So ladies and gentlemen, here it is... the final chapter in what turned out to be an epic in-fill. By far the longest thing I have ever written... I hope you've enjoyed it. There's some cannon dialogue in here tweaked the tiniest bit to make it work with my story. Let me know what you think!
Thank you to everyone who has commented and taken the time to leave a review - they really make my day. We writers are a sensitive bunch who generally need a lot of handholding - well, this writer is at least.
I've got another one in mind, unrelated to the events of this fic. So who knows, watch this space.
If you're ready... then I will begin...
A couple of days later, he arrived far too early for his first bridge shift, still hours away from day shift duty time. On exiting the turbo lift, he pre-empted any excitement by immediately announcing his own arrival.
"At ease Mister Data. I'll be in my ready room."
Data rose as he heard the sound of the Captain's voice, "Of course, Sir."
Grateful for the android's unflappable calm, Picard stalked into the ready room and headed straight to the replicator. He ordered a glass of cool water then took it to his desk. He sipped at the water, urging it to bolster his nerves. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and fought the impulse to leave the bridge, hide out in his quarters.
The PADD rack on his desk was over-stacked. Tidy towers of the latest reports on the ship's damage, crew rotation, leave requests, and his own medical reports overwhelmed him for a moment before he realised Riker must have had some system going.
He turned on his terminal then activated the logistics panel sifting and sorting through the information that had been building over the last few weeks. Riker had done a decent job of getting through the admin. He'd give him that.
Within a few hours, he was up to date and feeling a little more in control, like his old self. Lost in work, in the minutia of ship's business. A tea cup and saucer sat forgotten next to his terminal and when the chime to his door rang out, he jumped, startled by the interruption to the peace. He had always relished working during the night duty shift, far fewer interruptions, more opportunity to wade through the inevitable administration of being the Captain of the fleet's flagship.
"Come?" he shouted cautiously.
"Sir? Data said you were in here."
"Will, please come in." he replied, relieved. He could cope with his Number One.
"How are you doing?" Riker asked as he sat down in front of the desk, four pips in place on his collar.
"Oh, I'm fine." He tried. Riker quirked an eyebrow, and he knew he didn't really have anything to hide. "Well, I will be later on. The Doctor is removing these today." He finished, touching the plasts still in place on his head and the fresh ones on his re-injured arm.
"That's great! And you're going to take some leave?" It wasn't really a question.
"I am thinking about it, I need to make a few arrangements but, yes. In all likelihood I will be taking some additional leave." He admitted before changing the subject, "Now, care to bring me up to speed, Captain?"
Riker smiled, proud of his acting rank. He started updating Picard on everything that wasn't already included in the copious reports now littering the desk. The Captain listened attentively, maintained his focus but as Riker spoke, he could see him starting to pale, turn in on himself.
The Acting Captain manoeuvred his report to some sort of conclusion, hoping to encourage Picard to take a break, "And Earth Station McKinley has advised they're ready to begin refitting the Enterprise now that initial examination is complete."
"Have they estimated time for repairs?"
"Five or six weeks."
Even Picard was amazed at the length of time it would take to fix his ship… and he'd been the one to inflict the damage. He puffed out his cheeks to convey his surprise. Riker silently conveyed his sympathy. The ship was on its knees, as was the rest of the fleet – what was left of it at least. The shipyards would be run off their feet. As both men turned to read through the latest report, the door chimed again.
"Come." Said Picard and Riker at the same time. Turning to each other, Riker bowed his head, deferring command to Picard.
Shelby entered, looking to both captains unsure for a moment who she should be addressing. She opted for Riker.
"Request permission to disembark, Sir."
Riker nodded to Picard, "Permission granted. They've picked a fine officer for the task force, Commander." He said briskly.
"We'll have the fleet back up in a year." She said confidently, then turned to Riker, "I imagine you'll get your choice of any Starfleet command now, Sir."
Picard swallowed down the double swiping reminder of his actions as Locutus, the decimation of the fleet, and that he had put Riker in such a position in the first place.
With a confident glint in his eye, Riker replied, "Everyone is so concerned about my next job. With all due respect, Commander, Sir, my career plans are my own business, and no one else's. But it's nice to know I'll have a few options.
"I hope I have the fortune of serving with you again, Sir, Captain." She said by way of a goodbye to both men. And with that, she turned on her heels and left for the transporter room. Picard had no doubt he'd be seeing her again at the helm of her own command. He respected her drive, recognised her ambition, even if it had been a little too undisguised.
"Station McKinley are ready to begin on your say so, Sir." Riker said skilfully bringing an end to the work Picard needed to do.
"Make it so, Number One." He said, not looking up from his PADD. Riker recognised the dismissal and left to put in a call to Crusher, she could expect the Captain down in sickbay any minute.
Picard picked up his tea, then stiffened and placed the cup down again shakily. He went to the window and stared unseeing at the view before him. He needed to regroup, needed to find his place in the vast organisation that was Starfleet. He knew exactly who he was going to call when he'd been for his final regen treatment.
He strode through the corridors of his ship toward sick bay for what he hoped would be the last time for a very long time. He passed very few members of the crew remembering that many of them would be planet-side, taking the opportunity to visit home, loved ones who had come very close to being victims of the Borg.
He was getting better at the appearance of confidence. He'd long held the belief that sometimes, you had to act a certain way in order to convince yourself and others, that you truly did feel that way – an especially useful strategy to deploy as a starship captain.
Before his thoughts could get too maudlin and bogged down in his recent experiences, he found himself at the doors to sickbay. He was more than a little grateful when they opened, distracting him from his own head.
Beverly appeared suddenly, as if she had been waiting for him. Riker…
"Captain." She smiled, a glint of something glorious in her expression. Something he never failed to notice or be moved by. Something just for him.
"Doctor."
"Come right this way, please."
She led him over to a bio bed tucked in the corner, out of the way of the rest of the sickbay staff lest he send them all spiralling into over-efficiency. He sat down automatically, knowing the routine by now.
"So I'm going to take the remaining plasts off today – then you will be 99% good as new."
"99%?" he queried.
"Yes, there will be a little healing left for your body to do, nothing too obvious. Let me see…" she said as she worked removing the plast from his cheek. "Yup, there's a little discolouration here and a bit of a mark, a little scarring." She paused, checking he hadn't paled.
"I'm fine."
She went for his arm next, unpeeling the plasts covering the fresh injury visibly pleased with the result. "This is nothing that a week or two in real daylight won't cure. Somewhere sunny would do you the world of good Jean-Luc…" she moved onto his forehead. "And here, two little stripes on your forehead. Remarkable really. When I think back…"
"Doctor…"
"You're fine. I pronounce you fully physically recovered Captain. Of course, as far as your ship's CMO, you're in the clear. What Starfleet want to do to clear you is down to them. You've rescheduled the fitness competency?"
"Yes. For three weeks." He avoided telling her he was going to be taking the necessary tests in Paris; if he were going to take them.
"Now, I won't go as far as ordering you to take some leave…"
He grabbed her hand, silencing her, "I am taking leave."
"You're what?"
"I'm going home, back to La Barre."
"Oh, that's wonderful news Jean-Luc. That's a great idea!" she replied, happy that her plan had come together as much as she was genuinely happy for her friend.
She rubbed a little topical analgesic onto his skin out of habit more than need, then leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.
He responded by putting his hand to the place she had kissed, "What was that for?"
"I'm just really, really glad that you are okay." She said looking him right in the eye.
He swallowed against the lump of uncertainty in his throat. If he were being honest, he would tell her that he hadn't been able to shake the feeling that he might be leaving the ship for good.
Captain's Log: Stardate 44009.3: The Enterprise remains docked at McKinley Station, undergoing a major overhaul and refit. I am confident that the ship... and crew... will soon be ready to return to service.
Back in his quarters, he put the finishing touches to his log then changed out his uniform. It felt like a big move. He had removed the weight of command, taken off the shell of Starfleet. Earlier he had spoken to his brother, who had been impassive and inscrutable as was usual. He had made the arrangements with HQ, asked Will to continue as Acting Captain while he was away, and while he had consciously set all the wheels in motion efficiently, subconsciously he was afraid that he wouldn't want to come back at all.
He was putting the last few toiletries into his bag when Deanna arrived at his door for a last-minute counselling session. Their daily sessions had ceased, and he had started to feel more in control of his experience, like there might be light at the end of the tunnel after all. He gazed at his reflection in the mirror, noting the remaining scars Beverly had told him about earlier.
"So, where have you decided to go?" she asked gently.
Broken from his reverie, he started to answer, "Hmm? What? Oh, er, France. Labarre. My home village."
"Really?"
Ignoring her surprise, he went on, "Yes. It's the first time in almost twenty years."
"Interesting." She replied, a gentle humour in her tone.
"Counsellor." He warned.
"I just find it interesting. Captain Jean-Luc Picard, the man who couldn't be pried out of his seat for a vacation for three years-"
He interrupted her, didn't want her to pry to deeply into the emotion that lay beneath his choice, "It's Earth. It's home. Do I need another reason?"
"I don't know. What do you think?"
"Your help has been invaluable during my recovery, but, look, I'm better. The injuries are healing."
"Those you can see in the mirror." She reminded him.
He walked back out into the main room of his quarters, wanted to put some space between them, "The nightmares have ended. All I need now is a little time to myself."
"I agree. In fact, I'm delighted you're going. It's just that the choice of where you're going could stand some scrutiny."
Sighing, he recognised the therapeutic strategy to get him to delve into his actions, but he didn't want to play today, "If you wish to believe that my going home is a direct result of being held captive by the Borg, be my guest."
"Is that what you believe?"
"I hate it when you do that." He admitted, half amused at her blatant reverse questioning.
"Captain, you do need time. You cannot achieve complete recovery so quickly. And it's perfectly normal, after what you've been through, to spend a great deal of time trying to find yourself again."
He finished the thought for her, "And what better place to find oneself than on the streets of one's home village."
"Interesting." She smiled, "Have a good trip, Captain." She finished, then reached up to kiss him on the cheek before leaving. This was getting to be quite the habit between the counsellor and the doctor.
Smiling, amused and exasperated in equal measure, he packed one more sweater in his bag then fastened it closed and hooked it over his shoulder. At the last minute, he glanced at the books lining his shelf, then decided against taking one with him. He walked for the door, paused and took a look around his quarters, wondering if it might be the last time he would see them.
The answer to that possibility, lay in his childhood home, and the precarious relationship he had with his brother. He really hoped he would find himself again, that he'd bump into the man he remembered himself to be before all this had started: Confident, commanding, captainly.
There was only one way to find out…