The Days After

Author's Note: This story was written in 1991 and published in Eridani 14.

Disclaimer: The crew of the Enterprise doesn't belong to me.

In that brief instant, the final connection, the last link with the Borg, was severed, and Jean-Luc Picard staggered back, legs weak, shaking. His left hand reached down and grabbed hold of the railing. Head bent, he concentrated on breathing, taking air into his lungs, letting it out, taking it in again. He was vaguely aware of Beverly Crusher beside him, examining him. Then she straightened and stepped back.

"Life signs are stable," she informed Riker and Troi. Picard drew his head up and stared at her. "The DNA around the micro-circuit fiber implants is returning to normal."

Riker reached forward, opened one side of the railing, as Picard pushed open the other. Holding on to it tightly, he stepped out, gazing up at Troi, eyes searching her face.

"How do you feel?" she asked softly, tentatively.

Slowly, he raised his right arm, looked sullenly at the stump of the implant, then back at the counselor. "Almost Human," he answered, voice hollow. "With just a bit of a headache."

He felt Crusher touch his arm.

"We'll get you to Sickbay," she smiled comfortingly. "We won't have any trouble getting those implants out now."

Picard nodded slightly at her words and strengthened his grip on the railing as best he could. Riker was staring at him, and he met his gaze. There was a familiar connection between them.

"How much do you remember?"

A look of confusion stole into the captain's eyes, and he cast them away, seemingly focused on nothing. But he saw it all, much too clearly. "Everything," he breathed. Then looked back up at Riker, drawing strength from the bond they shared. "Including some unorthodox strategy from a former first officer of mine," he added, his voice tinged with pride.

The look on Riker's face softened. His captain was back, in less than perfect condition, but he was with them again, brought back, safe. As were they all.

Picard stood there, on unsteady legs, swaying slightly as a feeling of nausea swept over him. He felt Crusher's hand tighten on his right elbow, and Troi reached over and took hold of his left shoulder.

"The medics are on their way, Jean-Luc," the doctor said quietly.

Picard nodded and closed his eyes. Seconds later, his legs gave out, and despite Crusher's and Troi's support, he fell forward. Strong hands grabbed him, held him securely. He opened his eyes and stared into Will Riker's bearded face.

"Good reflexes, Number One." He smiled weakly, then passed out.

~vVv~

He did not want to wake up, but there was an insistent voice, gentle, yet firm, imploring him to do so.

"Jean-Luc. Jean-Luc, open your eyes. It's time to wake up now."

Someone touched him on the shoulder. Then a hand, warm and soft, was placed on his forehead. "You've slept long enough, Jean-Luc. I want you to wake up and talk to me."

The voice was pulling him from a place he was not ready to leave, a dark place, where they could not touch him. Then he felt a pressure against his neck, heard a soft hiss.

The voice spoke again, but not to him. "That should bring him around."

"I wish we could let him sleep." Another voice.

"So do I. But we can't risk him slipping into a catatonic state."

"I know. He's been sleeping very deeply, hasn't he?"

"Yes. He's withdrawn a great deal."

Picard opened his eyes slowly and saw Deanna Troi reach across his bed and touch Beverly Crusher on the arm. "He'll come back to us. All of him."

"Looks like he's already making a start." Crusher smiled down at him. It was her hand that rested on his forehead. He blinked up at her, and she gently wiped his eyes with a warm, wet cloth.

Carefully, he raised his right arm, looked down at it and saw his hand where the implant had been. He breathed a ragged sigh of relief.

"They're all out, Jean-Luc," Crusher assured him.

He reached up to the right side of his head, but the doctor gently grabbed hold of his hand. He looked up at her, confused, worried.

"Jean-Luc," her voice was steady, soft, "the implants were deeply rooted. And it's going to take a while for your injuries to heal. In the meantime, I've placed some small plates on your head to protect those areas. It's best that you not touch them."

There was doubt in his eyes. Crusher shook her head. "Trust me, Jean-Luc. We're going to take good care of you."

He nodded. He trusted her. "I know," he mumbled, swallowing. His throat was dry.

She picked up a glass of water from the bedside table, lifted his head off the pillow, and held the glass to his lips. He gulped at it. She pulled it away. "Easy there. Just a little." She gave him some more, then settled his head back on the pillow. He yawned.

"I want to sleep, Beverly," he murmured, closing his eyes.

She shook his shoulder. "Not now. Deanna's here. She wants to talk to you."

"Uh-uh," he sighed, shutting his eyes tighter as if to block her out.

"No you don't, Jean-Luc Picard." Crusher shook him a little harder. "Open those eyes. That's an order, Mister."

He opened them and frowned up at her.

She smiled. "That's better."

"Captain?" Troi touched his arm. He shifted his gaze to her. "I thought you and I could talk."

Picard took a deep breath, but didn't say anything.

"I'll leave you two alone," Crusher said, starting to leave.

"No," he blurted, holding his hand out, "don't go."

She wrapped her fingers around his. "I'll be back, Jean." His eyes pleaded with her. She squeezed his hand. "I promise."

Then she left him alone with Troi. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, fear growing inside him, bringing him fully awake.

There was a chair next to his bed. The counselor sat down and was silent for several moments.

"I don't want to talk about this," he said, voice strained.

"I understand that, Captain. But you need to."

He looked over at her. "What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me how you feel," she replied.

"You know how I feel."

She nodded. "Tell me anyway."

Picard swallowed, turning his head away from her so that his left cheek pressed into the pillow. "I just want to forget that it happened." He blinked back the tears in his eyes. "Just... just let me forget."

She touched him on the arm again. "I can't let you do that. You told Will that you remembered everything. Now tell me what you remember."

"No," he resisted, "please don't ask me that."

Troi stood up and leaned over him. She held his chin, turned his face towards hers, told him what she knew. "The Borg took you onto their ship, held you captive, integrated your mind into their consciousness, surgically altered you, made you one of them." He tried to look away from her, but she held his face firmly. "They spoke through you, used your knowledge, your voice."

"No," he rasped, his breathing shallow.

"Used you to wage war against the Federation," Troi's voice was hard, "against the Enterprise."

"No," Picard cried, pushing her away, "I don't want to remember!" He covered his face with his hands, as the tears coursed down his cheeks, his body shaking with convulsive sobs.

Troi rubbed her hand over his shoulder soothingly. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "but I have to make you remember."

~vVv~

He cried himself into a fitful, fevered sleep, unable to find that dark place where he felt safe. Crusher and Troi stood in the open door of his room, watching him toss and turn restlessly.

"Sometimes I hate my job," Troi said, almost bitterly.

"He has to remember this, Deanna. You know that. He can't suppress it like he does so many other things." Crusher smiled encouragingly at the counselor. "No matter how much it hurts him, or hurts us to watch."

"I know. But it seems so cruel after what he's been through, for me to make him go through it all over again."

Crusher reached out and touched her on the shoulder. "Deanna, I know that when he's better, he'll be grateful for your help."

Troi looked over at him. "I hope so."

"He will." The doctor walked to Picard's bed and sat down on the edge. She ran her hand over his forehead, calming him. He stopped his thrashing movement and lay still, his breathing steadied. She took a cloth out of the basin on the bedside table, wrung the excess water from it, and gently bathed his face. Troi came and stood beside her.

"I'm not the only one he'll be grateful to."

Crusher laughed softly and shook her head, as if denying her contribution.

"You have a very special touch," Troi continued.

The woman looked up at her. "A healer's touch?"

Troi nodded. "Yes. But something more. Something between you and the captain. A touch he's attuned to."

Crusher blushed slightly. It was something she'd felt before with Picard, knew that he'd felt it too, but felt uncomfortable with Troi bringing attention to it.

"We've known each other for a long time," she said quietly.

"It's more than that, Beverly. You know it is." She turned, walked to the door, stopped and looked back. "Don't deny yourself those feelings." Then she was gone.

Crusher sighed and lowered her eyes. She was still rubbing the damp cloth over Picard's fevered cheeks and forehead, her other hand pressed firmly, and protectively against his bare chest. She massaged her fingers up over his shoulder.

"Umm," he groaned, his eyelids fluttering open. She drew her hands away.

"Jean-Luc," she whispered, "it's all right. Go back to sleep."

His eyes widened, and he focused on her. "No, I don't want to sleep."

She smiled. "You're changing your tune on me. A while ago that's all you wanted to do."

He exhaled deeply. "There are dreams now." He swallowed. "Awful dreams."

She touched his cheek. "I know. I'm sorry we made you remember. But you had to. There's a lot you're going to have to talk about."

He stared up at the ceiling, seeing forms and shapes in the dark shadows, memories that haunted him even when he was awake. He looked back towards the woman, sought out her face, her blue eyes.

"I was lost, Beverly," he murmured.

"And now you're found," she assured him, her fingers rubbing his cheek. "I'll stay here until you fall asleep."

Picard shook his head. "I still don't want to sleep."

"That's all right," she leaned over and kissed him softly on the forehead. "I'll stay with you anyway."

~vVv~

The next day, Crusher allowed him out of bed long enough for him to go to the bathroom on his own. But she was waiting for him, beside the door, when he came out.

"Mother hen," he groused as he walked back to his bed, the doctor at his side, her hand under his elbow, supporting him.

"We all need a little mothering sometimes, Jean-Luc," she explained as she lifted the covers and helped him into bed. "Even starship captains," she smiled, settling the blankets around him.

He eyed her carefully. "I took a good look at myself in the bathroom mirror."

"And?"

He grimaced. "I look like Frankenstein's monster."

"Oh," she grinned slightly, "I wouldn't say Frankenstein's monster, more like-"

"A science project gone terribly wrong," he finished her sentence.

She sighed. "Remind me to tell Deanna that we need to work on your self-image." He shrugged. "And besides, that's my medical handiwork you're being so critical of."

"I'm sorry, Beverly," he apologized, "I'm sure I looked a lot worse before."

"Umm, I don't know," she mused, "they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I'm sure some Borg female would have found you quite attractive."

Picard laughed. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

She smiled and smoothed her hand over his shoulder. "Would you like a little something to eat before Deanna gets here?" He looked at her, surprise registering in his eyes.

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I told you she was coming."

He glanced away.

"Jean-Luc, I know you don't want to talk about it, but you need to. You almost never fell back to sleep last night. And when you did... The nightmares were terrible, weren't they?"

He let out a deep breath and nodded his head resignedly.

"I thought so." She squeezed him on the arm. He looked back at her. "Let Deanna help. Talk to her." He frowned. "Then at least listen," she suggested.

Picard nervously rubbed his fingers over his lips. "All right," he agreed after a long hesitation, "I'll listen to her."

~vVv~

"I owe you an apology," Picard said meekly, his eyes downcast.

Troi sat in the chair next to his bed. "In that case, we're even," she returned, "because I owe you one as well."

"No," he looked up at her, "you were just doing your job, and I..." He swallowed. "I was just being childish."

Troi shook her head. "After what you've been through, I wouldn't say you were being childish." She touched him gently on the arm and looked into his eyes. "Just Human."

Picard smiled at her words and released a deep sigh.

"How do you feel?" Troi asked.

"You tell me," he replied seriously.

"All right. You're tired." He nodded. "Your head still hurts a little bit." Another nod. "And you're frightened."

He reached up, rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "I shouldn't be," he murmured.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm back now. And there's nothing to be frightened of."

"Except for some memories and feelings. Two things that you're not overly fond of dealing with." He remained silent.

"Beverly says that you still don't want to talk, but you're willing to listen."

Picard narrowed his eyes at her. "Oh, and what else does Beverly say?"

Troi smiled. "She says you are an absolutely wonderful patient. Although she's concerned that you're not eating enough."

He scowled. "I'm not hungry. She's just... overbearing."

"She just cares about you. We all do."

"I know, Counselor. And I appreciate your concern, but I-"

"Agreed to listen," Troi interrupted him.

He closed his mouth and glared at her.

"I'm sorry, Captain."

"No. No, I did agree to listen." He laid his head back on the pillow, his lips a tight, thin line.

He was determined to fight her every step of the way. Determined to hold his feelings in, bury it all inside of himself and go on with his life. Determined to solve it on his own; solve it by pretending it never happened. Troi felt all this in just a few moments of silence. And since he gave her no words to address, she could only speak to his feelings.

"You're not alone, Jean-Luc."

His eyes widened. She rarely used his first name.

"But you're no longer connected to the Borg either. You're still you, separate, individual. And there's nothing that can touch you or hurt you."

He lowered his eyes, but he wasn't shutting her out, not completely. She sensed a thread of his consciousness reaching out, grasping.

"They took you against your will. You had no choice, no control. And that's something you've always prided yourself on, your ability to remain in charge. And they took that away from you."

She hesitantly touched him on the arm, felt him jump. "The Borg did that to you. You didn't allow them to. They just did it."

His shoulders began to shake, and he started to cry. They'd done that to him, oh God, why did they do it?

~vVv~