Picard sat on the edge of his bed watching while Beverly Crusher packed his suitcase. He made no move to help her, gave no suggestions as to what she should pack. He let her make the decisions now. All of them. She'd chosen their location for shore leave; she'd chosen what they'd had for breakfast. She'd even chosen the pajamas he'd worn to bed last night, helped him put them on, tucked him in, and then held him when the nightmares returned.

He'd slept very little. And although he was exhausted, he had no desire to close his eyes.

"What books would you like to take with you?" Crusher asked, leaning over the shelf above his bed, surveying the titles on the spines of the antique volumes. 'You've got...Great Expectations. Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy...Dune, and of course," she lifted the largest one in her hand, "the Complete Works of William Shakespeare." She was sure it was just one of his many editions. She gazed down at him and saw that he wasn't even looking at her. "Jean-Luc?"

"It doesn't make any difference, I..." He drew in a long breath, sighed wearily. "I don't think I'll be reading much." His voice was a monotone, distant, disconnected.

Before the mission to Seltris III, he'd probably been reading all four of them simultaneously.

"Well," Crusher forced a smile, "you might change your mind." She picked up the Shakespeare and the LeCarre and took them over to the suitcase that lay open on the bed behind him. She placed them on top of his folded robe, her fingers brushing against the soft material. She looked up, remembering that Picard was still in his pajamas. "Jean-Luc, you've got to get dressed." She walked around the bed and stood in front of him.

He didn't acknowledge her.

"Come on." She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I think you'll be more comfortable traveling in something other than a pair of short pajamas. Besides, these are your favorites and I'd better pack them."

'You're right." He got up off the bed and took a step toward his dresser, then stopped, his eyes clouding with confusion. "Could you...find me something to wear, please?" The effort was too great for him. Even the decision of what shirt and trousers to put on was more than he wanted to think about.

Crusher didn't say anything, but she went ahead of him, opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of underwear, a pair of gray trousers and a blue shirt. She came back to him, took his arm and led him back to the bed. She put the clothes down, and then, without even asking if he needed any help, she began to undress him.

Picard didn't protest. After all, she'd put the pajamas on him, she might as well be the one to take them off. She drew the shirt over his head, and then held him steady as he stepped out of the shorts. He stood there, naked, not the least bit embarrassed; he was so far past embarrassment now, that it didn't even occur to him to feel self-conscious. She handed him the underwear and the trousers, and he managed to pull them on himself. Then, she picked up the blue shirt and guided his arms into the sleeves, fastening it across his chest.

She ran her hands over his shoulders. "There we go," she smiled, "you look very handsome. Now sit down while I go get your socks and boots."

He sat, but took the socks and boots out of her hands when she returned and knelt beside him moments later. "I can do it," he said quietly.

"All right," she agreed, getting to her feet again. She leaned over and retrieved his gray pajamas from the floor. "I'll repliclean these," she offered heading over to the cleaning unit in the dressing alcove.

It took only a few seconds for the pajamas to be cleaned; they reappeared neatly folded. Crusher took them over to the suitcase, placed them inside, and closed the luggage. She glanced at Picard, checking on his progress with the boots.

He was bent forward, elbows resting on his thighs, hands hanging limply between his knees. One sock was on, but the other lay next to his boots on the floor. She went and knelt in front of him. His eyes were closed, lines of tension creased into his face. Crusher picked up the sock and began to pull it onto his foot.

Picard's eyelids flew open. "I can do it," he said sharply, reaching down and trying to push her hands away.

Crusher held on to both the sock and his foot. "Jean-Luc, you're exhausted. Even simple tasks are frustrating for you right now. I know that. Please, let me help."

His eyes stared into hers, and he nodded slowly. Then, closing his eyes again, he leaned forward. Crusher leaned toward him, and their foreheads touched. They rested against each other for several long moments before Crusher finished with his boots.

There was the cabin, and the woods, and the lake. In the distance, there were mountains. And above it all, was the highest, deepest, clearest blue sky Jean-Luc Picard had ever seen. He turned and looked at the doctor standing beside him. "It's...it's beautiful here," he said, a tired smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

Crusher smiled back, and linked her arm through his. "I thought you'd like it." She began to lead him toward the cabin's front porch. "That's why I wanted the transporter to set us down outside, so you could get the full effect. The village is about a half a mile that way." She gestured toward the road that led into the trees. "Not a bad walk at all."

They climbed the four steps onto the porch, and turned to gaze at the view again.

"It looks very much like Earth," Picard commented, taking a deep breath of the fresh air. "I've read about the colonization of New Colorado, but I've never been here."

"I brought Wesley here on vacation the year before my assignment to the Enterprise," Crusher explained, leaning against the porch railing. "A friend of mine at Starfleet Medical told me about it. In fact, this is the same cabin we stayed in seven years ago."

"It reminds me of..." Picard's voice trailed off.

Crusher moved closer to him. 'You can say it, Jean-Luc. It reminds you of the cabin that you and Jack and Walker and I used to go to in Canada."

Picard glanced over at her. 'Yes, it does."

She squeezed his arm. "Those were good times, weren't they?"

'Yes, they were."

"We'll have plenty of opportunities in the next few weeks to remember those times. I'd like talking about them, if you want to."

Sudden memories of those long ago shore leaves flooded into Picard's mind. The cabin in Canada, Jack's grandparent's place. The four of them had been there many times. Sometimes there had been others. Walker Keel always had a string of various girlfriends. And Picard had brought a date on one or two occasions. But mostly there had been only the four of them. He studied the woman beside him. And then there were two, he thought with a dull, hollow feeling.

Crusher pulled gently on his arm. "Come on and see the inside," she suggested, leading him toward the front door.

He followed her and moments later stood in the middle of the cabin's main room. A natural stone fireplace dominated one wall, and several over-stuffed arm chairs and a large sofa surrounded it. In the far right hand corner, separated by a long counter, was the kitchen. Two doors, one on either side of the fireplace, led to what Picard supposed were the bedrooms.

Crusher walked over to the open door on the right and glanced inside. 'This one is mine," she said looking back over her shoulder. "I had the ship transport our luggage down before our arrival."

Picard nodded. "I suppose the other room is mine."

She walked back to him. "Good deduction," she teased, then noticed the look of uncertainty on his face. "But if you need anything, you just call." She placed a hand on his arm. "I'm not that far away."

He stared into her eyes for a moment, then went over to the sofa and sank wearily onto it. He sighed, not knowing what to say or do. She came and sat beside him. "It's almost time for lunch. I could make us something to eat. And then, after we've rested, we could go for a

walk."

She was trying. Picard knew that. She was trying, and he wasn't. He drew in a deep breath, determined not to make her try alone. "That would...be nice," he agreed quietly. He glanced over his shoulder toward the kitchen. "Is there a replicator?"

'Yes, but we'll walk into town later and get some other supplies. I think it might be fun to actually do some cooking while we're here."

Picard smiled weakly. "Well, an adventure at least."

He had not meant to sleep. But after a lunch of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, he'd taken a long nap. Led like a sleepy three-year-old to his bed by Beverly Crusher, he'd curled up under the blankets and fallen asleep while she'd sat beside him, holding his hand.

And she was still there when he opened his eyes.

"Hello," she whispered, smoothing her hand over his forehead.

He blinked and yawned, running his own hand over his eyes.

"Did you sleep well?" she asked.

He nodded. "No dreams."

"That's good."

Picard looked around, noticed the shadows in the room. "How long have I been asleep?"

"About three hours."

He pushed himself up in the bed. 'Three hours?" 'You were tired, Jean-Luc. You needed the rest." "But we were going to go for a walk," he protested.

"We still have time. It's not yet four o'clock." She stood up. "Why don't you get your boots on, and I'll fix us a pot of tea, and after that, we'll go."

"All right," he agreed.

She went to the door.

"Beverly?"

She looked back. 'Yes?" "Nothing."

His head hurt. But he didn't tell her. It was nothing, just the stress of the day and the walk into town. The pain would go away after a good night's sleep. There was no reason to worry Crusher any more than she was already worried.

Picard leaned back into the plush sofa. He was already in his pajamas. He'd put them on himself. Well, Crusher had buttoned the shirt for him, but that was all. He stared over his shoulder toward the kitchen. She was in her pajamas, too. He smiled, despite his headache. Unfortunately, she hadn't needed his help at all.

She came back to the sofa with a tray in her hands, set it on the coffee table. She settled down next to him and handed him a cup, then picked up her own. "Here's to Aunt Adele," she smiled, taking a long sip of the warm milk.

Picard took a sip as well, the taste bringing back hazy memories of evenings at his aunt's house when he was a child. He sighed and leaned over and set the cup back on the tray, suddenly too weary to even hold it.

"Does it taste all right?" Crusher asked, gazing at him with that constant look of concern she'd had for the past week.

"It's fine, Beverly, I'm. I'm just tired," he answered, sighing exhaustively, allowing his chin to bend toward his chest. He ran his hands up over his face and across his head.

Crusher reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Well, all you have to do here is rest. You don't have to worry about a thing."

'That's good. Because I don't even have the ability to worry," he said, his voice suddenly bitter. "I can't even do that. I can't dress myself, I can't make any decisions, I can't..." His words trailed off, the pain behind his eyes intensifying. He clenched his fingers together and rubbed a fist against his head.

"Jean-Luc?" Crusher moved closer to him, her fingers touching his chin, raising his head. Their eyes met. 'You're in pain," she realized, getting up from the sofa and retrieving her medical kit from the kitchen.

Picard sat quietly, waiting for her return. She was back in a moment, her medical tricorder humming over his body.

She studied the readings. "Why didn't you tell me your head was hurting?" "Beverly, it's just a headache," he answered meekly.

"After all you've been through, a headache is not just...a headache." She pulled a hypospray from her kit, set it, and pressed it against his neck. 'There, that should help." She sighed and stared at him for several long moments.

Picard felt the pain begin to recede. He nodded. "That's better."

She put the hypospray and tricorder back into her kit, and then gently took hold of his hand, holding it between both of hers. "Jean-Luc, you have to let me know how you're feeling. Especially now." She took a deep breath, realizing that it was time she expressed her own fears and doubts about his medical condition, fears and doubts that had come flooding back after his reaction to the Cardassian ship the day before. "Remember, I told you about the nerve damage you experienced."

"It's permanent, isn't it?" Picard asked sullenly.

Crusher drew in another deep breath. She wouldn't lie to him. "It might be. I don't really know."

Picard pulled his hand away from her and stood up. "I think I'll go to bed now." "Jean-Luc..."

"I'll be fine, Beverly," he reassured her quietly, then disappeared into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

Crusher sat on the sofa for several long minutes, staring at the closed bedroom door. Damn. This wasn't what she'd intended. She'd wanted to discuss his medical condition calmly, truthfully. Instead, she'd let him get away. She'd allowed him to leave, hadn't even tried to stop him. Maybe she hadn't really wanted to discuss it after all. Maybe they both wanted to pretend that the problem didn't exist. Ignore it and it would go away. But it wouldn't, at least not so easily.

She stood and walked over to the door, knocked softly. "Jean-Luc? May I come in?" There was no answer.

She opened the door slightly and looked inside. Picard sat on the far edge of his bed, his back to her, his shoulders hunched forward, elbows propped on knees, head cradled in his hands. Quietly, she went and sat down beside him. He didn't look up.

"Jean-Luc, you can't run away from this," she said gently.

Picard sighed tiredly. "Even if I could, where would I go?" he replied, his voice hoarse with unshed tears. "And yet, my mind keeps trying to run away."

Crusher placed a hand on his back, felt the tension laced along the muscles in his shoulders. "Subconsciously your mind needs those episodes of regression. And the damage that was done to the neural receptors in your brain makes it all the more difficult for you to consciously resist those regressive episodes."

Picard looked up at her finally, his eyes bright with tears. 'You just used the words 'damage' and 'brain' in the same sentence, Beverly. I don't think I like the sound of that."

Crusher drew in a deep breath. "I don't know if it's permanent or not, Jean-Luc. But yes, there has been some brain damage."

'You knew this and still let me take command of the ship." There was a harsh tone to his voice.

Crusher's back stiffened. "In many instances, other areas of the brain take over for the damaged part while it learns to compensate. I wasn't sure exactly what would happen in your case, because the drugs the Cardassians used had contributed to the problem. But I was hoping that the damage would reverse itself within a few days. And besides, I..."

"What?" Picard asked gruffly.

"I wanted Edward Jellico off the ship, out of your ready room, off your bridge," Crusher returned fiercely. "I knew that Will would be there to take command if you needed him to. He should have been in command throughout our entire mission."

Picard shook his head and lowered it back to his hands. "Well, he may remain in command permanently."

"Jean-Luc, I still believe that you will recover," Crusher spoke slowly, her words strong and forceful. "I can't tell you what will happen next. I don't know what effect the damage will have on you physically or mentally, but I do know that I will be here for you, and we will get through this."

Picard didn't say anything, but he leaned toward her, allowing her to take him in her arms and hold him for a long time.