He'd been lying awake for hours. Hovering at the corners of his mind, the whispering siren call of the Borg lurked. He knew the sound wasn't real, he recognised it for what it was, the unexpressed trauma of his captivity. He also recognised with a growing sense of desperation that the extent of what he'd done, as well as what had been done to him, was about to hit him. And it wasn't going to go easy.

"Captain?" Troi enquired quietly.

He turned away from the wall to face the door of the room, "Counsellor..?" he trailed off unable to finish. What did it matter? She probably knew what he was trying to express better than he did.

"I arrived just a few moments ago Sir, I could sense you were awake, and having some… thoughts."

"That's putting it mildly Counsellor." He turned back away from her.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really. I don't think so…"

"Well, when you're ready Captain, I'll be here," she wasn't going to push him, he wasn't quite there yet, "Seeing as you're feeling more awake, how about I speak to Beverly about an early release for good behaviour?" she knew her friend was unwilling to let the Captain out of her sight, but she could also sense his growing desire for some independence.

"I'd… I'd really like that." He paused for a moment before continuing, "Deanna? What time is it?" he said, turning toward her once more.

"It's a little after 0430 hours Sir."

"It's early, did I wake you?"

"No sir, don't worry. I was already awake – early shift," she paused, wondering if he would keep talking. He did not, "Is that a new cast?"

"Oh, this?" he lifted his arm, the hydraulics in the cast hissing as he bent the elbow, "Yes, Beverly tells me it's the latest…"

Deanna moved toward him, perching on the end of his bed, "How does it feel?"

"It er, it's fine. It's quite comfortable… I erm… I had the opportunity to see what's underneath yesterday."

"Oh?"

"Yes, it's really quite…"

"The injuries you incurred were severe."

"Indeed."

"What do you know about your prognosis?"

"Well… I'm recovering nicely so I'm told." His leg twitched noticeably underneath the blanket covering him. He gasped at the sensation, lowering his eyes. "It keeps doing that."

She could sense the shame he felt, what was at the stem of it? A fear of vulnerability? Of weakness?

"Sir?"

"It's not always my leg, sometimes my hand, my arm, my fingers. I don't seem to be quite in control of myself."

She drew closer then, placed her hand on his leg gently. "And what does Beverly say about that?"

"I haven't told her," he confessed.

She voiced her surprise with a well-timed quirk of an eyebrow.

"I know. I will… I just didn't think I would need to, she's got me hooked up to every kind of monitor we have I think."

"But you're in excellent hands."

"I am… just perhaps… slightly overbearing ones."

"She cares about you, we all do."

"I know." He closed his eyes against a further spasm in the same leg, groaning softly in discomfort.

"But you want out."

"I do."

"Well leave it with me, I'll see what I can do," she rose to leave, patting the Captain's good arm in an attempt to reassure him, connect with him.

"Good luck Counsellor," he said, turning back on his side.

Some time later, he woke with a start. He had no recollection of drifting off to sleep but nevertheless, he had apparently done so. Sickbay was really messing with his body clock. He had no idea how long he'd been back on board his ship, and thanks to the low lighting in his room, no idea what time of day – or night – it might be.

He heard a clatter out in the corridor and a shadow fell across the entrance to his room. An intense flash of fear struck him for a second. They weren't here, he was safe. That cube had been destroyed. He was safe.

"Oh great, you're awake!"

It was Beverly. He felt the heightened sense of panic stand down but not before she had taken the opportunity to check out the indicators on the monitor, "What's the matter Jean-Luc?"

She stepped quickly over to his bed, ran her hand over the unencumbered areas of his forehead, "Are you feeling okay?"

He took her hand in his, and slowly sat himself up. He dropped his head, and took a few deep, calming breaths.

"I'm fine," he whispered, rubbing at the top of the cast on his arm.

"You can't fool modern technology Jean-Luc, the indicators went crazy there. Did something happen?"

"I just…" he fought for the right words, "I thought for a second that perhaps… but I'm fine now. I must have been sleeping very deeply."

She smiled sympathetically. He wasn't going to discuss this further.

"Well, if you're sure you're feeling alright now?"

He nodded once.

"Deanna and I have been talking, I am happy to announce that I am going to release you from the horrors of sickbay – don't get too excited. I'm going to downgrade the remaining plasts, and run you through another regen treatment first which will take a little time. Oh and don't think I'd forgotten – I want you to eat some decent breakfast too."

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, he should have felt happier. Somehow, what he should feel and how he did feel really weren't in agreement anymore. The little he'd managed to eat of Riker's omelette the night before was still sitting heavily in his stomach.

"Okay, good," he replied, even he could hear the flatness in his tone.

"That's what I thought…" Beverly said, concern written all over her face. "Let's get on with it then huh? Roll over mister, let me see that back."

He did as he was told and Beverly helped him to remove his shirt. She prodded at the various healing sections of the skin on his back looking for signs of degradation. Every patch of new skin seemed to be filled with raw nerves that sparked sending zinging shocks through his nervous system every time Beverly touched him. He lay there desperately trying to keep still but in the face of the overwhelming sensations racking through his body, he was failing miserably.

"I'm sorry Jean-Luc, just hold on a second more. I know it's uncomfortable."

"That is one way of putting it Doctor," he rumbled against the bed.

"Believe it or not, those sensations are good news… means everything is working as it should be. A few days ago, you didn't have any neuron transfer going on. Not nice for you, but great to see from my perspective."

"As long as you're happy…" he barked the last word involuntarily as a particularly powerful sensation shocked him.

"Good…" she ignored him, lost in concentration. "Now, turn back around, let me help."

She helped him manoeuvre onto his back and repeated her ministrations on his chest and stomach, "This is all looking so great… I think we might need a little more plast time in a couple of deeper spots here…" she indicated to his left hip, and a little further up his stomach where a control panel had been embedded, "but you are healing very well. You must have an excellent personal physician."

She swapped over the new plasts efficiently and quickly trying to restrict the amount of time he would feel exposed. He managed a sharp laugh through his discomfort.

"Okay, sit up now. There, done."

"It's over?"

"Jean-Luc, anyone would think you weren't enjoying this?" she got a smile out of him, "I just want to have a look at your head and face now. Still feeling okay? Want a little break?" she asked, noticing that he was beginning to turn pale.

"Perhaps some tea?"

"Absolutely, coming right up." She turned to the replicator, "Tea, Earl Grey, hot." She turned back to him hopefully, "and something to eat? Croissant?"

He shook his head as she handed him the drink, "I don't think it would stay down right now," he admitted.

He sipped cautiously at his drink, feeling better with every sip. Beverly busied herself with clearing away the used plasts and turning back the blankets from his bed.

"I think I can handle the next stage now."

"Coming right up. Now then, this will probably feel a little more…"

"Hideous?" he offered.

"Well, it won't feel pleasant I'm afraid," she started to remove the plasts from the side of his face and head. The areas underneath were still raw, and were edged with grey, mottled tissue, "Want to see?"

He swallowed, then nodded. Beverly handed him a mirror and he raised it to take his first look at what the Borg had left of his face. He studied his reflection turning his head so he could see the damage to the side and back of his head. He looked like the horror version of a calico cat; patches of red raw glistening skin surrounded by mottled dying flesh vied for space with what was left of his human skin.

"It's not so bad Jean-Luc. You won't be left with any scars. If it weren't so deep, I could have made it all instantly better. Superficial we can do, anything deeper requires a little more intervention," she said giving him the opportunity to focus on her voice rather than his injuries. He looked terrible. If it were her face, she would be devastated.

"Doctor…" he warned, "Don't coddle me, I look monstrous." He lowered the hand mirror for a moment, then raised it once more.

He stared at his reflection for a few moments longer watching as Beverly finished sticking the new downgraded plasts in place. He looked like an inverted Borg now. White patches instead of the heavy black machinery, he shuddered at the fresh memory of the assimilation process. The pain…

"There, done. You did very well. These are the downgraded number ones – they're going to stay on for another week but I don't see any medical reason to keep you here any longer. I can see you on an outpatient basis, once a day for a check-up and a regen treatment. Jean-Luc? Okay? Oh, and you're going to need this." She handed him a neat black sling for his arm, "Don't be pushing that arm, it needs gentle movement only, nothing too strenuous."

He probed the edges of the new plasts, and nodded his agreement as she hooked the sling over his head and moved his arm so it was cradled against his belly.

"A little breakfast and a regen treatment and the day is yours Captain," she turned to leave with her supplies. "I'll be arranging the physio team to stop by, put you through your paces. We can't have the captain in anything less than tiptop condition now can we?"

He smiled cautiously, shaking his head, not quite trusting his voice to reply.

"Deanna mentioned you were having a little trouble with some muscle spasms?" he nodded, shame flushing his cheeks. "I don't think it's anything to worry about, the scans I ran would have picked something up otherwise." She sat down next to him taking his good hand in hers, "Jean-Luc, this is going to take time. They really did a number on you. You were gone for six days – your body is going to have to get used to existing without the Borg implants and I think that accounts for the spasms. To be sure though, I'm going to run you under a micro-cellular body scan tomorrow morning." She stood, preparing to get him some clothes in which to make the journey back to his cabin.

He reached out with his free arm to take her hand as she passed, "Beverly… thank you. For all that you have done for me."

"That my dear Captain, was all part of the deal. Don't tell anyone else, but secretly, you are my favourite patient."