"No!" Madred's face hovered over him. "No!" Frantically, he pushed at the figure. "Don't...no..." Please stop. Please.
"Shh." Hands touched his shoulders, then his arms, gently pressing them back down on the bed. "It's all right. Jean-Luc."
Beverly. His eyes snapped open. "Beverly?"
"I'm here." I'm right here, Jean-Luc. Tenderly, she stroked his face, brushed away the tears, the beads of perspiration on his brow. "You're all right." I'm not going anywhere.
Picard drew in a ragged breath and pushed himself up in bed, his head propped awkwardly against the pillows. He stared at Crusher, not wanting to take his eyes from her familiar face. He reached his fingers up and touched her cheek. Beverly. I thought they'd hurt you. He gasped, swallowing. "Oh, Beverly."
She smiled softly. "It's all right now. You're fine." She wrapped her hand around his, pressed his cold with fear palm against the warmth of her cheek. How fragile he looked, frightened, cheeks hollow and pale. I'll take care of you, Jean-Luc. You're with me now. "Everything's all right."
No. He shook his head, slowly, carefully, for there was a pain building behind his eyes. He winced.
Crusher rubbed her other hand over his temple. "Take it easy."
He closed his eyes. I'm home. She's here. Madred's face was suddenly there on the back of his eyelids. "No!" He opened them again, quickly.
"Jean-Luc?"
"It's nothing." Everything. Four lights. He drew his hand away from her grasp and touched his bare chest, his fingers moving lightly over the area above his heart. He squinted. The skin there was tender, sensitive.
Crusher gently pulled his hand away. "I've removed it, Jean-Luc," she assured him. "It'll be a little sore for a day or two. But then you'll never know it was there."
I'll know.
"Here, let's make you a little more comfortable." She helped him sit up, then adjusted the pillows behind his back and settled him against them.
He stared down at his body, the blankets folded to his waist, then at his arm. He frowned.
"What..."
"It's just a glucose/saline solution. Nothing to worry about. You were a little dehydrated."
He sighed. "What else is wrong with me?"
"Oh," she smiled reassuringly, "not much. A few cuts, bruises, a couple of broken ribs. You're running a slight fever, but that's good. Lets me know you're healing."
He swallowed, shifted uncomfortably, his head beginning to pound. "Is that all?" Please, let that be all.
She stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if she should tell him more, and if so, how much. She rubbed her hand over his shoulder and felt him tense at the contact. All the times she'd examined him, treated his injuries, held him through nightmares, and he was still sometimes embarrassed by the way she touched him, comforted him.
"Beverly?" he prompted, his voice shaking slightly.
She'd never lied to him. And I won't start now. "There was some nerve damage, Jean-Luc." She saw him swallow again, nervously. "But I don't think it's permanent. Now here," she took a cup of water from the bedside table and handed it to him, "drink this."
He took it, not realizing he was trembling until drops of water sloshed over the rim. He tried to steady the cup with his other hand, but his shaking grew worse.
Crusher quickly took the cup back. "I'll hold it."
He managed a slight smile, then leaned forward and took a sip of the cool liquid. It eased the dryness of his throat, and he gulped at it.
"Easy there," she said, pulling the cup away. "Not too much all at once."
He nodded, licked his lips and let his head fall back onto the pillows. Crusher returned the cup to the table, then sat down on the edge of the bed, her eyes staring blankly at the medical monitor on the wall. I nearly lost you.
"Talk." The word was barely a whisper.
She looked back at him. "What?"
"Talk to me." Please.
"What do you want me to say?" I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you.
"Anything. I just want to hear your voice." Any voice other than his.
She smiled, leaned her head to one side, thinking. "Well, let's see..." We should have gone back for you. I should have. "I got a letter from Wesley the other day. He's in love. Again."
Picard arched his eyebrows. "Is he?" Keep talking.
"Oh, yes. Third time this year. He says this one's serious though."
"Really. I warned him once about serious relationships." Seems so long ago.
Crusher gaped at him. You? "And what, pray tell, did you tell him Jean-Luc?"
He lowered his eyes, suddenly embarrassed, color flushing his cheeks. "Just...to beware." He heard her trying to suppress a laugh, and he looked up at her. "All right. Perhaps I'm not one to be giving advice. Especially on relationships." He smiled self-consciously as Crusher's blue eyes brightened. She loved teasing him about affairs of the heart.
But instead of saying anything, she just shook her head. "No, I'm glad you did. I appreciate all you've done for him." For us. For me.
"He's a fine young man." So much like his father. "I miss having him around." Just as I still miss Jack.
"I do too." And I missed you. She stared at him for long, silent moments. I could have lost you, and it would have been my fault.
"Keep talking." It's too quiet.
"You need your rest." I don't know what to say.
"No," he resisted, "I'm not tired." Don't want to sleep. To dream. To see the jagged faces again.
"Jean-Luc." She picked up a hypo-spray from a tray on the bedside table. "You've been through a lot." We all have. "Sleep's the best thing for you right now."
"Beverly..." Please. I want to stay with you. Don't leave me.
Despite his protests, she pressed the hypo against his neck. "I'll be here when you wake up." I will.
He grimaced slightly, and his eyes closed.
"I promise," she whispered. I won't leave you. Not this time.
~vVv~
Riker reached for another helping of sausage and eggs, and Troi laughed. You never change, Imzadi.
"What?" He looked up at her, his blue eyes unusually bright for so early in the morning. Not even 0600 yet. And damn, you're gorgeous.
Troi smiled. His thoughts touched her mind softly, lighting her own dark eyes. And so are you. "That's the third plateful you've had so far."
The sound of her voice seemed to confirm that the woman sitting across the table from him was not a vision, and the reality of his surroundings suddenly hit him. Deanna's cabin. Deanna's table. Eating breakfast with Deanna after spending the night. Riker stared at her uncomfortably, his fork poised above his scrambled eggs. "I'm. I'm hungry." No I'm not, I'm nervous as hell. And you know it. He lowered the fork to his plate, took a deep breath. "Deanna, about..."
"Don't, Will." She looked down at the table and sighed. "Please don't say 'About last night.'" We don't need to have this conversation.
He shook his head, confused by her reaction. You're the one who always wants to talk about things. "But Deanna..."
She raised her eyes and reached across the table, touching his hand. He hadn't realized how tight his fingers had grown around the fork. He tried to relax. "Will, we're friends. Good friends. I love you. I always will." She squeezed his hand. "Friends are there for each other." Always.
He nodded. "It's just that-" They took him, and if they could take him, then...
"No. Let's not examine the reasons right now. There'll be time for that later." I have a feeling we're all going to need time.
Riker coughed, drew in a breath, released it and felt her calming presence in his mind. They sat there for several seconds, not moving, and then Troi pulled her hand away from his.
'You'd better finish those eggs. You're going to need all your strength today." So am I.
He shrugged, trying to throw off the weight of their previous conversation. With some effort, he slid back into his first officer mode: calm, in control. "And why is that? I thought the worst of all this was over." Isn't it?
The look in her eyes seemed to say 'not yet,' but she didn't speak the words. Instead, she smiled teasingly, and said, "You have two captains to deal with this morning. I believe one's in Sickbay having croissants and Earl Grey tea with Beverly Crusher, and the other is probably in the ready room eating nails for breakfast."
~vVv~
Jean-Luc Picard was supposed to be eating croissants and drinking Earl Grey tea. At least, that's what his Chief Medical Officer was trying to get him to do. Unfortunately, his breakfast was getting in the way of his work.
Uhh... "Please, Beverly, I'm not hungry." He pushed the plate away as he tried to continue keying into the bedside computer. He was awake now, alert and dressed in a pair of blue Sickbay pajamas. But still, the thought of food made him feel sick. And there was work to be completed, reports he was eager to be done with.
"Jean-Luc, you haven't eaten in days." Damn it, why are you always so stubborn?
Picard glanced down at his left arm, now completely free of all medical paraphernalia. "Then apparently that stuff you fed me through those tubes filled me up." He cut his eyes quickly back to the computer screen.
Crusher shook her head exhaustively. "One does not get filled up on a glucose/saline solution." She reached over and turned off the computer. Picard blinked. "Now, are you going to eat of your own free will, or am I going to have to restrain you and then feed you myself?" It wouldn't be the first time.
Picard frowned up at her. Why was it that the person standing over you always held so much power? Like Madred. The thought caused him to shudder and close his eyes tightly. The moment passed. But not before she noticed.
"Jean-Luc?" She sat down on the edge of his bed, her hand going immediately to his forehead, soft, gentle fingers, stroking his creased brow.
He opened his eyes, stared up at her, smiling weakly. "I'm all right." No, I'm not.
"Here," she held the tea cup to his lips, "drink a little of this."
He took a sip. The liquid was warm, the taste blessedly familiar. He drank more. Despite the queasiness in his stomach, he had to admit that Earl Grey always made him feel better. He wondered if it had any unknown healing properties. Only for me. He could remember Maman giving it to him for any little ache or pain during his childhood. He smiled broadly at the memory.
"See there, a little nourishment is helping your disposition already," Crusher commented with a look of victory on her face. "Now, I think if we try one of these croissants, you'll begin to feel even better." I hope.
"I will feel better when you release me from..." his eyes roamed over the ceiling and walls, "from this place."
Crusher picked up a croissant and buttered it lightly. "This place, as you so aptly call it, is where I spend most of my day. It's not so bad once you get used to it." She spread a generous amount of orange marmalade on the pastry in her hand. "Now, take a bite of this." She held it out to him, mere inches from his mouth. Please, be a good boy, Jean-Luc. I'm tired.
Picard took it out of her hand. "I can feed myself, Beverly."
"Good. Get started." She stood up. "I'll be in the next room if you need me. Just press the call button." She took a few steps toward the door, then stopped and glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, yes," she pointed to the computer, "I don't want to see that turned on until after you finish eating."
His eyes narrowed at her. "You always get your way, don't you?"
She grinned. "Usually." I got you back.
"But this is my ship," he replied, mustering as much strength behind his voice as he could. At least. I hope it still is.
'Yes, but this is my sickbay. Now eat." And with that, she was gone, the tails of her blue lab jacket swirling behind her.
Picard grimaced, and trying to ignore the uneasiness he felt, took a small bite of the croissant he was holding. Umm... He hated to admit it, but it was good. He took another bite. Quite good. The tension in his stomach lessened. It was much better than the report he was working on, much better than some glucose/saline solution. And far better than Tespa. He shuddered at the thought.
~vVv~