He was ripped from sleep with a gasp. Suddenly desperate for air, panting, the sensation of… something bristling down his back. He'd been dreaming, running; arms, legs, breath all working in perfect harmony. It was the route he used to run back in school in La Barre, through vineyards, mostly owned by his father, through woods, up hills, long stretches of old Roman roads left intact. He'd been leading the pack by a few metres, the sensation all too real. He just had to round the bend, turn up the heat a notch, then the race would be his.

He sat up, eyes darting around the room. His gaze landed on the terminal next to the bed reminding him where and when he was, something he still occasionally had need of. Then Beverly's voice, humming quietly as she showered, her uniform draped over the armchair near the bathroom door, the scent of lemons leaching out into the bedroom. Morning, then.

He lay back down, his mind drifting, eyes falling to a close, sleep calling to him again.

Again, he woke with a start as though he'd surfaced from deep beneath the water. He looked about him, searching for something familiar, something to tether him to the moment.

Beverly…

There she sat, at the end of the bed. Her back was to him, she was leaning forward pulling off first one boot, then the other. She turned when she heard his gasp for air, smiling instantly.

"Jean-Luc, you're awake at last." She said, rising to walk around the bed to him.

A gentle breeze puffed the curtains into the room revealing a low-hanging moon and the first stars peeking out like jewels. The scent of honeysuckle rose in the air, and he could make out the distant clanging of someone in the kitchen.

"Beverly…" he croaked.

"It's okay, you're okay…" she soothed. She pulled him into a tight hug then helped him sit back against the pillows, turned the duvet down and took his hands in hers. "We're in San Francisco, officers' digs." She supplied, worried that he may have lapsed back into a confused state given that he'd been sleeping for so long.

"I know… I know." And somehow, he did know, this time. "How long?" he asked. Something told him there was some missing time, some kind of internal clock that had skipped a beat somehow.

"A few days…"

He rubbed at his eyes, his mind felt cloudy, muddled. She poured a glass of water from the jug on the bedside table, passed it to him and helped him lift it to his mouth, her hands guiding his. He drank greedily, suddenly aware of his raging thirst.

"Careful, not too much." She said taking the glass and placing it back on the table.

He stared at her, couldn't quite believe that she was here with him. In a flash it all came back to him, the kiss that had kick-started everything, the times he'd woken to find her there with him, lying next to him, getting ready for her day, coming home to him every evening.

"I love you." he said, overcome with the intensity of what he felt for her. Three little words, so inadequate.

"And I love you." she replied, smiling but holding her hand to his head to feel for fever anyway. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm not sure… like I've been in deep space for months…" he paused, his hunger suddenly audible in the quiet of the room, "Hungry, I suppose."

She laughed, "Well, I'm sure we can do something about that. Think you can make it downstairs?"

He nodded, "Via the bathroom I think." He sat up again, turned himself so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Carefully, slowly he pushed himself up, glad for Beverly's support as the blood rushed to his feet.

"Take it easy, no rush."

He looked to her again, her presence overwhelming him. He smiled and took a few shaky steps toward the bathroom.

When they reached the table in the kitchen, he was more than glad to take the first seat. Banda was there, somehow having sensed his need for nourishment and tea, busying herself getting a simple meal ready for him.

"Well, there's Sleeping Beauty…" she smiled, her face warm and friendly as always. "What'll you have now? Some toast?"

"Yes, thank you." He replied, his stomach churning.

She placed a plate full of buttered toast, poached eggs, and mushrooms in front of him. Watched as he tucked in quickly, pausing only for the occasional sip of tea.

"Hungry then?"

"That's what three days of solid sleep will get you." Said Beverly, sipping at her own drink.

He put down his cutlery, "Three days?"

"That was some party wasn't it?" Banda said, jokingly.

"Quite." He whispered, tucking into his food again. He felt lost, not dissimilar to the sensation of disorientation he'd felt after Kataan and that business with the probe. Like his life was familiar, but not quite right. He swallowed down a bite of food, felt it sticking in his throat, "What time is it?"

"A little after 9… evening." Replied Beverly. She could see how lost he was, how disorientated.

He puffed out his cheeks in surprise, "Well then… wow."

Beverly smiled at him reassuringly, then rose from the table, "I'll be right back, I was just getting out of this." She finished, gesturing at her uniform, kissing the top of his head.

He watched her leave the room then put down his cutlery, suddenly too full, the food now distasteful. A surge of emotion swirled in his belly. He couldn't decipher what he was feeling, everything felt somehow immense, beyond his ability to comprehend. His breath quickened and he felt the first sting of tears in his eyes. He wiped at them, hoping Banda wouldn't notice.

Within a second, he needn't have been concerned, he started to weep visibly, audibly and couldn't do a thing to stop it.

"Oh dear me, hey… it's okay." Banda went to him immediately crouching down on the floor. She took his hands in hers passing him a tissue.

"I'm sorry." he said, breath hitching. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sorry."

He took his hands back, dropped his head into his hands and still the tears came. Banda stood so she could hug him, her instinct to care and protect overcoming any sense of decorum.

Her position on the Medical staff was a unique one. Her sole responsibility was to take care of the fleet captains who had fallen back to Earth; those who had been injured, sick, tortured. Something that happened a little too often for her liking. These guys really were on the frontier of the galaxy – an expanse she was glad to have left behind for this job. She didn't like to think about how she was called into service time and time again, installed into one of these little houses on the campus. An area reserved solely for high rankers. When she ventured out, she'd see one or two others, broken men and women being pieced back together by the institution responsible for breaking them in the first place. She's seen it all, fully grown officers crying out in their sleep broken by nightmares, shadows of themselves barely making it through the day. Sometimes it was the injured ones, repairing their bodies was often the easy bit, what came next was always more challenging. Then there were the very rare few like Jean-Luc Picard struck down by some alien illness, brought back from the brink then supported as they recovered, very often slowly, so slowly. She was proud to serve the Federation, could see how much time, effort, and resources they put into supporting their officers, wished it didn't have to be like that.

She'd been taking care of him for weeks now. He was improving incrementally but as he left his illness behind, his core started to come back online and with it came supressed emotions, surging feelings. She bathed him, helped him change, she'd seen the faint silvery scars that covered his body. This one had been through it, out in space. She'd read about the Borg, knew he was responsible for ultimately saving Earth from annihilation. She'd been stationed out on DS6 back then, missed the whole thing thankfully. And here he was now, weeping in her arms.

Behind her she heard Beverly coming back down the stairs, walking into the room.

"Jean-Luc?"

He sniffed, wiped at his eyes, and still the tears came. Banda released him, more than happy for Beverly to take her place, it was easy to see what they meant to each other. "I think the Admiral is just feeling a little overwhelmed? Would you say?"

He sniffed again, started to feel like he had himself under control, "I think so… I don't uh…"

Beverly pulled him into a tight hug, soothed her hand in circles over his back. In moments, she could feel his breathing start to even out, he was getting himself back under control.

"I'm sorry." He said again pulling away from her, wiping at his eyes.

She rubbed a tear from his cheek, "Hey, there's no need to be sorry. This is perfectly normal, you've been through so much Jean-Luc. In fact, I'd be more worried if you weren't feeling so emotional."

"That's right Admiral, I've seen them all weeping like babies, and none of you hotshots is immune, no matter which ship you come from."

He laughed, wiping away a final errant tear, "Well then…" he said, then broke into laughter again. His arms were crossed on the table in front of him so he dropped his head, took a deep breath, glad for the dark cocoon he had made for himself.

"Jean-Luc?"

"Would you believe it if I told you how tired I am?" he said from corner of his mouth. His muffled laughter turned neatly into a yawn he could not supress.