Jean-Luc Picard didn't think he had ever wished so fervently for an interruption… A red alert… a subspace message from Admiral Nechayev… He wasn't willing to go so far as to admit he'd prefer a Borg incursion to the discussion currently taking place in his ready room… but it was a very, *very* close thing.

"Counsellor…." He sighed, running a hand over his forehead and smooth pate and shifting, in spite of himself, in his chair. "Are you telling me, in your professional capacity, that Dr. Crusher needs to be removed from her post?"

"Sir…"

"Deanna, Dr. Crusher has been through… a lot… in the past several months... Surely, we should use some discretion before we jump to any conclusions or do anything so rash as to…" Deanna's expression seemed to suggest that "a lot" was a massive understatement. Her dark eyes bored into him, seeing far more than Picard was comfortable with at the moment, or ever really.

His professional relationship with Deanna, his acceptance of the importance of her role as counsellor had progressed greatly from their earliest days together almost seven years ago. There were some things, however, that he had (granted in an unspoken manner) deemed off limits to her and the Counsellor had always respected those undeclared boundaries… restrictions. Possibly this was the case because the principal subject that he had marked as taboo had never in any significant way impacted his ability to command, had never arisen as a source of conflict between the personal and professional. It would seem, at least in her eyes, that that was no longer necessarily true.

Picard sighed deeply, tugging on his tunic, and settling deeper into his chair. It wasn't surprising that Deanna had come to him with concerns about Beverly… and yet it was… Beverly, no matter what happened in her life, no matter the challenge or obstacle, no matter the trauma, the violation, had only ever proven herself to be perfectly capable of *handling it*. He was aware that after particularly…. *difficult*... events (the episode with the Ullians or her kidnapping by terrorists on Rutia IV immediately sprang to mind) that Beverly availed herself of the Counsellor's services.

A small voice piped up that while she did indeed attend counselling on those occasions, Beverly only ever attended the *minimum* number of sessions required. Picard had never really dwelled on this after having noted it and signed off on the completion of the mandatory number of meetings. He *himself* avoided at all costs going beyond the required minimum... In that regard, he and the doctor were in complete agreement. Beverly had never seemed to manifest any outward sign that she hadn't dealt with whatever emotional repercussions had perhaps plagued her after an incident, he excused, and Deanna had never before indicated that she felt that Beverly required additional support or intervention. Until now.

He pulled himself out of his reverie to find Deanna still looking at him expectantly, and he reluctantly bowed to the inevitable.

"Counsellor, what exactly *are* your concerns…?"

—-

Two months previously…

"Beverly, you have to talk about it. If you're not comfortable with me…"

"Deanna, you know that's not it… I *have* talked about it. Done nothing *but* talk about it it seems."

"You've detailed the events, Beverly. You've given me a synopsis that would be… adequate… if you were recording a mission log." Deanna heard Beverly huff and saw her roll her eyes irritably but gave no indication that the doctor's irritation had fazed her at all. She was used to Beverly's methods of deflection and minimisation. Granted, this particular subject was presenting the Counsellor with a much bigger challenge than she normally encountered, even in terms of *Beverly's* sessions following a traumatic event. If she were forced to choose, Deanna would deem Beverly to be even less enthusiastic than the Captain when it came to attending counselling sessions and probably even less forthcoming in terms of volunteering anything other than a very surface level accounting of her emotional state.

"You've yet to discuss… other than in clinical terms…" She quickly interjected in order to cut off the objection she could see forming in Beverly's rigid stance "your emotions, how you *feel* about…"

"Angry. I feel angry." Right now, Deanna knew that that anger was more directed towards *her* than anything or anyone else. Beverly simply wouldn't allow herself to examine her own emotions long enough to even acknowledge their existence. A mental image of an open grave, a large mound of soil and Beverly bent over shovelling furiously, the dirt pattering onto the coffin lid, popped fully formed into her head. She doubted that it had been in any way influenced by emotions she was getting from the doctor and so, had to assume that her own fanciful imagination had provided the burial scene for Beverly's guilt, shame, anger, frustration, fear and… far too many other emotions that Deanna could sense barely escaping out from under the mental shields that Beverly had been employing since they'd left Caldos last week.

"Beverly…" She tried again, knowing that, for today, she was going to get nothing further from her friend. Normally, she would have desisted. Beverly, in the past, had always been very efficient at examining an event, identifying her reactions to it, consulting briefly with Deanna almost as an afterthought, then efficiently putting it out of her mind. Her professional training on how to deal with stress and how to manage her emotions had always served her well, and the Counsellor had never had an issue with how Beverly dealt with her emotional recovery.

Beverly's "ritual" was always logic-based, methodical, and consistently helped her to process and recuperate quickly. This time, however, was different. She could sense that the doctor was not only *not* processing the events of several days ago, but that she was actively attempting to bury the entire incident.

"Deanna, could we *please* just leave this right now. The results of the trial vaccine for this new strain of flu should be ready any time now and I'll be needed in sickbay."

Recognizing the avoidance tactic for what it was, and also realising that the doctor had probably scheduled something which would need her attention in sickbay at just the right moment for just this very reason, Deanna acquiesced. Just as the redhead was about to move towards her office doors, however, Deanna motioned for her to stop. It was time to try a different strategy.

"We'll let this go for now Beverly, but only if you agree to continue this discussion later. There's something else we might try… If you're willing…" Beverly's curt nod, she knew, was more of an attempt to placate her than it was an assent to embrace any of Deanna's suggestions, new or old. Letting the doctor go for now, she turned her attention to putting the wheels in motion for her next steps in helping the recalcitrant doctor to help herself. She just might have to employ some unconventional confrontation therapy in order to counter the doctor's obstinate avoidance behaviour.

—-

Deanna Troi waited patiently for her last patient of the day. If Beverly fobbed her off once more, she'd have to note it in her personnel file and send official documentation to the Captain, which she wanted to avoid if at all possible. Just as she was about to turn away from the doors of the holodeck, she saw a flustered Beverly round the corner, lab coat flapping around her legs as she ate up the ground between them with her long stride. As she approached Deanna, she held up a conciliatory hand in front of her.

"I know and I'm sorry, Dea. It was unavoidable. I wasn't trying to wriggle out of it, I swear…"

Beverly looked warily towards the holodeck doors. *Probably to avoid looking at me* Deanna thought.

"Deanna, I know I said I'd be… open to… whatever… but, what are we doing *here*?"

"Come. I'll show you."

As soon as she keyed in the programme command and the doors slid open, she sensed Beverly freeze up beside her, not just physically, but mentally.

"No. Deanna, not yet… maybe never. No… Deanna, what are we *doing* here?" Beverly looked at her with betrayal in her eyes before she flicked her eyes back towards the holodeck and gazed almost unseeingly at the interior of her Nana's cottage.

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do, but…"

"And you know that I would never put you in a situation with which I did not feel that you could cope? That I would never make you feel unnecessarily vulnerable or exposed or… out of control…" Beverly's head whipped around at that. Bingo…

"What are you feeling, Beverly?"

"Pissed. I am *not* going in there, Deanna. Listen, I appreciate that you have a job to do here, but I can deal with this. It's just taking me a bit more time than it normally would. You know I always come to you if I can't handle something… *always.* In no way has this affected my ability to fulfil my duties. Please, Dea. I'll try journaling… you know that's worked for me in the past… I'll.. I can give you access privileges, and you can monitor my progress…"

Deanna was torn. She was concerned that in continuing to push Beverly, that she would inadvertently cause the doctor to shut her out completely. Beverly *was* perfectly capable of blocking her empathic sense and with her acting abilities, Deanna would be hard pressed to get an accurate read on her stubborn friend, let alone be able to help her. Besides, Deanna understood Beverly well enough to know that if pressed, Beverly would simply withdraw…

Beverly didn't have a love for counselling in general, but the special bond they shared had allowed her to open up to Troi more than she ever had during previous attempts at therapy after she'd lost her parents and the tragedy of Arvada III…. The problem was that, as far as Deanna could tell, Beverly had also not been availing herself of her usual outlets for stress, her coping mechanisms for dealing with trauma.

Under other circumstances, Beverly would exorcise her feelings through dance (Deanna had already checked the holodeck logs and Beverly had not been spending time dancing) or work (she'd checked the sickbay logs and other than her normal workaholic schedule, the doctor's hours were within normal range for her).

The *real* issue, Deanna knew, was that previously, Beverly would withdraw for a limited time from *almost* everyone in order to focus on whatever was bothering her before reengaging. She'd withdraw from everyone *except* for one individual, the person she'd always, in the past, turned to in order to help her to regain her equilibrium. Deanna didn't think that any "counselling" per se went on between the two, perhaps not even any confidences revealed nor confessions; the pair simply found mutual comfort in the mundane, the normalcy and routine that characterised their unusually intimate connection. Fortunately, Deanna knew exactly *why* Beverly had not turned to the Captain. Unfortunately, she hadn't successfully been able to coax either one of them into allowing her to help them navigate their way out of their ongoing stalemate and back to each other, and it was affecting them both.

The day after her return from Caldos, in a monotone, robotic voice (much the same voice that Beverly had used to relay all of the details of Ronin's manipulation), Beverly had detailed Picard's arrival on her grandmother's doorstep, what he'd seen when he'd walked in uninvited. She hadn't given a full descriptive accounting, but she hadn't needed to. The shame, embarrassment… mortification… pouring off of her the only time she'd related just how the attack on the Captain had come about, had been unmistakable. Deanna had listened to Beverly's official logs and though the doctor had given her a slightly more detailed version of it, the two recountings were very much the same in clinical tone and description.

Standing before the holodeck doors, the Counsellor gave Beverly a piercing look. She wouldn't push her on this, for the time being, she decided, but it might soon be time to pay a visit to the Captain.

"Alright, Beverly. Let's try the journaling, shall we…"

--

Picard sat in his ready room, mulling over Troi's recitation of her attempts to help Beverly in her recovery from Ronin's violation (*rape, Jean-Luc; do not trivialise it by resorting to euphemisms*). "So, you are telling me that you do *not* think that she has fully dealt with what happened on Caldos..?" Troi shrugged almost helplessly at him.

"It's Beverly, Captain. She's probably the person the most adept at shielding her true thoughts and feelings from me on this ship. Between her training and just her life experiences in general… I could tell that something was continuing to bother her, Sir, but it was not affecting the performance of her duties, so I monitored the situation, ready to intervene when necessary."

"And you now think that it *is* necessary?" Troi was nodding.

"Wesley's departure last month has somehow pushed her over an invisible line. I began monitoring her behaviour more closely just as a precaution and that's when I discovered her odd holodeck usage. She's been… tired? More distracted than usual...? Even Commander Riker has commented on her unusual mood… unusual for Beverly that is." *Something I shouldn't need to tell you, Captain...*

"Unusual holodeck usage… What does that mean, Counsellor?" He was slightly bewildered at this deviation in the conversation.

"Not long after we left Caldos, I attempted holodeck therapy with Beverly, as a last resort to get her to open up… a recreation of her grandmother's home, but…" Picard visibly paled at her words. "She… resisted. I'm not certain just what programme she's running in there now, Sir. Definitely not one I've recommended to her in the past for either stress relief or to help her work through stronger emotions. I've never seen her like this. Beverly has always dealt very efficiently with stress, upset, the loss of a patient in sickbay… *everything* with equanimity…" Troi shook her head, her expression one of confused resignation.

"Captain… I can't even call up the programme she's been using…"

"What do you mean you can't call it up?"

"It's as if the program is wiped, like it doesn't exist when it's not in use… And, when it is in use, I can't override the lock…" Picard's eyebrows shot up at this unexpected information.

"And you're absolutely certain it's not some dance program or some callisthenics program that Worf…" Deanna was already shaking her head.

"I've already talked to Worf, discreetly, but he says he hasn't recommended anything to Beverly in *months* and definitely not a programme that wouldn't be readily available to anyone with the proper prompts." Picard didn't know *what* to think at this point. It was obvious that Deanna had done a thorough investigation and that she was worried enough about Beverly to bring it to his attention.

"So, you are recommending… mandatory counselling? That she be temporarily relieved of duty? I just want to be certain that we are clear here."

"It's not come to the level of official intervention but in my opinion, it is only a matter of time before things come to a head and potentially impact her professionally… Someone with the proper clearance needs to figure out just what is going on, what programme she's using. Seeing as *you, Sir, are her oldest, closest friend…. I think that you'd agree that under normal circumstances, you would already be aware of the situation…" Deanna let her voice trail off as she studied the man in front of her intently. "Sir, if you truly wish to help Beverly, and I know that you do, then you need to deal with your own… discomfort… embarrassment surrounding what you were witness to on Caldos."

"Beverly told you… about that...?"

"She did." Not exactly willingly, however, she didn't add… Deanna reflected that she didn't think it was possible for the Captain to look any more uncomfortable than he looked at that moment. He reminded her, in fact, of how Beverly had looked when Troi had finally coaxed the details of the Captain's unexpected arrival on Caldos from her. Picard's next words indicated that the Captain, it would seem, had chosen to try and sidestep the issue of his involvement or non-involvement entirely.

"What you are suggesting, Counsellor, is a major invasion of Dr. Crusher's privacy, despite the fact that we have *no* evidence that what she's doing is…." For the life of him, he could not think of a suitable word.

"Unhealthy?" Deanna supplied. "Sir… just the fact that Beverly is *hiding* what she's been doing…. The odd hours and the *number* of hours that she is spending on the holodeck suggest…"

"Odd hours, how exactly…?" She sighed and looked towards the ceiling before looking back at him. Her expression indicated that she wished she didn't have to relate whatever information she was holding back.

"She's entering whatever programme she's using late at night…" Picard immediately interrupted in the doctor's defence.

"As you are no doubt aware, Counsellor, Beverly has suffered from bouts of insomnia for most of her life. I'm certain that, given all of the stress she's been under lately, it's only expected that her insomnia has, once again, become more prevalent."

Troi was nodding and he felt immediately relieved that he had hit on such a simple and *obvious* explanation for Beverly's odd behaviour. No sooner had the thought crossed his mind, than he realised his error. Deanna wouldn't have involved him if she believed it was a simple case of temporarily exacerbated insomnia. It seemed, he was correct, that the Counsellor had more to add. "Yes, Sir. And if that were all it was, I would not be sitting here in front of you, Sir."

"I don't understand."

"She's entering the holodeck late at night and not exiting until early morning." She paused here, making sure that she had his full attention. "She's spending the night in the holodeck, Sir…. Frequently over the last two weeks since Wesley's departure… And reporting shortly afterwards for the alpha shift in sickbay… "

All sorts of outlandish ideas flashed quickly through his mind only to be immediately discarded. Beverly would never… Then why all the secrecy, Jean-Luc? If it is as innocent, as harmless as you think..?

"And you're saying that she is refusing to discuss this with you...?"

Troi gave him a knowing look. "I'm saying, Captain, that I think that *you* should be the one to approach her first." His look indicated that *that* was exactly what he'd been afraid that she was saying.

—-

Beverly Crusher stood in front of the doors to holodeck two, her mind reviewing the conversation that she'd had earlier that day with the Captain. He'd shown up unannounced in sickbay just before her shift had ended, and called her into her office, a wary yet determined look on his face.

"Captain, what can I do for you?" He seemed to be taking in her features with an inordinate amount of scrutiny, so much so that she began to feel uncomfortable until he finally broke the silence.

"Beverly, I'm just checking in… Seeing how things are going…"

"Everything is fine, Captain." He seemed frustrated at her response, as if he was expecting something different, something more and he was disappointed with her non-answer.

"Beverly, I know that we haven't really spent a lot of time together since… Well, I was wondering if you'd perhaps like to join me for breakfast tomorrow." It had been six months since KesPrytt, and their relationship had yet to fully revert to its once close status. They hadn't exactly been avoiding one another, but nor did they seek each other out, both too uneasy, unsettled, perhaps unsure of themselves and of one another to feel comfortable resuming the level of intimacy that previously marked their relationship.

About three months after KesPrytt they still hadn't resumed breakfast with one another, but both had become more visibly relaxed in the company of the other. Playful banter and teasing on her part had been slowly resuming and surprisingly, she'd noticed that more often than not Jean-Luc responded in kind instead of demonstrating the discomfort she'd come to expect as his response to such displays. Something had seemed, then, to be shifting between them as they overcame the aftermath of that night following the KesPrytt mission…

Then he'd detoured the ship to Caldos so that Beverly could attend her Nana's funeral and whatever fragments of their comfortable relationship they'd been able to reassemble had been blown apart, unravelling as if KesPrytt were only yesterday, as if they were, once again, strangers to one another. The distance and awkwardness that had settled between them after Caldos, after Ronin, had only deepened the KesPrytt caused void that was already separating them, widening it, ripping apart the fragile, tentative detente they'd been slowly establishing.

The situation on Dorvan V had only served to emphasise the disconnect that now characterised their once close bond. The scene in the transporter room, Wesley's departure and Jean-Luc's supportive arm around her shoulder had only reminded her that all was not well between them, of all that seemed to have been lost. Beverly had realised, that day, that it was the first time in months that Jean-Luc had touched her casually, in friendship or otherwise. It had simply underscored the loss of that ease and familiarity that had once been as natural between them as breathing.

There had been no grand declarations, no arguments or discussions. Things had simply become once again unbearably uncomfortable and the longer they had allowed it to linger the more it permeated their relationship, poisoning and corrupting it. As she looked into his face now, she didn't know quite how to respond. Her mind flipped through the last two months, the stress and humiliation, the exhaustion and now the heartbreak of losing her son. Not too long ago she would have turned to this man to help her figure it all out and maybe she would again, but not just yet.

"I'm sorry, Jean-Luc. I'm…"

"Beverly, your friends are worried about you. *I* am worried about you…"

"I'll be fine… It's just taking me a while to find my feet, after Wesley…"

"Beverly…" She could see the concern in his eyes but didn't think that she could handle resuming their shared morning meal just yet.

"Just… give me some time… Alright?" She reached out and gave his hand a squeeze in order to soften the blow, but his expression indicated that his concern had not been assuaged.

Now, as she approached the holodeck doors, she promised herself that *soon* she would take Jean-Luc up on his tentative but obviously genuine offer to again begin rebuilding what remained of the pieces of their friendship, *soon*.

Late that night…

As the holodeck doors slid open, the usual light mechanical grinding noise accompanying the retracting of the heavy doors, Picard actually *did* see what he expected; a bare expanse of wooden floorboards, pole barres, mirrored walls with ballet barres attached at regular intervals, a tap floor or sprung dance floor in some out of the way corner… So convinced was he of this mental projection that he *truly* expected to spot Beverly perhaps curled up from exhaustion on one of the crash mats scattered around the edges of the room.

He had to blink several times to force away this false rendering of his optimistic imagination. When he had finally succeeded in banishing it, he could only gape in stunned silence at what met his eyes. He hadn't known what to expect when he'd finally made the decision to confront Beverly about her concerning behaviour, but never ever had he fathomed this. It wasn't exotic, or outlandish or some hidden alcove of mental escapism laid out before him, but rather a place he knew intimately, not quite as well as he knew his quarters aboard the Enterprise or his boyhood bedroom at the château in LaBarre, but…

"Hello, Johnny. Long time no see…"