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What haunts Riker the most, afterwards, is the sheer luck that he had found her at all.
His morning meeting had wrapped up early, and he’d thought to use the time to pay Geordi a visit in Engineering. As he’d left, Geordi had mentioned that one of his Ensigns hadn’t showed up for their shift an hour ago. Riker hadn’t thought much of it – though the Enterprise had a reputation for taking only the best of the best, people did still sometimes oversleep, or forget to call out sick – but he had some time before he was expected on the Bridge, and he figured it wouldn’t hurt to check on the wayward Ensign.
The computer told him she was in her quarters, several decks away. He made his way there and hit the door chime once, twice without response. Still not necessarily a cause for panic, but it was also possible that she was so ill as to be unable to call for help. He hesitated for a moment, then entered the emergency override into the door controls. He stepped inside, sweeping the room until his eyes caught on the figure crumpled in the entrance to the bathroom, and he rushed over to her.
The first thing he noticed was the blood, pooled on the floor and staining her clothes. Second was the deep vertical cut up her left wrist, still sluggishly bleeding. Third was the blade lying a short distance from her right hand.
For a second he just stared, mind blank with horror, then his training kicked in. Kneeling beside her, he grabbed a nearby towel and pressed it against the wound, tapping his communicator with his other hand as he did so.
“Riker to Sickbay. Medical emergency on Deck 9, Room 1932. Injury with severe blood loss.”
“A team will be there in a few minutes, Commander,” Dr. Crusher responded.
“Acknowledged,” he said, tapping his badge again to cut communications. That hand free, he reached across for another hand towel and wrapped that over the now-red first one, then raised the arm into the air. This roused Ensign Madisen, who moaned softly, eyes fluttering open.
“Easy,” Riker said, trying to project a calmness he didn’t feel. “Don’t try to move, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
She blinked a few times, then seemed to realize what had happened. Tears welled in her eyes, and her bottom lip trembled.
Riker moved his free hand to her shoulder, gripping it lightly in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “It’s all right, help’s on the way. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
She shook her head, then whispered, “I’m sorry,” brokenly, turning her head away from him.
“It’s all right,” he repeated helplessly, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so out of his depth. They waited there, silent and unmoving, until the doors hissed open to admit the medical team.
“Over here,” Riker said, probably unnecessarily. “She’s got a deep cut on her left arm; I’m applying pressure. No other injuries as far as I’m aware.”
They brought the gurney over and lifted her on to it, Riker standing as they did so to keep his hold on her wrist. He only let go when one of the nurses gestured for him to let her take over. She carefully lifted towels to look at the laceration. “Bleeding’s almost stopped,” she said. “Br’ten, hand me the bandages and gauze.”
She efficiently wrapped Madisen’s wrist, then laid it on top of her chest. “All right, let’s get her to Sickbay,” she said. She and one of the other nurses push the gurney out of the quarters, leaving Riker with Br’ten.
“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.
“Commander La Forge mentioned that Ensign Madisen hadn’t showed up to her shift this morning, so I came to check on her. I found her lying on the floor unconscious, in much the same position she was when you arrived. I applied pressure to the wound and called Sickbay. She regained consciousness shortly afterwards. She was aware of her surroundings and responsive, though she didn’t say much.”
Riker could feel the adrenaline fading now that the immediate emergency was over. He locked his knee to keep it from trembling.
“Do you know how the injury was sustained?”
“She didn’t explicitly say, and I thought it would be, well, insensitive to ask. But the blade was very close to her right hand when I entered, and she apologized.”
“So you think it was a self-inflicted injury,” Br’ten said, somewhere between a question and a statement.
“That would be my assumption, yes,” Riker confirmed.
Br’ten nodded. “Dr. Crusher will make the final determination, of course, but I’ll report your observations.” He tapped at his PADD for a few seconds, then looked back up at Riker. “Are you all right, sir?”
“What?” Riker asked, confused. “None of the blood is mine,” he clarified uncertainly.
“That’s not what I meant,” Br’ten said, and something about the gentleness in his tone made Riker want to square his shoulders. “It can be… distressing, to witness this sort of injury.”
“Thank you, but I’m fine,” Riker said, forcing a smile. He noticed the drying blood on his hands anew, and turned to the sink to wash them. There was blood on his uniform too, but there was nothing he could do about that until he was back in his own quarters. At least the blood didn’t show easily against the red and black.
“Is there anything else?” Riker asked once his hands were clean.
“No, sir.”
Riker returned to his quarters only long enough to change into a fresh uniform, then headed to the Bridge.
His shift passed in a haze, punctuated by moments of awful clarity. He remembered being glad that Deanna wasn’t there (even if his stomach lurched at the thought of where she was likely to be instead), because while he wasn’t sure what emotions were running through him at the moment, he was certain he didn’t want anyone else feeling them.
He remembered forcing himself not to react when Picard was summoned to Sickbay. He remembered when Picard returned from Sickbay, bracing himself to be called into the ready room, because surely Dr. Crusher had mentioned that Riker had been the one to find Ensign Madisen, and the irrational but irrepressible panic that had flared in his chest at the thought – but instead Picard had just looked at him, expression inscrutable, and then carried on as normal. He remembered that his ensuing relief had, inexplicably, been shot through with disappointment.
Hours later, Riker didn’t think he had ever been so glad to see the end of a shift. With escape almost within his reach, he could barely force himself through the normal procedure of handing operations off to the next shift. He walked back to his quarters as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself, fists clenched by his side hard enough that his nails dug into his palms. The doors closed behind him –
And finally, finally, he is alone.
Except, despite it being what he’d spent the whole shift continually wishing for, it doesn’t help. Without the distraction of work, without the presence of other people to force him to act normal, he can’t stop his brain from replaying the scene in the Ensign’s quarters. The body lying on the floor. The gaping cut on Madisen’s wrist, muscle showing through. The blood on her skin and the floor, sticky on his fingers. The light glinting off the blade. Her expression when she realized someone had found her. The nurse carefully describing the incident as “distressing.”
He shakes his head as if to physically dispel the images, then sits at his desk and resolutely pulls up the reports he needs to review. What happened is over, and Madisen is fine (physically, at least, a small voice in his head whispers) because otherwise he would’ve heard about a crew fatality. And he has seen worse, much worse, before, so there’s no reason for him to get so worked up about this, especially not hours after the fact.
And yet, he can’t get himself to focus on these damn reports for more than a few minutes at a time. He’s restless in his own skin, his knee trying to bounce (not shake, he insists to himself) under the desk. He stands abruptly, writing the reports off as a bad job, deciding instead to straighten up his room. He shoves things in drawers, barely cognizant of what’s going where, then startles when his door chimes.
“Come in,” he says, tugging his uniform straight and suppressing the urge to run a hand through his hair.
He’s expecting Deanna, and is already considering strategies to get her to leave as soon as possible. But when the doors slide open, it’s Captain Picard who steps through instead.
Of course. The one person on the ship who Riker can’t order to leave his quarters.
"I thought you would like to know that Ensign Madisen will suffer no lasting physical damage," he says. "Both Dr. Crusher and Ensign Madisen herself asked me to pass on their gratitude for finding her and applying first aid."
"It was just luck," Riker feels compelled to say. "Geordi mentioned she hadn't arrived for her shift, and I had some time so I figured I'd check on her. If my meeting had run long, or if Geordi hadn't said anything, or if I hadn't thought anything of it –"
He has to stop; thinking about how easily the outcome could've changed makes his throat constrict.
"None of that happened," Picard says. "You found her in time, Dr. Crusher patched her up, and she's getting the help she needs now."
Riker nods. All of that is true, he knew all of that was true before Picard said it - so why doesn't it make him feel better?
Picard looks at him for a moment, and perhaps he sees something in Riker's face, because he takes a step towards him. "Ensign Madisen also," he says, voice a little quieter, "asked me to convey her apologies that you found her like that."
"It's hardly something she needs to apologize for," Riker objects.
"No," Picard concurs. "But she thought the experience was likely to have been upsetting for you. And I must say I agree with her."
"I'm fine," Riker insists. "I'm fine. I've seen worse injuries than that, a dozen times over," he says through the renewed tightening in his throat. "All I did was apply pressure to the wound for a few minutes. I'm not the one who –" took a knife to my own wrist, he might've said, or was in so much pain I wanted to die, but it doesn't matter because he can't get the words out. His breathing's gone ragged, his knees are threatening to buckle, and worst of all, his eyes are suddenly hot with tears.
Picard grips his upper arms and gently guides him backwards, Riker stumbling along until his feet bump into the sofa and he collapses onto it. He feels Picard sit down next to him, and is grateful when Picard doesn't say anything, just keeps one hand on his shoulder as he tries to stifle his shallow, gasping sobs.
It's not until minutes later, when Riker is no longer on the verge of hyperventilating, that Picard speaks again. "It's true, of course, that as a Starfleet officer you've seen more than your fair share of violence and injury. But that is violence inflicted by one person on another. Being confronted with the violence a person is capable of inflicting on themselves is a very different experience, and a difficult one."
The words, spoken calmly as if stating a self-evident truth, ease something in Riker. "Sorry,” he says roughly, wiping the last of his tears from his face with his sleeve.
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Picard says firmly. “How are you feeling, Will?” he asks after a moment. “Really.”
“Better,” Riker says, and it’s true. Thinking about finding Madisen on the floor, realizing what she’d done, still makes something inside of him go cold, but it’s easier to bear now that he’s no longer trying to pretend, to himself and everyone around him, that it hadn’t affected him. “Still a bit… shaken,” he admits, “but better.”
“You know there are people you can talk to,” Picard reminds him. “Deanna, or one of the other counselors. Even myself.”
“I might, later,” Riker says, not quite a promise. “But for now I think I just want to call it an early night.” Very early, if the chronometer is anything to go by, but exhaustion is already tugging at him.
“I’ll let you get some rest, then,” Picard says, standing.
Riker stands too. “Thank you, sir,” he says, and hopes Picard knows just how much he means it.