The doors to his quarters whispered open and as he walked in, the lights automatically rose to 25%, the way he liked it after a long shift. The way he used to like it.

"Computer, raise lights to 75%"

The doors closed behind him making him jump. He stood for a moment, taking in his surroundings, breathing slowly, consciously. It had been almost two weeks since he'd last been here. He half expected some sort of visible and fundamental change but… that was just an internal deal.

He turned his attention to the expansive view port ahead of him. He could make out the clamping arm of what he thought must be McKinley Space Station gently cradling the Enterprise, then Earth beyond … beautiful, serene, blue and green, swirling cloud encircling it like a wreath. He moved unsteadily closer to the port stretching out his good arm to touch the glass, feeling the need to connect with all that he had nearly lost. All that he had nearly destroyed.

He sat down urgently as images of the cube's interior barraged across his mind. Like a flash of darkness and awful terror, he saw only the green and black colour scheme of the Borg, heard the whispering collective from the inside, the commands, the terror of the newly assimilated, his own resistance feeding back on itself in an endless loop in those first horrific days. He dropped his head into his good hand, overwhelmed with grief for what had happened on that ship. The pain he had endured. The nanoprobes creeping through his blood, the burning sensation as implants sprang out from beneath his flesh. His leg jerked unnoticed bashing into the coffee table leg with every spasm. His hand went to the side of his head. He could feel it again… the intensity of it. What had they done to him?

"Computer close viewport blind," he barked as he rose, "Water. Cold."

He sipped at the ice-cold water, letting its coolness quench his thirst feeling it as it travelled down through his digestive system.

"Computer. Lower lights to 5%."

He hoped the darkness might help him to relax, to forget. He longed for the solitude of deep, dreamless sleep. Some way to pass the time without him having to feel like this. He wished he could just sleep until his experience was… assimilated.

Beverly had allowed him two hours of bridge duty but he wasn't ready. He had almost asked to be transported from sickbay to his quarters. He didn't want to face the crew. Didn't want to walk through sickbay passing the survivors he assumed would be there in the main section. He couldn't even quite get his body to move on his command. His journey back to his quarters had been stiff, jerky. He hated it.

How was this supposed to go? How was he supposed to make this better?

As if on cue, the door announcer sounded. He moved toward the door and stood a step back cautiously as he opened it. Who could possibly want to see him?

"Counsellor," of course. "Please, come in."

"Thank you. May I?" she asked gesturing toward the armchair.

"Please," he replied, standing frozen in the doorway.

"I thought you might be ready to talk about what happened to you on the Borg cube?"

No preamble then, she must have sensed his distress. He hated being so transparent.

"You were there, you know what happened."

"Captain, I know you deeply do not wish to discuss your captivity, I know you don't feel like you even can discuss it. But I also know that you need to talk about it."

"I don't… I can't…" he couldn't find the words, he tried a different tack, "I'm so tired."

"I know."

"I don't know where to begin."

"They took you from the bridge…"

He closed his eyes. He knew to the microsecond what had happened to him, could recall it all in chronological, perfect order. Every moment seared into his memory by the Borg's infinitely logical filing system. He ambled to the sofa, sat down without meeting her eyes.

"They injected me with something here on the bridge first, then transported me. When we materialised… they were already…" he tapped the uninjured side of his head.

"In your mind, a part of you."

"Yes. And then, I wasn't really part of anything anymore. All my decisions, all my movements… everything was already decided. It all just happened around me without any conscious input from me."

"That must have been very strange."

"Not really counsellor, that's the thing."

"Go on."

"Well, my consciousness was like a spare part, not required, no thought processes for the most part. There were moments of awareness, when my fury, the pain… I couldn't do anything about any of it. For most of it, my interior self was just inert, numb to it all. It didn't really matter. My resistance was… futile."

"And this concerns you?"

"Wouldn't it you?" he fired back quickly.

"You feel like you should have been able to fight back? To overcome what was done to you?"

He thought about it for a second before he replied weakly, "I suppose so. When you put it like that…"

"Like what?" she asked. For a second, his anger at being pushed flared against the mental barrier she had in place. She didn't want to face the depth of emotion he was projecting, she needed to protect herself if she was going to be of any use.

"Well, I suppose I have always been able to get out of tight situations before. Always been able to find a way out, to save myself."

"Tight situations? That would be one way to put it."

"What do you mean?" he asked, genuinely confused.

"Captain, the Borg aren't a tight situation… they are the most formidable species we have ever encountered. They took you against your will, held you captive, violated you; used your mind, altered your body. They hurt you very badly."

"I know that." He whispered.

"And I think it's important that you remember the context here. You are the first and only survivor to have been… reclaimed."

"I didn't think…" he drifted off coming to a natural stop. Deanna could sense that he was shutting down, that he needed time to process what she had said. That was enough for today. She readied herself for one of his trademark passive dismissals.

"I think perhaps I might turn in, have an early night. Maybe tomorrow we can pick this up?"

"Of course we can Captain. I'll be here, when you're ready," she said, standing to leave. "It's good to see you out of sickbay Sir."

He replied with a tight nod, not trusting his voice. He really was feeling very tired.