Later on, he found himself decked in sweats and lying on a mat on the floor of the physio suite. His mind was wondering all over the place, and he was struggling to listen to the physio tech as much as he was struggling to make his body yield to his requests. In the background of his awareness, he could hear the the continued chattering of instructions but he couldn't seem to tune into the words the tech was saying. He wiped at a tear that had escaped his eye… how long had he been crying?

"Sir?" the tech asked cautiously.

He wiped at his eyes and sniffed. He needed to pull himself together. "I'm fine. Please, continue."

The meeting with the admirals had gone about as well as could be expected given his current condition – he had held it together, listened, followed what they were saying. They had told him about the memorial service, and about the honour he was being awarded. He had accepted the news without emotion, he had no idea how he felt about either notion.

He just felt the way he always did since his return, his new normal: flat, tired, afraid. It seemed too big somehow for him to process adequately. For now, his consciousness seemed content to store it all away for later. Still though, all those people… He only knew with certainty, that there was no way he could show his face at any memorial. No way at all.

He was mostly numb to everything that was going on around him. Every now and again, reality would tap into the dead space inside his head. He realised that the physiotherapist was still working on his leg but thanks to the Borg, he had still to attempt to reattach mind and body. He felt disconnected from his physical experiences like they were tuned out, irrelevant.

"That's it Captain, just try and move that leg in one smooth motion… up from the floor. Not quite - here let me guide you. May I?" the young lieutenant asked, afraid to lay hands on his CO.

Bringing him back to the present, Picard nodded his agreement. The physio took hold of Picard's left leg and gently guided the unwieldy appendage through the exercise that he hadn't been able to manage for himself.

"Now these movements are based on the practice of Pilates – a form hundreds of years old but one recognised as brilliant rehabilitation for injuries such as… well, similar to yours Sir."

The Captain consciously tuned in to his physical state, grunted with the effort of keeping his muscles alert even though the lieutenant was doing most of the work. At the top of the movement, his leg contracted unexpectedly. Picard gasped at the shock and pain, he was helpless against the limb's sudden contortion and it landed heavily back on the mat. He closed his eyes as much from embarrassment as from the awful sensation now gripping him from toe to hip. Jarring nerves sparked sending aggressive pins and needles through the nerves running the length of his leg.

"Oh Sir! I'm sorry! Let me run and get a relaxant – just stay there, I'll be right back!"

He felt helpless, with one arm out of action, and his leg contorting painfully he could do little about the unfortunate position he was in, and even less about bringing an end to the horrible sensations wracking his body. He lay alone in pain.

He closed his eyes, trying to calm the sensations threatening to overwhelm him. Silent tears rolled from his eyes and he was helpless to stop them. From the distance, he heard the doors to the suite open and someone shout for the light level to increase. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his good arm, sniffed and turned his head away.

"Okay, let's get this under control. Lieutenant?" Beverly called for her assistant to take hold of the Captain's leg as she pressed a muscle relaxant into his neck. "Just ease the leg out from that position, relax it right down… okay." She turned her attention to the owner of the leg, "Jean-Luc? Are you with us?"

He felt her smoothing her hands across his chest, could picture the reassuring smile she would have on her face. He cracked his eyes open and flopped his head toward the direction of her voice.

"Hey there… is that feeling better?"

He nodded slowly, his leg was feeling remarkably relaxed now and the cessation of the nerve pain was a relief to say the least. Trouble was, the relaxant was having a similar effect on the rest of his body, he felt too heavy to even contemplate movement.

"Here, we'll help you." Beverly nodded to her assistant and between them, they managed to lift the Captain to his feet. He dangled between them almost completely helplessly, muscles he didn't even know he had were dropping and relaxing.

"Crusher to transporter room?"

"Go ahead doctor."

"Three to beam directly to sick bay, energise."

In seconds, Beverly and the lieutenant had managed to unceremoniously drape the dead weight of the Captain onto the nearest biobed. Within seconds, his eyes gave up the battle against gravity and drooped to a close as well.

He could sense a growing bustle of medics crowding around the freshly materialised threesome but he couldn't do a thing about the unwanted attention. He started to think she'd injected a brain relaxant as well, everything felt deliciously numb.

Before anyone could state the obvious, Beverly owned up, "I know, I know, don't say it… I dosed him… waaay too much." And that was the last he heard for a good long while as sleep claimed him for the second time that day.

When he woke a few hours later, he found himself in the main area of sickbay tucked in the corner of the room. A blanket had been pulled up over him, and a pillow tucked under his bad arm. He had no idea what time it was, nor even if he had managed to sleep right through the night, he also didn't really care. As long as he'd managed to sleep without being assailed by imagined Borg drones creeping through the shadows.

He sat up, swung his legs to the deck, and started to try to stand. His knees felt like jelly.

"Sir! Wait a second there Captain, let me get the doctor." A passing medic alerted to the movement was now visibly terrified by having to deal with the CO alone.

He paused for a moment, blood rushing to his head, dizziness stopping him from getting up and leaving for his quarters, what was he doing here again anyway?

"Jean-Luc, hold on just lay back there…"

"Beverly?" he did as he was told.

"What do you remember?"

"I was in the physio suite… my leg… then, nothing. I can't remember."

"Well, as it happens Captain, it's me who should be sorry."

He quirked an eyebrow, genuinely confused by the day's sequence of events. So much had happened.

"You're leg went into spasm – a pretty strong one. I administered a dose of muscle relaxant and well… gave you rather too much. I knocked you right out and had you transported here."

"What?" now he was even more confused.

"I'm so sorry Jean-Luc, when I saw how much pain you were in… I just overcompensated. You've been out for three hours." She looked down sheepishly, almost afraid of his reaction.

"Three hours?!" he sat up again, this time determined to take some control over the at least what was left of the day. "I need to get back to my quarters." He said as he stood slowly on shaky legs.

"Okay, I'm not going to keep you here. How about I get you a little something to eat, some water? Then I will walk you home?"

"Beverly…" he growled, a warning against the coddling he could sense.

"I'm about to go off duty and it would make me feel better if nothing else?" she added, guilt flushing her cheeks.

"Okay, fine. Very well."

"Great! Wait there!"

She dashed off toward the replicator returning in minutes with a bowl of soup and a bread roll and perched on the end of his bed while he ate.

He didn't feel in control of anything. The day had been mapped out for him. He'd lurched from one terrible event to another and even though he'd had more than enough enforced sleep for the day, he was exhausted. He just didn't want to face going to sleep, couldn't handle the prospect of what his dreams might have in store for him.