Picard fell asleep with his head on Crusher's lap, his body molding against her legs. Troi took a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders.

Later, when Will Riker entered the captain's quarters, he found Crusher and Troi talking quietly while Picard slept.

"Hello, Will," Troi greeted him.

Riker stood in the bedroom doorway. "How is everything?" he asked, looking uncertainly at the captain.

Crusher smiled. "Everything's fine right now," she answered, rubbing her hand over Picard's shoulder.

"Can I help you get him into bed?" Riker inquired, stepping over to them.

Crusher nodded. "Please."

Riker leaned over and put one arm around Picard's back, the other under his legs. Carefully, he lifted his captain, cradling him against his chest. Picard's head nestled on Riker's shoulder, and he sighed in his sleep.

Crusher and Troi got up from the side of the bed, and Riker lowered the sleeping man onto it. This was the second time in the past few days that he had held Picard, and the realization of how light and fragile he was frightened him. The Cardassians had starved and beaten the captain, and now, even though they had Picard back, he was still wrestling with his memory of their torture. They were all wrestling with the memory.

Troi motioned for Riker to follow her into the next room, and silently they left. Crusher leaned over, tucked the blankets around Picard, and kissed him lightly on the forehead before joining them.

"Deanna said he was aware of his surroundings for a little while." Riker spoke to Crusher as she walked over and sat down in a chair opposite the first officer.

She nodded. "For just a while."

"It is going to take time," Troi said, echoing the words she'd spoken to Crusher earlier.

"How much time?" Riker asked, looking from the counselor to the doctor. He hated playing Devil's Advocate, but he was the one who'd have to deal with Starfleet sooner or later. Preferably later.

Crusher rubbed her hands together in her lap. "Can you give us a week?"

Riker shook his head. "I'll give you all the time that I can, but I have a feeling that Starfleet's going to want to talk to him before then."

"But they already have his mission report," Crusher said.

"I know. But now that Jellico's gone, they're going to want a captain to talk to, someone to answer their questions. I can't put them off, Beverly."

She flipped a strand of auburn hair back over her shoulder. "Then you direct them to me. I'll put them off."

"Beverly," Troi said softly.

"Deanna!" She turned on the counselor. "We can't let them know. Not yet. We have to give him that time he needs. You said so yourself." He has to have time.

Troi sighed.

"Deanna?" she prodded.

The counselor looked at Riker. "She's right, Will. If Starfleet were aware of his present condition, they'd insist on a psychiatric profile and a competency test. And he wouldn't be able to pass them. At least, not now."

Hell. "Then what do I tell them?"

"Tell them he's resting. Doctor's orders."

"And if he's not better in a week?"

Crusher took a deep breath. "I'll make an official report to Starfleet Medical. And then take it from there."

Riker nodded. "All right." He got up from the sofa just as a scream ripped through the cabin.

The three of them rushed into the next room. Picard was sitting straight up in bed, eyes wide, breathing heavily.

Crusher positioned herself in front of him, quickly placing her hands on his cheeks. They were hot and feverish. "Jean-Luc." Her voice was firm. "Jean-Luc." Look at me.

Picard seemed to see her then, but instead of recognition, there was only terror. He pushed at her violently, his fist catching her on the jaw. Crusher toppled back, feeling Troi grab hold of her in support.

Without hesitating, Riker crawled onto the bed and wrapped his arms around the captain. Picard struggled against him, crying and screaming, his head tossing. Crusher climbed back up next to him and took hold of his head again. At the foot of the bed, Troi clamped her hands around Picard's legs, trying to keep them from kicking.

"I don't want to sedate him," Crusher shouted above the screaming. "Just hold onto him. He should tire himself out."

A few minutes later, Picard's entire body suddenly relaxed. But Riker and Troi didn't release him.

"Beverly?" Riker looked over at the doctor.

She was gently stroking Picard's tear stained cheeks. "I think you can let go now."

They did, and Picard immediately began trembling. His skin and pajamas were soaked with sweat. Crusher gathered him into her arms, pulling a blanket around him. "Deanna, will you run a hot bath for him, please?"

"Of course," she answered, disappearing into the bathroom. "Do you want me to help you get his pajamas off?" Riker asked.

Crusher shook her head. "No. He's already chilled. I'll take them off after we get him in the tub. I'll just need you to carry him in there."

Once more, Riker picked the captain up in his arms and strode into the bathroom with him. Picard whimpered as he was lowered into the hot water.

"It's all right, Jean-Luc," Crusher soothed, her hand on his shoulder. She knelt down on the floor next to the tub, and keeping one arm around Picard at all times, she removed his wet pajamas, then handed the clothing to Troi.

The counselor took it. "Beverly, Will and I are going to change the sheets on his bed, and then we'll leave. I think Jean-Luc will feel better with just you here."

Picard's head was leaning back against Crusher's arm, and she softly traced her fingers over his cheek. "I think so, too. I'll contact you if I need any help getting him out."

Riker and Troi left, and Crusher turned her attention back to Picard. "You're all right," she whispered, taking a washcloth and rubbing it over his shoulders and chest. You're all right. He relaxed even more at her touch, and the trembling stopped as the hot water warmed his body.

He reached up and tentatively touched a strand of Crusher's hair. Four lights. "Beverly?" And suddenly, he was back again, aware of her.

"Jean-Luc?" She held her hand to his cheek.

He swallowed convulsively. "I'm sorry," he gasped. "I'm so...much trouble."

"No, you're not trouble."

"Why...why am I in the bathtub?"

Crusher couldn't help but smile at the look of acute discomfort on his face. "You had the chills. And since I don't want to give you any drugs right now, it was the best old-fashioned method I could think of to get your fever down." She wiped at the lingering drops of perspiration on his brow. "Do you want to get out now?"

"No," he answered drowsily, "feels good."

"Don't fall asleep on me," she warned.

"Why not?"

"Because I think your first officer is getting tired of picking you up." She felt his body tense.

"Picking me up?"

"Never mind. Jean-Luc. Just relax."

He sighed and squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. Four lights danced in his mind. Four lights...four lights. He looked back up at her. "Everything... so confused," he murmured.

"It won't stay that way," she replied, gently beginning to bathe him again.

He shifted slightly in her arms. "Beverly..." No...

Yes. "Jean-Luc, it's all right," she assured him. "I'm your doctor."

~vVv~

Picard remained alert throughout the rest of his bath, accepting of Crusher's tender ministrations, although she wasn't sure if it were embarrassment or the warm water that caused his cheeks to flush with color. Whatever the reason, she was relieved; anything was better than the pale, ashen cast that had tinted his skin since he'd been returned.

Later, with the doctor's help, he was able to get out of the tub. He stood on trembling legs as she dried him off, then draped a towel around his shoulders before slowly walking him into his bedroom. The hot bath had succeeded in relaxing him, to the point where he felt weak all over. He leaned against her arm, holding on to her hand tightly.

She led him over to the bed, and he sat down on the edge of it, reluctantly letting go of her hand so that she could go and get him some pajamas. He was naked, except for the towel around his shoulders, and that really didn't cover much of him. Crusher was surprised that he now seemed unashamed of his nakedness in front of her, but still, she quickly rummaged through his dresser drawers looking for a pair of clean pajamas.

Behind her, Picard sat motionless, head bent, staring down at his body. Absently, he ran his fingers over the dark bruises on his thighs and stomach. "It hurt," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. There are...four lights.

Crusher raised her eyes from a half-opened dresser drawer and looked over at him. "I know it did." She didn't know what else to say. Could only agree with him. Could only imagine what he'd been through.

"They kept hitting," he gasped. "And hitting." Four lights. He rubbed his hands over his thighs. "Hitting...hitting." He pushed roughly at the bruises now, kneading at them as if he could somehow make them disappear. Four...lights.

"Jean-Luc!" Crusher was instantly on the floor in front of him, her own hands closing over his, stopping his movement, knowing that the pressure must be painful. "Jean-Luc, it's over." She looked up at his face, into his tear-filled eyes. "It's over, and you're safe." You're safe.

He made a small crying sound in his throat, a gasp; then he breathed in a strangled gulp of air. The tears slid down over his cheeks, and he leaned toward her. She took him in her arms.

"Beverly...don't leave me," he sobbed into her shoulder. "Don't leave." The lights...don't leave.

"I won't, Jean-Luc." She softly stroked his shaking, towel-covered back. "I won't." Not ever. Five lights. Five lights...

~vVv~

She'd been able to pull a blanket around him to keep him warm, but it was almost half an hour before she was able to release him and go back to the dresser to retrieve a pair of pajamas. She found some with long pants and long sleeves so that he wouldn't have to see the dark bruises that still marred his skin. They would go away, but in the meantime, she didn't want him to be constantly reminded of them.

Upon returning to the bed, she found that he was half asleep, still sitting up, but barely conscious. It was like trying to dress a rag doll as she pushed and pulled his arms and legs into the clothing. Finally, he was dressed, and she got him to lie back on the bed. She then pulled the covers over him.

He turned onto his side, curling around the gathered blankets. His eyes were heavy with sleep, almost shut. He reached a hand out to her, and she grabbed hold of it. She watched as his other hand pushed up next to his face, and his thumb slid between his lips, into his mouth. His eyes fell closed.

Crusher sighed. He'd regressed again, returned to the safe haven of a mental and emotional childhood.

It was then that she realized she was trembling. Just as Picard had been doing earlier. But she wasn't cold. She was scared, terrified. This time it was worse. Much worse. More so than she'd been expecting.

Seven days. Only seven days before she had to decide one way or the other: certify him fit for duty or...or what? Send him to a rehabilitation facility. Never. It was simply not an option. She'd seen him through his recovery from the Borg, and she'd see him through this. It would just take time. Time.

She gazed down at him, softly stroked her fingers over his cheek, could feel the faint sucking motion of his mouth and lips. She'd seen him like this before. After the Borg. Frightened, withdrawn, barely aware of her presence. Like a child, lost, alone; a baby without the precious feeling of security. She was there for him, now, and she would be. But he didn't know that. Not really.

Carefully, she drew her hand away from his, and walked quietly over to the door. She realized that if she were truly going to be there for him, she would have to rest while he slept, conserve her physical energy, for her emotional strength was already drained. The sofa in the next room would have to be her bed for the next week, and she might as well get used to it. But before she left his room, she paused in the doorway and looked back at him. "I'm here, Jean-Luc," she whispered. "I'm here." Always...here.

~vVv~

He sat in the dark, trembling uncontrollably. Four lights. Cold, so cold.

Slowly, he pulled his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his knees. It hurt. So bad.

He began to rock...back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

His pajamas were damp with sweat; they clung to his body. And he'd wet the bed.

Again.

He shuddered at the realization, embarrassed by his loss of control. But it wasn't the first time. Hardly. So many, he'd lost count. Just as he'd lost track of the days and nights. They were all the same, one long nightmare, terrifying and interminable.

He continued to rock...back and forth, back and forth.

And he waited.

She didn't come.

He felt tears in his eyes and on his face. Where is she? She always comes...always.

He stared across the darkened room, lit only by the pale glow of starlight through the viewports. Beyond the open door, he could see a brighter light coming from the next room.

What if she's not there? What if she's gone?

The thought hit him hard, and he gasped, strangled around the tight constriction in his throat. The next thought hit him harder.

What if I'm not here ? What if...

"Beverly?" he screamed, closing his eyes, his hands knotting into fists around the material of his pajama pants.

"Jean-Luc?" The voice came from the doorway. He didn't look. What if it's not her?

"Jean-Luc, it's all right." The bed moved. She crawled up beside him and drew his body into her arms.

He was stiff and unyielding. What if it's not her?

"Jean, I'm here." Her hand began to caress his cheeks and forehead, gently wiping away the mingled sweat and tears.

His breaths came in labored gasps. What if it's not her?

"You're all right," she whispered, pressing her lips to his ear, murmuring words of assurance. "I'm here. You're home. It's me, Beverly."

Beverly.

He opened his eyes, stared up at her, red strands of hair framing her face. He unclenched one fist, and tentatively raised his fingers to her cheek, touched her. Soft, warm...

"Beverly?" he breathed, and relaxed into her arms, allowing her to cradle him close, rock him gently...back and forth, back and forth.

"It's all right, Jean-Luc."

"I'm...I'm really home?"

"Yes." She strengthened her hold on him. "You're really home." There are four lights.

~vVv~