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Part 1

The situation on Uzel had been especially precarious, but the representatives of the governing bodies of each faction had insisted on minimal security surrounding the peace negotiations, wanting to engender an atmosphere of trust and goodwill. Picard had been representing the Federation and helping broker peace between the factions as a neutral arbiter. A disgruntled minority party had detonated an explosive device in the building hosting the conference, wanting to distract from the conference and have their issues vocalized. Gratefully, the injuries had been relatively few and minor. From the Enterprise, Picard had only taken Troi with him, insisting on a low profile. Troi had been knocked from her seat, but had walked away with a couple small abrasions. Picard had been dealt a hard blow to the ground, resulting in a fractured wrist (he had attempted to brace himself) and head trauma.

Tricorder in hand, Beverly walks up to the side of the biobed in the emergency ward, appraising her patient comprehensively. She is grateful that her husband had only sustained relatively minor injuries from the attack; however, Jean-Luc’s obvious concussion is worrisome to her. Scanning him with the diagnostic wand, Beverly inhales sharply.

Examining the results on the tricorder, Beverly sighs heavily. She sets the instrument down on the end of the biobed and pads closer to the head of the bed. Laying a hand on his shoulder, she plasters on a small smile. “Jean-Luc?”

When he lies limp on the biobed beneath the blue sheet, Beverly gently massages his shoulder. “Jean-Luc? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”

Blinking heavily, Picard rouses groggily.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Beverly retracts her hand. “Just take it easy, Jean-Luc. How do you feel?”

Attempting to lift his head, Jean-Luc is dizzy and consumed with a pounding headache. “Ugh…”

“It’s alright,” says Beverly softly, perching on the edge of the biobed next to him. “You’re in Sickbay. You’re alright. You fractured your wrist, but I’ve set it. Are you in pain?”

Staring up at her, Jean-Luc clears his throat. “My…head.”

Frowning, Beverly covers his right hand with hers. “You have a concussion. That’s to be expected. I can give you something for the pain.” Beverly retrieves a hypospray from the pocket of her lab coat and slowly presses it to Jean-Luc’s neck, simultaneously studying his pupils and movement. “Jean-Luc, do you know where you are?”

Watching her settle back on the side of the bed beside him, Jean-Luc takes a moment to consider her question. “A hospital.”

Bracing herself, Beverly runs her tongue over her lips. “Yes. Well, the ship’s hospital. How about your rank and position?”

Furrowing his brows, Picard’s head throbs. “My what?”

Eyes dilated, Beverly becomes concerned. “Jean-Luc, do you know who I am?”

“My doctor?” surmises Picard, a brow raised hopefully.

With wide eyes, Beverly tries to keep her surprise and concern off of her face and out of her tone. “Yes. Yes, I’m your doctor.” Swallowing a lump in her throat, she forces a tiny smile. “Just uh…try to rest. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Rising from the bed, Beverly is trembling. Turning her back, she slowly steps to the end of the corridor, attempting to collect and compose herself.

Concussion. It’s awful. He doesn’t remember a thing. He’s forgotten everything. Me. Our life. The kids. Our granddaughter. The Enterprise. His command. The crew. Will he remember? When will he get his memory back? How bad is the damage? What if he doesn’t fully recover? What if he never remembers me? What if he never remembers the children, our grand baby?

Shaking her head, Beverly sniffles, fighting back the tears stinging her eyes. She hardly notices when she nearly collides with Troi entering Sickbay.

Troi grasps Beverly’s forearms, averting a collision. “Hey. What’s wrong?”

Startled, Beverly lifts her head up. “Sorry, Deanna.”

“How’s the captain?” Deanna inquires gently.

Grimacing, Beverly glances over her shoulder at her husband lying on the biobed in the emergency ward. “Gone.”

“What do you mean?” Deanna asks, sliding her hand down Beverly’s arm.

“He’s lost his memory,” relays Beverly stoically.

Smiling encouragingly, Deanna squeezes her hand. “That’s common for head trauma, you know that. We can work with his injury to recover…”

“He doesn’t recognize me, Deanna,” declares Beverly bitterly, willing back the tears pooling in her eyes.

Inhaling sharply, Deanna nods empathetically.

Bowing her head, Beverly twirls her wedding band around her finger with her thumb, the first tears cascading down her cheeks.


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