energetic for someone with post-viral fatigue anyway," replied Banda. "I caught him escaping out onto the balcony this morning on his own. He had some lunch, ate most of it, then he's been dozing there for about an hour before you arrived. Nothing to indicate this would happen."
"Don't worry, Banda. I wish we could explain it but it seems like this thing has a pretty long tail. Tricorder shows elevated temp, and elevated levels of infiltrates. We just can't knock it out."
When he woke the next morning, he felt like he'd been hit by a shuttle running at warp speed. He hadn't expected to wake in the bedroom, couldn't remember how he'd got there. Every part of him was hurting, he swallowed and felt like blades were lining his throat, he moved and his joints felt like they'd been filled with shards of glass. He groaned involuntarily, and tried to turn over.
When he lifted his head, he glanced at the huge picture window lining the wall. It was just coming to dawn, the light had a purple tint to it, the silence of the room somehow fragile, like it could be shattered at any moment. He let his head drop back against the pillows, wincing when his elbow struck the edge of the bedside cabinet a little too hard.
"That had to hurt."
"Beverly…" he whispered, his voice raw, husky. He put his hand to his arm, tried to rub away the pain. "How did I get here?" he asked, confused as to the change of location.
She walked further into the room and perched herself next to him on the bed. "You managed to walk, Winston helped."
"Oh," he replied flushing with shame at the thought of being carried unconscious through the house and up the stairs. Winston was the mysterious night aide he'd not actually met whilst awake.
"It's a good job he was here, we were worried about you."
"Why?" He asked genuinely confused.
"You don't remember?" he shook his head, wincing as he did so. "When I arrived yesterday, you were running a fever again, you were in a lot of pain. Your temp kept fluctuating, you weren't quite with it, and we couldn't get you out of pain."
He pushed himself cautiously up higher against the pillows, surprised, he had no recollection of any of it.
"I was worried there for a minute. How do you feel this morning?" she asked.
"Like I've been hit by a phaser on high stun?" he admitted.
"I'm not surprised. Are you hungry?"
He pushed himself up on his elbow trying to get some leverage. Slowly but surely, he managed to manoeuvre his body so he was sitting, and was starting to push up to a stand when his arms collapsed and he sank back onto the mattress.
"Maybe… some toast?"
"Think you can make it downstairs?"
"Maybe later… I'm not feeling in tip top condition this morning." he admitted
"Then you just sit tight, I'll be right back. Jean I…"
Interrupting her, he took her hands in his own, "I love you."
She slapped playfully at his chest, "I was going to say that. You don't play fair." She loved to hear him express his feelings for her so openly. If his illness had done anything, he seemed to be more willing to admit to what he had always held close to his chest. "Stay put, you've a big day ahead of you." She finished, kissing him on the cheek.
