Sickbay. The muted sounds were familiar, and started to coalesce into meaning as she slowly began to surface.
Her head hurt. The skin on her face and neck felt as if she had been sunburned.
Her eyes seemed to refuse to open just yet, so she reached out with other senses. She felt a large hand holding hers. The impression of strength and comfort were familiar and welcome. The faint scent that barely overcame the antiseptic hospital smells, confirmed it was Jean-Luc
Why was he at her bedside?
Why was she here? The last thing she remembered was examining Worf…
She scrunched her brow in confusion, her hand tightening in his. She felt like she was awake, and yet she could not come up from the darkness…
"Beverly," his warm baritone was soft. She felt his other hand on her cheek. Only that touch kept her from panic when she grasped that she WAS awake, but she could not seem to open her eyes to see.
"Jean-Luc?" her voice trembled.
Jean-Luc acted as her terror began to rise. He raised his right hand to her face, cradling her cheek. He stroked his thumb on the line of her chin, and tightened his left hand on her right. "You have regen bandages on your eyes. You will be fine, according to Dr. Selar, but for right now you need to rest and let the patches work."
She lifted her hand to touch the bandages. Picard gently pulled her fingers away, keeping them within his own. His voice sounded fairly normal, he did not sound overly concerned.
"So… then why are you here?" Crusher asked, wincing when she realized how that sounded.
The Captain chuckled lightly, understanding the root of her question. If it were just a routine injury, why was he at her bedside?
"Data and your crew are very busy. Dr. Selar did not want you to wake up alone without being able to see. I told her I would come to sit with you. She called me a few minutes ago when it seemed you were nearing consciousness."
She had not let go of either of his hands. His right hand rested, tangled with her left, against her chest. Fatigue pulled at her. Her body ached and she was slightly chilled. She felt the warmth of his hand through the thin sickbay pajamas, If they moved just slightly, his hand would brush the swell of her breast…
She realized she had been drifting. Must be some good painkillers. She attempted to focus.
Jean-Luc watched her face. Her forehead scrunched, then relaxed. Her newly cloned skin was pink and red in blotches where the acidic venom had literally melted her own skin away. He had found her in the stasis tube on his initial search of sickbay. He had been in turn both horrified then terrified for her when he looked through the thick glass and saw her injuries. Her beautiful face had resembled raw ground meat, he could see to the bone on her left cheek. Above the surgical drape tucked just under her arms, her neck and upper chest were covered with patches of uncovered flesh. He could only deduce the damage to her eyes by the damage near them…
It was only later, as they pieced together what happened to the crew, that he be recognized similar injuries in others.
Looking at her now, he tried to wipe those images from his memory.
"What happened?" Her quiet voice held trepidation rather than her usual bravura.
"It seems your cure for Mr. Barclay took an unexpected turn. Data will be able to explain the details when you are back and cleared for duty. For now, suffice to say things got a little crazy around here, but are slowly regaining normalcy." His voice held just a hint of stress. She wished she could see his face to know just how serious things had gotten.
Pretty serious, from the sounds of Sickbay. "How long?"
"You were in stasis for just over three days. We had to see to the Sickbay crew first. You were the first surgical case they undertook."
"But what happened?" She asked again.
She heard steps approaching, guessing it was Selar. "Captain." The calm voice of the Vulcan confirmed her deduction. Reluctantly she let his hand on her chest go, but when he gently tried to pull away from the hand at her side, she clutched at him. He relaxed, staying with her.
She felt the air swish as Selar ran the tricorder over her. Heard the quiet beeps of the biobed controls as the Doctor paged through the screens to read the continuous monitors. She felt a cool hard pressure on her neck the second before the hypospray, then blessed relief from the dull ache in her head.
"You sustained organic chemical burns to your face, upper chest, neck and eyes. We were able to successfully clone and graft new skin for you. We did have to replace your corneas, which had been burned too badly to save. Your eyesight, however, should not be affected. The regen patches need to stay on for approximately 36 hours more," Selar delivered her prognosis clearly, without hint of sentiment. Crusher was grateful for it though, knowing that Selar was nothing if not impeccably truthful. If Dr. Selar said her eyesight would be unaffected, than it would be fine.
Now that her head had stopped hurting though, the thoughts of another 36 hours in a biobed in her own sickbay were enough to re-instill panic.
"Selar, is there any reason I cannot be in my quarters?" She asked, trying to sound commanding.
There was a pregnant pause. Beverly cursed the darkness, but could picture Selar's raised eyebrow at the request. "I cannot spare any staff to assist you in your quarters, Doctor. There is nothing else keeping you here, but it certainly is not logical that you should be released to quarters alone, being unable to see for the duration of the regeneration treatment."
Beverly felt tears burn in her covered eyes. Then the voice next to her spoke, his words deliberate. "Dr. Selar, my presence is not required on the bridge while the ship undergoes repairs from this incident. Would you release the Doctor to her quarters if I were available to assist her?"
Beverly was not entirely sure which way she wished Selar to answer. She certainly wanted out of sickbay, but she wasn't sure she was ready to have the Captain as her residential nursing aide for the duration.
"That would be an acceptable solution Captain." Beverly could swear she heard Selar continue to mutter under her breath, "and, I can use the extra biobed…"
"I will have someone bring you an antigrav chair." Selar started to walk away.
"No." Beverly spoke up, sitting up on the bed. "That's OK. I can walk." Beverly could not see the look of doubt that crossed Selar's expression, nor the look that passed between the Captain and the Vulcan. But he, more than anyone, understood her need to appear still in control in front of her staff and patients. She felt Jean-Luc shift, to stand at her side.
"Very well, Doctor." Selar said. "You will contact me immediately if you have any issues."
"Of course, Selar. Thank you."
Beverly moved to get up, but Jean-Luc stopped her. "Wait just a moment, let me get a robe for you." She felt the flush of embarrassment rise. Not being able to see the state she was in, she had forgotten she was only in pajamas, and not very modest ones at that. While the material was soft and soothing, the clothing was made for the ease of the medical staff, not modestly of the patient.
Jean-Luc returned and helped her into a robe. She found herself acutely aware of every brush and touch of his hands… against her arms, her shoulder. He helped her to stand, his arm momentarily coming around her back until he was sure she was steady on her feet. She was grateful for that, the temporary blindness disorienting her when she first stood. Then he tucked her elbow into his arm, and pressed her against his side, hip to hip. Thus supported, she found it easy to follow alongside him. It was as if they were dancing, she just had to be aware of his body as he led.
By the time they took the turbolift and walked the corridor to her quarters, she was more than aware of his body. Her anxiety about the day and a half to come rivaled her anxiety about her current blindness.
They entered her quarters. "Where?" Jean-Luc inquired.
"Couch, please." Beverly replied. She pictured the room in her mind as he walked her to the couch and let her settle herself down. She laid her head back with a sigh.
"Hungry?"
She was, but she wasn't entirely sure she was ready to deal with the challenge of eating yet. She hummed a non-committal sound.
She heard him at the replicator, punching in something rather than just ordering it. A few minutes later, he approached, setting a lap tray on her thighs. The mouthwatering smell of her Nana's vegetable soup wafted up. "It's in a mug," he said, softly. "I thought that might be easier."
She felt her bandaged eyes mist at his thoughtfulness. "A buttered roll at 3 o'clock" he added, "and a serviette at 9 o'clock." She smiled. "Something to drink?"
She reached forward for the mug of soup, finding and securing it in both hands. "Not yet." She grinned, "Let's see if I can handle one mug of liquid first."
His instinct had been right on. She was able to sip the soup easily from the large, heavy mug, and found the soft, chewy crusted roll to be the perfect compliment. She smelled Earl Grey, and knew that Jean-Luc was drinking a cup of it as he sat nearby to her on the couch.
"Thank you." She said simply when she had finished the simple, yet deeply satisfying meal. She meant it for more than just the food.
She didn't want to think about any of the complications of their relationship. She was grateful for his presence. She was suddenly exhausted. She would accept his aid at face value—how many times had she done the same for him so he could recuperate in his own cabin? While it fell more into line with her job, she knew she did it out of friendship, respect and love, rather than duty.
She would do her best to be a gracious patient. That would take Herculean effort. She hated being helpless more than anything.
What she had not bargained for, was that the Captain understood her, and understood that feeling more profoundly perhaps than any other being on the ship. He had been helpless and dependent on the kindness and care of others too many times. He understood her need for control, and her fear of its loss.
"Tired?" He asked, rising and whisking the tray off her lap.
"Mmm." She agreed. But when she went to brush her hair back, she realized a shower was her first priority. She knew the regen patches would be fine, but debated how to ask for his help.
She underestimated him.
"Give me a minute." She could tell he went into her bedroom. She tried to remember the state she had left it in. She had a hard time finding the clothes recycler sometimes when she was tired, or in a hurry, or in a bad mood, or late…
He came back in, and without words, took her hand. She stood, and again, he tucked her arm into his and walked with her as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"I've set towels on the counter, and your robe is next to it. If you tell me where to find a suitable nightdress for you, I'll leave that on the bed for you." She felt the blush, even though her cheeks still felt sunburnt.
"Second drawer down." She said. He turned the shower on, and placed her hand on the door to the shower stall.
"Just leave the pajamas, I'll get them when you're done." He said, his voice soft and near as she felt the steam start to billow from the shower. "Call me when you are done and decent." She heard the smile in his voice. She wished in vain to see his eyes, she imagined they would sparkle with mischief at the situation. She heard the door to the bathroom woosh shut.
In the darkness that was her reality right now, she pictured him opening that second drawer, and what he would find… She kept her nightdresses on one side of the large drawer, and her lingerie on the other. Not the Starfleet issue, either.
For the first time since she woke up, she genuinely smiled.
She relaxed under the hot water, trying to visualize the stress washing down the drain. She had no trouble finding her shampoo or cream rinse—though she started with the wrong bottle and had to switch to get them in the right order. It was easy enough to set the shampoo down on the opposite side before reaching for the conditioner.
She finished her shower, feeling much better. Carefully she exited, taking tiny steps with her hands out until she reached the counter and the towels. Stark blindness was very rare, even the most profound cases were usually able to have implants or a VISOR like Geordi to process energy patterns or light variations… she could not imagine how people lived entire lives in this state in previous centuries. She knew her quarters intimately, could even picture the location of furniture and objects, yet it felt as foreign to her as any planet she'd ever been to.
Finally dry, she wrapped the robe around her. She debated calling for the Captain, but it was a mere meter or so from the door of the washroom to the foot of her bed. Certainly she could manage that?
The door opened, and she stepped into the cool air of the bedroom. Instinctively her arms lifted to reach for anything in her path. She walked forward a few paces, expecting to bump into the end of the bed, but did not. She froze, as fear of the unknown crowded her.
"Another three steps, straight ahead from where you are." His voice was soft, as not to startle her, coming from the direction of the bedroom doorway. She thought he would chastise her for not calling him. Instead, he was enabling her to get there on her own.
One, two… at the third step, her knee bumped the edge of the mattress. She bent at the waist and felt toward the left, knowing she should come to the corner of it. She did, then followed it around. She felt the covers folded back and knew she was at the head of the bed. Her fingers encountered silky fabric. She lifted the nightgown, trying to discern from it's length and trim which one it was. The three tiny buttons gave it away.
"The blue one!" She said with a triumphant little grin.
Jean-Luc stood in the doorway, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat as he watched her fingers explore the shiny, sleek blue fabric. He had chosen it because it matched her eyes. Only as she held it up in front of her did he realize it was low cut, with tiny thin straps. He started calculating warp speed into light years' distances in his mind…
"I'll, um… give you some… privacy to change." He'd had to clear his throat before speaking and in the middle of the sentence. The door slid closed and he pressed his forehead against it's cool surface, letting his breath out in a hiss.
He suspected she would be thirsty, since she did not have anything to drink with her meal, and replicated a glass of ginger ale for her. He knocked gently on the door to the bedroom.
"Come in." she called, and the door obediently opened.
She sat on the bed, face tilted toward the door. The unnatural angle of her head betrayed her blindness, as if she were trying to hear better. The blue gown was simple, and did not leave much to the imagination. She had her legs crossed, and the sheet pulled up around her hips. Her wet hair fell in wild disarray.
"I thought you might like a drink." His voice sounded strained to her. "Ginger ale." He added, as he brought her hand up to the cup.
"Thank you," she said. Then a breath later, "thank you Jean-Luc"
He felt colour rise to suffuse his face. He nodded, then realized she could not see the gesture. "It is, by far, the least I can do, Beverly." He waited for her to sip from the cup, then asked. "What else do you need?"
She smiled. She had an answer on the tip of her tongue, but she wasn't ready yet to be so bold. He saw the familiar devil in that smile, and knew her eyes would be sparkling with mischief, he wondered what she was thinking.
"On top of the bureau, somewhere, there is a purple comb. It has very wide teeth. Would you be so kind as to find it for me?" She needed to comb out her hair, and knew she had no hope of finding the comb herself. She heard him step over, then heard a few noises—things moving. In her mind she tried to picture… hairbrush, a handful of different clips and barrettes, probably a bangle bracelet or two… his footsteps returned.
But instead of handing the comb to her, he asked in a low, restrained tone, "May I?"
She felt her stomach clench. This was forbidden territory. She knew she had hurt him deeply after the debacle of KesPrytt. But he was being so kind, he had been patient and insightful. She could deny him nothing in this moment.
She scooted over on the large bed, and felt him settle behind her. In none of her fantasies had she ever pictured him combing her hair. She needed more imagination in her fantasies. His hands were incredibly gentle as he gathered her wet hair behind her shoulders and began to work through the tangles.
For his part, Jean-Luc was indulging one of his most potent fantasies. Her hair had always, always drawn him. He was moth to her flame. How many times had he clenched his hands into fists, fingernails digging into palms, to keep from touching her hair? And here he was. Her scent rose around him, permeating his senses. Her damp hair wafted the light, clean fragrance he always associated with her. It was surprisingly heavy when wet, not the light, silky strands he stole touches of.
With no sight to distract her, Beverly felt almost overloaded by her other senses. Heat from his body radiated at her back, though only his hands touched her. The smell that was so uniquely him wrapped around her. It was not heavy, not even identifiable as a cologne or aftershave like Will's scent, but rather it was clean soap and good leather and an elusive spice that teased her memory. His breath was steady, light. She heard him inhale deeply occasionally, as if smelling a flower or considering a wine.
The ship hummed beneath and around them, reassuring in the deep resonance of the engines. She raised the glass to her lips again and sipped the ginger ale, enjoying the slight bite of ginger and the effervescence. It was an old fashioned choice of a drink, but perfect for her recuperating status, settling both stomach and nerves.
And she felt… She felt his hands, felt the comb gently pulling. She relinquished herself to the sensations, tension melting away.
He kept at it for quite some time after the last of the tangles were gone, just drawing the comb through her hair, following it with his other hand, smoothing. Neither of them seemed to wish the moment to end.
"Well…" he had to clear his throat again. "there, then." He took the now empty glass from her and put it on the nightstand. He then returned his free hand, resting it against the side of her neck, and his thumb pressed small circles into the base of her skull where the stress still clung.
If she were a cat, she would purr. The hum in her throat as she acknowledged the bliss of his actions sounded almost feline. She bowed her head forward, giving him greater access, pushing slightly into the pressure so he would know she wanted more. He put the comb down and added his other hand.
Beverly cherished the weight of those hands, resting on her shoulders, while his thumbs did marvelous things to her neck. Desire curled, low in her belly, warmth spreading…
But even his magical hands could not overcome the fatigue. It came upon her swift and profound. She fought it, wanting his hands to remain on her. But the heat he created seemed to be thick and syrupy, and rather than arouse her, it spread among her limbs, reassuring as it wrapped around her.
Jean-Luc smiled. He would not have to restrain himself from seducing her. She was falling asleep on him. He wanted her more than he wanted air to breathe, but that was not why he was here, today. Today he was here to care for her, much as she had cared for him, over and over. She was doing remarkably well, but he knew she was tired, and had not demanded much of herself. Tomorrow would be a different matter.
He could feel her fighting her exhaustion. Toeing off his boots, he shifted more onto the bed. He brought her back, against his chest. She resisted for a moment. "Shh…" he murmured, relishing the feel of his lips against her ear. "Just relax. Let go. You're safe."
And she knew she was. She felt his strength envelop her, even while his hands still worked on her neck and shoulders. She registered that she was pulled back, against him. She turned her head to the side and let her cheek rest against his chest. He had taken off his jacket, and wore the soft woven uniform tank top. She felt him pull the covers up over her…
As she slipped into sleep, he let his hands drift down her arms. He wrapped his arm over hers, across her stomach, under her breasts. With the other hand, he pushed her now almost-dry hair off her face, then tucked it behind her shoulder. He should leave her, he supposed. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do; to retreat to the livingroom and rest lightly on the couch should she need him in the night.
But just at that moment, gazing down at the bandages where her eyelashes should be resting against her cheeks, seeing the pink skin grafts, he could not forget what he had found in the stasis tube. He had almost lost her.
He would not push her. He did not understand why she fought the attraction he knew was there. He could not fathom what she was afraid of. He would wait. As he had waited.
But tonight, tonight he would be selfish. He would catalogue every scent, every touch, every sound, and every sight. He would hold her against him and protect her from nightmares. He would take care of her tonight the way he wished to take care of her always.
He rested his cheek against her hair. Indulged in brushing his lips against her temple. Fought sleep, because he wanted to cherish every moment of holding her like this. But eventually lost the fight.
X x X x
He had not been asleep long. As was his habit, when he woke, it was completely, abruptly. His disorientation lasted only as long as it took to feel the weight in his arms.
That was what had awoken him. Beverly moved restlessly against him, agitated, yet not awake. He suspected she was reliving the venom attack. What made the whole incident worse was that it had been Worf, a fellow Bridge Officer, a friend, and the Head of Security whom she trusted implicitly with her safety.
So far she had not remembered anything past examining him. The Captain was no counselor, but he suspected she was remembering now.
She made low sounds of distress. He decided it was best to wake her, knowing the blindness would disorient and frighten her upon consciousness. "Beverly…" He could not resist brushing his lips against her temple. "Beverly, it's a dream, wake up." He raised his voice slightly, and tightened his grip on her just barely.
"No! Worf?" She came awake with a scream. At least he thought she was awake. The flesh coloured regen patches over her eyes hid her awareness from him. She had pulled out of his arms and sat straight up, her hands coming to her face. Worried she would pull at the bandages, he gently but firmly reached from behind her and clasped her hands.
"Beverly, it's OK. You're safe. We're in your quarters…" She tensed briefly at the containment of her hands, but then his voice soothed her. She relaxed her hands in his, then turned them, entwining fingers, pulling his arms with hers as she crossed them in front of her like a shield.
He rested his forehead against her shoulder, just trying to reassure her. He felt a shudder go through her, it was moments before she spoke, "Worf… I was examining him, and he had something wrong with his glands… his neck… " She let out a fluttery breath. "They were venom sacs."
His thumbs traced soft patterns on her opposite arms under his hands. Her next question should not have surprised him, but it did, just for a moment. "Is he OK?"
It was so like her to be concerned for everyone else, even when she was the injured party. "Mr. Worf is recovering fine, as are the rest of the crew. He was released from Sick Bay yesterday, but has another two days before returning to duty—well, one after this morning now," He corrected, guessing at Ship's time. "He had some other injuries in addition to the de-evolution state." He cringed inwardly at the memory of the electrical shock it had taken to stop the primordial Klingon.
The sigh she let out was more stable. "I guess Data has a LOT to explain to me." Her soft voice was tinged with humour. She longed to see Picard's face. She felt like it was the middle of the night. Her room would be in darkness anyway, the only light the faint shimmer of stars as they streaked past in warp rainbows.
Somehow it didn't surprise her to find herself held so securely in his arms. It had been pure, unadulterated instinct that had her pulling his embrace around her. How many nights had she longed for such security when nightmares awoke her, or insomnia kept her from sleep… And yet she had never been quite strong enough to move forward with him.
She knew it was irrational. Not saying it out loud didn't mean she didn't feel it. But somehow confessing her desire for him would make it real, and then, like all the others, he would be ripped from her life…
"How do you feel? Headache?" Jean-Luc's breath against her ear brought a pleasant shiver down her spine.
She thought for a minute before answering, "I'm fine, actually." Unconsciously she slightly tightened her grip on his arms crossed with hers around her.
"Think you can go back to sleep?" She could feel his baritone rumble against her back.
"MMmm… I don't know." Insomnia was a long time companion of hers. She often sought his company if she knew he was awake.
"Would it help if I left you be?" He said, softly.
"No." Her answer was swift and decisive, with a recognizable note of command.
They sat in comfortable silence, until she shook off the nightmare somewhat.
"Tell me what happened?" She inquired of him, "While I am not complaining, it must be extensive repairs that are needed to the ship for you to be able to take this time off the bridge… "
He let out a breath, which spoke volumes. "Well then, let's get more comfortable." He gently disentangled from her, and fluffed the pillows before settling back against them. Then he lightly coaxed her beside him, her head resting against his shoulder. He felt her smile as he pulled the covers over both of them.
"We found the rogue missile and successfully destroyed it, but when we came back into range of the Enterprise, the scans were highly unusual… "
He had barely finished describing finding Deanna in her tropical tub before she was asleep again. He smiled and closed his eyes, cherishing the precious moments of holding her in the darkness…
XxXxXxXx
The next time she awoke, it was gently. She came to awareness gradually. She was deliciously warm. She was on her side, the heat running the length of her body. She had been married for six years, she intuitively recognized the comfort of waking in someone's arms.
And oh, what arms they were. Her mind drifted lazily. The darkness did not scare her, she remembered the bandages covering her eyes, the reason why she was snuggled against the hardness and softness of her best friend, the man who would be her lover…
Her head rested on his shoulder and upper chest. She felt his arm under her neck, across her shoulders, wrapping around her, holding her to him even in sleep. She knew he would most likely wake with that arm asleep from her weight on it. Her right leg was bent, and crossed over his thigh possessively, he still wore his pants, she thought with a pang of disappointment. She continued taking stock while she felt his breath rise and fall in the rhythm of sleep. Her left hand was curled up between them, her right rested, palm and fingers relaxed, over his heart. She could hear his heartbeat, feel it under her cheek, She imagined she could distinguish the mechanical click and whoosh as the titanium valves and pump did their jobs.
She was loathe to move, to wake him. Her mind wafted from thought to thought. For some reason she came back to something she noticed last night, let it roll around, tested it…
When she had come out from the shower, she had expected him to scold her for trying to get to the bed on her own. Instead, he had supported her and let her work it out on her own—more, enabled her to get there on her own.
The greater symbolism in the situation coalesced for her. He was here, as she had always been there for him. He demanded nothing for himself, rather giving instinctively what she needed. Enabling her to get there on her own…
What was she so afraid of? She tried to recall her reasons for refusing him after KesPrytt… she had been afraid, but now, surrounded by his scent, his warmth, his very being, she realized her life would be shattered with his loss. Sex would not change that. Would neither diminish nor increase it, the loss would be devastating, regardless.
At the thought of losing him, her hand on his chest curled into a fist.
"You're awake then," he rumbled.
"Mmm." She was still loathe to relinquish her pillow, and needed time to reconcile with the paradigm shift her emotions had just made.
She always imagined him as an 'up and at 'em' morning person, excusing the slow mornings she had witnessed with recovery from injury or exhaustion… She had not suspected him of malingering. He took his time, though, leisurely facing the new day.
She smiled softly when he let out a sigh and lazily rubbed his hand on her arm. Again she wished she could see his face. Taking her courage by the horns, she reached up her right hand to explore his face.
She found stubble, a slight morning beard. She smiled as she rubbed against the texture of it. Her thumb found his lower lip, and discerned its lift in an upward curve. She continued the exploration, sliding up the side of his face, gently drawing her fingers across his brow, now smooth and unwrinkled with worry. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes told her he was smiling as he indulged her.
"One more day." He spoke softly, referring to the scheduled end to her loss of sight. Her hand returned to his lips of it's own accord. Against all his better judgment, he could not deny himself the indulgence of gently kissing her fingers. He let his lips part to lightly suck those fingers in to his mouth, his teeth and tongue just grazing them. Her swift intake of breath brought him abruptly back to reality.
"I'm… I'm sorry…" He stuttered slightly, raising his hand to draw hers away from his face.
"Don't be." Her reply was steady, certain.
Hopeful.
He surreptitiously disengaged himself from her, glad he had opted to leave his pants on—no matter how confining they were at the moment.
"Do you think you can manage the bathroom?" He knew she would want as much independence and privacy as possible. She nodded in reply. "Here's your robe. I'll just duck out to my quarters for a moment for fresh clothing, and I'll be back to set out breakfast."
She managed to follow the bed, and remembering the distance from the night before, found the bathroom without incident. Afterward, she slowly felt her way to the dresser. She felt through the big drawer containing her sweaters, identifying a big green one that fit her loosely. Leggings were easy—they were all black, so she knew they would match.
Leaving her feet bare, she felt her way to the livingroom. She ringed the edge of the room, coming to the replicator. "Pot of coffee, hot, black." She ordered. She reached both hands for it, smoothing along the counter until she encountered the pot. Lifting it by the handle, she steadied it with her other hand… which left her unable to feel ahead of her for obstacles. She thought she had another few feet to the table, when she banged into it, dropping the pot of hot coffee to bounce off the edge, just as the door to her quarters swished open.
"Beverly!" She heard the concern in his voice.
"I'm fine." She reassured him quickly. "I didn't get burned." She sighed. "I got a little cocky I think." She said with a rueful smile.
"Here." There was no censure in his voice as he steered her into her chair at the table. "I am not one to preach on the virtue of accepting help." She could picture a rueful half-smile on his face upon that disclosure, "but it's just another day. Just until tomorrow morning. Will you let me repay some of the kindness you have shown me?"
Once again she had underestimated him. By all rights he could have been cross with her, she had risked getting burned and it was only luck that the hot liquid did not splatter on her.
He crossed to the replicator and repeated her order, adding croissants, butter, cream and jam. He returned to the table, pouring a cup of coffee for her, adding cream. "Coffee at 3 o'clock" he said. He cut the croissant in half lengthwise, buttering both halves. "Jam?" he inquired.
"Yes, please," she said, subdued. She carefully reached for the coffee, holding the mug in both hands. She tasted. He'd paid attention: it was the perfect amount of cream.
He placed the plate in front of her. "Breakfast dead center, serviette at 9 o'clock."
He seated himself in his usual chair, across from her. He was slightly surprised to see her dressed, having expected her to remain in pajamas for the enforced day of rest. The sweater was one of his favorites, refusing to stay symmetrical, disobediently slipping off one shoulder or the other.
As he watched her carefully feel and pick up her breakfast, he became aware of just how much he relied on her eyes as a barometer of her emotions. In twenty years, he had become an expert in reading what was in her heart and mind, rather than what she professed from her mouth.
"Mmm." She smiled in appreciation. He had not skimped on the butter or the jam. She chewed, before continuing. "Have I mentioned Thank You, Jean-Luc?"
"Not necessary Doctor. This once, I am able to help you." His voice rang with depth of meaning, "It is my pleasure."
Something just beneath her breastbone clenched at his words, wondering at the deeper sentiment she heard.
What, exactly, had she been afraid of? She knew that her revelation upon waking needed action, before the fear returned, paralyzing her again. The only thing that could possibly hurt more than losing him, was to lose him without ever accepting the passion that was as strong between them as the comfortable friendship and enduring love.
He saw her smile, wishing again he could see her eyes, to have a clue as to what the small, secret grin was about. "Penny?" He intoned.
She nodded for a moment, before answering. "Not just yet. I'm still working on it." She replied, mysteriously.
The door chimed before they could go any further in the conversation. Beverly smiled at Jean-Luc's proprietary "Come."
"Good morning, Captain, Boss." Beverly's smile grew at her head Nurse, Alyssa Ogawa-Powell's voice.
"Alyssa!" Beverly's tone was delighted. "I don't suppose this is merely a social call?"
Alyssa smiled in return, glad to see her mentor and friend on the mend. "I brought along a portable regenerator. I'm to set you up for a nice relaxing 90 minutes."
Beverly's smile fell at the pronouncement.
"It could be worse, Doc," Alyssa intoned, responding to the poor patient attitude. "Selar could've made you come do this on a bio-bed."
"Alyssa, my dear, you are right, as always." Beverly conceded with grace.
"Where would you like to set up?" Alyssa asked.
Beverly would have preferred to avoid the bed, but for such a long session, it only made sense to be comfortable.
"Give me two minutes, Lieutenant." The Captain said and disappeared in the direction of the bedroom.
"How ARE you, Dr. Crusher?" Alyssa inquired, stepping forward and gently touching Beverly's hand.
"I am fine." Beverly's smile was genuine. She WAS fine. What could have been—what SHOULD have been a devastating injury and disability was instead turning into something quite the opposite.
"Do you need anything?" Alyssa asked.
"The Captain has been quite…" Beverly paused, a bit of mischief clear on her features, "insightful. So far, my needs are all being met quite… marvelously." Beverly ended on a chuckle that had Alyssa raising an eyebrow and wearing a decidedly satisfied smirk.
It was about time, the Nurse thought. Those two have been dancing around this since I've known them. No one is more perfect for each other. Well, except for Andrew and I, she thought, rubbing the bulge of her belly gently. The baby chose to kick at her at that moment—a new experience.
"Dr. Crusher—Beverly, here—feel!" Alyssa almost squealed, bringing the Doctor's hand to her pregnant mound. Right on cue, the baby kicked again. Beverly's smile was wide and unguarded.
"Oh, Alyssa…" She sighed, wistfully, but still grinning. She let her hand rest there.
Picard found the two in this pose, the Nurse standing next to the Doctor, both their hands resting on the round protrusion of Alyssa's baby. Beverly had a look of rapture. He suspected her eyes were misty. She loved delivering babies, said it was the payoff for calling time of death, but this baby in particular made her exceptionally joyful, as Alyssa had been a long time friend, ally and right hand, seeing the Doctor through so much…
The Captain himself felt a certain fondness for Alyssa. She was always so cognizant of his need for privacy, and yet, was willing to stand up to him as few others—knowing she had to face HER boss eventually.
"OK, ladies," He said, softly, not wishing to end the mystery of their shared moment of joy. "All set."
Alyssa helped Beverly rise and escorted her to the bed, now made, precisely, with military perfection. Beverly did not need to see to know that the corners would be tucked perfectly symmetrically and nary a wrinkle would dare show itself on the coverlet.
In just a few moments, Alyssa had Beverly settled comfortably, the blue light glowing on her face and upper chest. She departed, promising to stop by again towards evening to help with the second session that Dr. Selar requested for the new skin.
She shouldn't be tired, but Beverly felt herself drifting toward sleep when she discerned Jean-Luc's soft steps. He paused, a few feet from the bed.
She could not know how it twisted his heart to see her whole and healthy under the soft blue radiance of the regenerators; it reminded him of what he had seen in the stasis tube.
But here she was, safe and mostly sound. Just another day and her eyes would be uncovered and she would be back to normal.
He wasn't sure he wanted to be back to 'normal.' At least not the normal they had fallen into since KesPrytt. After this experience, after holding her though the night last night, he knew he wanted nothing more in this lifetime than to wake with her every morning.
He closed his eyes, swallowing down his desire and despair. He had promised himself he would not push her, most especially today.
"Beverly…" His voice was husky. "I'm going to step out for just another moment, can I get you anything?"
Her voice was drowsy, unfocused, as she nodded. "No, thank you." He thought she was done speaking when she added, "you'll be back…"
He wasn't sure if it was a question or a statement. He crossed the few steps which kept him apart from her bed. Unable to resist, he reached forward and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and tucked it behind her ear. "I'll be back."
She slipped into a light, easy sleep, her last thoughts of his feathered touch. She imagined he ended his sentence with "My love…"
XxXxXx
She was amazed she had fallen deeply enough asleep to dream. Waking left her with wisps of memory, like fog burning away in the sunlight. She could not quite recall the elements of her dream, only that she was safe and loved, and… woke vaguely aroused. For a moment she thought of Rutia IV. Her helplessness when she had been abducted by the terrorists, her relief and fear when they also captured Jean-Luc… but somehow she knew the dream she had just had wasn't a nightmare, it wasn't reliving those terrifying moments as she had for months afterward…
Rather, she wanted to go back to this dream. It seemed as if she was very close to resolving… something. They had argued about orders, her following, him following through… it was just out of her grasp, but she felt like in her dream events had taken another course…
"You're awake then." His voice was nearby, lightly startling her.
"Yes." She stretched like a cat, luxuriating in the unexpected time off, no schedules to keep, no expectations to uphold… not realizing how tantalizing a picture she presented to her best 'friend.'
He cleared his throat. "If you would like, I got Dr. Selar's permission to take you on a small outing."
"An outing?" Her eyebrow rose, as she sat up, feeling her way to swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
"Nothing too taxing, just a walk in the arboretum…" He paused, "Only if you feel up to it."
She had dreaded a long day stuck in her quarters. She once again realized how insightful his planning was. The arboretum was full of sounds and smells and textures… she could truly enjoy herself there without her sight.
She found her throat a bit tight when she went to answer him. "I think that would be lovely."
Under her instructions, he found a pair of simple black flat shoes in the astonishingly cluttered bottom of her closet. He was learning new facets to his CMO. He always thought of her as disciplined to a fault—working long into the night to come up with the answer to some virus or anomaly… it was a refreshing insight to see her bouts of untidiness.
The trip to the arboretum was an unqualified success. She never once doubted her safety when walking with the Captain. He unerringly warned her of changes of direction or tread. He had managed to get them admittance before the doors opened to the general crew and populace in the afternoon. He rarely invoked Captain's privileges, but today, he did.
They walked a meandering path, she guessing their location by the smells or sounds of birds or insects. She lost track of time, secure in the hold of his arm at her side, their bodies touching at hips, his voice dipping toward her ear now and again. Above the familiar and exotic smells of plants and flowers, the continuous light presence of his scent permeated her consciousness. She found her thumb absently caressing his hand where it held hers to direct her. She lost herself in the tone of his voice as he described something she had seen hundreds of times—it didn't matter that she could picture it, It became new as he spoke.
He was weaving a spell, she thought. He didn't even know it, but he was building a web around her from which she had no desire to escape.
She was pleasantly fatigued when he suggested it was time for a break. Rather than aim her to a bench, as she expected, he directed her to sit on the ground. She found herself on a soft blanket.
He grasped her hands, and placed in them a rectangular box.
"A picnic!" She practically squealed in delight. "Jean-Luc Picard, you've arranged a picnic!" Her face glowed with pleasure.
"I thought finger foods easiest to deal with, and, well, just thought a picnic might be in order to take your mind off your predicament." She could hear the smile in his voice. She knew he was pleased at her delight.
And she could not have been more delighted. "Captain, if I had known this was all it would take for you to take a day off for rest and a picnic… " She managed to charm him yet again with her self-deprecating observation.
She was right, he could not remember the last time he had taken a day off, not to mention the frivolity of a picnic in the arboretum. But it had become suddenly very important to him to ease her way through this crisis. He knew how he would feel, trapped in darkness, even if just for a day or two… and more than anything, he wanted to make it easier for her. Her pain hurt him far more than his own.
"Yes… well…" he found himself at a loss for words, watching the enchantment on her features. He only missed those blue eyes which spoke what her words sometimes could not…
"No manners expected today, nor any concession to nutrition." Humour laced his voice, once he'd found it. "Fried chicken and chips and pickles. Some fruit if you insist on healthy rations. Deanna assures me that the brownies for dessert are 'positively decadent.'" He placed a cool cylinder near her knee. "Iced Tea to drink, here."
He discovered the experience of watching her choose and eat her food incredibly erotic. She had to touch the items in the container to establish where each item was. Then her lips and often tongue, would explore tentatively before she would bite. He found himself at a loss for words, just watching her.
For her part, Beverly enjoyed the meal on a level she had not previously experienced. Worried not a whit about manners, she let her sense of touch tell her where and what the food was. The taste was somehow enhanced by the lack of visual stimulus. She could discern the spices in the coating of the fried chicken, she relished the texture of the potato chips and knew if she could see them, they would all be the dark brown russet that she favored, and would pick out of a batch of regular chips. The simple act of eating took on a life of it's own.
The silence between them was companionable. It might have been awkward, if she could have seen him watching her. But blissfully unaware, she continued her unconscious and innocent seduction.
Finishing the simple, yet savory meal with the decadent brownies, she leaned back on her elbows. "I think I might explode." Her smile was genuine.
Jean-Luc Picard had to use every weapon in his arsenal of self-control not to move next to her and take her in his arms.
She sat up, and reached blindly in his direction. Her aim sure, she landed a hand on his arm. "Jean-Luc, I don't know how I can thank you for this."
"As I have mentioned already, it IS my pleasure." He replied. She detected a certain tension in his voice, in the muscle under her hand, but without being able to see his eyes, his body language, she was unsure how to respond.
It was an easy silence that accompanied them back to her quarters. She found herself pleasantly worn-out. He deposited her on her couch, and she unerringly placed her feet on the low table in front of it.
A small, knowing smile graced her lips as she recounted the night before and the day. She would never, ever consider herself to be in the same state as someone permanently without sight, but for the brief time it was taken from her, she felt like she was truly SEEING things for the first time.