The alarm chime sounded 0600 hours.

Dr. Beverly Crusher sighed and hauled herself out of bed, eager to put another night spent tossing and turning behind her. She'd had no decent sleep – no respite from her fears and regrets – since she and Worf had returned to the Enterprise from their mission to Celtris III.

She padded barefoot into the living area and across to the replicator. She forced herself to drink some strong coffee and replicated a bagel, which she picked at listlessly before giving up and going back into the bedroom to dress.

How she missed her morning breakfasts with Jean-Luc.

Jean-Luc. Her heart ached anew each time she thought of him. Which, since she'd returned from their failed mission without him, was nearly constantly. She missed him more than she thought possible. The Admiral had labeled him a casualty of war, but she categorically refused to accept that, absolutely refused to give up hope of his return.

Jellico certainly had. He almost seemed to relish it – delighting to have Captain Picard out of the way and his own buttocks firmly in the command chair of the Federation flagship. But Beverly knew that not everyone in Starfleet was so sanguine about the Captain's loss.

She held to hope that the Admiralty would find a way to save him – negotiate some sort of arrangement with the Cardassians that didn't involve ceding them an entire star system. Or that Jean-Luc would find a way to save himself.

A faint smile lifted her lips as she recalled their experience together on Rutia IV, remembering how Jean-Luc spent every moment of their time as prisoners seeking to break free of their confinement. She consoled herself with the certainty that he would never cease looking for an opportunity to escape from his captors.

Meanwhile, she had her work cut out here. They all did. Jellico's new policies had completely disrupted the daily operation of the Enterprise and alienated her crew. But there was no way she was going to stand idly by and let him destroy everything that Jean-Luc had worked so hard to build.

She would talk to Will and Geordi this morning, have them reach out to the other department heads. It was up to each of them to pull the crew together, to get everyone working as a unit again. So that the ship would be ready for Jean-Luc when he came home. Which he would, she told herself sternly, pulling on her other boot and smoothing down her lab coat as she stood.

Her combadge chirped. "Jellico to Beverly."

She suppressed an annoyed sigh. "Go ahead, sir," she replied, striving to keep her voice as professional as possible.

"Prepare sickbay to receive a patient beaming aboard in the next fifteen minutes."

For an instant Beverly's heart stopped, and then abruptly began to pound in anticipation. "Who is the patient, sir?"

"Captain Picard."

Beverly was out the door and on her way to the turbolift before the words had faded from her cabin.

Within moments of receiving Jellico's message, Beverly and a few hand picked members of the medical staff had prepped and readied the Captain's private section of sickbay.

But it took another ten minutes of interminable, agonized waiting before they saw the familiar light of the transporter beam and watched Captain Picard materialize next to the biobed. He was dressed in a simple black Cardassian tunic, trousers and boots that were clearly too large for his feet.

Beverly took one look at his gaunt, exhausted face and ordered the rest of her staff out of the room to give him all the privacy she could.

"Jean-Luc," she breathed in equal parts relief and horror, her grip on her tricorder tightening spasmodically.

His eyes were red-rimmed, haunted, and he was staring at her with an expression of almost unimaginable intensity, drinking in her visage as though he was seeing a mirage – or a ghost.

"You're here," he whispered wonderingly, his normally deep, silky voice a harsh rasp.

"I'm here," she softly replied, raising her free hand to grip his shoulder reassuringly.

"You're all right?" he pressed. His hazel eyes searched hers. "They didn't hurt you?"

Something clenched under her breastbone. "I'm fine. They didn't catch us. We got away."

The relief in his gaze was palpable. "Worf, too?"

"Yes."

He exhaled a sigh that seemed to emanate from his very soul and sank onto the bed behind him as though suddenly too tired to stand.

Beverly stared down at him, mutely taking in the obvious signs of malnourishment and maltreatment that marked his countenance. What must have he suffered during his confinement? she wondered, overcome by a wave of sorrow and regret.

Intellectually she knew that there was nothing she and Worf could have done to rescue him from the Cardassians, but that still didn't stop her from feeling that she had failed him, both personally and professionally. Had their positions been reversed, she was certain he would have found a way to save her. "I'm so sorry, Jean-Luc," she whispered. "We should have come after you. We should have found a way to get you out."

His head shot up and for a moment he was once again every inch her commanding officer. "No," he replied sternly. "You would only have been captured as well. You made the correct decision."

He reached out with one hand and tenderly cupped her cheek, wordlessly absolving her of any blame. As he did the sleeve of the tunic fell back to reveal slightly pinkish patches of newly regenerated skin encircling his wrist.

Beverly sucked in a sharp breath and quickly clasped the hand in hers, carefully examining his wrist with probing, gentle fingers.

Jean-Luc sat quietly as she worked. She was too good a doctor not to be able to interpret what had happened to him, so he didn't bother to try and hide it.

"Where else?" she gritted through clenched teeth, and he could hear the suppressed fury in her voice.

"Arms, chest, back, buttocks," he recited tonelessly. There was no point in trying to dissemble.

She nodded without looking up, glaring fiercely at her tricorder as she scanned his wrists and forearms before moving to his torso. He'd been tortured. Expertly, and repeatedly. Oh, gods. She'd left him there to be tortured.

It was an unconscionable thing for one living being to do to another. Even worse than the Borg. At least they didn't take pleasure in inflicting pain. And to know that it had been done to him, to Jean-Luc…how much agony could one man endure? Bile rose in her throat and she had to blink back the tears that momentarily blurred her vision.

This wasn't helping. Right now, he needed her to be not his friend but his physician, and to make certain that he was physically healed first of all. Summoning all her mental strength, she firmly barricaded her shock and disgust behind a wall of medical detachment and turned back to her patient.

It took only a few more moments to finish her scan. The Cardassians had done an adequate job repairing the obvious injuries to his torso and limbs, but – as she guessed – they hadn't bothered to be more thorough. Raising her tricorder to Jean-Luc's throat, Beverly could detect significant inflammation in the delicate cells of his larynx. No doubt from screaming in pain. Setting her jaw, she picked up the tissue regenerator and with the utmost concentration set about restoring each and every damaged cell to pristine condition.

Then she ran a battery of neurological scans, just to be on the safe side. They showed a hyper-activation of the central nervous system, consistent with prolonged electrical stimulation. More torture, she thought. The bastards. Also dramatic elevation of the stress hormones in his brain, which was to be expected, but to her relief there was no lasting damage that she could detect.

With a sigh she set aside her equipment and watched in sympathy as Jean-Luc massaged his forearm where a muscle jumped in spasm. Residual peripheral nerve trauma, she diagnosed. Painful, but not permanent. And, mercifully, one thing more that she could actually fix.

She picked up a hypospray from the supply tray at her elbow. "Jean-Luc, I'm prescribing a strong muscle relaxant and minimum 72 hours rest in your quarters. No arguments."

"Beverly."

Jean-Luc's velvety baritone resounded from his newly healed throat, causing her to shiver involuntarily. There had been a few bad moments over the past several days when she feared that she would never hear that dear, familiar voice again.

"I need you to release me back to general duty, now."

Beverly looked up sharply, outraged at the very thought, reflexively ready to do battle with her irrationally stubborn superior who adamantly refused to admit to any weakness, physical or otherwise. But as she gazed into his eyes she could glimpse the emotional pain he was trying to hide, and the unspoken plea for understanding.

She sighed heavily. She did understand. And she couldn't refuse him. Not this time. Because – knowing him as well as she did – she recognized that what would help him most right now, more than any amount of rest, would be to reassume command and begin to re-exert some control over his life. "All right." She held up one hand to forestall his hasty exit. "For a few hours. Just until things get back to normal. Then promise you'll rest. Please. For me."

The personal entreaty had a far greater effect on him than any command. "Very well," he replied softly but firmly, his tired hazel eyes gazing affectionately into hers. "I promise."

Counselor Deanna Troi was just about to leave her quarters to begin her morning shift on the bridge when her door chime sounded. "Come in."

Surprise registered on her face at the unexpected sight of Beverly Crusher standing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry, I know it's early," the doctor said.

Deanna shook her head. "No, no, it's fine," she replied quickly, ushering her friend inside. "Please, sit."

Beverly nodded and perched on a chair near the viewport, knees tight together, hands clenched.

Deanna sat nearby, cautiously extending her empathic sense towards her visitor. She perceived a blend of stress, anxiety, exhaustion and a kind of baffled rage with which she had become depressingly familiar during Captain Jellico's short tenure on the Enterprise. Only it was clear that Beverly's anger wasn't directed at Jellico, but rather at the Cardassians.

Yet before she could help her friend, there was one thing she had to know: "I heard that the Captain is back on board. Is he all right?"

"He's –" Beverly hesitated, and Troi could see her mind swirling with possible answers to the question. Finally she said, in a detached, clinical voice, "He's malnourished and has been under severe stress. I've checked him over thoroughly and there's going to be no lasting physical damage, but…"

She paused, squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and ran a visibly trembling hand through her hair. "Deanna, they hurt him. Badly," she murmured, and the counselor had to work to suppress a shudder. "Oh, they healed the wounds before they sent him back to us, but it didn't take a tricorder analysis to see the signs."

Beverly lowered her head and stared at her knees. "And I abandoned him. I left him there to be tortured." The word was an agonized whisper.

Troi tried not to flinch away from the wave of self-recrimination and regret now emanating from her companion. "Did you speak to the Captain about this?" she asked quietly, already anticipating the answer. Knowing Captain Picard, he would unhesitatingly absolve his CMO of any responsibility in the matter.

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

Beverly dragged her eyes up to meet Deanna's. "He said I'd done the right thing."

"But you don't agree?"

Beverly sighed. "Intellectually, yes, I do. But that doesn't make it any easier…" Her voice trailed off and she leaned forward, wrapping her arms protectively across her stomach. Her eyes lost focus as she thought back to the tormented man she'd just treated in sickbay. "You should see him, Deanna," she murmured with a shake of her head. "He was…terribly…injured, and his wounds are barely healed. He's exhausted – physically, mentally and emotionally."

Deanna couldn't help noting the softness in her friend's eyes, the obvious concern and affection in her voice, as she spoke of the Captain.

Beverly's eyes once again sought hers. "Yet he practically begged me to release him straight back to duty. And I did it," she added, her chin raised defiantly as if expecting to be censured.

"I see," Troi said softly, trying to hide her surprise. Such an act was very unlike the strong-willed, meticulous doctor. Long-term rest and recovery – induced by command, if necessary – was her more usual prescription for restoring the Captain's health.

"I know it sounds strange," Beverly went on, "But – he needs to become the Captain again. As soon as possible. He has to, in order to start to heal."

Deanna nodded, accepting the insight, and wondering anew at the conundrum that was Jean-Luc Picard and Beverly Crusher – two people sharing a stronger emotional bond than many married couples she knew, yet rigorously holding themselves apart.

She reluctantly put aside that mystery for another day, saying only, "At least we can be grateful that he's back."

Beverly exhaled a slow breath, smiling now with pure relief. "Yes."

"And hopefully now you can get some sleep," Deanna added meaningfully. She was well aware that her friend had barely slept since she and Worf had returned from their mission. Insomnia was a common side effect of strong feelings of guilt and anxiety, and tended to hit the doctor especially hard.

"I will," Beverly replied, feeling some of the tension of the last few days beginning to drain from her body. Just having a sympathetic ear to talk to made her feel a little better. Having gotten the immediate weight off her chest, she rose to leave. "Thanks, Deanna."

"You're welcome."

Just before Beverly reached the door Deanna spoke again, hoping she wasn't about to take a step too far beyond the bounds of friendship. "He needs you, you know."

Beverly paused, ducked her head for a moment, and then looked back with a poignant expression in her eyes that not even Deanna's empathic sense could fully interpret. "I know."

Beverly left Deanna's cabin and headed for her own quarters. Although it had helped to talk to her friend, she was still so tired – wrung out – after the events of the past few days that she was looking forward to finally having some real rest. She had no fears that the insomnia that had kept her awake since her return from Celtris III would trouble her now. Not now.

Because now that Jean-Luc was back, all was right with her world.

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