Sickbay, Wednesday 4th September 2391

"You can go home now."

It was difficult to say just who was more relieved to hear those words – Krang or the beleaguered nursing staff who had been caring for him for the last months. Even by his own admission, the Klingon security captain had not been a good patient.

Earlier that day, he'd had his final session with Solkar and the Healer had been satisfied enough with his progress to agree to his release – on the condition that he followed all the instructions of his doctors and attended all his outpatients' appointments. Provided he behaved (and those had been T'Lia's exact words), he would be allowed to continue his recuperation at home, and if all went well, then in a couple of weeks, she would consider allowing him to return to light duties, although, she admonished him, no more than four hours a day to start with. He'd protested, of course, but she had calmly informed him that if he did not follow her rules, she would have his security clearance revoked. Whether that was actually possible, Krang did not know, but he wisely decided not to take the risk.

The last few weeks had been rough, and he would be glad to go home to the house on Frontera. He was going crazy locked up in this hospital room. Sometimes it felt as though he had exchanged one prison for another, although at least this one was clean and comfortable with proper facilities.

It would be more sensible and convenient to stay in their quarters on the station, and he knew that he would eventually end up doing that… but first he wanted to walk in Chrissie's garden and breathe fresh air. He wanted to feel the sun on his face and the wind in his hair. He wanted to sleep in his own room, in his own bed… with his wife, of course.

He'd woken in this place only to find that everything was a blank. The only familiar thing was the face of the woman sitting next to him, holding his hand. He did not know who she was, only that she was the angel who had kept him safe in the only way that counted. The therapy he had undergone had been both intense and unpleasant for both him and the healer – in his opinion, almost worse than the problem it was supposed to cure. Ignorance was bliss – or would have been if it weren't for the dreams.

While both he and Rhiana had suffered from memory loss, the causes had been very different. Where the Romulan had suffered brain damage, Krang's memories were intact, just locked away in an inaccessible part of his mind… inaccessible that was, to anyone but Solkar… and he would have preferred to have let them stay that way. He did not wish to deal with the things that had happened to him during his captivity. Nor did he wish to subject Solkar to the horror of those memories, but the healer insisted it was necessary. He had to come to terms with it if he were to heal and the flashbacks and nightmares were to stop. They told him that it was normal… Post Traumatic Stress Disorder they had called it.

Part of Krang still blamed himself for the abduction. The sense of guilt, of dishonour, was overwhelming. He was a warrior… more than that, he was a trained, experienced agent, even if it had been a very long time since he had been out in the field. How had he allowed himself to be taken so easily? How had he allowed himself to become so focussed on what he was doing that he was so completely unaware of the danger behind him? His lack of care and attention had compromised an important mission and had left the agent – not just any agent but one he knew and cared about – seriously injured. Rhiana had risked everything to save him, and he was not sure he deserved that.

And the children… his daughter and grandson… He could not have been prouder of Arwen, who had demonstrated an unusual level of maturity for such a young child. They'd told him how, on the day he'd been abducted, she had kept her head and acted to protect her little nephew and raise the alarm. They'd told him also, how during the weeks of uncertainty, when intelligence forces were frantically searching for him, she had remained calm and done her best to look after her mother. How much damage had been done to the little girl? She'd tried to hide it, but he'd seen the scar on her hand and the bracelet on her wrist with the tiny, silver ear hanging from it, and he knew what they meant. However fine she seemed at the moment, he had no doubt that it would have an effect as time went on and he resolved to keep an eye on her.

Krang's sense of guilt surged at the thought of how he had failed his children. He had been responsible for their safety yet had he not left them for a moment, they could have been injured or even killed. He would never forgive himself for that, nor would he forgive himself for the hell his wife had gone through. He had the faintest memory of a voice – Rhiana's as he'd later learned – saying that he would make Chrissie cry. He had made her cry, and that too was unforgiveable.

Krang let out a heavy sigh. He hated the thought of counselling, but he reluctantly acknowledged that the doctors and healers were right. He really did need to work through his issues and talk to someone.

Not all of it had been so bad of course. The presence of his family made it all bearable, even if he hated them seeing him weak and vulnerable. He'd had several long talks with his stepson, and they had finally begun to repair their relationship. The Rangers had been good for Antonio, Krang recognised. No longer a delinquent teenager, the troubled, angry boy had become a fine man and had found the peace… and the purpose… that he had so desperately been looking for.

He'd had some talks with his younger son as well. He saw so little of the boy – although he was no boy now, but a man grown, and one to be proud of – and one of Krang's biggest regrets was missing so much of his childhood. Meren had been only eleven years old when he'd declared that now his primary education was done, he wanted to go to a proper Klingon school on Qo'noS so that he could join the Defence Force when he was old enough. It had been hard for both parents to let him go but he had thrived in the harsh environment of the military school they had chosen.

It was odd really; his son was so quintessentially Klingon, and yet, he was also completely comfortable amongst humans. A chameleon, that was the word Chrissie had used, able to change and adapt to any situation. Meren had a devious mind, and would, in his opinion, make a good politician – and from their conversations, Krang rather thought he did have ambitions in that direction. Certainly, as a member of the House of Inigan, he was entitled to a seat on the High Council. Unbidden, a picture slipped into his mind, of his son as a much older man, formally dressed and wearing the heavy cloak of the Chancellor. He smiled. Maybe one day. It didn't matter; whatever Meren did with his life, he would bring honour to his House.

And Kehlan… his little Kally, not so little any more… She appeared to have found romance. Actually, he decided, he was not too sure how he felt about his little girl having a boyfriend. She'd been sitting by his bedside, shortly after he had regained consciousness, reading her xeno-psychology textbook when Solkar had come in to do one of his checks and the two had spoken briefly. Kally had been awed to find out that the healer treating her father was the author of the book, and ever since, whenever she'd seen Solkar, she'd been unable to prevent herself from blushing. Krang was intrigued to note that the interest appeared to be mutual, at least if the faint green tinge in the Vulcan's cheeks was anything to go by. Before her return to the academy, they'd spent a lot of time together, supposedly studying after Solkar had offered to tutor her for her exam (which she had, of course, passed with flying colours), and he'd continued that tutoring after she'd come back for the rest of the holidays. Somehow, Krang doubted that studying was all they'd been doing. He growled at the thought; T'Lia's son had better treat his daughter with respect.

A faint sound at the doorway caught his attention and he flinched instinctively, turning to face the potential threat. His heart racing, he tensed in readiness to defend himself, but it was only T'Lia, and he drew a shuddering breath of relief and forced himself to relax again.

Aware of his reactions, she stilled, allowing him the time he needed to calm himself. Quietly, she crossed the room, and putting down the padd she was carrying, picked up the water jug and poured some into a plastic beaker, which she held out to him. He accepted and lifted it to his lips, ashamed to notice that his hands were trembling slightly. Water, splashing into his face… choking… It was just a glass of water he tried to tell himself, but the memory was overwhelming.

A hand placed itself on his wrist… a feminine hand but a strong one, long slender fingers with short but neatly manicured nails. T'Lia's hand.

He was trapped underwater, and he could not breathe. Hard hands holding him down. His lungs were burning, screaming for the precious, life-giving oxygen that was being denied him. The pressure was gone and with great effort, he forced himself upwards. Breaking the surface, he gasped for air before his head was shoved back under the water again…

"Breathe in…" She was a powerful telepath, and in direct physical contact with him, T'Lia could not help but see the images in his mind. Her mental touch was gentle but at the same time firm, breaking through the panic and projecting calmness and reassurance as she guided him towards safety. "That's it, take a nice deep breath… breathe out… breathe in again… and out…"

He trusted T'Lia, had always trusted her. Breathe… she wanted him to breathe… He could do that, couldn't he? Fixing his eyes on the Vulcan doctor as though she were a lifeline thrown to a drowning man (and a small part of him took the time to appreciate the appropriateness of that image), Krang obeyed her instructions, accepting the strength that she was offering him, and his breathing began to steady again.

Satisfied that he had regained control, T'Lia released her grip on him and stepped back, giving him space, at the same time making a mental note to speak with her son. While she agreed with his decision to allow Krang to go home, the Klingon was very definitely showing signs of PTSD, much as he might bluster and insist that he was a Klingon warrior and that he was not weak! And he wasn't. But he was injured, and he would need a lot more help and support than he was willing to admit if he was going to make a full recovery.

T'Lia said nothing of that though, simply gesturing towards the padd she had abandoned next to the water jug. "I have brought your release authorisation."

Grateful for what she was not saying, he nodded. "Does that mean I can go home now?"

She inclined her head graciously. "It does," she said. "If you are ready to leave, your wife is waiting for you outside."

"I am ready!" he confirmed. Oh, how he was ready! The door of his cell was open, and freedom beckoned. His wife was waiting for him. It was time to go home.