Suddenly Inhuman

She was staring into the mirror, transfixed. The image before her was grotesque; a mockery of everything she once knew and believed in. It was her face; her hair curled softly around her head, covering her ears; her mouth full and inviting, her red lips. Her delicately tapered nose - an aristocratic nose. Her eyes.... Her *eye*; the one that was visible was blue as the sky. But the other eye, the one *they* had altered was concealed by a Borg optic enhancement.

Terrified, her hands rose to her face - to protect and conceal. But they too had been altered. Where once had been the slender caring hands of a healer, there was now the black cloth and metal appendages of the Borg, lethal and loathesome. Her hands... her hands....

She had no idea when the screaming started, but suddenly she was in a corner, cowering, while terrible noises emerged from her throat. Noises that echoed, intensified, grew until someone heard them and sent for help.

Deanna arrived first, talking to her, trying to calm her. She would not be calmed and quieted. Only he could calm her. Only he could reach her. Deanna sent the medical team away, firmly refusing to let them enter the cabin. Once they were gone she called the bridge.

Jean-Luc Picard arrived moments later, breathless from his race through the ship. He said nothing, merely nodded his thanks to the Counselor and motioned for her to leave. Once she was gone he took her place on the floor beside Beverly and tried to soothe her.

She knew that voice. She trusted that voice. Abruptly the screaming stopped.

He held her tightly, feeling the frantic beating of her heart and the wetness of her tears. He spoke to her, calming and reassuring her until her breathing was steady and her heartbeat had returned to normal. Carefully he shifted until he was able to stand, and help her to her feet. She clung to him as he guided her to their bed.

He lay beside her, holding her until she finally slept. He studied her slight form, noting the pathetic way she curled in on herself while sleeping, her hands still clutching his arm.

How long would she be like this, he wondered. Would she ever be herself again? It had been 4 months since her assimilation by the Borg. Four months since she had been Locutus, yet she was still haunted by the images of herself during that time. They had been lovers nearly three of those months now, and he knew that their relationship had helped Beverly recover. Yet he also knew it was unrealistic to believe that Beverly wouldn't suffer any lasting aftereffects of her time as Locutus.

She would never forget being altered and forced to turn against her own people. She would never forget the pain of having her mind and her compassion used against her.

Jean-Luc leaned back against the pillow and watched his lover sleep. How would I, he wondered, have survived such a terrible tragedy? Could I have survived being turned into Locutus of Borg? He shuddered, knowing in his heart, that he would not have the courage and strength to survive assimilation.

"I would kill myself," he murmured, not realizing he was speaking out loud. And for the tiniest of moments he looked at the woman he loved and thought about what he had just said.

::: end :::

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