She felt as if she'd only been asleep for a few minutes when the terrified scream ripped through the darkness of the cabin. Crusher flew out of bed and into the next bedroom, stopping at the doorway to turn on the lights. The bed was empty, the sheets and blankets pulled off onto the floor where Picard was huddled into a tight ball, his arms and legs drawn up underneath him. He was screaming, crying, gasping for each breath, his body rocking back and forth.

Crusher raced into the kitchen and returned with her medical kit. Taking out her tricorder, she slowly went over and knelt down on the floor beside him.

"Jean-Luc," she whispered, touching his back, knowing he couldn't hear her over the sound of his sobbing, but hoping he would somehow sense her presence. "I'm here, Jean-Luc. You're all right."

She watched as his hands reached up and pushed against the sides of his head. She ran the tricorder over his body; the pain readings were very high. Quickly, she prepared a hypospray and pressed it against his neck. Within seconds, he stopped his rocking movement, lifted his head and stared up at her. His eyes were red, his face wet with tears, lines of pain creased across his forehead. He drew in a shuddering breath, but didn't stop crying.

"Jean-Luc?" Crusher touched his cheek. She could tell he didn't know her, at least not on a conscious level. She sat on the floor and leaned her back against the bed, her hand still on his face.

Picard slowly moved out of his huddled position and inched toward her, staring at her blindly through his tears. Crusher opened her arms to him, and he awkwardly climbed onto her lap, folding his arms and legs around her, pressing his body close to hers. He let his head rest warm and heavy on her shoulder. He was shivering uncontrollably. His pants were wet and the rest of his pajamas were damp with perspiration. The ragged sobbing continued until Crusher felt his left arm move up toward his face, and then she knew that his thumb had found his mouth because he stopped crying, and she could feel the rhythmic movement of his cheek and lips against her shoulder. He was whimpering softly now, and hesitantly she wrapped her arms around him, allowing one of her hands to slip up underneath his pajama shirt and gently rub his back. He sighed and relaxed further into her embrace.

Crusher knew they couldn't sit there for the rest of the night. He needed to be changed into a pair of dry pajamas and then tucked into bed. And she needed to call the ship and talk to Troi. She would need some help with him. But for a while longer, she just sat there holding him, trying not to think too far into the future. They would have to take it a day at a time. No, she thought, a moment at a time.

He slept, curled into a fetal position on the floor, while Crusher changed the sheets on the bed. Then, she took a fresh pair of pajamas from his suitcase and set about changing him. He slept through the entire process, and she was relieved, especially as she was pulling on the underwear with the absorbent lining that she'd gotten from the cabin's replicator. If he woke up in a coherent state of mind to discover that he was wearing something so very close to a pair of diapers, he would be livid. But as it was, Crusher could think of no better solution. Besides, she'd done the very same thing with him during those few days on the Enterprise, and as far as she knew, he hadn't been aware of the difference.

When it was time to get him into bed, she shook him gently until he was half awake. "Jean-Luc, hold on to me," she whispered, placing his arms around her neck. He clung to her, and she managed to lift him onto the bed.

Immediately, he burrowed under the covers, his thumb slipping into his mouth again. He was completely asleep within seconds.

Crusher sat on the edge of the bed watching him for a little while, and then leaned over and kissed him gently on the forehead. She got up and went into her own bedroom. It was almost morning. Already the eastern sky was turning pink with the approach of sunrise. She went into the bathroom, shed her pajamas and took a hot shower.

Afterwards, she dressed for the day, and went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. Taking a cup with her, she went over to the computer terminal in the opposite corner of the main room and sat down. She'd decided that she definitely would need someone else to help her with Picard, and Troi would be the best person.

The Enterprise was still in orbit around New Colorado for it was delivering supplies to the smaller, more isolated colonies. Crusher activated the computer. Within seconds, the blue Starfleet emblem appeared, and then the face of Lieutenant Worf.

"Doctor Crusher, is everything all right?" the Klingon asked.

"Just fine, Worf," she answered, not wanting to lie to him, but realizing that the captain's situation called for confidentiality. "Could I speak with Counselor Troi?"

'Yes, of course."

The blue screen re-appeared for a moment, and then became the face of Deanna Troi.

"Beverly?" the counselor's voice was hesitant; already she sensed the seriousness of the doctor's call.

Crusher drew in a deep breath and explained the situation.

"I'm going down with you." The words were firm and invited no discussion to the contrary.

But Troi was used to discussing things with the man who stood in front of her. "Will, I don't think it would be advisable."

'Then bring him back to the ship," he demanded.

Troi sighed. "Beverly and I discussed that. But in many ways we feel it would be better for him to remain where he is. At least for now. Being on the ship would confuse him. Subconsciously he would probably know that here he has responsibilities that he's unable to fulfill at this time. By allowing him to remain on the planet, in the cabin, he can deal with who he is at the moment, without having to worry about who he was, or who he's supposed to be."

"But is it safe for him to be so far away from Sickbay?"

"Beverly has already requested for some equipment to be sent down. But medically, he's not in any real danger."

"And mentally?"

Troi lowered her eyes to the carpeted deck.

Riker released a heavy sigh and turned toward the ready room desk, leaning his fists against the surface of it. "Damn," he muttered, shaking his head. A moment later, he felt Troi's hand between his shoulder blades.

"Will, I'll keep you informed."

Riker nodded, but didn't look up. "We'll be in orbit for another three days, and then we've been instructed to observe the Avon Nebula for another week and a half. It's only two hours from here at warp nine. We'll still be in communications range."

"That's good," Troi said softly. "I'd...I'd better be going now." She turned and took several steps toward the door.

"Deanna?" Riker's voice stopped her, and she looked back at him. He straightened and turned away from the desk. "Take care of him." She smiled reassuringly. "We will."

"Beverly?" Deanna Troi called out as soon as she was released from the transporter beam, her eyes scanning the cabin's empty main room.

"We're in here," Crusher's voice answered.

Troi went over to the open bedroom door and looked inside. Crusher was sitting on the edge of Picard's bed, holding a bowl in her hands.

The doctor glanced over her shoulder. "Come on in. I'm just trying to get him to eat something."

Troi crossed over to the bed and sat down opposite Crusher. Picard was sitting up, propped against several pillows. He turned his head away when Troi approached and quickly stuffed his left thumb between his lips.

"Oh, no you don't, Jean-Luc," Crusher chided, pulling the thumb out of his mouth. "Not while I'm trying to feed you." She held his hand down against his chest, and Picard's face creased. "And no tears," she added. "Deanna, would you mind holding onto his hands while I try to get him to eat a little more of this soup."

"I don't mind at all," she said softly, smiling at Picard, and covering his hands with hers. He stiffened slightly, but didn't pull away.

Crusher held out a spoonful of soup to Picard. "As you can see, I'm not having much success with this meal." She eyed the make-shift bib that covered his chest. It was stained in several places where the tomato soup had failed to make it past his lips. She touched the spoon to his lower lip. "Come on, Jean-Luc, open up. Just a little more and I'll let you have your thumb back."

Picard pressed his lips together and shook his head, his eyes shifting from Crusher to Troi and then back to Crusher.

"Jean-Luc, you have to eat something," the doctor persisted. Again, another shake of his head.

"Will he drink anything?" Troi asked, looking over at the tray on the bedside table and seeing a cup.

"He took one sip of milk earlier," Crusher answered with a sigh, "but most of it ran down his chin." She replaced the soup bowl on the tray and picked up the cup. "Here, you may have more luck," she said, handing the cup to Troi.

"Here you go, Jean-Luc," Troi encouraged, holding the cup to Picard's lips.

He eyed her warily, but then seemed to relax a bit. The red-haired woman was nice to him, so maybe this one would be, too. And besides, he was thirsty. Lowering his head slightly, he tried to sip at the milk, but he could never get it far enough back in his mouth to get it to go down his throat. It ran out the corners of his mouth and down his chin.

Troi drew the cup away and wiped her fingers over Picard's chin. She stared at the cup for a few seconds, then she looked over at Crusher. "I have an idea. I'll be right back." She left the room and returned a minute later, the cup no longer in her hand. "I think this might work," she suggested.

Crusher stared at the bottle in the counselor's hand. "Deanna?" she questioned.

"Beverly, I know we haven't had a chance to talk about his condition, but the thoughts and emotions I'm sensing from him are very basic."

Crusher nodded in agreement. "His brainwaves don't show very much activity either right now. I think that, in some way, the neural damage may be trying to repair itself, but it's starting at the beginning, relearning normal, everyday functions."

The two women stared at each other for several long moments, and then Troi spoke. "Do we give him a chance to relearn? To grow up again, with no pressure, no expectations?"

Crusher took a deep breath and nodded affirmatively. Troi held the bottle out to Picard, the nipple touching his lower lip. Instinctively, he drew it into his mouth, then pushed Troi's hand away, taking hold of the bottle himself. He turned over on his side, curled around it, and began to suck contentedly.

Crusher and Troi sat at the kitchen table, a plate of sandwiches and a pot of black coffee between them. Picard had fallen asleep and thus had afforded them time to discuss his condition and how best they should approach his recovery.

"He's very much like a baby right now," Troi said staring over at Crusher.

The doctor nodded. "I thought the same thing earlier this morning when I ran a brain scan on him. There's very little higher level activity. The most confusing thing about all of this, though, is the fact that he's had some fairly lucid intervals since his return from the Cardassians. Even the episodes in his cabin seemed to be more trauma induced; the brainwave patterns were never this low. If this was going to happen, I don't understand why it didn't happen sooner."

Troi took a sip of her coffee, considering Crusher's words. "I've been thinking the same thing. But, you know, he's been through so much. So many things have affected his mind in the past few years."

Crusher sighed. "The Borg, the Kataan probe, and now this." She pushed her coffee cup back and forth between her hands. "But I never imagined this happening. Not even after those few days on the ship. Damn it, Deanna, this scares me. It seems so...permanent."

Troi shook her head. "But I don't think it is. These episodes could be similar to the ones on the ship, despite the change in brain activity. He could be lucid one moment, and regress the next."

Crusher thought for a few moments, and then agreed. 'You could be right. Neural receptors in the brain make thousands of connections every second, almost like Data's positronic

matrix. Now, if those receptors are trying to re-route themselves and relearn their separate functions, then his brain activity could fluctuate anywhere between two extremes."

'Yes, but regardless of the pattern, I really think that the next few weeks are going to be a growing process for him. And we need to decide how we want to handle the regressive intervals. Now, you've had plenty of experience raising Wes, and, well..." she smiled slightly, "I remember some things with Ian. And if we're lucky, Jean-Luc may grow as fast as he did."

"We need to decide what we want to focus on first," Crusher said. "He hasn't spoken. Although," she rolled her eyes, "he can cry. Quite loudly."

"We should probably deal with basic functions: feeding himself, dressing himself, speaking." Troi frowned. "It's not going to be easy, Beverly. Especially if he does continue to shift in and out of regression. One moment, he's going to be the man we've always known, and the

next..."

"Nothing worthwhile is ever easy, Deanna." She reached over and patted the top of her friend's hand. "And don't worry about me. Remember, I'm a doctor. I can handle it."

He slept, and Crusher watched him. For hours. Troi had gone to bed in the next room, but the doctor remained in the chair beside Picard's bed, determined to be there when he opened his eyes. Always, her mind whispered, /'/ be here always.

His slumber was relatively quiet and peaceful. There seemed to be no nightmares. He slept with his thumb in his mouth, and the fingers of his other hand clutching the half-empty bottle of milk. Crusher had tried to take the bottle from him, but he'd whimpered in his sleep and tightened his grip. If it makes him feel better, then he can have it, she thought. She would have given him anything. Anything.

She tried to keep her mind from thinking about tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. A moment at a time. That was all they could afford to focus on. Just one moment...and then the next. And the next.

Crusher yawned and rubbed at her eyes, leaning her head back against the cushioned chair. A few moments later, she'd fallen asleep.

Crusher opened her eyes, and at first, felt very disoriented. Then she remembered where she was and immediately looked over at the bed. Picard wasn't awake, but he was restless, tossing, turning. His thumb was no longer in his mouth, but his hand still gripped the bottle, even tighter now. Crusher moved and sat on the edge of the bed, realizing that he was experiencing a nightmare.

"Shh, Jean-Luc," she soothed, rubbing her hand tentatively over his cheek.

He twisted his head on the pillow, his eyes darting back and forth behind closed lids. He moaned softly, and his breathing grew rapid. And then he screamed, out loud, sitting up abruptly, his eyes opening wide with terror.

"Jean-Luc!" Crusher spoke his name harshly to draw his attention away from the nightmare images.

His whole body seemed to crumple as he turned and looked at her, his face falling, tears trailing down his cheeks. "Bev..." he groaned and leaned forward into her embrace.

"I'm right here, Jean-Luc." She wrapped one arm securely around him and cradled his head on her shoulder. Her other hand reached over and retrieved her tricorder from the bedside table. She scanned him quickly without releasing her hold on him and then studied the read out. Brainwave activity was almost normal.

"Beverly?" Troi's voice came from the doorway.

"Just a bad nightmare, Deanna," she said, silently offering the tricorder to her.

Troi came over to the bed and took the instrument, nodding at the readings.

Picard still huddled against Crusher's body, his shoulders shaking. But he could hear the voice of the counselor in the room, and he struggled to control his emotions, to contain the overwhelming fear he was sure she could sense. The terror of the nightmare had caused him to wet his pants, and he pulled away from Crusher in embarrassment, knowing that her tricorder would have verified his predicament. He sat up and tried to wipe his hand over his face. His fingers were still curled around the bottle.

Crusher saw the instant revulsion in his eyes. "I'll take that," she said quickly, trying to pull it from his grasp.

"What..." Picard searched her face and then stared over at Troi. "What is..." He pulled completely away from Crusher's embrace and hurled the bottle across the room. "Damn it!" he cried. And then his body stiffened, his eyes closed. "Get out," he said, voice cold.

"Jean-Luc..." Crusher touched his cheek.

"Get out," he repeated.

Crusher looked up at Troi. The counselor nodded toward the door.

"All right, Jean-Luc. Deanna and I will be in the next room." She stood up, but allowed her hand to touch his face once more. "But you're all right. You're all right."

Quietly, they left, pulling the door half-way closed behind them.

Troi crossed over and sat down on the sofa, looking to where Crusher still stood beside the bedroom door. "He needs some time, Beverly. He's going to have to come to terms with this in his own way. It won't be easy. But we can't do this for him."

Crusher sighed and went and sat down in a chair opposite Troi. "He's himself again. You saw those brain scan results. Almost normal."

"And at any minute, they could change," Troi reminded her. "And probably will. He's going to have to get used to these transitions even more than we are. Going from lucidity to regression won't be difficult for him, but coming out of it will."

Crusher stared at the half-closed door. "What is he doing in there?"

Troi leaned over and touched her friend's arm, drawing her gaze back to her. "He's Jean-Luc Picard, Beverly. He's learning how to deal with it."