MEMORY TO MEND
by ardavenport
- - - Part 5
Picard strolled down the narrow, rock-lined path. He stopped at a turn and stared down at the pond. A few large goldfish meandered about over the greenish bottom. He stared down at them, glanced over his shoulder to see Troi following behind him and moved on down the crooked path that edged the pond.
He wasn't feeling particularly enthusiastic about gardens, Japanese or otherwise, at the moment. He supposed that Counselor Troi had gotten this holodeck program from somebody in Botany. He crossed a flat, wooden bridge that consisted of several right angle turns over the pond. He heard a splashing waterfall off to his right.
He didn't bother slowing his pace down; he'd already tried that, but Counselor Troi always seemed to stay at least five or six paces behind him, yet always within sight. He felt like he was on a long, invisible leash.
He came to a fork in the path and turned to the left. He passed small orange and yellow flowers, long green grasses and darker, unevenly sculpted bushes. It was nice, but Picard really preferred gardens that had more of a sense of symmetry where the design of the flower beds and walkways relied on a recognizable geometry, leaving the natural lines to the characteristics of the individual plants. He briefly recalled his friendship with the groundskeeper at Starfleet Academy during his time there as a cadet. He hadn't shown any appreciation for gardening at all then and now he regretted his youthful callousness.
The bamboo edged path led down a series of uneven steps to a walled sand garden. He stared down at the swirled and raked, coarse, white sand which was dotted with large irregularly placed rocks. The largest was taller than he was. He turned away from it and went down an ivy-lined gravel path.
Troi followed.
If the re-creation of the Japanese garden was to set him at ease, then it had failed. He paced the tree-lined pathways, looked down every branch and dead-end.
He crossed a large, arching stone bridge and walked up the trail to the tea house. He went up the three low steps onto the porch and through the open door to investigate the interior.
"Ahem." He turned. Troi, holding her shoes, stood in the doorway and pointed toward a low shelf and bench in the foyer. Picard glanced down at his feet, standing on the woven floor mats. He returned to the foyer, sat down and took his boots off. He stowed them on the shelf.
At the far end of the main room he found a raised smaller room, apparently set up for a traditional tea ceremony. He left the paper paneled door open. Another sliding door, a solid wood one, led to a lavatory decorated with wood and bamboo. He noted the adaptation of modern lavatory fixtures in the otherwise traditional house. Anachronisms like that usually bothered him, but he had no idea if this house were a historical recreation or that of an existing place. He glanced at the painted willows on a room divider with a black lacquered frame, one of the few furnishings in the room. A cupboard contained porcelain cups, bowls and spoons, another concealed a food replicator. Old and new mixed together, he decided, in a pleasing combination. Blue and red flowers, the greens and yellow greens of the garden, and a beautiful view of the waterfall showed through the floor-to-ceiling, glass-paned, windows.
Counselor Troi carefully settled herself on a pillow and folded her arms on the polished wood surface of the low table in the corner of the room. He sighed, walked over and sat down on the floor mat next to the table. Even with the altered decor and the much larger room, he recognized the same layout of Counselor Troi's office. The pillows corresponded to chairs. The floor mat was the sofa.
"You haven't said very much," Troi began.
"Maybe I don't have very much to say." He put his elbows on the table. He rubbed the back of his neck. It was late. The holodeck garden glowed with mid-afternoon freshness, yet it was actually after 2100. He had an important appointment the next morning at 1000 that he was not looking forward to, but if Counselor Troi wasn't going to bring it up, he didn't feel that he needed to discuss it.
"How have you been sleeping lately?"
"Badly," he answered simply. There was no point in avoiding this subject. He'd already told her far more than he ever wanted to know himself. The nightmares still came. They varied in intensity and coherence, and none were nearly as bad as they'd been when they'd started. But he still had them.
"Is there anything you wish to discuss?"
"No." He ran his hand over his scalp and rubbed the back of his neck again. "I'm sorry Counselor," he apologized. "I just can't think of anything that I haven't already said. I suppose I'm just tired of it all," he muttered without looking at her.
"It has been nearly four weeks since you were rescued from the Borg." He grit his teeth at the word 'Borg'. He furiously wondered how he could ever end this if just the word made him cringe. "Do you think you're finished with it?"
'Not likely,' he thought to himself. He shook his head, still looking down at the low table they sat at.
"Then you have something else?" He'd been annoyed with the leading tone of her questions for some time; now he genuinely disliked it. Unwilling to further Troi's irritating therapeutic method, he shrugged and gestured.
"Perhaps you'd like to make yourself more comfortable."
He sat back and sighed fatalistically. This was his cue to do something; get up and pace, get a cup of tea, lie down, fidget. He'd figured this tactic out last week. She would first distract him before she'd get around to what she really thought he should be talking about when he wasn't expecting it. He had to admit that it seemed to work, but he didn't like being manipulated.
He turned and lay down on the mat. It was firm, but comfortable, and smelled pleasantly of bamboo. At least lying down, he didn't have to look at Troi as he spoke. The long, dark shadows in the rafters told him that the holodeck simulation was reaching dusk.
"I suppose I'm concerned," he qualified, "about how I'm supposed to be doing. Not physically, but...mentally, I feel like I'm not accomplishing anything. And frankly," he told her honestly, "I haven't gotten very much encouragement from you about whether I'm improving." She didn't respond to this. The room was noticeably darker; the air a little cooler. He heard crickets outside. "Well?" he asked. "Am I improving?"
"I don't know; what do you think?" Bowing to the inevitable, he sighed. She always turned his questions right back at him. He closed his eyes and tried to think of a suitable answer.
o*o*o*o*o
Picard woke up suddenly. Dark, unfamiliar, the high ceiling loomed above him. He sat up. The room wasn't large, but from the mat on the floor it seemed bigger than it was. He had no sense of 'when' in this place, and concerned by that, he called out to the computer for the time.
"It is 0519 hours." He sighed, annoyed. Sleeping on the holodeck. He was certain that this was what the counselor had had in mind all along. He didn't recall that they'd discussed anything of any serious consequence the night before. He tossed the blanket off and went to the door. Troi stood on the porch. Round, paper Lanterns hung from above, but they weren't lit. She faced the brightening sky over the trees in the distance.
"Good morning," she greeted him cheerfully.
"Good morning." He let his annoyance show in his voice. He didn't like to be manipulated especially if someone else thought it was for his own good.
"Did you sleep well?"
He stopped, bent over reaching for his boots.
"Yes." No nightmares. He sat down on the bench. Troi sat next to him, close but not touching.
"That hasn't happened in weeks," he admitted, staring down into the boot in his hands. He swallowed. "Since before..." His voice weakened. He suddenly sat back. "Since before I was captured by the Borg," he finished quietly.
"Does it surprise you?" Troi asked.
"No." He looked up at the upper portion of a Japanese watercolor, pastel colors, flowers and black characters trailing down its length, hanging on the opposite wall. "I just wasn't expecting it. I hadn't thought about what it would feel like, to be over that part of it." He looked at Troi in the dim light. "Am I?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. What do you think?"
He looked away. "I don't know. I suppose I..." he paused. If he pronounced himself cured, that would surely be a sign that he still had some nightmares buried in him. Wouldn't it? "I don't know."
"Think about it, then." She sounded positive, certain. "You don't have to decide on it now."
"Oh, yes I do," he replied indignantly. "I appear before Starfleet's review board meeting today, Counselor."
"Do you think that they'll expect you to be cured?"
He frowned at the word 'cured'. "They'll expect me to be capable of resuming my duties. They'll expect me to be able to sit there and calmly tell them about what happened to me and that I'm 'fine' now."
"They'll expect you to tell them what happened. But nothing more. Their decision on your fitness for command will be based entirely on your medical and psychological evaluations. They're not going to ask you to bare your soul to them."
"That's exactly what they'll want." He fingered his boot.
"Is that what you think?"
"Yes," he answered simply. "And I can't just calmly discuss it, Counselor. I..." He felt his throat tighten. "...can't just lay aside my feelings about..." He inhaled sharply. "...being turned into a machine." His voice cracked on the last syllable, but he kept going. "And being forced to contribute to the murder of thousands of people," he finished angrily.
"Captain, I can guarantee that if you could sit in front of a panel of admirals and coldly tell them about how you were used by the Borg this soon after it happened, they'd never return you to command."
"So, I'm supposed to present myself and break down in front of them when I tell them about all the people we've both known who are dead now...when I look at them and remember the look on Admiral Hansen's face when he saw Locutus..." He paused, inhaled roughly, and wiped his nose on his sleeve. His cheeks were already wet. "...and my voice told him that 'resistance is futile', just before he went into battle. And died."
"Yes." He glared at her through tears. "That's exactly what you're supposed to do." She got up, went back into the tea house and returned with a cloth. She held it out to him. "Just remember to take some tissues with you, so you won't have to wipe your nose on the sleeve of your dress uniform."
He silently took it. He carefully dried his face and blew his nose and then dropped the crumpled cloth on the bench next to him where Troi had been sitting. She remained standing over him. He got up.
"I don't want to do it, Counselor," he told her simply, his anger having drained away.
"Will you?"
"Yes," he admitted. The lighting was noticeably brighter, the sun just peaking over the trees and spilling into the foyer.
"Computer," Troi called out. "End program."
The peaceful garden vanished around them. They stood alone in the yellow- stripes-on-black holodeck grid pattern.
"You have a few hours before the review panel. Is there anything you wish to discuss in that time?"
He shook his head. "No, I don't think so." He smiled. "Thank you, Counselor." He left her standing alone on the holodeck grid.
o*o*o*o*o
Beverly Crusher carefully spread strawberry jam on her second croissant.
"You're sending for some things that used to belong to Jack?" Jean-Luc Picard had stopped eating, a bit of sausage on his fork halfway between his plate and mouth.
She smoothed the jam as well as she could on the uneven croissant. "Yes. I've had them in storage, and while we're here I decided I ought to pick them up while I have the chance." She only briefly glanced at him. It just wasn't the right time for any really intimate exchanges, she decided.
For over four weeks she'd been watching him piece himself back together from one of the cruelest forms of abuse she'd ever seen inflicted on another being, and his recovery had dragged her own thoughts to herself. She finally had to admit to herself that she'd been avoiding even discussing her late husband with Jean-Luc Picard for more than fifteen years, and maybe it was time to stop.
"I thought maybe you'd like to see them, too," she finished, looking up from the red-smeared pastry.
He didn't ask her why she'd chosen now to think of Jack's things. She'd been on Earth at Starfleet Medical for a whole year and she hadn't thought of them then. There was more to her suggestion than she was admitting, and he wondered how much their recent closeness lay behind it.
There was no denying that their relationship had changed. He'd only occasionally had breakfast with her before the Borg incident. She'd started visiting in the morning as soon as he'd gotten out of Sickbay. At first he'd been annoyed by her checking up on him, but he'd gallantly started offering her breakfast when she'd turn up at his door, anyway. Lately they seemed to be making a habit of it. And now eating alone in the morning seemed too quiet and solitary for him.
"I'd be very happy to see them, Beverly."
o*o*o*o*o
Will Riker mounted the two steps to the upper level of Ten Forward. At a table next to the wide window port Captain Picard faced off Counselor Troi, a multi-level chess board between them.
Picard acknowledged his first officer with a glance. "Commander," he greeted, while Troi took his bishop with a rook.
"I've finished the last leave lists, if you'd like to look them over." He handed the captain a large, flat note padd. Picard put it on the table next to him and activated the screen. He moved a pawn to the top level.
"I've noticed that you put yourself in for leave on Earth," Riker added congenially. Surprised, Troi looked up from the board.
"I've noticed that you haven't," Picard answered, ignoring Riker's invitation to expound on his travel plans. Troi took his pawn.
"Well, I haven't exactly decided on where I want to go." The first officer smiled. Counselor Troi smiled back. Picard took her knight.
"Repairs are still running ahead of schedule then?"
"Yes, sir. At this rate we'll be ready five days earlier than our first projections."
Troi took another pawn. "Starfleet wants us away as soon as we're able," he said as he considered his next mover. "We'll be filling a considerable gap in the fleet for at least the next six months." Masking his discomfort with the game, he frowned at the pieces before him. "If you take too long to decide you may miss your chance."
"Oh, I think I can come up with something." Riker's smile grew a little bit more suggestive. Troi's deep, black eyes flitted towards him and then back down to the chessboard. She rested her chin on the curved fingers of one hand, as if she were studying the levels of the chessboard. Not really caring much for public flirting, Picard glanced at Will Riker and his eyes fixed on one detail.
Commander Riker only wore three rank insignia on the collar of his uniform. When had that happened?
He quickly looked back at the game, but the ship's counselor had seen his expression change.
"Is there something wrong Captain?" Troi asked, her face framed by the chess board. He deliberately focused on the abstract, angular chess pieces. The physical evidence of Riker's old rank should have pleased him. But it didn't. He felt nothing, and that foreshadowed some inner turmoil yet to be resolved. He forced his attention back to the game between himself and Troi. He moved his queen to the third level. He shook his head in response to Troi's query, but her expression told him that she didn't really believe him.
Three more people approached. Lieutenant Commander Data looking curiously down at the game and players now stood next to Commander Riker. Guinan and Doctor Crusher strolled to the other side of the table, opposite Riker and Data.
He froze. The muscles in his jaw tightened. They were all looking down at him, or at least that was what it felt like. He didn't move, but used his supposed concentration on the game to cover his sudden inner panic. He couldn't even remember whose turn it was. Thankfully, Counselor Troi moved, taking his bishop.
"Captain?" Doctor Crusher asked. Damn. She'd said something to him and he hadn't heard it at all.
"Hmmmmm?" He kept his eyes on the chessboard, using it as an excuse for his distraction. Beyond the levels of the game Counselor Troi didn't look the slightest bit fooled by his pretense, but she seemed to be going along with it anyway. He was sure she would follow him now when he left Ten Forward to pack for his trip to Earth. He deliberately slowed his breathing, using Troi's favorite mental exercise to force himself to relax.
"You're going to Earth? To see your family?" Crusher repeated. He nodded, not saying anything aloud. He'd spoken with her a few times in the past about his brother and his family. Why am I going?, he wondered again. He actually dreaded seeing Robert again after all these years. What am I looking for? For some reason it seemed wrong not to go, but he couldn't explain why.
Riker and Data perked up immediately at the mention of Picard's family. The captain coldly glanced their way and that cooled their curiosity.
He looked back at the game. It was his move. But the chess pieces no longer interested him. He raised his knight to the top level and arbitrarily took Troi's rook. She checkmated him.
He sat back, acknowledging the defeat. But inside he felt relieved. The pressure of the people around him seemed lessened. Riker and Data seemed disappointed by his defeat. Crusher looked concerned, but Guinan smiled quietly, keeping her thoughts to herself.
He excused himself, got up and left Ten Forward. A moment later Counselor Troi got up and followed him.
o*o*o END o*o*o
Note: This story was written by me and first printed (under the name 'Anne Davenport') in 1993, in Involution 4, a fanzine back in the hard-copy and snail-mail days of fan-fiction, before the internet really took off.
Disclaimer: All Trek characters and the universe belong to Paramount; I'm just playing in that sandbox.