Summary: The story of "Chain of Command" as told from Dr. Crusher's POV.

Disclaimer: Paramount owns it, I have fun with it. I promise I won't make any money off of it!

Author's Note: Allrighty, last chapter, here we go! Thanks to everyone who read, and also a big thanks to everyone who reviewed!

From the Inside, Out

Chatper Eleven
Pulse, a little over normal but starting to slow...colour going back into his cheeks...all other levels returning to normal... Stop, Bev. He's fine, now. You know he is.

It's been a little under twelve hours since he beamed up...I put him under sedation the second we were transported into sickbay. I knew he needed rest, and whatever had happened to him down on the planet would probably have prevented that. The sedation stops nightmares...stops dream activity of any kind. For now, I can protect him from the ghosts of the past week.

Just as I expected them to, my staff has all busied themselves...very far away from the private room in which I worked on Jean. Alyssa came to help me with the minor surgeries, and then conveniently had some sorting that she planned too do. Maybe I should bake my staff a cake after all this...they certianly deserve it...putting up with my moodiness, knowing exactly when to leave me the hell alone...

But of course I can't do that...to celebrate their endurance would mean admitting my weakness as a leader...my weakness as a physician..inability to create professional detachment.

I look down at Jean, looking slightly frail, but also so much better than he did when he came in...yep, definitely a weakness of mine...how are his levels? Does he look uncomfortable?

Two broken ribs, as if he had been beaten...or at least hit hard enough to break bone. Both wrists fractured, and muscles torn all across his arms and shoulders...he must have been hung, or pulled...or dragged by his arms. Gods. Blood vessels torn in one eye, complete malnourishment...and this...I don't know. Connected to his nervous system, it must have been some sort of...torture device.

Torture. That certainly seems to be what happened down there. A horror. No, a terror. Rage courses through my body. He never did a damn thing to those Cardassians...A terrible horrible torture from which he couldn't escape and could only endure with an alarming indifference...if his manner with the guards was any indication...Damn. I run my hand through my hair, clench both fists, clench my jaw...it barely helps to control...

I look up from his battered body to his face. In spite of all that happened, he still holds that air of command, even in his sleep. Eyes of depth, knowledge, understanding...well, hid behind his sleeping eyelids, but I know they're there...strong jaw and nose. Any other man may have ben defeated by this experience, but not Jean-Luc. I know I'll never know the true depth of his pain...he'll never tell. Maybe with Deanna, someday...I will be forced to piece together the evidence I find. An issue or activity that he used to like becomes a topic that he avoids...something like that. I respect that, I understand his privacy. It's not like I'm the most open person in the universe. Did he fight them? I'm sure he did...maybe they broke his will...maybe he was just too tired to fight the guards when I saw him...Maybe I'll find something in his official report...

But why can't he tell me? Aren't we friends? Hasn't time, experience, understanding made us close enough to share our pain...made me close enough that I don't have to dig through reports to know the man I'm closest to in the entire...Of course not. Just like I never told him about the real pain I went through after Jack's death. I never told him how badly I wanted to end it all. How defeated I felt. I never really told him about my parents...about their death on Arvada III. It's like we have this semblance of closeness. A relationship of joking, ship's business...

No, it's more than that. Think about all the times Wesley got in trouble...think about how he was after Odan. He and I...I look forward to spending every morning with him. I relish those few times he invites me to dinner. No, I must mean more to him. He certainly means more to me.

He should be waking up in another forty-five minutes...

I had busied myself for the last few hours: filing reports, checking monitors...anything I could do to stop myself from really thinking. Now, here I am with nothing. As soon as the doctorial part was done, I sent away all the nurses...I sent away everyone. Jean needs his privacy. I'll let them come soon...

"Riker to Dr. Crusher" Not again. Why can't this man leave me...leave us alone?

"Crusher here." Because he cares, Beverly. They all want to know how he's doing...

"I was just wanting to...I just wondered..." ...while you keep him huddled-up in here all by himself.

"He'll be ready for guests soon, Will. Once he's woken up and eaten something, you'll be the first to know, ok?" ...well, not all by himself. That's why I'm here. He needs quiet.

A pause. Did I sound too hostile? Am I being too protective?

"All right, let me know as soon as you can..." He sounds...oh I'm sorry Will, but he needs this...I need this...

Okay, give him a professional signoff: "I'll contact you as soon as the Captain has regained consciousness and received adequate nourishment, Commander. His levels are stable, Will, he's going to be fine. Crusher out." ...hmmm, well, not as professional as I'd hoped, but certainly intimidating enough that he's not going to burst in here any time soon...good.

I hear Jean-Luc moan as if he is waking. What? How can he be waking so early? It's nearly an hour until his sedation is supposed to wear off. Oh, I'm not ready. Did I give him the wrong dosage? No, of course not. He's simply fighting the drug. Humph, Over-achiever. I smile to myself, more like he's trying to get out of sickbay as soon as possible. How do I look? Ha, like you haven't slept in two days...but maybe he won't notice...

I sit in the chair beside his bed and hold his hand comfortingly. "Jean-Luc?" I whisper, "Jean, can you hear me?"

No response. Perhaps I have overestimated the dear captain's desire to escape from the dreaded biobed...

I release his hand and move back a little. As a doctor, I know the importance of those comforting touches...I have no problem rubbing someone's neck when they come in with a strained muscle...or holding someone's hand as I tell them bad news...touching their shoulder as I administer a hypo spray in the arm... But there's a fine line between holding your captain's hand while he wakes up, and holding the hand of the man you love while he sleeps. I am just his doctor. I mustn't invade his privacy. Or is that still within the boundaries of friendship? How would he take it? How does he take me?

He turns his head and takes a deep breath through his nose. You know, that deep breath people take when they first wake up. I'm back by his side again.

"Jean-Luc?" I try again, "Can you hear me? It's Beverly, you're on the Enterprise."

He smiles ever so slightly, takes another deep breath, and opens his eyes. Curtains rising to reveal those amazing grey eyes of his that say everything. I can see fatigue, happiness, weariness...he's looking around: probably trying to get a sense of his surroundings. He hasn't looked to me yet.

"Jean?" I whisper...half hoping he'll focus on me, half dreading his reaction...my reaction. He's so vulnerable right now. I have no idea how he'll be...

His eyes shift so that he's looking into mine. I smile and try to project a sense of safety, and friendship. His eyes softly glow in recognition, and trust. And is there a look of relief too? Did he think he had dreamed his rescue..."retrieval"?

"Hey" he strains to whisper.

I know what "hey" means with this man. It's like his ultimate, talk-to-a-person-as-a-friend-and-complete-equal kind of opening. What had Deanna said before? Try not to call him Captain at first? Speak to him as a man, not an officer. I can do that. I'm the best person to do that for Jean. I actually knew him as a man first, and an officer later.

I move in a little closer, whisper "Hey" back.

We sit there drinking in each other's presence. He smiles faintly...definitely a sense of relief. I missed him so much. He's already starting to look healthy again. He's so handsome and confident and strong and beautiful and he's finally here and he's so close. I missed him. Softly, and in no way offensively, it begins to drift into my consciousness: he rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. He loves me. He must.

Closing my eyes, I pull myself out. It would be so easy to just reach out to him right now...but I'm his doctor and friend. I can't take advantage of his current dependency. Not to mention the fact that I'm the reason he's here...

I completely dissolve the moment by slipping my hand out of his. We can hide behind treatment for now.

"So how do you feel?" I ask in a slightly louder, less intimate tone.

He lifts his hand and joins it with the other across his stomach. He understands...he'll play along.

"I'm actually feeling much better..." he begins, also raising his volume just a bit. I feel like we're putting on a play and are now compensating for having broken character between acts. He lifts himself higher on the bed, openly showing a slight strain at doing so. "...A little stiff, but it's still an improvement." He smiles and looks up at me, much different from the look (he must love me) before, "Thank you, doctor."

I screw my face up into a sarcastic smile, "Oh don't even try to sound like you're ready to leave Mr. Jean-Luc Picard..." no titles, not yet I see the cheeriness on his face lessen; did he really think it'd be that easy? "...did you really think it would be that easy?"

He chuckles softly, more in contemplation than actually in laughter. He sighs, "You know, I hoped it would be...a man can hope..."

Is he trying to guilt me? "Well," I begin, he's getting a red-headed reply for that one, "A woman, especially a CMO woman, can make sure a man is stronger before allowing him to escape her clutches." I raise my eyebrow, still smiling, and get up. I almost said "her man" instead of "a man"...glad I caught myself.

Without even looking, I can guess that he has a look of confusion painted across his face right now. Where's she going? Is she leaving? Did I upset her? I'll relieve his worry a little... "And to start, since it is the ship's morning, I thought we might have a little breakfast."

I quickly replicate a pair of croissants and apples and bring them over to his bed. I put them on the side table for a moment; reach under his bed a pull out my nana's "breakfast-in-bed" table. Now it's his turn to raise the eyebrow, "My, aren't we prepared..." he says softly.

Is it too much? It's too much. I knew I shouldn't have used something so personal. No, Bev. He's just joking. He doesn't mean it in a negative way. Just joke back. Just cover it with joking...As I continue to set up, I lower my voice, as if trying to sound like a seductive floozy from one of his beloved Dixon Hill novels: "I had a feeling you'd stop by this morning Mr. Picard".

He chuckles again and looks at the table in front of him, "You know, Beverly, this is wonderful, but there's one thing missing..."

I know what you want, and you can't have it! "Jean-Luc, there is no way that I am giving you a stimulant like coffee or tea! You're getting water or juice and you know it."

He lowers his head like a scolded child, sighs, and mumbles, "I'll have orange juice please."

Having finally settled down, we begin eating. A silence falls between us...but certainly not from a lack of things to say. I have so much to tell him, but I don't know where to begin. Should I tell him about the Will/Jellico fight? How Will and Deanna and Geordi and even Worf have been bugging me all yesterday and this morning trying to visit? How I escaped from the planet? How guilty and useless I felt? How our dealings with the Cardassians went? How I visited the ship's classrooms the other day? Ok, start safe: how his treatment's going...

"So I think I'll be able to let you out by the end of the day today." I see him smile at this as I press on, "I've healed most of you physical injuries, they just need time now, I don't think you'll even need any muscle therapy, just a little exercise..." I look straight at him before I continue, make sure he understands, "Jean-Luc, I'm going to recommend putting you on leave for at least another day before you return to duty...I want you to spend some time resting..." and should I complete the sentence? I suppose I have to... "and I think you should talk to Deanna too."

He looks down again; I'm not sure what he's thinking. Is he mad that I would bring it up? Embarrassed that he's vulnerable? Accepting? He nods, still looking down, and takes another bite of his croissant. I quickly bite into mine as well so that I don't have to fill the gap in conversation...

He looks up, smiles...but its that diplomatic smile...chin out, kind eyes...but no real merriment. Oh Jean-Luc that's why I'm here: I want to see the real you. Open up to me. Trust me.

"So," he begins, putting his croissant down...again with the theatrical tone, "how is everyone? Will? Deanna? Worf?" he looks, waiting for me to break in, I'll bite.

"They're doing well, they all missed you terribly." I missed you too. I missed you most of all. They thought you were dead. They were completely struck with grief. I missed you too, please hear me, I love you. "In fact, I've had to do everything I could to keep them out of my sickbay while you recovered."

He chuckles again, that deep rumble of his chest. The happiness returning to his eyes. He's not mad at me, he's shut my comment out, for now. "Oh really?" he asks, taking a sip of orange juice.

"Ha! Are you kidding?" I feel myself become more animated as his smile widens, "In fact, Deanna has called me twice, Geordi and Data called me in a tag-team effort, Worf has called once and Your Number One has called me four times." Is he actually unaware of how much this crew loves him? I really had to resist the temptation to say "number one" in his accent.

"And what did you tell them?" he asks, half still joking, but something else underneath. He really wants to see them...or is it that he really doesn't want to see anyone? Fear I won't let them in? Or fear that I will? Suddenly I remember that he's in a bed looking up at me. Did the shaddows under his eyes deepen just then?

"Well," I begin as I swallow the last bit of croissant, "I told them that until you had rested and eaten something, there would be absolutely no visitation whatsoever..." I chuckle, only now finding the humour in it all, "...apparently, I wasn't intimidating enough because people kept calling back..." I look down in mock disappointment.

He laughs out loud. I feel gratification throughout my being. I sigh, look at him seriously. His smile lessens; he can feel my change in mood.

"But Jean-Luc, there's no rush, you know that, right? If you're too tired, or not ready for a crowd, I'll understand, it's okay..." and lighten the heavy message with... "in fact, I'll take the blame one hundred percent. I'll take the part of the mean doctor keeping you all to myself to do rotten tests and long reports..."

He laughs softly, then looks away...straight ahead. I see pure determination. "That won't be necessary, doctor. I think I can handle a few friends right about now..."

I smile and nod, I know that its time to stop being Beverly, the friend and start being Dr. Crusher. We'll have more time later... I tap my comm. badge. "Crusher to Riker."

"Riker here."

I look down at Jean-Luc as I speak, "William T. Riker," my voice is completely playful now, and Jean-Luc is smiling up at me. "I believe there is someone down here who you would like to see..."

I can almost feel his smirk, "Yes, actually doctor, the thought had crossed my mind."

"Well, you may bring any senior officers you wish, I'll see you soon."

I smile back at Jean as I begin to clear away breakfast. I reach across his lap to grab the tray and feel his hands slide up to rest on mine. He looks to me, his eyes slightly shimmering with happiness, "Beverly," that sincere tone of voice, "Thank you." He pauses, as if actually considering what he's thanking me for, "for this, for everything. You've really made me feel like I'm back home again."

My lip is shaking, I feel my entire throat tensing up. I will not cry, I will not cry. I lean in and kiss him less-than-lightly on the cheek. I stand up, I smile. I can barely see through the tears welling up in my eyes. "You're welcome," I say, as sincere as possible. Should I? Can I? I'll go out on a limb. I'll give him that tiny, tiny, tiny glimpse into my feelings for him. I only have the courage to whisper, "It wasn't home without you, though."

Behind me I hear the doors to sickbay opening. Its time to fall into the background. I look down, lift the tray, and carry it away. I'm not brave enough to look back. How is he looking at me? Don't trip, don't trip.

I smile as I pass Will and Geordi, who smile full-toothy grins back at me. Before I know it, the room behind me is loud with conversation and laughter. Deanna and Data enter next, Dee giving me an especially meaningful gaze as she walks by. She empathic...she probably felt our whole conversation. I'm a little embarrassed, but over the years with Dee, I've kinda gotten used to it. Even felt good knowing that someone else knows exactly how I feel.

And as I turn to join the others in the room, I feel a large grip on my shoulder. Worf. I don't even have to look. I turn to look up into his eyes. I draw my shoulders up, as if still defending myself. What do you want now? "I trust the captain is healing well, Doctor." Is he smiling? No, not really, but there is a kindness in his face and his eyes that is unmistakeable.

I offer my own kind smile, "Yes, Worf. He's doing fine. With a little rest, he'll be back in perfect health in no time." This statement still brings me comfort. He's fine, he'll be fine. I've healed all I can.

I feel his hand squeeze my shoulder, now he's actually smiling...sort of. "I knew he would be...under your care." He releases my arm, and heads into the captain's room.

Was that...could that be...an apology. Doth mine ears deceive me? Ha! Wow. There's something to write home about. I take a deep breath of total contentment.

Jamming my hands into the pockets on my lab coat, I walk towards the crowded room. As I lean against the doorframe, I look around at all the smiling faces, my friends, my family. I catch the end of Will's plans for the Elementary school's Captian Picard Day...ha, poor Jean-Luc. The merriment fills the room with colour, light, life. The world is alive again, my world is alive. Jean-Luc is home.

I catch his eye as everyone is laughing about something. He raises his eyebrow slightly as if to joke about the chaotic joy around him. I nearly laugh from the gesture, but instead squint my eyes and smile as if to say, "You know you like it". He grins and nods, and then Data grabs his attention, discussing his next poetry reading...

I know that in the next weeks and months to come, there will be a lot of emotional healing for Jean-Luc to work through...but as Worf says, I know he will be ok. I take in a deep breath and smile...we'll all be ok.

Fin.

Ok, so I tried to incorperate everything I aimed to...let me know what you thought! Thanks again for reading :)