Beverly leant against the door frame of her bedroom, content for a moment to watch.
She had just pulled her first full shift since her illness six months ago and was feeling v"ery much the worse for wear.
The restful tableau before her lifted her spirits somewhat, providing a sense of peace and tranquility that cast the last seven hours of surgery into some perspective.
Despite her stillness and silence, he sensed her presence and shifted on the bed so as to meet her gaze. In the semi-darkness, his eyes glittered blue, a quirk of the light.
Smiling that beautiful smile - the one that dimpled his chin - he stretched out an arm towards her and she moved closer and touched his fingers briefly before moving to the dresser and changing, leaving her uniform where it fell on the floor.
Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, Beverly drew a sharp intake of breath.
She looked dreadful.
She felt worse.
The Elonician virus that had almost killed her had robbed her of all her reserves and her recovery from its ravages had been slow and painful.
These past weeks, as her strength had returned, and with it her focus and drive, Jean-Luc had counseled caution in returning to duty but Beverly had wanted to push herself; had needed to.
Today she had proven to herself that she could function at optimal level under high stress. It was what her sense of professionalism demanded of her and she had achieved it.
Maybe now was a good time to take Jean-Luc's advice to heart and ease up.
Picking up a padd, Beverly fired off a quick memo to her assistant CMO advising her return to duty in 48 hours. Dr Tropp would be so relieved. To date, the Denubulan's hovering had been only marginally less annoying than her husband's.
As Beverly slipped between the rumpled covers of the bed, he moved fully into her arms, the warmth of his body and the sweetness of his scent enveloping her. His fingers moved to her lips and she playfully nibbled at them, eliciting a soft sigh in response.
He was still very drowsy and it would not take much to lure him back to sleep. Beverly gently caressed his face and it wasn't long before she felt his body go limp.
Rising up on an elbow, she watched his face in repose.
She never seemed to tire of it, watching him sleep, his lips pursed, the fingers of both hands clenched into fists.
Leaning over, Beverly kissed him; first his eyelids, then his nose and finally the soft skin of his forehead.
"What about me?" Jean-Luc rumbled in a voice rough with sleep.
"What about you, indeed," she whispered, raising her head above her son's to meet her husband's lips.
Jean-Luc moved his hand from where it had rested on Rene sleeping between them, to her hip, pulling their lower halves into tight embrace.
"I thought you were asleep?" she said, surprised.
He chuckled.
"I was. I was dreaming."
"Hold that thought, Jean-Luc," she yawned, exhaustion finally claiming her.
"I will," he whispered, content to have his family safely cocooned in his embrace.