Title: Parterre Chapter Ten b – Night Terrors
Author: Psycha (psycha underscore fairy at yahoo dot co dot uk)
Series: TNG
Chapter rating: T
Codes: C, T, P
Chapter summary: The Enterprise crew starts to experience symptoms of an unknown cause. It appears to be up to counselor Troi and doctor Crusher to find the cause and protect the crew against itself.

A/N: This may not be the best place to make political statements, but I'd just like to congratulate California on its recent decision regarding same-sex marriages. Also, many, many thanks for the reviews, I hope you're all still enjoying the story :) Oh, and a small warning: this chapteris exactly 3700 words long, tee hee!

Chapter Ten b: "Night Terrors"

"I really did see it!" Skittishly lieutenant Barclay looked up to her. "I k-know the c-counselor thinks other-otherwise, but I did!"

Beverly suppressed a sigh and tried to remind herself of proper bedside manners. "Your brainscan shows no anomalies Reg, you're fine." So much for those bedside manners. "Everyone is a little unnerved by what happened on the Brattain," as a matter of fact, he wasn't the only one experiencing hallucinations, "it's just stress causing those visions."

"That's what the counselor said."

"She's a smart woman Lieutenant, you should listen to her. Here." The engineer practically jumped away when she tried to inject him with a harmless relaxant. "Reg…" Her patience was quickly wearing thin. Barclay noticed that too and cast his eyes downward, tilting his head to expose his neck. Perhaps a little more forceful than necessary she pressed the hypospray against his skin. "Now, go and get some sleep mister Barclay." The man nodded meekly and hurried off.

"How are you doing?"

Beverly turned around and found the ship's counselor leaning back against the wall, her arms crossed over her stomach. "I'm fine." Deanna's expression changed minutely, not quite disapproving, but well on it's way. "Maybe I was a little hard on him," she admitted.

"You've been busy."

"Yes and we're still no closer to finding out why the Brattain crew killed each other." Her team had gone over the autopsy results at least five times, but was no closer to finding an explanation. Surely if there were aliens involved there would've been some traces left. The sensors hadn't even detected evidence of other ships in the sector.

"Would you be able to detect psychological causes?" The empath's question was loaded, but she wasn't any more forthcoming.

"Sure," she took Deanna to a monitor and had the computer display various brainscans. "We can detect depression, shock, mental trauma, severe paranoia and schizophrenia, among other conditions."

For a few moments Troi carefully studied the scans, running her fingers over the colored areas of the screen. "Are these from the Brattain crew?"

She measured the counselor's expression. The Betazoid's face was virtually blank, and yet… "Yes, why?"

"It's nothing." Troubled black eyes said the opposite.

"Let's talk in my office," she offered, restraining her own uneasy curiosity. Troi followed, worry rolling off her in waves.

In her office the doctor sat down behind her desk, but her guest remained standing. "What is it Deanna?"

The other woman sighed, clearly worried. "I'm not sure. Tension among the crew is rising, and yes, that is normal," she added before Crusher could respond, "but I've had patients complaining about hallucinations, restlessness and chronic fatigue. That's unusual and worrisome. Our crew should handle the situation better."

While she contemplated Deanna's observations, the counselor sat down across the desk, hands folded. It amazed her how Deanna could seem so calm. It would probably fool most of the crewmembers, but she knew the empath too well and saw through the quiet exterior. Troi's eyes moved restlessly from side to side and her fingers tapped silently on the desk's surface.

She'd been too busy with the autopsy reports to keep an eye on every crewmember coming into sickbay for treatment. With a few keyed in commands she pulled up the treatment reports from the last three days. The results surprised her. "Twenty-two people reported to sickbay, all in the last three days. All of them reported auditory and, or visual hallucinations."

"I've spoken at least thirty patients with the same symptoms. What's going on?"

"The patients also reported increased irritability, restlessness and feelings of being chased and watched." They stared at each other. Fifty in a crew of over a thousand didn't seem much, but it was highly unusual. How come no one had noticed this?

"We have to tell the captain." Nervously the counselor tucked a stray curl behind her ear. Was that fear in Deanna's eyes?

"Tell him what? That the crew is more stressed than usual? We did find an entire Starfleet crew who killed each other."

"Exactly!" Troi's exclamation startled her and for a few moments her heart beat wildly in her chest. "Don't you see Beverly, this could be how things started on the Brattain!" What was she saying? "If the crew did kill each other, without alien influence, what else could've created the situation we found, except for extreme paranoia, anxiety attacks and a loss of rationale!"

If Deanna was right… What they'd found on the Brattain was horrible. Thirty-four dead crewmembers. But the Enterprise… the Enterprise had over a thousand people onboard. Not only Starfleet officers, but civilians and even children. "We don't know that."

"No," Troi conceded, "but something is happening to us and the captain needs to know."

Protocol did dictate them to bring their concerns to their senior officer. It bugged her that there was no scientific basis for the empath's worries. "Maybe we should try and find a commonality? Something that could've caused those symptoms?" After a brief pause Deanna nodded, reluctantly so. It was unlike the counselor to be this impatient, Beverly noticed. If there was something amiss however, reversing the cause as soon as possible was prudent. Not all the people onboard would deal with the stress in an equal manner. Things could get ugly very soon. "Let's compare the reports."

"I'll ask some of my patients to report to sickbay for a physical."

For almost five hours they'd studied the reports and patients. It was clear by now that there was a problem, but they were no closer to finding the cause. Deanna sighed loudly and tossed the padd she was working on, onto the desk. The clang of the two materials colliding rang through her ears. "There's nothing here. We can't keep staring at these numbers Bev, it's time to tell him."

The scientist in her wanted to stay and figure out the mystery. She knew Jean-Luc would want answers and she wasn't even sure they had the question right. "All right."

The corridors seemed smaller than she remembered, the air stale, but it wasn't until they stood side by side in the turbolift that she truly felt uncomfortable. In the hours they'd been working together she'd felt perfectly fine. There was something relaxing about working with an empath. With her Betazoid abilities, Deanna could sense her intentions and motivations. There was no need to explain everything she did and they worked well together.

She could almost feel Deanna's urgent desire to speak with the captain. More than that, she was aware of the Betazoid's scent and body heat. Deanna turned to her, pinned her with a stare she couldn't escape.

Slowly she advanced until they stood almost nose to nose. She expected a kiss or maybe a touch, but instead Deanna reached behind her back and undid the burgundy jumpsuit she wore. Frozen in place Beverly watched the empath undress herself, her heart racing. She drank in the passionate heat in Deanna's eyes, the warmth of the other woman's body as she molded herself against her. Even through her uniform she felt the heat between them.

"-verly?"

"Huh?"

Troi looked at her, fully dressed and concern clear in her voice. "Are you all right?"

Embarrassed, she blushed and looked at a point just over Deanna's shoulder. "Yes, yes I'm fine." She felt hot. Damn dreams. The rush of cool air when the doors opened was more than welcome. The counselor stepped out first and immediately made a beeline for the ready room doors.

"Maybe he left?" She pondered when Jean-Luc didn't respond to the enunciator. She hoped so. The thought of being trapped in the ready room with only Jean-Luc, Deanna made her queasy.

Troi gave her a quizzical look and another chime went unanswered. "He's in there."

"Maybe he doesn't want to be disturbed." She laughed nervously when the counselor knocked on the door. "Surreal."

Now concern showed in black eyes. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Beverly scraped her throat. "Yes, I'm fine." The doors finally parted and she quickly stepped inside, escaping her friend's prying eyes.

"What?"

"Captain, do you have a moment?" Why was he so surprised?

"We're concerned," Deanna continued smoothly, apparently not noticing the strange welcome, "we're afraid that whatever happened on the Brattain may be starting here."

"Explain" He didn't sound quite like himself either. Perhaps he was experiencing some of the symptoms that had them worried? Without allowing her discomfort to dictate her movements she sat down and let Troi explain.

If she kept staring at him he would notice her discomfort. She couldn't look at Deanna either, certain she'd blush. The surface of the desk seemed a good solution. "Well, Beverly and I have been getting unusual reports. People behaving strangely, others hearing sounds that aren't there."

Again there was that tone in his voice, a tone that alerted her. "Are we talking about hallucinations?"

"In some cases. In others just erratic behavior." With effort she kept her face relaxed, trying hard not to show her uneasiness.

"We can't track down any element that might be responsible." Almost she smiled at the small hints of frustration in Deanna's voice. The empath hid it well.

"But everything started when we found the Brattain?" He looked at her without emotions, but she knew he wanted her to counter his conclusion. She wished she could offer him more than a hypothetical solution.

"Yes. Captain, we have to get the Enterprise away from here before it gets any worse." After all their research, location was the only commonality they'd found. Deanna was right, if the symptoms continued, there was no telling what would happen. The episode in the turbolift proved she wasn't immune either.

Picard shifted his gaze between them and she wondered what Deanna sensed from him. "We're preparing to take the Brattain in tow. We'll be on our way within the hour." It wasn't the answer they were hoping for. The counselor had wanted to leave immediately and she was starting to feel the same way. Something felt horribly wrong.

The turbolift took only second to reach deck 12, but in those few seconds, Deanna got on her nerves by pacing restlessly in the small space. The doors opened and she grabbed onto Troi's wrist just in time to prevent the woman from exiting. "Computer, redirect to deck nine, crew quarters."

They didn't speak while being carried to their new destination, nor when they crossed the corridors. Only once they entered Deanna's quarters was the silence broken. "Why did you take me here?"

She motioned for Troi to sit and ordered Valerian root tea and a hot chocolate from the replicator. "I thought it might help you relax a little."

"I'm fine Beverly, I need to stay with Hagan, maybe he can tell us something." Already the empath stood up.

"Sit, Dea. Doctor's orders." They faced off for a few seconds, but she refused to waver under her friend's stare. Deanna sat back down. "We'll be out of here within an hour. Hagan hasn't come out of his state in the last ninety-six hours, I doubt he'll do so in the next one."

"He might." The objection was halfhearted, they both knew he wouldn't. "I can't just sit here and do nothing."

"I know you have trouble dealing with the stress on the ship." It was the curse of empathy she guessed, to feel the stress and worries of everyone else on top of your own. The frustration and impatience Deanna was exhibiting were unusual, even under these circumstances. "I doubt ordering you to sleep will have much of an effect, so we're going to sit here and talk until the ship moves." She just hoped they wouldn't touch on the one subject she'd been avoiding for weeks.

# # #
"It's been an hour since we moved closer to the Brattain, we should've been on our way by now." Troi's observation broke the tranquil atmosphere and shattered their quiet conversation. Before Beverly could even react, the younger woman jumped up and started to pace.

"Dea…" She'd never seen the Betazoid this nervous, it unsettled her, but also gave life to worries. If there was something affecting the crew mentally, perhaps if affected the half-Betazoid differently, she wasn't human after all.

"Something is wrong, we should have been moving by now."

"Maybe there's a delay." There were always delays.

Deanna seemed to consider that for a moment, concentration edged clearly in her features. What was she sensing? "No. Something is wrong, we're not going anywhere."

"Listen to yourself!"

"Think about it Beverly," the empath answered in the same, raised volume, "we found the Brattain drifting in space, all her crew dead but supposedly her engines are working fine!" What the hell was going on?! Was some kind of outside influence causing the panic and hysteria in Deanna's voice? "Don't you think," she wondered aloud, "they would have left here, come looking for help, if they could?"

In spite of her misgivings about the counselor's apparent state of mind, she couldn't deny the logic. Right now however, she had more immediate concerns. Just when she decided to take Deanna to sickbay and run a physical, Troi relaxed visibly. "Are you all right?"

Disoriented Troi looked at her. "Yes, I… I'm fine, sorry."

"What happened?"

"I must've been caught up in someone else's emotions." Beverly resisted the urge to ask who's emotions, knowing that Deanna wouldn't divulge the answer. "I'm all right now." She studied the woman's face, looking past signs of fatigue and worry. All she saw was resignation, not just in Deanna's face, but in her whole body language.

"Let's go to sickbay," she suggested, helpless to do anything else. "I'd like to run a full physic--"

"Picard to senior staff, report to observation lounge one." She tried to ignore Deanna's impish, but troubled, 'I told you so' smile and followed the counselor out into the corridor, not allowing herself to worry just yet.

They were the last to enter the observation lounge and hastily took seats on opposite sides of the long conference table. As she listened to Data and Geordi explain why they hadn't moved, she realized Troi was right. The Enterprise's engines were in perfect working order, but like the Brattain, they weren't going anywhere. Trapped by a force that was unidentifiable and undetectable. Across the table she caught Deanna's eyes and knew that they had a very real deadline now.

"If we shut down the engines, we risk not being able to turn them back on again." She'd missed Riker's suggestion, but surely shutting down the engines was not an option right now? They were far away from other Starfleet vessels and although the ship could store energy, it needed its engines to provide energy for life-support. The stored energy would last for a few weeks, but who knew how long they'd be trapped here?

The first officer nodded and Beverly recognized the 'we're screwed' look in his eyes. "All right," Picard interjected, "the engines will remain running. Mr. Data, LaForge, perhaps analyzing the sensorlogs and comparing them with the Brattain's will yield some answers. And since we're not going anywhere, we should minimize active duty Number One."

"Yes sir," Riker responded instantly, seemingly relieved to have something to do. Next to her, Worf growled low in his throat. Inactivity would make the Klingon irritable, she knew from experience. She felt sorry for his subordinates.

"Dismissed." Beverly stood up to follow her colleagues out into the corridor, when she noticed Troi's unchanged position. The counselor sat quietly at the captain's left hand, her hands folded serenely on the table's surface. "Doctor." Not deaf to Picard's unspoken question, she sat down. Just how much emotions did Deanna pick up from him, or her for that matter?

"I have no empirical basis for this theory Captain," Deanna admitted before either of them had said anything, "but I think we need to assume that the symptoms doctor Crusher and I described earlier, are going to continue," she paused briefly, "and intensify."

The question in his hazel eyes filled her stomach with dread, she felt a little better for noticing the unease in Jean-Luc's thin smile. "I think she might be right."

"If so, what can we expect?" The captain addressed both of them, but she gladly deferred to Deanna, who was the expert on psychological conditions after all.

The empath sighed and flexed her fingers. "If we assume the symptoms will be similar to those the Brattain crew suffered; hallucinations, irritability, loss of concentration, an increasing number of arguments and fights." A flicker of worry crossed Picard's features and he set his jaw. "Officers will begin to question and disobey orders, become paranoid. When, I can't tell you, but it will happen."

They sat in silence, each contemplating the counselor's words. Did Jean-Luc hear the tightly reigned in fear in Deanna's voice as well? "Can you guess the progression rate?"

She opened her mouth to answer him, but Deanna beat her to it. "No, but stress will speed up the process. Civilians will most likely feel the effects stronger than trained officers. Older crewmembers will be more likely to loose their concentration, while younger officers lack the experience to deal with the onset of paranoia. Higher ranked officers will feel more stress because of their responsibilities." They both glanced at Picard, who seemed unaware of Troi's veiled message, but she knew better.

"What about the children onboard?"

Troi almost smiled. "They'll probably feel the effects least of all." Even Jean-Luc seemed relieved to hear that. "They'll experience the same symptoms as everyone else, but children are better equipped to deal with it. Except for nightmares and a more rebellious stance in the older ones, I don't expect any serious consequences for the time being."

For the time being.The words hung ominously between them. Captain Zaheva's logs suggested her crew had survived for three weeks, but there was no clear indication when the symptoms had first begun. With a crew of over a thousand people, it wouldn't take much for things on the Enterprise to escalate.

"Doctor?"

He felt the same sense of dread that was brewing in her stomach, his clipped tones said as much. "I will go over the autopsy and physical results again. Perhaps we missed something." She doubted it and if location really was the only commonality, they had little chance. It would be at least two weeks before another ship would reach them and who was to prevent that ship from getting caught too?

Picard rubbed his hand over his chin, eyes pensive. "Is there a way to treat the symptoms?"

She decided against a lecture on why treating symptoms without knowing the cause could be dangerous. "Stimulants might keep the symptoms from escalating." It wouldn't be easy to find the right kind of stimulant, or even the right dose and they all knew that eventually any stimulant would lose its effects. Once that happened, the symptoms were likely to increase exponentially.

"Let's hope so," Jean-Luc said grimly.

"We can hardly put the entire crew on stimulants, especially for longer periods of time. The effects could be just as disastrous as the symptoms."

"She's right Captain." Unfortunately so. Stimulants, even in the twenty-fourth century had their fair share of side-effects and different patients would react in different ways. On a ship as large as the Enterprise, it was a given that roughly a quarter of the crew would react poorly to multiple doses.

"Do you have any other suggestions?"

She felt the expectant stares from her friends. "No…but give me a few hours." Perhaps they didn't need to give every single person stimulants.

"Very well, dismissed."

They'd just made it to the turbolift, or her mind was already cramped with possible solutions. If they could minimize the number of people needing the stimulants, it would be easier to monitor and counter the side-effects. But how to choose? "Deck twelve."

Although the lift plummeted twelve decks down, it hardly felt as if they were moving at all. Once her grandmother had taken her to an old museum on Earth, the Hermitage in Saint Petersburg. The building still had late twenty-first century elevators. The kind that didn't yet have build in inertial dampers. Her twelve-year-old self could've spend the entire day riding the lifts, loving the way her stomach danced.

Suddenly she became aware of a set of dark eyes gazing at her and as she brought her eyes up to look at Deanna, she caught a tender smile on the empath's face. She blushed. Troi probably felt her little blast into the past. "Where are you heading?"

"Sickbay, I want to check on Hagan."

"Oh." Not knowing what else to say, or where to look, Beverly found herself staring at the counselor. She looked tired, dark circles were forming around darker eyes. Perhaps it was Hagan's presence that affected Troi? Although the man was physically catatonic, she doubted his mind was as quiet.

"He's terrified," Deanna confirmed, "it's almost impossible to push through his fear."

"What is he so frightened off?"

The empath sighed. "I wish I knew."

When they reached deck twelve, the lobby was busier than usual. Deanna skillfully fielded questioned from worried crewmembers and civilians as they crossed the lounge. While Troi spoke with a mother and young child, Beverly quickly checked with the receptionist, only to find out that almost every person in the lobby requested a medical consult and cited symptoms of chronic fatigue and hallucinations.

"It's not good, is it?" Deanna asked, reappearing at her side.

They crossed into main sickbay, away from prying eyes. "I could really use your help, the symptoms are partly psychological in nature, perhaps the cause is as well?"

"It's worth looking into, give me half an hour all right?"

"All right." The counselor strode over to the corner bed that held the only survivor of the Brattain. He hadn't moved since she'd left sickbay hours ago. After giving herself a few minutes to relax, or rather an excuse to watch Deanna, Crusher retreated into her office and began going through the gathered data once again.

Tbc…