"You look exhausted."
Crusher raised her head and stared across the table at Troi. "Thank you for the compliment," she sighed.
The counselor frowned. "I'm sorry, Beverly. It's just that you're spending so much time taking care of the captain, you haven't been taking care of yourself."
She shook her head. "He needs me, Deanna."
"I know. You're the one he feels the closest to. It's good that you can be there for him. I think he shares things with you that he doesn't tell me. But still, he needs you at your best. Get some sleep tonight. I'll stay in Sickbay with him."
She considered Troi's words; knew that the counselor made sense. But she was hesitant to agree.
"Beverly," Troi continued, "he needs you to be strong for him, and you can't be, unless you get some rest."
"All right, Deanna," she gave in, "but you'll call for me if his nightmares get really bad?"
She nodded. "I promise. If they're any worse than usual, I'll call."
~vVv~
When he cried out, Deanna Troi came to him, and he was hesitant to let her hold him.
"Beverly?" He resisted Troi's embrace.
"She's not in Sickbay right now."
But she was always there. "Where?" he mumbled.
"She's in her quarters, resting. She'll be back in the morning."
Troi pulled him towards her, and this time he didn't resist. He wanted the doctor, desperately, but the need to be comforted was too great, and he folded himself into Troi's arms.
She rubbed her hand against his back. "You're all right, Captain. They're just nightmares. They can't hurt you. Not anymore."
"They're so real," he whispered, his breath ragged. He moved away from her slightly, drawing the back of his hand across his eyes.
"I know they are," she said quietly. "Do you want to talk about them?" She took his hand in hers.
He stared at her, in the half-light of the room, her dark eyes warm, compassionate. "I... I d-don't know that I c-can," he stammered.
"You can try if you want. But if you're not ready to talk about it, you don't have to."
Picard squeezed his eyes closed, felt hot tears spill over onto his cheeks. "Maybe... maybe later," he murmured.
"Do you want me to stay?" she asked gently.
What he really wanted, needed, was Beverly Crusher. But she wasn't there for him, and Troi was. "Oh, yes," he sighed, leaning his head against her shoulder. She was warm, real. "Please don't go."
"I won't," she promised as she wrapped the captain in her arms and held him.
~vVv~
Beverly Crusher breezed into Picard's room the next morning, wide awake, refreshed, ready to be strong for him. But not prepared for the stony glare he cast in her direction.
"Good morning," she ventured.
"I wouldn't say so," he replied. He looked small, sitting up in bed, face lined with exhaustion. And Crusher felt sorry for him. But she couldn't let that feeling interfere with helping him get better. Being strong sometimes meant being tough. "Would you like some breakfast?" She was determined to maintain a positive approach.
"Not particularly."
"Well, then let me rephrase that. It's time for breakfast." So much for positive.
"Whatever you say, Doctor. I have very little choice."
"Aren't we in a good mood this morning?"
"Not all of us had a good night's rest," he shot back.
She lowered her eyes. "Deanna told me you had it pretty rough last night."
"It wasn't so bad."
"Oh. Is that why you're doing your best to make me feel guilty?"
He looked away from her and stared at the wall. "No one can make you feel guilty, Doctor. Guilt is something one lays upon oneself."
"Jean-Luc," Crusher walked to the edge of his bed and sat down. She saw the muscles along his jaw harden. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you last night. Deanna strongly suggested that I get some sleep. And you know how strong her suggestions can be."
He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment, then turned and looked at her. "No. I'm sorry. I'd grown so used to your being there that I was surprised to wake up and discover you were gone. It's very selfish of me to think only of myself."
She touched him gently on the cheek. "After what you've been through, Jean-Luc, you shouldn't have to think about anyone else but you. There'll be time enough for that when you're better and you're back on the bridge captaining this ship. But for right now, you, Jean-Luc Picard, come first." She drew her hand away and smiled at him. "And I'm sorry I forgot that."
He shook his head. "No. At least one of us got some sleep last night."
"The nightmares will go away," Crusher assured him. "And they'll probably go away a lot faster if-"
"I know," he interrupted, "if I talk to someone about them. But," and he smiled mischievously at her, "one shouldn't talk about nightmares on an empty stomach."
The doctor laughed. "In that case, don't you move. Have I got a breakfast for you!"
She hurried out of the room and was back in a few minutes with a tray. She placed it over Picard's lap and watched in amazement as he proceeded to eat everything on his plate: the scrambled eggs, the ham, the toast, even the grapefruit. And then, with a self-satisfied smack, he finished off his orange juice.
He looked at her, and she could tell he was proud of himself. She was proud of him too. His appetite had returned, and soon, hopefully, so would his peace of mind.
~vVv~
Crusher shook her head and laughed slightly. "He was mad at me."
"No, he wasn't," Troi smiled.
"Yes, he was." She walked over, handed the dark-haired woman a drink, then sat down in a chair opposite her. "He was mad because I wasn't in Sickbay last night."
"He wasn't mad at you," Troi insisted. "I think he was mad at himself for wanting you to be there. It's not easy for our captain to admit to himself that he needs people. You especially."
Her eyes widened. "Me?"
Troi frowned. "Beverly, we've had this conversation before. You know that the two of you have a special relationship."
"All right," she gave in after a few moments of silence. "We do. Just don't ask me to define it."
"I wouldn't dare."
She smiled her thanks at Troi, then took a sip of her own drink. "When you talked to him this morning, did he tell you about his nightmares?"
The counselor nodded. "A little. He says that he feels very alone in them, and scared. Like he's trapped and unable to find his way out."
Crusher sighed. "I could have told you that."
Troi smiled in agreement. "I know. But... at least it's something. He may never tell us exactly what happened on board that ship. But the important thing is that he knows, and he learns to live with it."
"Will he?" Crusher asked, needing her friend's reassurance.
"Yes," Troi answered. "I think he will." She hesitated, inhaled deeply, and then amended her answer. "I know he will."
~vVv~
Crusher rubbed her eyes, stretched her arms, and looked up from her desk. Picard stood in her office doorway, a robe pulled on over his pajamas.
"How long have you been there?" she inquired, blinking in surprise.
"Just a few moments."
She looked at the chronometer on her desk. "I thought you were asleep."
Picard rubbed his fingers over his lips. "No," he answered nervously, "in fact, that's sort of why I'm here. I, umm, wanted to talk to you."
"All right," she smiled. "You can come in and have a seat. You don't have to stand in the door."
He walked over and sat down across from her.
"What would you like to talk about?" she asked.
"Well, I really just wanted to ask a question."
"And what is your question?" Crusher prompted when the captain hesitated.
He took a deep breath. "Will you release me from Sickbay?"
She stared at him, and then answered. "No."
Picard knotted his hands in his lap and directed his eyes towards the floor. "Beverly, please," his voice shook slightly, "I need to be back in my own cabin. Somewhere where I feel I belong, where there are familiar things around me. Maybe there, I won't..." He stopped, but didn't look up.
Crusher leaned towards him. "Maybe there you won't what, Jean-Luc?"
"Maybe I won't feel so lost." He raised his face, and she could see the tears in his eyes. "I don't feel real here, Beverly. I don't feel like I'm myself. There is nothing around that reminds me of who I am. Except for maybe you, and I can't..." Again he stopped, and lowered his eyes.
"Can't what?" she prodded gently.
"I can't become dependent upon you, Beverly."
She stood up, walked around her desk and knelt beside him. She placed her hand on his knee. "It's all right if you want to for a while."
Picard shook his head. "It's not that I don't want to. I can't. I have to do this on my own. Sort out my own feelings, face my nightmares..." he chewed on his lower lip, "fight my own battles." He straightened up and rubbed his eyes with his fist. "I can't do that here, Beverly. It's too easy to let you do it for me."
She gazed at him, allowed the silence between them to grow. But the moment, instead of being empty, was very full, warm and secure. And Picard did not feel threatened, or embarrassed. He felt only her compassion. He smiled tiredly at her.
"You understand, don't you?" he murmured.
"Yes," she answered softly. And she did. He could only allow himself to need her just so much. For there was a fine line between needing and wanting, and Jean-Luc Picard could not, would not, cross it.
"Will you release me?" he asked again.
And this time, reluctantly, she agreed. "I'll see that one of the medics brings some clothes to your room," she added.
"Thank you," he breathed a sigh of relief and stood up.
Crusher stood also. "If you need anything at all..." she began.
"I'll call you," he assured, and turned, starting to leave her office. She caught up with him. "Jean-Luc?"
He turned back, and she reached out and wrapped her arms around him, hugged him close. At first, he stood there, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, but after a few moments, he returned the embrace. Crusher felt his hands, warm and strong, pressing against her back, his head on her shoulder. She turned her face slightly to the side, kissed his cheek, then pulled back. Picard's eyes met hers, and he breathed in deeply.
"I thought hugs were usually reserved for calming nightmares?"
The woman smiled. "They are. Usually. But now that you're going back to your cabin, no one will be there when you wake in the middle of the night. So, I thought I'd better give you a hug for all the ones you'll miss."
He returned her smile, then cleared his throat. "Thank you, Doctor."
"You're welcome, Captain."
~vVv~
Crusher insisted on walking him back to his cabin, but she said goodnight at the door. Resisting the impulse to tuck me in, Picard thought with a half-formed smile on his lips. But he regretted her resistance as the door slid closed between them, and he found himself alone. He felt a shiver run up his spine, and he turned slowly, shakily, and surveyed his cabin. It hadn't changed in the past seven days. And yet, it was different.
"Only because you're different," he murmured to himself and walked over to the viewport. He leaned against the smooth surface and stared vacantly out at the milky blue planet. It was still there, turning on its axis, completely unaware of the events that had transpired in the past week. It had no way of knowing just how near it had come to destruction, how close it had brushed with death. But Picard knew, and slowly, exhaustively, he slid limply to the floor and wept with the knowledge that had the planet been destroyed, it would have been at his hands.
~vVv~
His eyes flew open. He was sitting straight up in bed, hands gripping the blankets, tears and sweat covering his face. His breathing was rapid, his throat dry. He looked around the room, halfway expecting to find them there, lurking in the shadows. But he was alone. Painfully so. And he longed for Beverly Crusher to be there, to hold him, comfort him, chase the nightmare images away. But all he had was the memory of her arms around him.
He exhaled deeply, drew in another breath, then untangled the blankets from around his legs and threw them off the bed. He got up, walked over and poured a drink of water from the flask on his bedroom table. He lifted the glass to his lips. The water was cool and wet, and he drank thirstily, one glass and then another. He turned, looked back at his bed, and sighed. It was the middle of the night, but the last thing he wanted to do was go back to sleep.
Taking a third glass of water, he walked into the cabin's main living area and sank into the chair behind his desk. He set the water glass down and picked up the small Sadlerian geode that lay next to his computer screen. Absently, he passed it from hand to hand. It was about the size of a racquetball, and his fingers curled around it easily. The outer shell was rough, grey rock, but when you turned it over and looked inside, it was filled with thousands of minute purple and green crystals. He smiled, remembering when, and from whom, he'd gotten it.
"It's a Sadlerian geode."
He nodded, and gently removed it from the box. He held it in his hand, stared at it, then looked up at the woman who stood across from him. "It's very beautiful, Beverly. Thank you."
She smiled. "I wasn't sure what to get you for your birthday. I thought about a book, but that's what I always give you. And then I saw this in a shop window on Darren Twelve, and, I don't know, it just sort of reminded me of you."
Picard laughed. "I remind you of a geode?"
The doctor frowned slightly with embarrassment. "Well, sort of." She reached out and took the geode from him, ran her fingers along its exterior. "On the outside you're strong and firm. Even a little gruff sometimes."
He raised an eyebrow at her.
She continued. "But when you look on the inside, you're-"
"Purple and green?" he interrupted with a smile.
"No. You're very... unique." She pressed the geode back into his palm and closed his hand around it. "And special. I know I've never told you, but thanks for being a friend."
"Thank you for being mine." He grinned self-consciously. "And thanks for taking the time to look inside."
She leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek. "You're welcome."
Picard clutched the geode tighter in his fist, the solid weight of it drawing him back to the here and now of his dimly lit cabin. It had been a little over a year ago that Beverly Crusher had given it to him, just after she'd returned to the Enterprise. And it had, to him at least, become a symbol of their friendship. They didn't always see eye to eye; they had their share of disagreements. But deep down, what they shared was very precious.
He set the geode on the desk in front of him, and wished she was there with him now. Then suddenly, realizing he was slipping dangerously close to self-pity, he reached out and pushed the geode back to its place by the computer screen. He stood up, took a book off the shelf behind him, and crossed over to the sofa. Sitting down, he made himself comfortable and, doing his best to keep his fears under control, read until morning.
~vVv~
