Chapter Text
Ten-Forward was simultaneously the best and worst part of the Enterprise – outside of the Warp Core, of course. Here, Geordi could see all his friends, have a drink, relax, catch up. But here, too, there were living bodies packed tight, each one giving off different signals, a fluctuation of light and sound, of heat and vital signs, all of it combining to a needlepoint of electromagnetic pulses right to his temples. The implants throbbed inside his skull, sending shockwaves through the tender meat of his brain and making his smile unnaturally tight.
He turned to face the door, silently removing himself from the conversation. The door was soothing. Nobody stood there, so there were no pulses to dazzle his VISOR and pierce his eyes. He let the darkness wash over him and ease the pain away.
And then someone appeared in that damn empty doorway, and hesitated there. Geordi winced at the sudden flare of data and tried to focus. Whoever it was, his core body temperature was way too low, his heart rate too high – his breathing quick and shallow – his baseline stats eerily familiar, even though the rest of him was new–
Riker. Geordi pieced the unfamiliar signs together and cross-referenced them against what he knew from years of working together. Riker! He hadn’t seen him since… Geordi jumped out of his seat, surprised when the bright, colorful wall of warning signs surged right for him at the same time.
“Geordi.” Riker caught his arm, his palm slick with sweat.
“Commander. You okay?”
Riker hesitated. Once Geordi pieced the individual data-streams together, he could say one thing for certain: Riker looked terrible. But he sidled past Geordi and leaned against the bar like nothing was wrong, the same way he always used to – except his shoulders were a little tense, and his eyes kept darting around Ten-Forward to make sure no one snuck up on him. Geordi hesitated and folded his arms on the counter at Riker’s side.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
Lines of strain stood out at the corners of Riker’s eyes. He thought it over a bit too long for Geordi’s comfort.
“I’m…” He flinched as an ensign squeezed past him to reach the bar. Then, with a huff of self-deprecating laughter, he attempted a Riker-worthy smile. “I’m bored to death.”
Geordi offered him a tentative grin. “I heard they had you confined to sickbay for two whole weeks.”
Riker gave an exaggerated grimace. “Yeah. Not that it’s much better out here.” He indicated his civilian clothes with a sweep of the hand. “Still, you can’t get much worse than sickbay.”
“I tried to visit you,” Geordi said, keeping his voice light.
“Did you?” Riker’s face was unreadable. He studied the drinks behind the bar with what seemed like feigned interest. “I guess I turned you away.”
I guess? Geordi decided not to question that. “Yeah,” he said. “Dr. Crusher said you just needed to sleep.”
“I was pretty out of it. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, I get it. Really, when you’re sick, the best thing for you is rest. No one needs to entertain a dozen visitors from a biobed.” Geordi turned to face the bandstand. He winced at the flare of feedback from his VISOR even as Riker shielded his eyes, presumably due to the bright lights. “I bet you’re looking forward to rejoining the band. They’ve been missing their trombone player.”
“An integral part of any outfit,” said Riker a tad dryly, but the tight grimace was still there, creasing his features. “Geordi…”
He cut himself off.
“Yes?” said Geordi softly.
Another officer passed close by. Riker hunched his shoulders, his whole body twitching at the near-touch. He leaned hard against the counter to keep himself out of the officer’s way, and when he met Geordi’s eyes, he was sweating. “Let’s get out of here,” he said. “Somewhere with fewer people. I–”
His excuse, something about a headache, was lost beneath Geordi’s quick answer. “Sure, Commander. You want to hit up the holodeck? The arboretum?”
“Your quarters?”
Geordi sucked in a sharp breath, unsure if he’d misunderstood. Riker turned strained blue eyes on him, silently pleading.
“Okay,” said Geordi slowly. “Just to talk?”
“Yes.” Riker’s face fell as he caught Geordi’s meaning. “Hell, Geordi. I didn’t mean–”
“It’s okay. I know.” Geordi rubbed the back of his neck and gestured for Riker to lead the way. He was glad Riker went first, so he couldn’t see the warmth on Geordi’s cheeks. He shouldn’t have said anything. He knew the old Commander Riker would never … but the old Commander Riker would have never undermined Donovan’s authority on the bridge, or forced Data to leave his shift. Excuses aside, it was a faux pas, one that Geordi intensely regretted.
And one that Riker seemed to hardly notice.
Out in the hallway, Geordi expected the tension in Riker’s shoulders to fade. It didn’t. Riker glanced down the corridors to both sides, as if he didn’t know which way to go.
“You’re on Deck Seven?” he asked, voice tight.
“Yes, sir.”
Riker tapped his chest where the combadge would be if he were in uniform. “Just Will. If that’s okay.”
Geordi offered him a smile. “It’s fine. Can I ask you something?”
Riker shot a nervous look over his shoulder. If he heard the question, he didn’t show it.
“Data told me you were having memory problems,” said Geordi, keeping his voice low and discreet. That caught Riker’s attention. He gave Geordi a curious look.
“Mildly. It’s not as bad as it was.” He hesitated. “Actually, I’d say I’m remembering too much.”
What was Geordi supposed to make of that? He led Riker down the hall to the turbolift. Once inside, Riker placed his back firmly against the wall.
“Deck Seven,” Geordi said. Then, after a quick scan of Riker’s vital signs, “You remember me, then?”
Riker furrowed his eyebrows.
“I mean, you remember that we went to the Academy together, way back when?”
Riker gave him an innocent look. “Sure I do. You were the only exchange student from Cardassia.” He ran a hand over his forehead, imitating the reptilian ridges of a Cardassian. “Congrats on the surgery, by the way. You look great.”
Geordi leaned against the wall with an exasperated laugh. “Okay, fine. I’m sorry. Again.”
“You should be. But I’ll let it slide.”
The turbolift spit them out on Deck Seven, and Riker took the lead this time, appearing more like his old self. He strode forward, confident and leisurely, walking a little slowly so Geordi could keep up. Geordi’s quarters weren’t far. He let Riker in and adjusted the lights, unaccustomed to turning them on when it was just him.
“Would you like to take your VISOR off?” RIker asked.
It was an odd question, but it didn’t ring any warning bells for Geordi. Not yet. He kneaded the meat of his palm nervously while Riker paced the room, studying Geordi’s awards on the far wall.
“I’m fine,” Geordi said.
“It gives you migraines, doesn’t it?” Riker said casually. He plucked up an old trophy for gravball and gave Geordi an appreciative look, eyebrows raised. “First place!”
Geordi grinned. “Don’t look so surprised. We engineers aren’t all nerds, you know.” When Riker just chuckled, Geordi considered the question. “It’s not as bad as it used to be. The VISOR.”
“No?”
Silence. Riker was definitely getting at something. He had a grand poker face, and his vocal control was excellent, but he couldn’t hide from Geordi’s VISOR. His heart hammered at a worrying pace.
“Does Beverly still prescribe you those extra-strength painkillers?” Riker asked.
In the silence that followed, Geordi counted Riker’s shallow breaths.
“Are you in pain?” Geordi asked finally. Riker shot him a guilty smile.
“I wasn’t asking–”
“It’s okay if you were,” Geordi said quickly. He took a deep breath, trying to convince himself that it really was okay. “I trust you. If you say you need painkillers, then you need painkillers.” He hesitated, then, as a show of faith, plugged a low dose into his replicator. Riker visibly relaxed, letting the tension out of his shoulders as a pre-loaded hypospray materialized. It dropped into the replicator’s tray with a clatter.
“But I have to ask,” said Geordi, closing the hypospray in his fist. “Why can’t you just go to Dr. Crusher?”
Riker edged closer. Almost shyly, he held out his hand for the painkiller. Geordi dropped the hypospray into Riker’s palm.
“She’s been acting strange around me ever since I got back,” said Riker softly. He held the hypospray to his pulse point with a practiced ease. There was no flinch as the dispensing spray notched into his skin. Did he realize Geordi had cut the normal dosage by 75%? Probably, but he was desperate enough to take it anyway, without arguing.
Geordi swallowed. “Strange how?” he asked.
Riker let out a clipped sigh. “She’s tried to diagnose me with every disease in the handbook.” He dropped the used hypospray into the reclamator. Was it Geordi’s imagination, or did he hesitate before letting go? “I think…” Riker started.
“What?”
Riker bit his lip. He couldn’t meet Geordi’s gaze. “I think she’s trying to get me kicked out of Starfleet,” he said.
Geordi couldn’t stop himself. He let out a disbelieving laugh. He could tell Riker was serious: there was a hard glint in his eyes, a steady, determined drumming in his heartbeat. But it was a ridiculous notion.
“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the nearest chair. “That pain reliever comes with some nasty side effects, you know.”
Riker shrugged.
“I mean, really nasty,” Geordi lied. He sat across from Riker, his hands folded over his knees. "Can you do me a favor?"
Another shrug, twitchier this time.
"I'd like you to stay here for a few hours," Geordi said. "That way I can keep an eye on you. Make sure you don’t keel over when the painkillers kick in."
Riker studied Geordi's face. The VISOR picked up on a thick layer of sweat over Riker's skin, even though his core body temperature remained worryingly low.
"Just how bad are these symptoms?" asked Riker. His pulse remained steady. He wasn't nervous, then, even though it sounded like a nervous question.
"Depends on the person," Geordi said.
"I guess there's no point telling you that I'm too busy for a sleepover," Riker said.
Geordi shook his head solemnly.
"Okay. What if I say no?"
"Then I tell Dr. Crusher that you came to me for painkillers without a prescription," Geordi said.
Riker's face contorted, like he'd bitten into something sour. "You don't believe me. About her."
"I believe you," said Geordi evenly.
"She's not the only one, you know," Riker said, his voice hard. He leaned forward, and for just a flash, he looked like his old self. But he hunched over his bent legs, arms wrapped around his middle, sweat pouring off his face, and the illusion vanished. "Lieutenant Commander Donovan. Captain Picard."
"You think the captain is sabotaging you?" asked Geordi.
"I think he got used to running a ship without me," said Riker with a flat bitterness that didn't suit him at all.
"So now he wants you gone?" Geordi waited, but Riker apparently didn't think it was worth confirming. "What about Counselor Troi?" he asked. "Is she in on it, too?"
"Don't – don’t talk to me about Deanna." Riker shook his head in barely-concealed disgust. "I'll stay here, if those are your terms. But I'm not going to..."
Now, as he chewed off his own words, the symptoms of nervousness finally arrived. His heart pounded, his vital signs going crazy. He shifted in his seat like it physically hurt him to stay still.
"Not going to what?" Geordi asked.
Riker ground his palm into his eye and twisted at the waist, facing the opposite direction.
"What's the matter?" Geordi asked, his voice soft.
"My skin is on fire," Riker ground out. "Is that one of those ‘nasty symptoms’ you mentioned?"
No. It wasn't. In fact, Geordi rather suspected it was a symptom of withdrawal. What, precisely, Riker was withdrawing from, he didn't know. But he recognized the symptoms. He'd had a hard time of it, his first few months with the VISOR. Those debilitating migraines, the stress of keeping up with Academy life, the soothing rush of painlessness brought on by a hypospray. He settled into his chair with a sigh. Across from him, head still lowered, Riker scratched roughly at his scalp.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice so rough and flat that he sounded more like Worf than himself. “I’ll play nice.”
Geordi inclined his head. “I’d appreciate it.”
With another rough scratch, Riker changed his tune. More pleasant now. “Did you ever get head lice?”
Oh, Geordi loved when people asked him questions like that while sitting in his favorite chair. He pulled his legs up, out of Riker’s reach, and tried desperately not to cringe. “No,” he said suspiciously. “Why?”
Riker seemed to realize what he was doing and dropped his hand with a laugh. “I got them twice while I was – while I was away. Not Terran head lice. This was on a planet called…” He scrunched up his face and waved his hand. “I don’t remember. But the lice were terrible. You’d be up all night picking them off your skin and lighting candles to burn them. They looked more like spiders than lice.”
Geordi gave a disgusted grunt. His mind was stuck on that forgotten planet name. It wasn’t like Riker to forget a detail like that.
“That’s what it feels like,” Riker said. He clenched his hand into a fist, trying to resist the urge to scratch his scalp again. “Lice. All over.” His face went cloudy, eyes distant. Then, to Geordi’s immense relief, he changed the subject. “Did I miss a lot, while I was gone?”
Geordi shrugged one shoulder. “The usual. Never a dull day on the Enterprise.”
Leg bouncing, Riker leaned forward. “Catch me up.”
Geordi half-smiled. “You want to see my logs?”
He meant it as a joke, but for just a second, Riker looked almost tortured. “No,” he said softly, sincerely. “I want to hear it from you.” He clasped his hands tight. “Talk to me.”
Geordi’s heart thudded in his chest. “Okay. Well…” He cleared his throat. “We spent a good month just charting Obroa Skai. Just about drove the captain crazy. After that, we joined up with your old ship, the Hood, to explore the Nero System – uh, Counselor Troi … she thought there was a good chance you might have wound up there. They have good relationships with the Ferengi, excellent medical systems. We thought…”
“And after that?” Riker interrupted, his eyes tight.
Geordi took the hint. “We did a supply run to Outpost Delta-Eight. And that led right into a patrol of the Romulan border, since we were right there. Captain Picard had to mediate a dispute between two of the local colonies – you’ll have to ask him about it sometime. And, uh, we were in the middle of a research mission when Lwaxana Troi asked for an escort to the Basin Conference. You can imagine how well that went.”
Riker gave an unconvincing smile, looking almost sick. “I bet Deanna wasn’t happy.”
“No, sir. She wasn’t.”
“Has she…” Riker hesitated. “Has she been…?”
“Okay?” Geordi guessed.
Riker managed a nod, his face grim.
“As much as she could be,” said Geordi carefully. “I think she missed you.”
Riker leaned forward in his seat. He scratched roughly at the back of his neck, his head lowered. Geordi couldn’t see his face: but the cords of muscle in his forearms, the white knuckles on both hands… Geordi took a deep breath, marshaling his courage.
“Have you talked to her?” he asked.
“The Counselor?” asked Riker with his head still down, his voice tense. “We talked.”
Briefly, Geordi guessed. He stretched out his leg and kicked lightly at Riker’s shoe to get his attention. “Maybe you should try again,” he said firmly.
Riker shrugged.
“You could’ve gone to her, you know,” Geordi said. “Instead of me.”
In the silence that followed, Riker’s shoulders shifted to accommodate slow, tight breaths. Finally, he stood up, suppressing a full-body shiver. Sweat glistened in his hair as he marched toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Geordi asked.
“If you don’t want me here–”
“That’s not what I meant,” said Geordi sharply, alarmed. He shot to his feet and met Riker at the door. When he grabbed Riker’s hand to stop him from leaving, Riker squeezed his eyes shut and jerked back, like he couldn’t even bear to watch Geordi touch him. He lurched backward until his shoulders hit the wall, and there he froze, shoulders tense, sizing Geordi up like a cornered animal.
Geordi stepped back. He raised his hands, the universal gesture of peace. The pinpoints of Riker’s pupils dilated a little; his breathing slowed.
“Normally,” said Geordi softly, “you would go to her, wouldn’t you? I know you would. I don’t mind that you came to me. I’m just … concerned.” When Riker just watched him, his chest still heaving, Geordi put his hands down. “Can we sit?” he asked, gesturing to their abandoned chairs.
In response, Riker slid to the floor. Geordi gave him twenty seconds to find his feet, but a harsh shiver rattled across Riker’s skin, and Geordi realized it wasn’t going to happen. With a nervous sigh, he joined Riker on the floor.
“How could I go to her?” Riker asked, so quiet Geordi almost didn’t hear him. He laced his fingers together and hid his face behind them, head bowed. There were no tears – Geordi could tell because his VISOR would have shown him the spark of heat in Riker’s eyes – but there should have been; the fact that there weren’t any was wrong, Geordi knew it in his bones. Across from him, Riker took a shallow, steadying breath.
“She’s our counselor,” Geordi said. “Anyone can go to her.”
Riker shook his head, his lips tight. “I forgot all about her,” he confessed. “She was a complete stranger. Her name. Her face.” His voice dipped into a whisper. “Her mind. I had no idea…”
No idea? A sizzle of unease started on Geordi’s scalp and trickled down to his arms, leaving gooseflesh everywhere it touched. He’d known Riker was struggling with memory issues – brain fog, was what he’d heard. But to forget about Counselor Troi entirely?
“How could I go to her?” Riker said. “What would I say?”
Geordi hesitated. Through his VISOR, he could see the unusual electromagnetic patterns playing out across Riker’s skin. His mind was overheating. Definitely withdrawal, but from what? Geordi edged a little closer and tentatively took Riker’s hand, cold and clammy.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Commander, I need you to tell me what you were on, okay?”
Riker didn’t seem to hear him. He muttered Deanna’s name – something Geordi couldn’t make out – something foreign, unfamiliar. ‘Arbat.’
“Will?” Geordi prompted. “I’m not going to call Dr. Crusher. I promise. I just need to know so I can look it up and see how severe your symptoms will be. I don’t need you dying on me, okay?”
No answer. Not at first. Then Riker pressed his palms to his eyes and croaked, “Yeah. Think of the mess.”
Geordi could have cried. He was at risk of losing control of himself and the situation. He managed a shaky smile. “Well, and I’ve gotten pretty fond of you, over the years.” He tapped Riker on the knee. “What was it?”
Riker pushed out a weary sigh. “Dryhaxalyn,” he said. What was visible of his face tightened.
“Dryhaxalyn?” Geordi repeated, taken aback.
“You can see why I don’t go to Deanna.”
Dryhaxalyn? The date-rape drug? It wasn’t even legal – but Geordi shut down his thoughts, fought back the creeping panic, and got to his feet, searching for his PADD. He could hear Riker muttering to himself as he typed the drug’s name into his database.
“You know how quickly my Starfleet training crumbled?” Riker was saying. Feverish. Unaware of himself, of his surroundings. “One day. Maybe less. I can’t even remember when I started – when I started to forget.”
Geordi glanced over his shoulder. Riker was rubbing the side of his neck, where a hypospray would go in. “Well, it says here dryhaxalyn causes memory loss,” Geordi said. “Especially over a long period of time.”
Riker snorted. “I can remember everything else just fine. Maybe not the dates, but…” He scrubbed at his face, suppressing a shudder. “Geordi, I can’t tell you how many ways they…”
Geordi’s throat tightened. He read through the withdrawal symptoms, praying for Riker to keep his mouth shut. Spells of fever, chills, paranoia, delirium … nothing life-threatening.
“...used me…” Riker was saying. He wrapped his arms around his knees and curled up tight, hiding his face. “...emasculated me … and I thought I didn’t care about emasculation, but…”
Geordi sank back to the floor across from Riker, his legs crossed underneath him. “But?”
Riker turned his head. He met Geordi’s gaze, a forced smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “The helplessness,” he said. “The physical weakness–” Another symptom of dryhaxalyn. “—the complete undignified desperation for comfort, even if I had to degrade myself to get it. You ever been paralyzed by fear?”
“Sure,” Geordi said. He couldn’t think of any specific examples right now, but every officer aboard the Enterprise probably had been, at one point or another. Riker’s face creased, suddenly close to tears.
“There was a girl,” he started. “A child–”
And he cut himself off. Geordi sat forward, alarmed.
“Commander–”
“Do you hear that?” asked Riker in a whisper.
“No.” Geordi’s heart thudded in his chest. “When you say there was a child–”
Riker scrambled to his feet – a mad dash for balance, but strangely silent, like he’d learned to move quickly without making a sound. He stared up at the seams where the ceiling met the walls.
“What is it?” Geordi asked, a prickle of sweat starting beneath his arms, panic threatening to take hold.
“That sound,” Riker said, his voice thick. He touched the wall, checking for vibrations. “Those klaxons.”
“Commander, there aren’t any klaxons.”
Riker turned to face him, his eyes glassy and wide. “They’re not our klaxons,” he said, as if that explained everything. “They’re Romulan.”
Geordi’s stomach clenched. Slowly, he moved forward and wrapped his fingers around Riker’s arm. The skin was cold even beneath Riker’s shirt, the fabric soaked with sweat. He had a hard time keeping a grip, with how violently Riker was shivering.
“Come on,” Geordi said, leading Riker away. “There’s no klaxons. There aren’t any Romulans coming to get you. Let’s sit down.” He was fighting to keep his voice steady.
It was like wrangling a mental patient, Geordi thought with dismay. Riker went easily enough – as docile as a child – but beneath Geordi’s hands, his muscles were bunched so tight they should have been cramping, his arms like iron beneath the skin. Cold sweat slicked Geordi’s grip, and he wasn’t helped by the way Riker twisted at the hips, staring back at the wall – like he expected Romulans to burst through at any moment. Like he really did hear klaxons – voices – the soft hiss of an unwanted hypospray.
“Here,” Geordi said, sitting Riker down on the edge of his bed. He put a hand flat on Riker’s chest, holding him in place as he knelt down. “Will you let me get your boots?”
No answer. Riker’s teeth chattered, his knees knocking together as Geordi fought with the laces on his shoes. His socks were so wet that they came clean off when Geordi tugged the boots away. Slowly, still watching the wall, Riker shifted his hands onto Geordi’s shoulders. His fingers clenched spasmodically, holding on tight.
“She’s coming for me,” he said. His voice was raw and hoarse, like he’d been screaming. But he sounded almost lucid again. Gently, Geordi pushed him back until he lay down on the mattress.
“Who’s coming?” Geordi asked. “Dr. Crusher?”
Riker stared up at him with wild eyes. “Arbat,” he said dully. “She won’t stop until she has me back.”
“A Romulan?” Geordi guessed.
Riker nodded, his gaze locked on Geordi’s VISOR. “Can you tell if I’m lying?”
Geordi hesitated. “Yes. Usually. I can tell from your heartbeat, your breathing…”
“If I say something right now, can you tell me if it’s a lie?”
Geordi reached for the blankets, pulling them up over Riker’s chest. He tucked him in automatically, without thinking. Part of him just wanted to hide the shivers wracking Riker’s body, the still-thin frame, the scars.
“I’ll give it a try,” he said, “if you promise to get some sleep.”
Riker’s eyes crinkled in a grin that didn’t reach his lips. “I promise.”
“Okay. Then try me.”
They stared each other down. Riker’s eyes darted over Geordi’s face. His smile disappeared, leaving him far more open, more easy to read, than Geordi was used to: no masks, no poker face. Just Riker, looking younger than he did even back at the Academy, when they were cadets together. Back then, he’d been walled-up, reserved, too focused on his ambitions to really let loose around the other cadets. On the Enterprise, for the last seven years, he’d been so different. Kind. Open. Loose. But now?
Riker’s throat flashed as he swallowed.
“I want her to find me,” he said.
Geordi scanned his vital signs. He assessed the data without breathing.
“Am I lying?” Riker asked, and there was a tightness in his face that indicated he really didn’t know. Geordi passed a hand over Riker’s forehead, brushing back the sweat-matted hair.
“Go to sleep, Commander,” he said.