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WHO: Jean-Luc Picard
WHERE: around town; house 20
WHEN: August 21-25; early Sept.
OPEN TO: plague stuff ota; house 20 stuff is locked to housemates
WARNINGS: potential mentions of kidnapping and torture in the plague part of the post (thanks to delirious flashbacks). Warnings will be updated as necessary, and individual threads will be marked as things come up.

{It seems like everyone's catching the plague}

For all that he’s spent a not insignificant amount of time caring for someone who’s been ill, it doesn’t entirely occur to Jean-Luc that he himself might fall sick. Not that he’s unaware of the fact that the illness spreading through the village is communicable, mind. But thus far there hasn’t seemed to be any conclusive evidence as to either how it spreads, nor any real indication of whether or not some people might happen to be immune.

Plus even if he had been aware of the finer details of this particular illness he still would have spent the majority of his time at Beverly's side. And so he thinks nothing of it and simply gets on with life.

It isn't until August 21st that he first notices something wrong. A little extra tiredness, but that's not anything that he'd call concerning. Most like he simply hadn't slept as well as he'd thought, the night previous. Only it doesn't go away like he might have suspected; by the time the eclipse has been and gone he's feeling tired enough that he starts making for the house he shares with Beverly.

It's a slower process that it might normally be, especially given that he starts stumbling a little by the time he gets halfway there, but he does make it eventually. Even if he does slowly collapse against the wall just inside the door.

He doesn't stay put long though, for all that Beverly does her best: the 22nd and 23rd see any of a number of escape attempts as he turns up everywhere from the Inn to the fountain - and a few places in-between. He doesn't look well either, regardless of whether he's lucid or not. The only real difference is in the conversations - when he's lucid, they're almost normal. When he's not, they tend to turn mentions of "Q" or "Cardassians" or "Borg"; things that clearly mean something to him, but perhaps not so much to anyone else.

(The very unlucky might also find him in the middle of what looks for all the world like an emotional breakdown.)

By the 24th, Beverly seems to have wised up to his tricks - there are no further escape attempts, although he's around to at least be visited, should people have any interest in doing so.

The 25th sees him finally recovered, in large part due to the peaches Beverly had managed to convince him to eat the night before, and while he's being a little more careful to not overdo things than he usually might, he still makes an effort to seek out people who might have run into him while he was less than himself. If only so that he can offer more thorough explanations than he might have previously.

{Meeting the neighbors}

Moving isn't an unfamiliar thing, to Jean-Luc. After all, in some ways he's always moving (and in others, he's always taking his home with him). Moving in with people he barely knows is something else entirely. Not something he hasn't done even so, but he can't deny that it's something he'd expected to be facing again quite so soon. Still, he trusts Beverly's judgment, and it's not like he has very much to pack up anyway. They'll like need to transplant Beverly's garden, yes. But that can wait at least a little bit longer.

And if the house looks a little strange, at least means that'll be easier to remember which it is, and for now, he lets Beverly take the lead, although he certainly doesn't mean to be precisely shy either. Simply not the current main focus - she's the one who knows their new housemates better, after all!

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He doesn't move to run, at least. Which might not be particularly comforting, especially given the way he very nearly flinches at that simple touch, but he does stay put. Which raises further questions about just what it is that he is seeing, but whatever it is it can't be good.

Which doesn't precisely serve to narrow things down all that much, unfortunately. But it does certainly suggest at what sort of thing he happens to be seeing.

That said, his first reaction to her comment is to fall silent, eyes still blazing defiance - as if he's listening to whoever he happens to be hearing, but not inclined to answer. But bit by bit that changes. Slowly and by degrees, but something in his posture changes; a little bit of the wariness falls away, and he seems to take the slightest bit of comfort from the hand that's resting on his shoulder.

"Beverly?"

By the sound of his voice, he's not sure he believes what he's hearing, that she's not something that his tortured mind has dragged up to help counteract the hell that his life has been over the last few days. But he is reacting to her voice, rather than simply talking at her for a change.

Everything she sees rips right into her like a lance. Whatever it is that makes him flinch at her touch absolutely isn't a good thing. It worries her, fear bubbling up inside her like bile, and she does her best to push it all down.

When he finally does call her name again, in that hesitant tone, hope floods through her. She latches on, her hands sliding down to his as she takes one of his in both of hers. She wants nothing more than to trust that he really is pulling out of whatever horrific nightmare his feverish mind has cooked up for him, but she isn't ready to let her guard down fully.

"That's right," she says again. "It's me. Beverly. I'm right here. Can you hear me, Jean-Luc?"

It's not her touch that's the problem. In fact, he's only just now started to realize that it is her touching him rather than Gul Madred. Or at least, that it has equal odds of being her, given that her voice seems to be more real than he would have imagined a hallucination to sound. Still it takes a moment before he answers, as if he has to genuinely focus; as if he's following the sound of her voice out of the darkness he's been lost in.

And then, all of sudden, it's like the sun has broken out from behind the clouds and he's there. Present, and fully lucid, although he's still very clearly exhausted and not at all recovered from his illness.

"I can."

There's even a smile and a nod to go with the comment, wan though the former is.

At the sound of his voice, full and present and lucid, Beverly has to stop herself from bending her head and letting her tears fall. Instead, she just lets herself take a few breaths before she smiles at him, her eyes watery and her lips ever so slightly wobbly.

"Good. I was beginning to think negatively, Jean-Luc," she manages, offering a slight tease as levity for the heavy emotions churning around inside her. Pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, her other hand still curled around one of his. "Your fever seems to have broken for the moment. Would you like some water?"

Even though she manages to hold back her tears, he can absolutely spot that wateriness to her eyes. And while he's not aware of what he'd been saying only moment previously, he still remembers what it had been like taking care of her when she'd been similarly ill. And what it had been like to realize that she hadn't recognized him, on those occasions when she'd been feverish to the point of delusion.

"I'm sorry I worried you," he answers instead, rather than addressing her unshed tears or the question of what he might have been saying. "And I'd love some, actually."

"Sounds like payback for me worrying you," she teases lightly, managing to hold herself back somehow from the flood of tears threatening to pull her apart. He's not out of the woods yet, so the longer she can hold herself together, the better for both of them. For as much as she might not want to leave his side, she thinks she can afford to for a brief few moments now. He doesn't seem to be in any risk of running out on her.

So she squeezes his hand comfortingly and moves off to grab a glass and fill it. Luckily, it doesn't take long and she's back in a few minutes. Setting it on the small table, she helps prop him up with pillows so he can take a sip without dripping it all over himself.

"How's that feel?"

"I suppose it might be."

There's a brief flicker of a smile to go with the words, enough to suggest that he's well aware that she's not only teasing but doing so largely in an effort to avoid falling to pieces. Not that he would have stopped her from doing so, of course. But he can certainly respect her decision, and she's absolutely correct to assume that he's not in the least bit inclined to disappear out in the village just at the moment.

Instead there's a nod in return as she squeezes his hand, and when she returns, he even manages to sit up a little so as to make it easier to prop him up with the pillows in question.

"Much better, thank you."

She isn't entirely sure how to even begin the topic of what he'd been dreaming of. He might not remember any of it or want to and she isn't sure she wants to bring up a memory that might be particularly painful for him. At the same time, it might be something that could come up again and she'd like to be prepared in case he decides to bolt again. Still, she waits until he's settled before she offers him the cup, helping to hold it steady should he need her assistance.

"You were having some kind of wild dream this time," she finally says, once the cup is back on the table. It's a start, a small one and she doesn't even know if he'll be willing to get into it, but a start nonetheless.

He does remember at least some of the dream. Not terribly clearly, perhaps, but there are enough echoes of it lingering still that he should be able to answer whatever questions she might have. Even if she's absolutely right to assume that the memory might not have been a particularly comforting one.

Better still, he does manage the cup without too much assistance, though how much of that is him actually having a decent amount of strength left to him and how much is sheer bloody-minded stubbornness is anyone's guess.

"I'm not sure I would call it wild, personally," he offers slowly. "More of a nightmare, really."

Instinctively, she reaches a hand for one of his now that he's gotten some food into him again. Even though she knows she probably shouldn't hug or hold him like she might want to, more because of the illness than anything else, she does want to at least touch him in some way. Her smile is hesitant, more because she isn't entirely sure how to go about comforting him than anything else, though she is still a bit concerned for his health and mental well-being.

"Well... I'm here if you want to talk about it."

He might not and she wouldn't blame him for that, but if he does, she's here to listen and support. Maybe getting it out of his head might help him recover faster. She can hope.

For all that she's probably immune to whatever it is that's plaguing the village, now that she's come through her own bout of it, neither can he blame her for not wanting to hug him. And in either case, they way she takes his hand in hers is both more than welcome and surprisingly comforting. The same might not be something he can say of the moments she's asking him to revisit, but to be fair that would be the case regardless of what prompted the question.

It takes him a moment to gather his thoughts as well, something that speaks far more to the topic at hand rather than any lingering mental fog on account of the illness that still has him in its grip. But she might be right to think that talking about could help him get it out of his head a little and it's that which has him speaking, after that moment of silence.

"Do you remember when I was being held by Gul Madred?"

He doubts that her answer will be in the negative. But asking it as a question helps him get started, and right now he figures that's more important.

She gives him as much time as he seems to need, happy to let him gather his thoughts while she simply holds his hand and waits. When he finally does speak, it's to ask a question she would not have expected to come from him. Her brow creases with concern and a chill settles over her. That time still burns a hole of guilt through her.

"How could I forget?" she responds, her voice full of guilt and regret. "We left you behind to the Cardassians and I know they didn't take care of you."

That is putting it nicely. She doesn't know what, exactly, they did to him, but she knows torture was likely on the list, given the state he came back in and all the medical treatment she had to worry about. The psychological scars she could see on the face of a man who has been her best friend for years.

Torture absolutely was on the list, for all that he's only barely skimmed the surface, in so far as talking about it and that more with Deanna then Beverly. But even despite that, there'd been no way to hide the many and various scars he'd borne when he'd returned, nor the all-too-obvious signs of having been ill-treated besides. And to be perfectly honest, he's not certain he'll ever really be able to talk about the full details of his time in the none-too-gentle care of Gul Madred. Not beyond the coldly clinical descriptions he'd put into his report, descriptions that he'd been left at that distance so that he could look at them long enough to make his report.

"There was-" he pauses there, as he mentally braces himself to look more closely at those events, to dredge up the memories and feelings that go with them "There was a moment, after I'd been there a while - I don't know how long, with any precision. But he said... he said that I was free to go. That he would get what he wanted from you, instead. And I couldn't... I couldn't bear the idea of what had happened to me happening to you."

Another pause.

"I chose to stay, knowing full well that it would only mean more of the same."

But it had meant - or so he'd believed at the time - that he would spare her the worst of the Cardassians' cruelty, and even know he doesn't regret the choice. Only that he hadn't known that she hadn't been a hostage to the Cardassians.

Edited 2018-01-09 00:49 (UTC)

It's probably a good thing she didn't know about any of that until now. Her guilt over leaving him and concern over what he'd been through while they were trying to find him, nevermind what the other captain had been putting the crew through in Jean-Luc's absence, were enough with what she did know. Now that she has more of the story, she can piece things together. He wouldn't have known that she and Worf hadn't been captured as well. For all he likely could tell, they were captives in another location.

The realization makes her feel sick with guilt.

But it also brings up some interesting ideas, not the least of which is the realization that he had agreed to suffer further to spare her the same. Whether or not she was actually in danger, his actions were with her well-being in mind. The idea makes her feel things she isn't sure how to handle.

"Well, I can assure you that you're all right now," she says gently, leaning over to gently hug him as best she can in their current positions. Illness be damned; they both need this. "And I'm fine too. I haven't seen any Cardassians and I'm sure Nerys would come running to tell us if she saw one."

He hadn't known in the slightest. In fact, Gul Madred had directly implied that Worf and Beverly had been captured. And that he and his fellow conspirators had been forced to kill Worf, presumably at some point shortly after his capture - a fact that he'd been very glad to learn hadn't been the case. Not that it would have been terribly surprising - it had made perfect, if thoroughly depressing, sense at the time. And for all that Klingons are hard to kill, it's certainly not impossible, especially given the... ingenuity the Cardassians had shown in injuring him both mentally and physically.

That said he does pick up a little on the guilt that his answer prompts in Beverly, for all that he's still not entirely back to normal either. Finding the right words to actually address that particular point is a little beyond him just at the moment, but there's a sympathetic look in his eyes all the same. He can't deny that his explanation has hurt her, but it would have done so regardless of when he'd said it. And at least this way there's something by way of distance between the events and the conversation, for what little that might help.

(And perhaps later, when he's recovered from this illness, and she feels like looking again at the things that realization has prompted, they can take some time to discuss whatever of it might need to be. For now, however, he's willing to simply leave that topic be.)

"I don't doubt that she would," he answers instead, as he leans into the hug as best he can, before shifting to return it as best he can. "And I am glad that you're fine."

And that she had been fine, besides, although he figures that goes without saying.

She has given up on caring much about whether she can catch the plague all over again at this point. What really matters is that Jean-Luc knows she's not upset with him and that she's glad he told her. Despite how much she hates knowing that they left him, she also was the driving force therein; Worf had wanted to try rescuing their captain at the time, but they had both known it would be much worse to have lost all three of them to the Cardassians rather than just one. She and Worf had knowledge Starfleet could use to find him, knowledge they couldn't tell to just anyone.

Besides, they all know what would have happened to Worf and Beverly if they hadn't escaped. If the Cardassians had wanted to keep them alive in the first place, and there's never a guarantee of that, they would have been tortured just as horrifically as Jean-Luc.

The feeling of him attemptingto return her hug brings her back from her thoughts. She gives him a gentle squeeze before she pulls back and sits upright again. Her smile is gentle as she pulls herself back together and she takes his hands in hers once more.

"I'm glad you're all right, too. You still need rest, especially given that last attempt wasn't exactly restful. I'll stay right here. No Cardassians will get past me this time."

Whether or not she'll be able to catch the plague again ultimately resides in the hands of the Observers. But assuming that it has some basis in actual diseases there should be some manner of immunity involved with having survived the plague in the first place, if he remembers correctly. It's not precisely something that he's actually thinking about just at the moment, but to be fair, there's a good reason for that. (And in any case, it's entirely possible that this is less a genuine plague and more something that the Observers have cooked up.)

Besides, just at the moment he's more than willing to focus simply on hug that they're sharing, and the fact that there's more comfort in it than he might ever be inclined to mention. Plus it means that he doesn't have to spend any more time thinking about the Cardassians and his time spent in their (less-than-pleasant) care.

"I'll see if I can manage to stay put, this time."

There's a faint smile to go with the words, too. He might not remember the times he manages to escape the house successfully, but he's at least been told that he has and that's ... close enough, perhaps.

"You do that," she says with mild amusement, patting his shoulder comfortingly. "And if you need anything, just let me know. I'll never be far."

She might be in another room because of something, using the bathroom or making food, but even if she sleeps at this point, she'll be trying to stay in this room. She'll wake up sore and pained, but it'll be worth it.

Giving him one last concerned smile, she offers him water once more before standing again and moving back to her chair to curl up and let him sleep. He needs rest most of all right now and she has no intention of letting anyone interrupt that.

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