For the next few days, he drifted, in and out of awareness. At times, he was almost himself, impatient with his situation, annoyed by Crusher's close supervision. And then, a nightmare would come, and he would pull back, hide in a safe corner of his mind while she held him.

By the third day, he'd regained enough mental control to begin talking with Deanna Troi, short sessions which usually left him exhausted and in need of a nice, long nap. But it was progress, Beverly Crusher reminded herself as she set a plate of tuna sandwiches on the coffee table. And every little step counted.

"Jean-Luc," she called into the bedroom, "Deanna will be here in a few minutes. I've put some sandwiches out. I thought she might like to have lunch with us."

There was no response, but a few moments later, Picard appeared in the doorway, a wrinkled robe pulled on over his pajamas. He had expressed no desire to wear anything else, and that in itself worried Crusher. But she didn't mention it; she was just relieved that most of the time he'd dress himself. When he was ready to wear something else, he would.

She smiled at him. No one else would have noticed, but she could tell he'd combed his hair. And probably washed his face; he looked a little damp around the edges.

He hesitated in the doorway. "Deanna's coming?"

'Yes," Crusher nodded and went over to the replicator. 'You remember, she came this morning before your nap, and she said she'd be back when you woke up." She looked at the wall unit. "Three cups of soup. Tomato," she instructed.

A tray appeared with three mugs on it, and she picked it up, taking it back to the coffee table. "And now you're awake." She set the soup down beside the sandwiches, and then patted the sofa. "Come on over here and sit down. Have something to eat. I know you must be hungry. You didn't eat any breakfast." Actually, he wouldn't eat any breakfast. No matter how hard she'd tried to get him to.

He stared at her for a moment and then came slowly to the sofa, sitting down right where she'd indicated. She sat beside him.

'Tuna fish," he said dully, looking at the plate of sandwiches. Always tuna fish.

'You like tuna fish," she reminded him, taking a sandwich and handing it to him. She placed a napkin and a smaller plate on his lap.

Picard took a bite, chewed slowly, then set it back down. He handed the plate back to her. "Jean-Luc, you have to eat something," she sighed.

He shook his head. "Not hungry." He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his chin propped in one hand. He rubbed at his eyes. "I don't...I don't want to talk to Deanna."

Crusher set the plate on the table, then put her hand on his shoulder. "But you need to talk about what happened to you."

He shrugged slightly. "I was held captive by the Cardassians, and then they let me go. What else is there to say."

'There's a lot more to say, Jean-Luc. They not only held you captive, they tortured you, both physically and mentally." She said the words strongly, for if he weren't reminded of the facts, Picard would eventually convince himself that it hadn't happened, only to have mental and emotional repercussions in the future.

"But why do I have to talk about it?" He looked over at her, his eyes glistening with tears. Why Beverly?

She moved her hand from his shoulder to his cheek. "You know why, Jean-Luc. You can't carry these memories alone. And Deanna and I want to help you. Please, let us." Please Jean-Luc..

Just then, the entry chime sounded, and they both glanced over at the door. "Shall I let her in?" Crusher asked softly. Picard sighed. "Do I have a choice?"

She looked back at him. 'Yes, you have a choice. I'm not going to make you do anything you're not ready to do."

He smiled slightly. 'Thanks." Then he took a deep breath. "You can let her in."

Crusher stood, but her eyes were still fastened to his. 'You're sure?"

He nodded. 'Yes. Besides, I don't think it will look good to have the ship's counselor loitering around the captain's door. People will begin to talk."

Crusher took a step toward the door.

"If they haven't already," he mumbled, lowering his head back to his hands.

She stopped. "Jean-Luc, the crew knows you're recovering from injuries sustained while you were held captive by the Cardassians. And that's all they know. Only .Will, Deanna and I know how difficult these past few days have been for you. And we understand."

The door chime sounded again. Crusher went over and touched the wall panel; the door slid open and Troi stepped inside. The door shut behind her.

Troi looked over to where the captain sat, taking note of the bowed head and slumped shoulders. She glanced at Crusher. "He doesn't want to talk to me, does he?" she asked softly.

The doctor shook her head. "Not really. But he's willing to try." Troi smiled slightly. 'That's a good sign."

"I made us some lunch," Crusher said, her voice a little louder so that Picard would hear, "will you join us?"

Troi followed her over to the sitting area. "I'd love to. Thank you," she responded, sitting in a chair opposite Picard.

He still hadn't looked up, his eyes seemingly focused on the plate of tuna sandwiches. Crusher resumed her seat beside him, and then immediately got back up. "I'm not even thinking, we've got sandwiches and soup, but nothing to drink." She went over to the replicator, returning with a tray holding three glasses of milk. Setting the tray on the coffee table, she picked up one of the glasses. Then, taking one of Picard's hands from his forehead, she wrapped his fingers around the glass. "At least drink something, Jean-Luc."

He slowly looked up at her, raised his head and tightened his grip on the milk glass. 'Yes, ma'am," he agreed, obediently taking a drink, and then lowering the glass.

Crusher sank down next to him, frowning slightly when she realized that one sip was all he was going to take. Her frown turned to a smile when she noticed the small, white mustache the milk had left on his upper lip.

"Jean-Luc," she murmured, handing him a napkin from the coffee table. He took it, hesitated, then sighed as he scrubbed it over his mouth.

No one said anything.

Troi allowed the silence to stretch for several long, awkward minutes. Crusher took a sip of her soup and a bite of her sandwich, but Picard merely stared at the glass of milk in his hand before setting it on the table in front of him. The doctor started to say something, but changed her mind. The captain seemed to focus all of his attention on the tops of his knees.

Finally, Troi spoke. "Beverly says you've been sleeping better."

He nodded without looking up at her. That was true. His morning nap had been free of any nightmares. No Cardassians or Borg. Only dark sleep. He shuddered slightly. Almost too dark. Except for the lights.

'That's good," Troi continued.

"But I thought..." This time he raised his eyes and glanced over at Crusher. He hesitated. "What Jean-Luc?" the doctor asked.

"I assumed...you'd been giving me some sort of sedative to help me sleep." Crusher shook her head. "Not for the past three days."

A look of mild satisfaction passed over his face, then quickly disappeared. "I...I can't remember everything that's happened. It's like...after..." The lines of his face tightened with the memory. "After the...Borg."

Crusher immediately reached out and placed her hand on his arm. 'Yes, Jean-Luc, we know. Do you remember what Deanna and I told you about your recovery from the Borg?"

He drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, his eyes roaming over the room, then focusing on Troi, shifting back to Crusher. 'Yes," he murmured, shaking his head. "Some sort of... Episodes of..." He rubbed his hand over his forehead, squeezing his eyes closed.

"It's post traumatic shock, Jean-Luc," Crusher supplied the correct terminology. It was only fair that Picard be allowed to know what he was dealing with. There were already far too many dark secrets in his mind.

'Yes," he opened his eyes and swallowed hard. "I remember." He looked back at Crusher. "I can't...I can't consciously control the episodes because it's my mind's way of dealing with psychological trauma." The expression on his face seemed to be seeking the doctor's confirmation.

'That's right," she agreed. "And in this case, the drugs and the implant that the Cardassians used have caused some neurological damage as well."

Picard stiffened at her words. Crusher could feel the muscles under her hand grow tense. She rubbed her fingers along his arm. "But, you're already improving."

"How do I know when I'm well?" he asked, his eyes fastened on hers.

"How did you know when you were recovered from the Borg?" Troi countered.

Picard glanced in her direction, a sudden, crooked smile slightly lifting the corners of his mouth. "Who ever said that I knew?"

"Captain," Troi sighed.

He shook his head. "All right. The nightmares stopped... I felt stronger, more in control... And you and Beverly finally stopped sleeping on my sofa." He returned his gaze to Crusher. "And that hasn't happened yet."

Crusher smiled. "No, not yet. But you are improving. You slept this morning without any nightmares, didn't you?"

He nodded.

'You haven't had a regressive traumatic episode in almost three days. And the fact that you're sitting here discussing this with me and Deanna proves that you're regaining control of the situation."

"But I'm not well yet, am I?" His voice was low, strained, knowing the answer already. "What do you think?" Crusher asked quietly.

"I think... I think I still have a roommate for a couple of more days." He took note of the doctor's grin. "But don't get too comfortable. I plan on recovering completely."

'That's good, Captain," Troi spoke up. 'That's exactly what Beverly and I are planning on as well. Now, tell me the first thing that happened after the Cardassians took you prisoner?"

Picard grimaced. "I told you that this morning."

Troi nodded. "I know. Tell me again."

He felt as if the lights would never go away.

It wasn't a nightmare that had awakened him. It wasn't really anything at all. But he was awake. And the room was dark. And he felt very alone.

Kicking the covers back, he swung his legs out of the bed and stood up. He crossed over to the door, looked out into the living area. Beverly Crusher was curled on the sofa, sleeping quietly. He went and sat down in a chair next to her.

There were more viewports here, and the room was lit with stars. In the silver light, Picard could see Crusher's delicate features quite clearly: high cheek bones, tapering nose, eyebrows gently arched. Her shoulders rose evenly with each breath, and he envied her peaceful sleep. His nightmares may have been gone, but he doubted that he would ever sleep so peacefully himself. But even that was a return to normalcy. Ever since the Borg, his sleep had never been peaceful. Only adequate.

Crusher stirred, and her eyes opened. "Jean-Luc?" She sat up immediately, reaching out to

him.

Picard took hold of her hand. "I'm fine, Beverly."

She heard, and felt, the slight tremor that ran through his voice and body. "Are you sure?" He nodded. 'Yes. I...I woke up."

Crusher pulled her legs off the sofa, taking the blanket with her. She patted the place next to her.

Picard moved from the chair to sit beside her, the cushions warm from her body. He sighed as she draped an arm around his back. It was nice having her here.

"Are you having trouble sleeping?"

"No. No nightmares, just..."

"Just what?"

He sighed again. "Just...lonely," he admitted.

Crusher drew him closer to her, her hand gently pressing his head to her shoulder. He allowed it to rest against her.

"I'm still here, Jean," she whispered, her fingers stroking his cheek. Still here.

Crusher awoke the next morning to the sound of Picard in the bathroom. He wasn't singing, but the sound of running water was music to her ears none the less. This was the first time he'd arisen of his own accord, and the first time he'd taken a bath without her helping him or suggesting he do so. She smiled and got up off the sofa, pulling her robe on over her nightgown. Stepping over to the replicator, she set about preparing breakfast.

Ten minutes later, Picard emerged from his bedroom. Crusher looked up from the table and was surprised to see him dressed in a pair of tan trousers and a dark green shirt.

"Good morning," she greeted him. 'You're looking handsome this morning."

Picard smiled self-consciously, his cheeks blushing from the compliment.

"I feel underdressed compared to you." she continued, glancing down at her robe.

He walked over to her and sank down into one of the chairs at the table. Folding his hands in front of him, he stared intently at his fingers, as they knotted together, relaxed, then knotted together again. He shook his head. "No, you're fine. I've just been... severely underdressed for the past four days. I thought it was time I wore something else besides those damned pajamas." He looked up at her reaction.

Crusher frowned slightly. "Well, I will miss them, Jean-Luc. I'd gotten terribly used to them myself."

He sighed exhaustively. "Beverly..." There was a distinct warning in his voice, a touch of the old Picard.

Crusher smiled with relief and turned back to the replicator. "Are you ready for breakfast?" she asked.

"Please," he replied, taking a napkin and unfolding it in his lap.

She placed a plate in front of him: a croissant and strawberry preserves. Then a glass of orange juice, and a bowl of oatmeal.

He looked up at her. "Oatmeal? Again?"

"It's good for you," she insisted, sitting down across from him with her own plate.

"I'm getting a bit tired of it." He took a bite of his croissant and chewed slowly.

Crusher cheered inwardly. Complaining about food was a good sign. He hadn't cared for the first few days, had barely been able to feed himself, let alone complain about the menu.

"Eat it, Jean-Luc, and, I promise, tomorrow I won't make you."

'Yes, ma'am," he agreed, dipping his spoon into the bowl and taking a healthy bite. He swallowed convulsively. Oatmeal wasn't one of his favorites. He took a sip of orange juice to wash it down. "Speaking...of tomorrow," he began slowly, searching for the correct words, "perhaps...it would be better if I had breakfast... alone." He leveled his eyes on Crusher, seeing her blink with surprise.

She started to protest. "Jean-Luc, I don't think it would be..."

"Beverly," he cut her off, "I've been sleeping without any nightmares for the past...well, almost four days. You said yourself that I haven't experienced any...relapses in just as long." He drew in a deep breath. "I'm not asking to return to duty yet. I know I still need some time off. I'm just asking for...some time alone."

Crusher stared at him for long moments before responding. "What about last night? You woke up-"

"Not from a nightmare," he interjected.

"No, but you said yourself that you were lonely, and now you're asking for time alone."

Picard leaned back from the table and rubbed his fingers over his forehead. "I know it doesn't seem to make much sense, but I...I don't want..."

'To become dependent on me," Crusher finished his sentence.

In the silence that followed, their eyes met, and all the confirmation either of them needed was in that shared gaze.

"I understand," she murmured. And she did. All too well. She'd understood Picard for a long time now. They were close, but when he had a choice, not too close.

"If I need you, I'll call," he volunteered.

"Oh, don't worry, I plan on checking on you occasionally."

"I felt sure you would."

"And Deanna will still want to meet with you. We both will. For several more days." "I know."

Crusher stared down at her plate. "Would you mind if I finished my breakfast before I left?" "I insist that you do," Picard answered.

She took a bite of her croissant, smiling at his desire for independence despite her concerns.

"And Beverly," he added, with a definite glint in his eyes, "you might want to change your clothes before you go. What would people think if they saw you leaving the captain's quarters in your pajamas?"