AN: Suddenly, I was set upon by plot bunnies and I have to run to my computer. This is the result. Clichés abound but I quite like that sort of thing. If you like it, please review, I cannot possibly tell you how much it would mean to me.

B/N: I gather from the A/N that there aren't too many reviews. Too few reviews make gernumblies blue! (Review and I'll write another bad rhyme for you.)

Disclaimer: Star Trek and its characters belong to Paramount. They never wrote this scene so I'm correcting their terrible oversight.

The door chimed. One short curt chime, announcing his presence. Even before opening her eyes, she knew who it was. Only one man would be at her door at this time of the night. Instead of simply calling, she left her bed and padded over to the door. The sensors caught her movement and the door slid open with a whoosh. The man behind the door made no move towards her. He looked uncertain, standing on the threshold in his nightshirt. She sought out his eyes but he averted his gaze. She studied his slumped shoulders, his creased, tired eyes, and his defeated stance.

"Jean-Luc,"

It was an opening, an invitation. His eyes flicked up. She reached out her hand and he took it, allowing her to pull him inside. The door shut behind them. She led him over to the sofa and guided him down. He curled his feet up and settled into the corner. She went over to her bed and pulled off her Nanna's old blanket. Walking back to him, it hurt, to see him as he was now, this was not the invincible Captain Picard; the man before her was but a broken facsimile of how he appeared on the bridge. She came behind him to wrap the warm blanket round him. He reached up a hand to draw it around his shoulders but still did not speak. The doctor made her way over to the replicator and in a soft voice ordered two warm milky hot chocolates. She placed one on the coffee table in front of the sofa and curled up in the free corner with her own, mirroring the man opposite.

"You can thank Deanna for this, it's her own recipe," she commented, taking a sip from her mug. His silence was maintained. She put down her drink and took his hand. He finally met her gaze, eyes full of unshed tears.

"Beverly."

Her voice softened. "I'm here, Jean-Luc."

"Beverly, I'm so tired." His voice was rough and low.

"I know," She said, pulling him to rest against her. "I know."

"I-" He paused, unsure what to say. It felt like his silence was a dam and when it broke, too much would rush out at once, overwhelming him. He buried his face in her shoulder. "I was dreaming again."

"The same dream?"

"You were there, and Will and Deanna and Worf and Data and Wesley and Geordi and-" His voice grew more frantic with every name.

"Shh. It's ok," She soothed, resting a hand on the back of his neck.

"The Enterprise, everyone, everyone had been captured, I was in the cube, standing on a balcony overlooking... I could see everything. Everyone, there was so much blood and everyone was screaming and I couldn't stop it, I didn't want to stop it." He took a shuddering breath. "You were there." His breath became a sob and the tears overflowed into the creases around his eyes. You looked at me and I knew: I had to assimilate you. I walked towards you and you were so afraid, so afraid. You were afraid of me. I wanted to hold you, to protect you, I reached out to you, to reassure you but when my hand brushed your skin..." He shuddered and looked into her eyes before looking down at his hands again. In a whisper, he continued. "The nanoprobes, they hurt so much when they just burst out. The look on your face as I sank them into your neck, I don't think I'll ever get that out of my head. You didn't scream, you just stood there, and stared at me as you were changed into an unthinking monster by my own hand, and do you know what? A part of me was glad." His voice gained an unnatural pitch. "A part of me was satisfied with a duty successfully performed, a job well done."

"Hey, shh, shh," the doctor murmured, trying to sooth the frantic terror away. "It's over now. It was just a dream."

He leapt to his feet. "No!" The outburst seemed too shock even himself. "No," he shook his head sadly. "That's the worst part. I can still remember standing there, watching... at Wolf 359, it happened, whole crews, just as much families as on the Enterprise. I took them and... Those I destroyed were the lucky ones, those I murdered." His voice broke and he stopped, unable to go on speaking through the thick haze of emotion. He felt that he was drowning, fighting for air, floundering but through it all, he held on to the lifeline thrown to him, focused on the calm voice.

"Jean-Luc, It's ok. It wasn't you. It wasn't your fault. You were forced to do those things. What happened to you was terrible, but it's over now and I know it still hurts but it wasn't your fault. Oh, Jean-Luc." He felt arms encircle him. One hand rested on his back and another pulled his head down to rest on her shoulder.

"I'm just so tired, so tired," he repeated.

"I know Jean-Luc," the doctor said, guiding him back to recline on the sofa. He allowed her to tuck him under the blanket like a small child. It was hard to see him going through this, her Captain, her best friend, the man she loved. This was not the time to examine her feelings, but whatever its meaning, she knew she loved him. When he had first come to her, she had been angry, so angry with the Borg for what they had done to him but she was not angry any more. There was no room for anger in her aching heart, looking at those trusting eyes staring silently at her. She felt so powerless, trying to support him while he fought his demons. She wished she could just make the pain go away, return him to how he was before this all happened, but that was beyond her power. At least, she could perhaps ease his physical suffering. "Let me check you over, huh?" A hesitant nod was his reply. From a side table she retrieved her medical kit and set it down on the coffee table. With practised movements, she popped her tricorder out of its place, removed the scanner and flipped it open. She perched on the edge of the sofa and after sharing another look to check the man was ok, she began scanning.

She started at his chest, waving the scanner with practised movements. She carried the scan down all of his body, right into his feet to build up a complete picture before returning to his head. She replaced the scanner in the tricorder to free her left hand. This she used to lift his head off the sofa's arm, more out of a need for contact than to aid her scans. His eyes tracked hers as she watched the small screen, lips pursed in what Jean-Luc thought to be an adorable pout. It took her some time before she set the tricorder aside. She gently released his head and used her fingers to probe the healing graft on the right side of his face. "Can you feel this?" she asked, ghosting her fingers across the surface of the newly replicated skin.

"Just about, it's more than I could feel a few days ago."

"That's good," she told him in an encouraging tone. "It seems to have taken well." He hissed and jerked away when she examined the edge of the graft. "Sorry, sorry," she said, carefully continuing her prodding while he held his breath. "All done. How's the Metorapan working?"

"I can still feel the pain but it's manageable," he grimaced "Most of the time."

Beverly gave a melodious laugh. She loaded a hypospray with a new cartridge. "I'll give you a shot of Terakine for tonight."

He waved the hypo away. "No..." he began.

"Come on, you're exhausted and in pain, let me help you." His hand fell back onto the blanket. "Good boy," she mocked, patting his head and turning it away from her to expose his neck. He sighed in harmony with the hiss of the hypo. "Hey," she said, turning his head back to meet her eyes. "It'll get better."

"Will it?" His voice was hollow with despair.

"Yes it will. You will get over this, just believe in yourself."

"Sometimes, I think it's not over, not yet. I'm struggling Beverly. I'm struggling to hold it together and I'm..." He slid his hand out of hers to cover his face. "Beverly, I'm scared. It's so stupid but I'm scared that one of these days, the world will come crashing down around me. What I went through with the Borg, it was so... so..." He waved his hand vaguely to indicate the words he couldn't say as if they were floating in the air around them. "And now, it's so hard. I'm only just k-keeping it t-together and soon it's going to- to break. That's all my life has become, waiting for the mo-moment when I break." Tears tracked down his cheeks but for once, he made no move to wipe them away.

Beverly didn't know what to say. A sob rose in her own throat but she swallowed it back down. To give them both a moment, she noted the scan results on a padd and packed away the medkit. "When did you last eat Jean-Luc?"

The question caught him off guard, pulling him out of his depressed stupor. He opened his mouth to reply then closed it again, thinking. "This morning," he finally answered.

The doctor gave him an encouraging smile. "What did you have?"

"Breakfast."

Her bittersweet smile warmed. "I guessed that, silly. What did you eat?"

Her smile was infectious and his eyes turned up too. "I had a bowl of cereal with milk and two tartines." His smile faded.

"Well that's good; it's nice to hear you've got your appetite back. Having said that, it isn't good for you to eat like this. Perhaps tomorrow you could try smaller regular meals? Why not have lunch with me?"

"Beverly..." He looked down and fiddled with the edge of the blanket like a chastised child. "Beverly, I'm sorry."

"What is it Jean-Luc?" she asked, concerned this latest change in attitude.

"I... I couldn't..." He sighed. "It was too much. I couldn't keep it down. I was vomiting it all back minutes after I had eaten."

He looked almost afraid, glancing at her, trying to gauge if she was angry. It was a sign of just how difficult he was finding this if he was afraid of her. "It's ok Jean-Luc. After eating so little recently, it's not surprising. You'll be able to eat normally again soon enough." She sat back down and wrapped her arms back around the man to show him she wasn't angry. "Can you tell me when you last ate something you managed to keep down?"

"I think I had something yesterday. I can't remember. I'm sorry, I do try to eat but..." He huffed in frustration. "I can't remember."

"It's normal to have difficulty in remembering things after a traumatic event."

"I know, Deanna told me. She said it's only temporary."

"It is. Have you told her about your dreams?"

He nodded. "I try, but it's hard to know what to say. I try to tell her how I feel and she tries to help me but it feels like we're just going round in circles."

"Keep trying, you'll get there in the end."

He sighed again. "I know, but I'm just so tired."

"I know, Jean-Luc, I know. You've not been sleeping much and when you do you have these dreams."

"I need to sleep but... It's pathetic, I'm scared. I'm scared of a dream."

"You've not been using the sleep inducer?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know I should but... Oh Beverly!" His voice broke. He flung himself round, burying his head against her neck and grasping onto the back of her nightdress. The dam had finally come down. His sobs filled the air. His shoulders heaved and he tried to hide completely in the comfort of the doctor's embrace. All of the stresses of his slow recovery poured out. Then his mind turned back to what would haunt him forever. He had been used as a weapon, a viciously effective weapon against his own people, everything that made him who he was was turned against him and there was nothing left, nothing untouched. Painful memories rose in his mind. Waking in a regeneration alcove, feeling his wrist sliced open and attached to a mechanical arm, losing himself in the millions. Each successive image left him clinging tighter to Beverly, the only real thing in his mind. She had slipped away from him once, lost as an irrelevant individual memory in a world of imposed efficient thoughts where all else was mercilessly torn away. He needed to know that this time, no matter what his mind threw at him, no matter how weak he was, how powerless against the onslaught, she would still be there.

They spent some time, sitting in the dark of ship's night on the sofa in Doctor Crusher's quarters, wrapped in an old blanket of wool and memories. Over time, the frantic crying and reassurances died down until the two were lying against each other, offering each other comfort through their embrace. Beverly yawned and lazily lifted her hand to cover her mouth.

"I'm sorry," Jean-Luc said in a much calmer voice. "I've been keeping you from your sleep again."

"You know I don't mind. If you need me, I'm always here." She stretched her arms over her head. "We both need more sleep. Come on." She patted his shoulder and stood up with another yawn. Picking up the blanket, she moved back to the alcove hiding her bed.

"Beverly."

"What is it?" She turned around again, worried he had already lost his calm contentment.

"I don't want to go back to my cabin. I know I've inconvenienced you all these nights but can I please stay here?" He spoke quickly then looked away.

"Of course. Come here." He rose and walked towards her with a quizzical expression. "I can let you sleep on that sofa all night can I?" She put her arm around his shoulders and guided him to the bed. She pushed him to sit then climbed in on the other side. He stayed sitting o the edge, staring off through he window above the headboard. "Come on Jean-Luc, the stars will still be there in the morning." At the touch of her hand, he slid under the Starfleet issue blanket and moved closer to the doctor than he would normally have allowed himself to go. He inhaled her sent on the pillows and the homely warm smell of the blanket she pulled over their shoulders. With his eyes closed, he heard the low hum of a sleep inducer start up but he did not mind. Safe in the arms of this woman, he could sleep in peace.

The Borg were a terror like The United Federation of Planets had never seen before. The effects of the Battle of Wolf 359 were still being felt generations after. So many lost so much. In a battle with so few survivors, the dead were considered the lucky. No one ever forgot the last failed defence of sector 001. Captain Jean-Luc Picard never forgot Locutus. No one knew the terror of Wolf 359 like the only survivor of the Borg assimilation and no one knew of how he learned to live again with the help of one Doctor Beverly Crusher.