The door opened twenty minutes later, and Picard came into the living room, his robe wrapped tightly around him, his hands stuffed deep in the pockets to keep them from trembling. Both Crusher and Troi stared at him with concerned gazes, but he noted the relief in their eyes. He was still with them. There were still four lights.
The counselor smiled and patted the sofa next to her. Wordlessly, Picard went and sat down beside her. He looked across the coffee table at Crusher. "What's wrong with me, Beverly?" he asked, his voice hoarse with emotion. He was afraid to hear her answer.
Crusher took a deep breath. "We're not sure. We think the neural receptors in your brain are trying to re-work themselves. To...compensate for any...permanent damage that's been done."
Picard tensed at her words, and Troi silently placed her hand on his arm. He relaxed a little bit.
"We can't be sure what the exact cause is, but whatever is happening is resulting in extreme fluctuations in your brain activity."
Picard's eyes grew even more distant. "I can't...I can't remember anything...I..." He sighed. "We went into town...I...I went to bed." He sighed again, rubbed his hand over his forehead.
"Don't worry about not remembering," Troi said calmly, her hand stroking his arm gently. "Just know that whatever happens, Beverly and I will be here for you."
"We'll take care of you, Jean-Luc," Crusher said, getting up and walking around the coffee table, sitting down on the edge of it, her knees pressing close to Picard's. She took his hands in hers. "We won't leave you." I won't leave you. Ever again.
Picard lowered his head to his chest and slowly exhaled a deep breath. "How long?" he whispered.
Crusher squeezed his hands. "I don't know. As long it takes."
"Why can't I control it?"
"It's not entirely psychological, Jean-Luc," Crusher explained.
He looked up suddenly, his eyes connecting fiercely with hers. "Then why can't you fix it?" he demanded. "Why can't you..." His voice shook. "Why can't you make it stop?"
Crusher pulled one hand from his, gently touched his face, brushing away the wet tears that trailed down his cheeks. "I wish I could." She wished that she could take it all away, the pain and fear, his embarrassment and vulnerability.
Picard closed his eyes. "I'm tired," he murmured.
"Then just lie down and rest," Crusher said, easing him down on the sofa.
Troi stood and helped pull his feet up; then she took a quilt from the back of the sofa and draped it over his body.
Crusher leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I'm here. Just sleep."
~vVv~
He cried, and she held him, rocked him on her lap, sang softly into his ear. He held the red strands of her hair between his fingers. It was soft. He rubbed it against his cheek.
He felt hot and fevered, and his skin and pajamas were wet beneath his robe. He shifted uncomfortably in the woman's embrace.
The one with the dark eyes came and sat beside them. She pulled him away from the arms that held him, just enough to remove his robe and his damp pajamas. They both helped to change him into a fresh pair of pajamas, their hands soft and warm on his skin. He lay quietly. He trusted them. And when they were finished, he burrowed back into the safe arms of the woman with the red hair.
"Shh, Jean-Luc," she soothed.
That was his name. He knew that. He closed his eyes, and he slept.
~vVv~
"Did you get any sleep last night?" Troi asked, staring at the doctor over the edge of her coffee cup.
Crusher looked up from her own cup of lemon tea. "A little bit. After we managed to get him back into bed." She sighed, took a sip of the hot liquid. "His fever keeps coming back."
"Why is that?"
Crusher shrugged. "I'm not sure. Probably something to do with the Cardassian drugs. It's never very high. Just enough to make him uncomfortable."
Troi's eyes shifted away from Crusher's. "He's awake," she said quietly.
Crusher turned in her chair and glanced over her shoulder. Picard stood in the bedroom doorway. She knew what state of mind he was in for his thumb was in his mouth, and he looked very vulnerable in his short pajamas. She got up and went over to him. "Hey there, Jean-Luc," she said softly, putting an arm around his shoulders, "did you sleep well?"
He didn't answer, but pushed himself closer to her, his head resting on her shoulder. He felt hot and Crusher knew he was still running a fever. He definitely needed to be wearing more clothes if he were going to be out of bed.
"Why don't we go get your robe?" she suggested, guiding him back into the bedroom.
They returned in a few minutes, Picard's beige terry cloth robe wrapped warmly around his body. He was holding Crusher's hand tightly, and Troi sensed his fear. He was uncertain of the counselor, confused by her presence in his small world.
Crusher led him over to the table. "Well, I promised Jean-Luc some cookies," she said, easing him down into a chair. "I know it's not terribly nutritional, but maybe he'll eat some." She pulled her hand away from his and stepped over to the replicator.
He sat very still, watching her, never taking his eyes from her. Crusher returned with a plate of cookies and a cup of milk. She placed it on the table in front of Picard and sat down in the chair next to his.
Picard glanced at Troi and immediately back to Crusher, then lifted his arm and reached out, grabbing one of the cookies off the plate; he stuffed it into his mouth.
Troi smiled slightly. "I'd say that cookies are definitely a favorite."
"They are," Crusher agreed, brushing her fingers over Picard's cheek. "Chew it carefully, Jean-Luc."
Despite Crusher's words, Picard tried to swallow too quickly, and he began to cough. His body's reaction frightened him and his eyes grew wide with terror.
"Jean-Luc, it's all right." Crusher stood up and wrapped one arm around his shoulders, holding her other hand to his mouth. "Spit it out," she instructed.
He understood and opened his mouth, spitting the half-eaten cookie into her hand. He reached for the cup of milk and tried to take a drink. The cold liquid spilled down the front of his robe, and he threw the cup back onto the table.
Troi jumped up and went to get a cloth from the kitchen counter. She came back to wipe Picard's mouth and chest, but he'd already turned in his chair and wrapped his arms around Crusher's waist, burying his face against her stomach. He was crying softly, his shoulders shaking.
Crusher gently rubbed her hands over his back. "Shh, Jean-Luc, you're all right. It just frightened you. You're fine." She looked up at Troi and shook her head. "I knew I shouldn't have given him those damned cookies."
Troi sighed. "Next time, I'll insist on something more nutritional."
Long minutes passed, and Picard stopped crying, his arms relaxing around Crusher's waist. He pulled back and stared up at her. She could tell by the light in his eyes that awareness had returned.
She smiled and touched her fingers to his cheeks, brushing away his tears. "It's all right. You're fine."
"Beverly?" He looked around. "Deanna?"
"We're here, Jean-Luc," Crusher assured him. "Are you hungry?"
He looked back at the table, the spilled milk and plate of cookies. He sighed. "Apparently not."
"Why don't we try something else," Troi suggested, standing up and cleaning off the table.
Picard pulled completely away from Crusher and turned in his chair, drawing in a deep breath, straightening his shoulders. He ran his hands over his face and struggled to regain control over the situation. He vaguely remembered their previous conversation, although he wasn't sure when they'd had it. Last night? Yesterday?
Troi stepped back to the table with a plate of food and set it in front of him. She touched his shoulder. "A moment at a time, Jean-Luc," she reminded him, almost as if she'd read his thoughts.
He sighed and nodded in agreement. Both Troi and Crusher sat down on either side of him, placing their own plates in front of them.
He stared at the three identical bowls of soup and cheese sandwiches. "I assume it's lunch time," he ventured.
"Close enough," Crusher answered, "almost 1100 hours."
"We forgot drinks," Troi said, standing up and heading toward the replicator.
"Counselor...Deanna," Picard's voice stopped her. "Could I have a...cup of Earl Grey, please?"
Troi smiled affectionately at him, relieved to have the captain back, if only for a while. "Of, course."
~vVv~
Lunch was very relaxing, and almost...normal, Crusher decided, despite Picard's precarious medical condition. Both she and Troi were careful not to let their conversation revolve to much around Picard's problems. If he asked a direct question, they answered it. But even Picard seemed not to want to talk about it. They'd said enough already, and so they spent the better part of an hour planning what to do that afternoon.
"We could go for a walk around the lake," Troi suggested.
"It's a very big lake," Crusher reminded her.
"So, we could go part of the way around, and then head back," she amended.
"If Will were here, you know what he'd be doing," Picard said, taking a sip of his third cup of tea.
Normally, Crusher wouldn't have allowed him more than two cups, but he'd given her that look when he'd asked for a third, that look that melted her heart and her resolve.
"We could go fishing," Troi replied, knowing that if Will Riker were indeed here, that is what he'd be doing.
"But he's not," Crusher was quick to add. Fishing was not a favorite pastime of hers.
"No, he's not," Picard echoed softly, his eyes staring blankly across the table. He's on the Enterprise. We're here.
Troi caught the emotion behind Picard's words, and she reached over and patted his arm. "Why don't we just stick to our walk and leave the fish in the lake?"
Picard smiled slightly, drawing his thoughts back to the conversation. "That sounds fine, but... I think I'd like to take a bath before we do anything." He set his empty tea cup on the table and stood.
Crusher looked up at him. "Would you like any help?"
He repressed an exhausted sigh, knowing she meant well. "No, Beverly, I can manage." He took a step toward the bedroom.
"Jean-Luc..."
"I'll call if I need you," he replied, disappearing behind the bedroom door.
Crusher exchanged a worried gaze with Troi.
"We have to allow him his own sense of control, Beverly. Especially when he's capable of taking care of himself."
Crusher got up and began to clear away the lunch dishes. "I know, Deanna. It's just difficult. What if..." The thought remained unspoken.
But Troi understood. "We can always check on him in a little while."
~vVv~
Picard closed the bedroom door behind him, and at the same time tried to shut out the worried expressions that he'd seen on the women's faces throughout their meal. They meant well, he knew that. But he'd never felt comfortable being taken care of, and now he felt as if he were suffocating. Their every glance, every lifted eyebrow, spoke volumes.
He tried not to think about his condition, about tomorrow or the next day. "Just take a bath," he muttered out loud to himself and went into the bathroom.
He adjusted the controls and allowed the tub to fill with hot water while he undressed. Removing his robe, he saw that he had on a different pair of pajamas than the ones he'd remembered wearing. He peeled them off, trying not to imagine what happened to the other ones. He tugged his underwear down, his fingers registering the thickness of the cloth. He sighed with disgust when he realized the reason for the difference.
How can they stand to take care of me, he thought, as he lowered himself into the warm water. A part of him was so very thankful that he couldn't consciously recall the regressive episodes. And yet, he could remember some things. Fleeting thoughts and images.
"No," he said forcefully, pushing the memories from his mind. "No."
He leaned his head back against the edge of the tub and willed his body to relax. He was fine for right now. Maybe he would stay fine. Maybe... Maybe... Four lights... Four lights...
~vVv~
Crusher glanced up from the book she was reading and stared at Picard's bedroom door for what seemed like the millionth time in the past five minutes. "Deanna?" she asked absently.
Troi looked up from the magazine she was flipping through. "I think he's all right, but...why don't you go ahead and check on him?"
Crusher shook her head. "It's only been five minutes. I'm sure he's fine." She looked back at the door. Then got to her feet. "But since you insist."
She went over and knocked on the bedroom door. There was no answer. She opened it and stuck her head inside. "Jean-Luc?"
The room was empty. She crossed over to the bathroom, looking inside. Picard was in the bath, his head leaning on the edge of the tub, his eyes closed. "Jean-Luc?"
Her voice frightened him and he flinched, his eyes opening immediately. "Beverly!" He slipped further into the tub, his hands grasping the edges to keep his head from going under.
"Are you all right?" she asked, suppressing a grin.
"I think I was fine until you came barging in here," he shot back, his tone aggravated.
"I was just checking on you." She saw his pajamas on the floor where he'd let them drop, and she leaned over and began to pick them up.
"I'm fine," he answered succinctly.
"All right. I'll lay some clothes out on your bed for you."
"No..." His voice was harsh, but then it softened. "I can get my own clothes."
Crusher backed out of the bathroom. "Of course, you can."
~vVv~
Fifteen minutes later, Picard came out of his bedroom neatly dressed in a pair of brown trousers and a dark green shirt. He stopped next to the sofa and stared down at the floor, unable to meet Crusher's gaze.
'You look very nice," the doctor complimented.
Picard shrugged. "Thank you. I...I didn't mean to yell at you."
Crusher shook her head. "You didn't."
He looked up at her. 'Yes. I did. And I'm sorry." He sighed, paced over, and sat down in the chair next to Crusher's. "It's difficult...to have you both taking care of me like this, to not remember what's happened from one minute to the next."
Crusher reached over and touched his arm. "Don't worry about it, Jean-Luc. We understand."
Troi breezed out of the other bedroom. "So, are we going on our walk?"
Crusher squeezed Picard's arm. "Are we?"
"By all means."
~vVv~
They didn't walk far. But far enough. And they should have seen it coming.
I should have seen it coming, Crusher thought as she wrapped an arm around Picard's shoulders. He pushed his face against her neck, and she almost tripped the closer he got to her. Troi walked on the other side of him, her arm linked with his, helping him along.
Their walk had started out just fine. But every step Picard took grew more difficult for him. And they finally turned back.
His face was wet with frustrated tears when they got back to the cabin. Crusher led him into the bedroom, helped him undress and put on his pajamas. Then he climbed under the covers and leaned against the pillow while the doctor ran her tricorder over him. His brain activity had dropped, although it wasn't as low as it had been.
"He's fighting it," Troi whispered from the doorway.
Crusher nodded. "I know." She ran her fingers over Picard's flushed cheeks. "Jean-Luc, it's all right. Just relax."
He couldn't stop the tears. The frustration. He wanted something, but he didn't know what. He reached out, touched Crusher's hair. He still knew her. "Bev..."
She wrapped her arms around his body and rocked him, singing softly into his ear. A few moments later, Troi handed her a bottle of warm milk. She took it, unsure if Picard would accept it from her.
Troi sensed her uncertainty. "Try it, Beverly."
"Jean-Luc." Crusher shifted him in her arms, stroking her hand over his cheek. The familiar light in his eyes was still there, but distant, vulnerable. She held the bottle to his lips, and there was only a moment of hesitation before he sighed and took the nipple into his mouth. His eyes closed, and his body relaxed against her.
~vVv~