He drifted up through layers of fog and clouds, like leaving San Francisco by shuttle on a rainy day. But although he wanted to wake up, he couldn't seem to open his eyes. He knew he was lying in bed. His bed. The one he shared with Eline. And there was someone beside him, a warm body sitting next to his arm, and voices that were familiar.

"Eline, you need to get some rest," a man said.

"I have to stay with him."

"He doesn't know you're here."

"Yes, he does."

Footsteps came closer to the bed. "I've given him enough oxygen so that his breathing is stable for now. I'll be with him in case he has another attack."

"Good. That'll make two of us."

"Eline!"

"You're sure it's not his heart?" She seemed to ignore his concern for her.

"No. It's not his heart."

"Then what is it?"

"I don't know."

The fog began to shroud around him again, the darkness closed in, and the voices faded away.

~vVv~

The pain was back, and again he couldn't breathe. There was someone there immediately, placing a mask over his nose and mouth, and this time he didn't resist. He could feel a hand around his, soft, familiar fingers squeezing gently.

"Breathe easy, Kamin. It's all right. I'm here."

~vVv~

Picard blinked, surprised to find his eyes wet with tears. He brushed hastily at them with the back of his hand and sighed deeply. "I was sick for over a week. Drifting in and out of consciousness. I don't think she ever left my side." He hesitated for a moment, and Crusher offered him a glass of water. He took a drink, then handed it back to her. "The doctor never knew for sure what had caused the attacks. Once they were gone, they never returned. And I... I guess after a while I forgot all about it. Well, not really forgot it, seeing that it happened during Batai's naming ceremony, I just didn't think about it. But I know Eline did. I think she remembered it every day of her life. There was always something in the way she looked at me after that." He laughed slightly. "Sort of a possessive look. Like a lion for her cub. But she never talked about it. Not once. It was almost like talking about it would bring it back." He crossed his arms over his chest, shook his head. "For a long time, I felt guilty for the pain I'd caused her."

"It wasn't your fault, Jean-Luc." Crusher ran her fingers over his cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

He blushed. "I know. But still..."

She took a hypospray from her coat pocket. "I'm going to give you something now to help you sleep. It'll suppress your dreams. I think you could use the rest."

He nodded. "I think I could, too."

~vVv~

She released him the next morning, admitting, reluctantly, that a night's sleep unhampered by dreams had improved his condition, both mentally and physically.

"But," she pointed a finger at him, "no work today, and I want you to take a nap after lunch."

"Beverly, please, I am not a child."

"I didn't say you were. Now, remember: lunch, a nap, a good supper later, then early to bed." She pressed a small bottle into his hand. "Take two of these before you go to sleep."

He stared at her inquisitively.

"They're for the dreams. Until you and Deanna get those memories sorted out, it'll help not to have to worry about them."

"No dreams at all?"

"None." She patted him on the shoulder. "Now, I'm sure there's some book in your quarters that you could spend the morning reading."

~vVv~

He wasn't sure how many times he'd read A Midsummer Night's Dream. Of course, he felt like it had been ages since he'd read it last. Well, maybe only thirty years, but ages all the same. He'd told the story to Meribor and Batai time after time. Out of all of Shakespeare's plays, it had been their favorite.

Because of the fairies Meribor had explained to him once. He supposed children liked fairies and enchanted woods, and the idea of some unlucky simpleton winding up with a donkey's head. With careful thought, he'd been able to tell them the play almost word for word, and they'd sat on his knee in rapt attention. And although Meribor understood that the stories had been written by a man named Shakespeare, for the longest time Batai thought his father was making them all up as he went along.

He read the rest of the morning away, the hours passing much more quickly than he realized. He was just nearing the end of the play when his communicator beeped.

"Picard here," he responded.

"Captain." Beverly Crusher. Checking up on him. "I just wanted to see how you were feeling?"

"I'm feeling fine, Doctor. Thank you."

"And you enjoyed your lunch?"

Lunch? He'd forgotten to eat lunch. He quickly realized that his oversight wouldn't be looked upon favorably by the good doctor. And so, he did something he rarely did. He lied.

"Lunch was wonderful, Beverly. I had a big bowl of... soup. And a salad, and crackers. And fruit. And a glass of milk." There, he thought that sounded balanced. Surely she couldn't object to that.

"What? No dessert?"

"I thought I'd have that after my nap," he replied smugly, somewhat pleased with his dietary imagination.

"That's a good idea. I'll check in on you later. Sleep well."

Picard leaned back in his chair and groaned. He suddenly felt like a prisoner in his own quarters. It wasn't much better than being confined to Sickbay. Crusher actually expected him to be a good, little patient: eat his lunch, take his nap, eat supper, go to bed. Like a five-year-old sent to his room. Well, the truth was that he wasn't hungry just yet. And he certainly wasn't tired. And he suddenly had the urge not to be where the doctor thought he was.

He went into his bedroom and changed out of his uniform. He felt like taking a walk through the ship, and although he knew his crew would recognize him he didn't want to be overly noticeable. He pulled on a pair of grey pants and a light blue shirt, to which he pinned his communicator, wishing for just an instant that he could leave it in his room, but knowing, of course, that he couldn't. But no one will call me, he thought as he smoothed a hand over his fringe of silver-grey hair. After all, Beverly thinks I'm taking a nap, and she wouldn't want to disturb me.

He picked up his copy of Midsummer as he walked toward the door. Maybe somewhere, on deck thirty-nine perhaps, he could find an out-of-the-way corner of an observation lounge and finish the play. He stepped into the corridor, feeling foolishly like a schoolboy playing hooky. Yet, it was a feeling he liked. And for a fleeting moment he was reminded of those afternoons on Ressick when he would quit work early and hike up into the mountains alone.

~vVv~

He did indeed wind up in an out-of-the-way corner in an observation lounge, although it wasn't on deck thirty-nine. It was on deck eighteen, saucer section, right in the middle of the family quarters, an area he rarely had cause to visit. He'd been surprised to find the lounge empty, but pleased. The floor to ceiling viewports afforded an excellent panorama of space, a different angle from what he was used to. He sat for long minutes just staring at the stars before he opened his book to finish reading. The name "Puck" jumped out at him. Batai's star. The children had kept those stars for years, watched them and tracked their paths across the sky. He looked back out the viewport, halfway wondering if he searched hard enough and long enough, could he ever find the light from those stars. He shook his head. "Nonsense," he murmured, and continued to read.

He wasn't aware of the small figure that had entered the lounge while he'd been contemplating the existence of Batai's star, didn't know that there was anyone watching him until he heard the voice.

"Captain Picard?"

He looked up, startled. Alexander Rozhenko stood just inside the doorway.

The child took a step backwards. "I'm sorry to disturb you." He retreated further.

Picard shook his head. "No, it's all right, Alexander. You didn't disturb me."

"I just came to feed the turtles," the boy said quietly, nodding toward the opposite end of the lounge.

Picard followed Alexander's gaze. He hadn't even noticed the small, glassed in box in the corner.

"It's a school experiment," Alexander explained as he walked over to the turtles. "I'm letting them live in different rooms every week to see if their habits change."

"Do you mind if I watch while you feed them?" Picard got up, tucked his book under his arm, and joined Alexander by the turtle tank.

"No, sir. You can help feed them if you like." He opened a plastic box and took out two large leaves of lettuce. He handed one to Picard. "All you have to do is hold it in front of their mouths and they'll eat it. See." He held his leaf in front of the larger of the two, and the turtle began to eat. Following Alexander's instructions, Picard held his lettuce leaf out to the smaller one.

"You know, I have fish in my ready room. But they're fed automatically."

Alexander looked up at him. "My dad told me about your fish."

"He did?"

"Yes, sir. He says they're really pretty."

Picard smiled at the idea of his Klingon Security Chief describing pretty fish to his son. But then, weren't all fathers different with their children? Hadn't he been with Meribor and Batai?

He noticed that Alexander kept looking at him surreptitiously. "Is there something wrong?" he inquired of the boy.

Alexander shook his head. "No, sir, it's just that... I've never seen you without your uniform."

"Oh, I see. Well, I don't wear it always." He dropped the remainder of the lettuce leaf in the turtle box. "You see, I'm sort of taking a day off."

"Who's running the ship?"

He smiled again. "Commander Riker, and Mister Data. And, of course, your father. It's a good thing I have them up on the bridge, or I'd have missed feeding the turtles."

"You were reading." Alexander stared at the book under the captain's arm.

"Yes, I was." Picard sat down on a nearby sofa. "Have you ever heard of William Shakespeare?"

Alexander nodded. "My teacher talked about him one day. He wrote a long, long time ago."

"Yes, he did. He wrote plays about kings and castles, and great battles."

Alexander's eyes lit up. "I think I would like his plays."

"You probably would." For the first time, Picard realized that many of Shakespeare's works would be ideal reading for a Klingon. "But, he also wrote about people falling in love, and getting married."

Alexander frowned. "I'm never getting married. I'd rather go fight great battles. Or explore places."

"Well, you know it is possible to do all those things."

"You didn't."

"Didn't what?"

Alexander suddenly looked a bit frightened, but he didn't back away. "You didn't get married. I mean, you don't have a wife."

Picard drew in a sharp breath. "No, Alexander. I don't have a wife."

"Did you ever want one?"

The captain shifted uncomfortably, wondering how he'd managed to end up in this discussion with an eight-year-old child.

"Didn't you ever want to be a father?" The question instantly reminded him of a long ago conversation he'd had once with Wesley Crusher. At that time, he'd simply said that wishing for a thing did not make it so. But now, he gave Alexander a more direct answer.

"Yes. I did."

The boy simply nodded, and went back to feeding his turtles. Relieved that there were no more questions, Picard opened his book and read. A few minutes later, Alexander headed toward the doorway.

"Goodbye, sir."

Picard looked up. "Goodbye, Alexander. Thank you for letting me help with your turtles."

He smiled. "You're welcome." And then he was gone.

Picard sighed and leaned back against the sofa. All the while that Alexander had been there he couldn't help but think of Batai at that age. Only instead of turtles, he'd had rabbits. Twelve of them in a hutch on the roof. Come to think of it, they'd eaten lettuce also.

"I think we need another cage." Batai eyed the hutch appraisingly.

"Either that, or we need to have a rabbit sale."

"Sell them?" he looked up at his father in shock.

Kamin shook his head. "Batai, a dozen rabbits are just about ten too many."

"But they're my baby rabbits."

"I know they're your baby rabbits, but... don't you have some friends who might like to have one?"

"Well," he stared down at the pebbles that covered the roof, "Shaw said once that he might like to have one."

"See, you could give one to each of your friends and then you could visit them."

"I suppose."

"I think it's a good idea. Run downstairs and get a basket from your mother, and we'll go deliver them now."

He hesitated.

"Go on."

"All right."

A few minutes later, he returned, followed by Eline.

"Batai told me about your plan."

Kamin eyed the basket in his wife's hand. "I take it you approve."

"Whole heartedly." She handed the basket to Batai, and they watched as their son crossed over to the other side of the roof, opened the hutch, and began to gather the little rabbits together.

"He's growing up," she murmured.

Kamin wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Yes, he is. I'm rather proud of him." Then he laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking. You know, I used to mediate peace agreements between warring planets, and now I'm in charge of rabbit distribution."

Eline studied her husband carefully. "Which responsibility do you prefer?"

"I'm not sure." He groaned softly as he watched Batai coming toward them with the wriggling basket. "Although, I think dealing with warring planets just might be easier than distributing rabbits."

But they'd done it. They'd found perfectly good homes for all ten, and Batai had even secured visiting rights from the new owners. Picard smiled at the memory.

It seemed like only yesterday. He frowned. Damn, it had been yesterday. All of it had been yesterday.

He looked back at his book and quickly finished reading the play.

~vVv~

On the way back to his quarters a half hour later he saw more children than he usually saw in a month. A few of them looked up at him in awe, some even timidly said hello. Even the handful of civilian crew members he ran into seemed surprised to see him in this area of the ship. He made a mental note to himself to visit on a more regular basis.

He felt a bit guilty as he stepped into his quarters, almost like a teenager who's been out past curfew and has to come sneaking in through a back window.

Luckily, there was no one there to catch him. He'd had the uneasy feeling that Beverly Crusher would be waiting for him. But she wasn't.

He glanced at the chronometer on his desk. 1500 hours. He yawned involuntarily, and decided that a nap wasn't an altogether bad idea. He remembered that he and Eline used to take them when Meribor was a baby. They'd slept whenever she did. He'd never realized how something so little could absolutely exhaust you.

He went into his bedroom, and sat down on the bed. He was suddenly too tired to put on his pajamas. Instead, he picked up the small box that held his flute, then lay back on the bed. He ran his hands over the smooth wooden surface, and closed his eyes. He hadn't eaten, he hadn't taken the pills that Crusher had given him. He didn't even think of those things. All he thought of as he drifted off to sleep were the last few lines from the play he'd read:

If we shadows have offended,

Think but this, and all is mended,

That you have but slumber'd here

While these visions did appear.

~vVv~