He sprang awake terrified. They were here, he knew they were here.

"Computer, status." He barked.

"The Enterprise is currently docked at McKinley Station and running night duty shift, Commander Data has the Bridge. All decks report all clear. The ambient temperature is-"

"Stop."

He levered himself up carefully on his good arm, looking about him in the dark. Just a dream, it was just a dream.

He rose and went into the bathroom. He needed to shower, his skin felt disgusting. He peeled off his sweaty nightwear and ran the shower. He stepped in and let the warm water cascade over his body. The ever-present cast activated its own waterproof shield and water droplets bounced off it as he showered.

When he had finished, he felt marginally better. He still couldn't shake the feeling that at any moment, they would come for him. They were still out there… no matter what had happened to that cube, there were more of them and he knew it.

It was so quiet in his cabin. He could hear the sound of his own ragged breathing, the sound of a wretched man.

He grabbed a towel and dried himself off carefully hesitantly then reached for a fresh pair of shorts and a shirt.

He dressed quickly, avoiding the sight of the remaining plasts and the bright pink patches of vulnerable fresh new skin.

"Computer. Time."

"The time is 0350 hours."

He didn't know what he was going to do to pass the long hours before dayshift. If he was honest with himself, he didn't really know what benefit dayshift would bring, he would still be in the same position.

"Computer, play audio book."

"Please specify."

"Never mind… computer, audio Starfleet status report, Terran system Fleet Admiral's log, playback two weeks."

He lay down on his bed as the computer started playing back the Fleet Admiral's reports of the events leading from their discovery of Borg activity. Through the hours of reports, logs, communiqué, and detritus of fleet activity he listened attentively. He listened as his capture was reported, heard Will's voice recount the events on the bridge. He heard the fleet admiral's preparations for engaging the Borg. Heard more than one voice declare his death, that he would never turn on the Federation, never let himself be taken over and reduced to a drone. But he had and it had been so easy for them.

Then there was a dark space. He heard the live action recordings of every ship involved in the battle, all in real time. Starfleet had already compiled the recordings into a deadly accurate second by second account. 39 ships… 11,000 lives lost. He had known that of course, known in fine mathematical detail exactly each ship's complement, and the exact moment each ship had lost the fight. 11,000 lives. He couldn't even comprehend the extent of what he had done. 11,000 lives.

And then somehow it was morning. The lights in his quarters rose to his daytime setting but he didn't notice. He sat on the edge of his bed, silent tears rolling down his face, overwhelmed with the emotions that were now free from the compartment in which he had stowed them. What had he done?

From her own quarters, Deanna knew the very instant the Captain had broken. She had been waiting, reaching out to him empathically through each day and night, trying to sense his readiness. And here it was.

She tapped at her communicator as she went, "Troi to Crusher."

"Crusher here."

"Meet me in the Captain's quarters."

"On my way."

Deanna jogged through the corridor along to his quarters and used her override to open the door.

"Captain?"

She heard him first, breathing heavily, squeaks of the tears he was trying to stop breaking through the silence. She followed the sound, finally spotting him crouching on the floor next to his bed. He was desperately trying to get his emotions under control but not succeeding.

"Captain? There you are, oh it's okay, it's going to be okay," she rushed to him.

"Deanna?" Beverly called from the main section of his quarters.

"In here."

"Jean-Luc?" she called, jogging into the bedroom.

"Captain? Do you think you can stand?" she asked supporting him under his good elbow, helping him get purchase and stand. He leaned heavily on her, taking advantage of all the support she offered.

The Captain and Troi moved into the main living area slowly, carefully.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

He shook his head and took a huge shuddering, hitching breath. He was drenched in sweat, his pyjamas clinging to his back.

"Do you mind if I take a guess?"

Another shake of his head.

"I think that the enormity of what happened to you is starting to hit home. Does that sound about right?"

He nodded his head this time and took shaky steps on his own, he needed more space. He staggered, overwhelmed for a moment by his knee going out under him, and reached out for the back of a chair to steady himself. Beverly took his good arm, and led him gently to the sofa helping him to sit. She went back into his bedroom for his robe.

"I don't think I can handle this." He rubbed at his good wrist to stem the tingling spasm he could feel building in his hand.

"Handle what, Captain?"

"This… this," he threw the delinquent arm out gesturing to the room at large.

"What do you mean?"

"I listened to the reports. I… couldn't sleep," he sniffed before continuing. "I asked the computer to play back the Fleet Admiral's reports. 11,000 people…"

"And thirty-nine ships," Deanna added gently, she wasn't going to keep anything from him. She was appalled that he had put himself under so much pressure so early on. She was also more than a little annoyed that she hadn't thought to limit his access to such material. "Captain, I really wish I could have been with you when you accessed those reports."

"Yes. And I did that."

"No Captain. You did not. The Borg took you, held you captive against your will. Changed you, forced you to speak for them, used your Starfleet knowledge without your permission."

"I couldn't stop them."

"But you did stop them. You are here. You made it back."

"I killed all those people… destroyed the fleet…"

"No you did not. There is not one bit of you that made that choice. The Borg used you to speak for them, yes. They took your knowledge, yes. But Jean-Luc Picard did not give the order to destroy. To end those lives.

"I couldn't stop them. I wasn't enough."

"Captain, nobody would have been," she wrapped her arm across his shoulder and felt him shuddering, trying to stop fresh tears. She could see his foot jerking rhythmically almost in time with his hitching breath.

"They just… I couldn't stop them. They made me…" he broke down again. Tears rolling down his face.

Beverly sat down beside him so he was sandwiched between them. She smoothed his back draping the robe over him, he was covered in goosebumps and had started to shiver, every one of his muscles seemed primed, ready to attempt an escape. Classic fight or flight. She shot a worried glance toward Deanna.

"Captain. You are one of the strongest people I know. They took you, changed you, hurt you. They made you speak for them and forced you to communicate the atrocity that they enacted against the Federation. But you did stop them. They did not reach Earth. You did stop them. You were strong enough."

He sniffed, he had no recollection of what she was saying. Those final moments as Locutus were fuzzy, stored improperly thanks to the partial severance from the Collective, "What..?"

Deanna had wondered how much he could remember of his ordeal. There was so little known about the Borg, and no survivor had ever lived to tell the tale, until now. They were all stabbing in the dark.

"You were connected to Data, he was trying to find a sub-command pathway through which to destroy the Borg and the cube. You gave him the route command, 'sleep'."

"I don't remember…"

"You were strong enough Captain. You broke through, you finished it. Without you, we would not be sitting here right now looking out at Earth."

"I… I didn't realise… I don't remember…"

"Sir, you don't have to do this all in one go. It is going to take time for you to process what happened to you," she took his good hand in hers, forced him to look her in the eye, "We're going to help you. You do not have to do this alone."

"I don't think I can do this at all…"

"Jean-Luc," said Beverly reverently. "We can help you, there are lots of methods we can try to help you process this. We are going to help you, you aren't doing this alone."

He turned to look at Beverly, eyes shining with unshed tears. He wiped at his face, and dropped his head. He took a deep breath, his good hand going to his head forgetting momentarily about the plasts there, recoiling when his fingers bumped against them.

"I'm so tired…"

"I know, and I bet your head is hurting too right?"

He nodded, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Well, I think you will feel a little better after a good sleep."

"No, please. I can't face it…"

"Jean-Luc, let me give you something to help you sleep - you won't have any dreams. You need to heal, you need some proper sleep. Those dreams are important, but we can worry about them tomorrow."

He nodded his tacit agreement. Beverly pulled him up, pointed him in the direction of the shower. While he was in the bathroom for the second time, she dialled up the sedative she had in mind ready for him.

"Deanna, this is so hard to watch."

"I know. This is almost certainly the worst trauma case I have encountered. A brand new experience nobody has ever come back from before. Starfleet Medical is sending someone over later. I'm interested in his input… but I do have some tricks up my sleeve."

Picard came out of the bathroom, in fresh pyjamas, a towel around his neck.

"Feeling a little fresher?"

"Yes, thank you," he got himself tucked into bed

"Just so you know, between you and me, this should only be administered in sickbay. I'm breaking a lot of rules, just for you," she whispered as she pressed the hypospray into his neck.

"For once, I am very glad Doctor. Just this once…" he replied, already drifting off to a deep and dreamless slumber.

"Just this once."