Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing!

"Captain?"

The voice woke him, but not really, for his eyes were already open. More appropriately, the voice made him suddenly aware of his surroundings, yet he did not instantly recognize them.

"Where am I?" he whispered hoarsely.

"In the corridor, a little ways from your cabin." The voice was soft.

He looked to his left. Deanna Troi was there, the expression on her face worried, concerned.

He grimaced, lowered his eyes, and saw that he was wearing his pajamas. "Good lord," he breathed.

"It's all right, sir," Troi assured him. "Come on." She gently took hold of his elbow, turned him around, and led him back to his cabin. He was shaking, unsteady, and she helped him over to the couch. He sank down onto it, leaned back, and covered his face with his hands. Troi went into his bedroom, and returned with his robe. She touched his arm. He jumped slightly, pulling his hands away from his face.

"I brought your robe."

"Oh." He sat up, allowing her to drape the dark blue robe around his shoulders. Then, with a heavy sigh, he settled back again.

Troi sat down next to him on the edge of the couch. Picard stared straight ahead, blankly, his eyes focused on nothing, too ashamed to meet the counselor's patient gaze. Finally, after several long moments of silence, he spoke.

"What was I doing?"

"You were sleepwalking," she answered.

He looked at her, startled, alarmed. "How long was I out there?"

Troi shook her head and smiled comfortingly. "Not long. A few seconds maybe. I was in my office when I sensed you were... troubled. I came straight here."

"And found me before I wandered God knows where." He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. "I have never in my life done something like this."

"You've never in your life been held captive by the Borg either."

Picard eyed her wearily. "So we're back to them, are we?"

"They haven't left yet, have they?"

He sighed. "No. They're still here." He tapped the side of his head with his index finger.

"I know. Tell me about your nightmare."

He feigned confusion. "Nightmare?"

"Yes, Captain, the nightmare that brought you out of your cabin into the corridor."

He nodded resignedly. "In my pajamas," and he groaned slightly. "I guess you were right."

"About what?"

"The nightmares. They won't go away on their own."

"Tell me about them."

Picard leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. "The one I have the most often... the one I had tonight... I'm lying on some sort of table, and they're all there, surrounding me, looking at me..." He trailed off.

"And touching you," Troi supplied quietly.

He hesitated, then continued, voice strained. "Yes. Changing me... turning me into one of them." He gasped, swallowing convulsively. "And I couldn't stop them."

Troi saw tears well up in his eyes, then fall silently over his lower lids, making silver trails down his cheeks. She took hold of his hand, and he tightened his fingers around hers, held on.

"It's all right," Troi whispered.

Picard shook his head, reached up with his other hand and wiped at his eyes. "No," he rasped, "it's not all right."

"It will be," she promised him.

He looked over at the woman, wanting to believe her, needing to trust in her words. But he couldn't, and he found himself wondering, would he ever feel safe again?

~vVv~

Crusher smoothed her hand over the right side of his head and face, then smiled down at him. "There. You're as good as new."

Picard sighed. "I'll bet you say that to all your Borg implant patients."

She arched her eyebrows teasingly. "Only the handsome ones."

"Remember what I told you about flattery," he reminded her, his voice grumpy.

"Yes. And I can see I'm getting nowhere fast. But, I did accomplish something this afternoon." She picked up a mirror from the table beside her and held it out to him. "Care to take a look?"

Tentatively he took it out of her hand.

"Go on, Jean-Luc."

He held it up in front of him, staring at his reflection. And the face that looked back at him was his, unmarked, unscathed, as if the Borg had never touched him.

"Well, what do you think?" the doctor questioned after a few moments of silence.

"I think... you've done a very fine job, Beverly. And now," he slid off the edge of the examining table, "I have a job to do as well." He started towards the door.

"Jean-Luc?" Crusher's voice stopped him. He looked back. "How are the nightmares?"

He studied her expression, wondering if Troi had told her about last night, started to ask, but changed his mind. "They're... getting a little better," he mumbled.

"That's good."

Picard expected her to say more, but she didn't. Instead, she smiled a goodbye, turned and walked into her office. Too easy, he thought as he left Sickbay. And for the next few days he fully expected Beverly Crusher to corner him in the corridor, or his ready room, and interrogate him about the state of his mental health. But she never did. Although every look she gave him was full of motherly, over-concern.

He continued his daily meetings with Deanna Troi, and the nightmares began to fade. Images that had terrified and jolted him awake, no longer did so. Instead, they drifted past his mind's eye in a disjointed haze, specters with no substance that posed little threat.

Despite Crusher's concern, Picard threw himself into his job, oversaw closely the beginning refits on the Enterprise, caught up on long neglected logs and overdue requisitions; refused to take it easy and let his first officer do most of the work. And in a week's time, it caught up with him. And on the bridge of all places. As he strode up the ramp towards the engineering station, he suddenly felt weak and dizzy. He reached out blindly for the wall to steady himself, but instead felt a strong arm encircle his shoulders.

"Sir?" Riker's voice broke through the fog that surrounded him.

Picard took a deep breath. "I'm all right, Will," he managed, even as he sagged against his first officer.

"Maybe we'd better let the doctor determine that," Riker replied, steering the captain into the aft turbolift.

Picard didn't resist, and was grateful when the lift doors slid closed. He pulled away from Riker, leaned heavily against the wall, and continued to breathe, in and out, deeply. His head cleared, and by the time they reached Sickbay he felt fine. But despite his arguments there was no escaping one of Beverly Crusher's thorough exams.

Almost an hour later, he still lay flat on his back on an examining table, staring up at the red-haired woman.

"Beverly," he sighed, "can I sit up?"

She fixed him with a firm gaze.

"Please?" he added, somewhat meekly.

"All right." She took hold of his arm and helped him up, but stopped him, her hands firm against his shoulders, when he tried to get off the table.

"I have work to do," he groused.

"Jean-Luc, you're going to work yourself to death if you don't take it easy."

He arched an expressive, dark eyebrow. "Doctor, you're being overly dramatic."

"I'm being overly truthful. Your blood pressure is up, your weight is down, and I suspect you still aren't sleeping well."

"Ah-hah," he snapped, "you're wrong there, I'm sleeping just fine."

"In that case, let me rephrase, I suspect you aren't sleeping much."

He couldn't argue with that one, and so he remained silent.

Crusher sighed with satisfaction. "I finally won a round." She placed a warm hand on his shoulder. "Do yourself a favor, Jean, do me a favor," she laughed slightly, "take some shore leave time. Will can see to things here."

He smiled up at her. "I'll give it serious thought." It was an old joke, but Beverly Crusher didn't seem to find in funny. "I promise," he assured her, and this time she didn't stop him when he got off the table. He took her hand in his. "I will think about taking shore leave, Beverly. And you'll be the first to know what I decide."

"Good. You have all afternoon to think about it."

He stared at her. "What?"

"No more work for you today. Go back to your cabin and rest. I'll check in on you later."

"All right," he agreed reluctantly. It could have been worse. At least she hadn't confined him to Sickbay.

~vVv~

Jean-Luc Picard did more than think about shore leave; he dreamed about it. And for once, it was a pleasant dream. The French countryside on a warm spring day, the long ago familiar smell of the earthy vineyards, the sound of his parents calling to him in accented tones, and the image of his brother, Robert, his head thrown back, laughing up at a clear, blue, sunlit sky. Picard was a boy again, running through the green trees, and splashing over crystal cold, spring fed streams. There were no dark shadows, no fear, just a safe, secure feeling that lingered even after he opened his eyes.

Late that afternoon, he put in a request for shore leave. Starfleet granted it immediately.

~vVv~

Picard reached into his top dresser drawer and drew out a blue shirt.

"So, where have you decided to go?"

He raised his head slowly, stared straight ahead. He hesitated for a moment, then his eyes settled on Deanna Troi's reflection in the mirror. "Umm, what? Oh. Uhh... France... LaBarre." He nervously clenched his fingers around the shirt he held. "My home village."

"Really?" Troi asked. She was leaning against his bedroom door frame.

He nodded his head. "Yes. The first time in almost twenty years." his voice was soft, reflective.

"Interesting," she commented.

He cut his eyes sharply at her reflection. "Counselor," he admonished as he turned and walked into his bedroom.

Troi extended her hand towards him in explanation. "I just find it interesting. Captain Jean-Luc Picard, the man who couldn't be pried out of his seat for a vacation for three years." She crossed her arms in front of her. Picard stood there, looking at the counselor, his shoulders slumped.

"It's Earth," he said tiredly. "It's home. Do I need another reason?"

There was an understanding look on Troi's face, but she questioned him. "I don't know. What do you think?"

Picard placed the blue shirt he was holding in the suitcase on his bed, then looked back at her, solemnly.

"Your help has been invaluable during my recovery. But, look..." he raised his hands to either side of him, his fingers curled in towards his palms, "I'm, uh... I'm better," he grimaced, shaking his fists. Then he lowered them. "The injuries are healing."

"Those you can see in the mirror," Troi returned.

"The nightmares have ended," he said quietly. And they had. Now they were just dreams. "All I need now is a little time to myself."

"I agree. In fact, I'm delighted you're going. It's just that the choice of where you're going could stand some scrutiny."

Picard picked up his suitcase. "If you wish to believe my going home is a direct result of being held captive by the Borg, be my guest," he replied as he walked past her, a smug, closed-mouth look on his face.

Troi followed him into the other room. "Is that what you believe?"

Picard stopped, set the suitcase down in front of him, let out a short exhalation of breath, shook his head slightly. "I hate it when you do that."

Troi smiled broadly. "Captain," she nodded at him, "you do need time." He looked back at her, his expression devoid of emotion. "You cannot achieve complete recovery so quickly. And it's perfectly normal after what you've been through to spend a great deal of time trying to find yourself again."

"What better place to find oneself than on the streets of one's home village."

She inclined her head, and smiled again. "Interesting."

Picard exhaled deeply, exhaustively, and gave her an outdone look.

With a slight laugh, Troi stepped over to him. "Have a good trip, Captain." She touched his arm and kissed his right cheek, soft wisps of her dark hair brushing against the still sensitive areas on his face and head.

And then she was gone, the doors sliding closed behind her.

Picard turned, reached out, and took three books off the shelf behind him. Then he changed his mind, returning them to their place. This wasn't a vacation. Not really. He wasn't going to LaBarre to sit in the sun and read. In fact, could not allow himself that escape. He closed the suitcase, swung the strap over his shoulder, and went over to the door. It slid open. But before he stepped into the corridor, he hesitated, looked back at the place he was leaving, thought of where he was going. And wondered, which one was really home?

He ventured out into the ship, on his way to the transporter room, Troi's words causing him to mull over new thoughts in his mind. Why was he going to LaBarre after all these years? His dream of the day before came back to him. Did he hope to recapture those days? Even if he did, he knew he couldn't. Father and Maman were no longer there, but Robert was. Picard stopped in the middle of the corridor, hit with the sudden, hard realization that he was not going back to find himself on the streets of his home village, but to find himself in the strength and security of his older brother's arms.

"Nonsense," he murmured, shaking his head, denying and dismissing the idea simultaneously. He proceeded on to the transporter room.

Once there, the doors slid open before him. O'Brien stood in his customary place behind the control panel, but Picard paid him very little notice, his eyes fastening on to the figure that stood by the transporter pad.

"I hope you don't mind. I wanted to see you off." Beverly Crusher gave him that soft, familiar smile of hers.

"Of course I don't mind."

"I'm glad you decided to go."

"I am too." He took the suitcase from his shoulder and set it on the pad. "It should be..." He borrowed a word from his counselor. "...interesting."

"I'm sure it will be." Crusher leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, just as Troi had done earlier. The only difference was that she held her cheek to his for a few seconds and whispered in his ear. "I'll miss you."

She straightened and pulled back; the look in her eyes seemed to assure him that no response was necessary. But he wanted to respond.

"I'll miss you too. And don't worry." He grinned. "I'll take care of myself."

"You'd better," she warned, a serious edge in her voice. "And if you do start to feel bad, remember, there are doctors in France."

"None as good as you."

"Flattery, Jean-Luc."

He shook his head. "No. That's truth, Beverly."

Impulsively, he reached out and hugged her, held on tightly for a moment before he released her from the embrace. He smiled self-consciously when he noticed O'Brien averting his gaze. But he wasn't ashamed of his show of affection.

"Thank you. For everything." Then he stepped onto the transporter pad and stood next to his suitcase. "I'm ready, Chief."

O'Brien cleared his throat. "Uh, yes sir." He re-checked the coordinates.

Picard gazed down at Crusher. She stood there, smiling up at him.

"Energize," he said firmly, then returned his friend's smile. As the transporter beam caught hold of him, he realized something important, something crucial. He had to go home, before he could come home; go back, so that he could go forward.

~The End~