A Different Path: An Alternate History
By S. Faith, © 1995-1996; 2019
Words: 17,955
Rating: M / R
Summary: What if things had gone just a little bit differently when Beverly and Jean-Luc first met?
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers about Paramount apply.
Notes: So I wrote this about half a lifetime ago (be gentle, please), and recently reread it to find that it didn't make me cringe (much). There is definitely some stuff I'd do differently now, none of it major stuff, so I'll count that as a win. The only edits I made were to fix long dashes, ellipses, and corrected a couple of typos. (I first wrote this as plain text, which (of course) lacks formatting.) I also inserted the years at the top of each scene during which the scene took place, to give a better sense of the passage of time. (24 years, if you're counting, which, by sheer coincidence, is about how old this story is.)
I am pretty sure I never posted this publicly back in the day—when most fanfic writers were not using aliases/pseudonyms, if you can believe it—but if you happen to recognize this from before, I'd greatly appreciate if you keep any personal info under your hat.
It's funny to read this now and see the parallels to more current works. Stern, stoic man, English accent, with hidden depths; feisty, spirited woman; alternate timelines. Hm.
1.
Stardate: 2347
"There's someone I'd like you to meet."
She turned around and saw him, his profile aquiline against the fading sun. This barely-made acquaintance turned to face her with grey-blue eyes that were warmer than a summer sky, a sharply chiseled jaw, a strong chin. And that smile. Never before had there been a more affectionate invitation to friendship (or possibly more) than this smile. "Well. Hello," she managed in a neutral tone, smiling reservedly. She transferred her wrap from one arm to the other, then stuck her hand out for the traditional handshake. He instead took it as if it were fragile porcelain, and placed his lips to the back of it delicately.
Her two companions watched in awe as Beverly Howard blushed for the first time ever in their presence. She looked into this newcomer's eyes, studying their slate grey depths, almost becoming lost in them. He was an older man, that much she could tell from the gentle wrinkles that were starting to crease the skin around his eyes, to the laugh lines circling the corners of his mouth, to the receding hairline. She heard a voice in her head; a choir of angels, actually, accompanied by trumpets and strings, heralding the great love of her life, and his name was—
"Jean-Luc Picard."
Well, it wasn't the heavenly host, after all. Just the voice of her fiancé.
Jean-Luc spoke, sending her heart into somersaults with the lilting timbre and deep emotion that came forth from his lips. "And what do they call this vision of loveliness?" He wasn't just saying that to be clever. There was sincerity in his voice.
Jack Crusher punched his friend lightly on the upper arm. "Oh, come on Johnny-boy, take a wild guess."
Beverly straightened her posture (noticing she was as tall as he was, if not a smidgen taller), her breasts poking out a bit farther from beneath the folds of her silk blouse. Tossing her long wavy auburn tresses back behind her shoulders, she looked at him through her lashes, feeling strangely flirtatious. Whether deliberately or not, she said in a smoky voice, "Beverly Howard. It's a pleasure to meet you."
As soon as heard her name, he changed. That was the only word to describe it. His smile altered and he laughed uncomfortably. She realized the cause of it at once. She'd gone from being The Sultry Redhead with the glittering blue eyes, cheekbones to cut glass with, and a body to stop traffic, to being Jack's Fiancée. She wasn't sure she liked it.
"I've heard a lot about you, Beverly."
His tone was purely platonic, but the sound of her name rolling over his tongue sent chills up and down her spine. She really did love Jack, but this… this was something altogether different. Like a connection of souls. At first sight.
Beverly willed herself to speak. "I wish I could say the same." She'd heard Jack mention the name before, along with some basic history on him, but she'd had a completely different mental image preconceived; certainly she hadn't pictured him.
Walker Keel, who'd been standing there the entire time in silent observation, said, "I'm surprised that the man finds time to talk to you about anything, let alone the mere existence of Picard and myself. Lord knows I wouldn't be interested in conversation." He said it just to garner a laugh, which he got. But only from Jack.
Beverly Howard wanted to kill Walker Keel. Walker shrunk away, for her intentions were plainly obvious by the fire in her eyes.
"Perhaps we should find our table," said that magnificent voice. She calmed at once. Oh, that's right. The play. Beverly had completely forgotten about the show. Then it dawned on her. Walker and Jean-Luc were seeing the play as well. With them.
"Let's, then."
Fortunately, or, unfortunately, Beverly ended up beside Jean-Luc Picard at their table, at this old-style dinner show. The performance was an interpretation of "A Midsummer Night's Dream", rewritten in modern Federation Standard by a couple of free-thinking individuals who called themselves Trills. She nibbled at her dinner and half-listened to the stage show, but what held her fascination was watching the man who sat beside her. The silvery-blue light of the stage cast shadows across the planes of his face, and infused the depths of his eyes with cool luminance. His gaze followed the actors on stage; his face lit up with laughter at the fun moments, and dropped at the more somber ones. She knew she was staring, but she couldn't help it. She was thankful that Jack and Walker's respective attentions were also held by the captivating performance.
Now he watched Puck and Oberon with intense regard. Jean-Luc Picard was a willful man, a powerful leader, someone destined for greatness. Hell, he was only in his early forties and had already been a captain for close to fifteen years. Reputedly a well-regarded diplomat too, he was career Starfleet, cast from the mold of so many fine officers before him. Something told her, though, that there was a softness beneath that hard shell, one that he didn't easily reveal to others. Perhaps it was her Nana Felisa's blood in her—it was something she just knew when she was near him. She was sure that his kiss would be tender, loving, gentle, reverent; that his touch would flit carefully across her skin in waves of caresses, sending each nerve ending into a frenzy. Never once would he push the boundaries of comfort or force himself somewhere he wasn't welcome.
The worst of it all was that she wanted to find out if her suspicions were correct. Right now. It was all she could do to keep her hand from straying onto his knee, to touch him to make sure the sight of him wasn't just her imagination playing tricks on her.
As applause built around her, she realized that the first act had ended. Like an automaton she began applauding with great vigor, forcing her eyes at last to the stage, where it faded to black as the house lights came up. She looked back to her table; the men were all still transfixed. Walker even had tears in his eyes. "Oh, marvelous. Simply marvelous," he whispered.
"What do you think so far?" that dark chocolate voice asked. She turned back to look at him, knew the question was intended for her. While Beverly knew the ancient play inside and out, she quickly decided to keep her comments noncommittal and vague. She didn't want to be asked about a specific line or moment from this performance so far that she wouldn't be able to recall, since she really hadn't been watching it.
"Impressive." Her smile was deliberately slow and full.
He was simply cordial and muttered a 'hm' as he touched his napkin to the corners of his mouth. He looked back to her, and, in a moment before a smirk touched his lips, she could see a fire stoking in those cool grey eyes…
Beverly excused herself to go and use the ladies' room. She had to get away and clear her head, get away from the intoxicating aura that surrounded Jean-Luc Picard.
The washroom at the theater was opulent and yet still cozy; Beverly found herself in front of a mirror inspecting her makeup. She looked just fine; in fact, she looked more radiant than she had a long time. She reached into her handbag and took her hairbrush out, then proceeded to pull it slowly and repeatedly through her waist-length copper locks, simply to soothe herself. It even worked for a few moments, until she realized that the action made her hair even silkier and more luminous; she wondered if her Nana's time-honored calming trick was such a bright idea, after all.
Turning away from the mirror, but not yet wanting to go back to her table, Beverly took a seat on the settee, lying back and taking deep, controlled breaths, closing her eyes, focusing her thoughts, centering herself. She heard a woman's voice nearby; the attendant in the bathroom asked her if she was all right. Beverly nodded but wasn't sure if she was entirely all right. Something had gotten into her system.
The flashing lights indicated two minutes until the next act would begin. No sense in delaying the inevitable any further.
During the second act, Beverly made a concerted effort to actually watch the play. It was indeed one of the best performances she'd ever watched, contained some of the best staging and direction she'd ever seen for this play. She couldn't help but feel, though, that Jean-Luc's eyes were upon her this round, and each time she threw a fleeting glance towards him, it was as if he looked quickly away. She smirked, wondering what he was thinking about when he looked at her. Were his thoughts like the ones she'd had while watching him?
Before she knew it, Puck was delivering his parting words to the 'sleeping' audience, and she felt a chill race up and down her spine. Now what? Applause swelled around her and her table stood in ovation. Walker was practically bawling, and he surreptitiously wiped his face dry as his companions turned back to him.
"I've never seen it done quite so well before," Walker managed.
"I was not disappointed," said Jean-Luc to Jack, though he looked directly at Beverly. It was probably meant in a completely innocent manner; why did everything sound like a double-entendre to her? She figuratively shook herself and smiled to him.
"Nor was I." Oh, Sweet Lady, now she was doing it!
"Seems like you were disappointed in your pasta, though," came Jack's voice jokingly from the corner of her consciousness.
She realized she had barely touched her penne.
"Not exactly… the pesto was just a bit too strong for me." Her stomach rumbled as if to protest the fact that it had been ignored, as they stepped away from their table to leave the theater. As she circled her tartan wrap around her shoulders, she continued, "I'll whip up a bite to eat back at my place. Don't worry about me."
Jean-Luc stepped forward, touching her arm lightly. "Don't be ridiculous. I suggested the penne; let me make it up to you."
Warning bells went off in Beverly's head, but she ignored them. "Jack? Walker? Do you mind?" Did she half-wish they would discourage her?
They shook their heads. Walker muttered something about an early day the next day and needing to turn in, and Jack agreed, adding with a chuckle, "Hell, if I can't trust my girlfriend to my best friend, who can I trust her to?"
Beverly's heart sank into her modest pumps. Here she was having all sorts of lascivious thoughts about Jean-Luc Picard, and Jack had no clue whatsoever. Jack leaned in to kiss her briefly on the mouth with promises of calling her the next day, and with that, he and Walker sauntered away, turning to wave once or twice.
Once they were out of view, she had no further excuse to keep her back to this powerfully magnetic man, so she turned to look at him. "All right then, Jean-Luc," she began. Oddly enough, using his first name made her feel uncomfortable and inappropriately so, considering she'd just contemplated what it might be like to have him making love to her. "Where shall we go, then?"
"There's a marvelous little place on the marina. I never can resist a view of the bay. What do you say?"
She nodded, not really caring where she ended up with him, as long as she could sit across a table from him, draw him into conversation, find out more about him, any little excuse to engage his eyes and watch his every move.
At first glance of him, Beverly had thought she'd got a glimmer of something more at their first look, but then he'd been cool ever since realizing exactly who she was. Now she had to wonder what his feelings were towards her, after all, as they entered this bayside restaurant.
Obviously this place was intended as a romantic hideaway, lit by gas- and candlelight, deep intonations of the cello drifting through the air, the relative quiet telling of the countless conversations being held without words. The atmosphere was discreet and dignified, and still, practically bursting with passion. She had to know why he'd chosen a place like this one. "This a favourite place of yours?"
He smiled; almost ruefully, she thought. "I used to bring my dates here, back in my Academy days. It feels a bit strange coming here now… but the view really is unsurpassed, and the food is like none other." He turned away from her, towards the giant picture windows, folding his hands behind his back.
An odd tinge of sadness swept across her. Why was he so obviously lonely? Before the thought had completed, she knew. Starfleet. Her heart wept for him. She reached out her hand and touched his arm, in an effort to share some consolation. The touch soon surpassed one of merely friendly concern, though, and she threaded her arm through his. His eyes returned from their wandering and met hers questioningly. Did he feel the electricity as much as she did?
"Sir, miss, your table is ready."
His attention darted to the restaurant hostess, and he disentangled her arm from his. "Perfect." He stepped away from her, holding out his hand to let her precede him.
They sat in a darkened corner, next to the broad expanse of window, offering a panoramic view of the San Francisco Bay. She noticed that he was gentleman enough to take her wrap from her shoulders. They ordered dinner and drinks, then both spent many introspective minutes gazing out into the night, over to the Alcatraz Animal Preserve, clear to the hills of Sausalito. Beverly turned to look at him, the glow of the candle uplighting his face as he continued to look across the water. As if he suddenly realized that the touch of her gaze was what danced upon his skin, he turned back to her, and their eyes met. He smiled more than just the smile of a platonic friend.
"I'm so very glad to finally meet you, Beverly."
She returned the smile fully and equally. "You're nothing like I imagined at all."
"Oh?" he asked, his eyes twinkling.
What was she supposed to make of that? She elaborated: "The way Jack speaks of you, I don't know… I didn't imagine… you."
At the mention of her fiancé's name, the sparkle vacated his eyes. She regretted saying it. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" He took a moment to scan the room on a sudden inspiration, which irritated her. It was as if he was looking to see if anyone had noticed he was here with her, as if he was embarrassed to be there with her.
She shrank back from the closeness she'd perceived. "A good thing. Not that he ever speaks ill of you, but… well, you know how a mental image can persist."
He took his glass of burgundy and swirled it around the bottom of the glass, studying the ruby depths. "Yes. I do." He smiled again as he looked to her once more, but this time, the smile was forced, and his eyes were dead cold.
"Jean-Luc—"
Just then the waiter brought their dinner, teriyaki steaks, and made to refill both of their glasses of wine, engaging her dinner companion in casual small talk. The innocent interruption ruined the moment. Beverly was not one to beat around the bush, but now, she couldn't ask what he meant by that. The natural flow of conversation had been disturbed and he'd be uncomfortable if she tried to revive it.
She cut into her meal and brought it to her mouth, forkful by forkful. Glancing up, she watched him wrap his mouth around a bite. He met her eyes, and after he swallowed, he spoke again. "Born and raised on Luna. Red hair, blue eyes, winning smile. A hard working, dedicated medical student. Loyal to your friends, but you manage to never compromise your standards. A short fuse on your temper. And a stubborn streak a mile wide."
Her heart raced. He was picking up the thread of the conversation again. "Jack said that about me?" she queried, her eyes wide with her astonishment.
When he spoke he looked like he was jumping into the proverbial pot of hot water. "Not in so many words."
She couldn't help but chuckle. "Don't worry. He's right." She paused to load her fork with food again. "Let's see, what has Jack told me about you? Captain at 28. A brilliant tactician. Quite the diplomat. You don't let emotions sway your command. You're pretty by-the-book as a leader, yet you know the rules can be bent to allow for circumstance—you're merciful."
"'Merciful'?" he interrupted, smiling again. And it was genuine.
"Jack's word, not mine." She grinned back. "Brought up in France… a vintner's son, if I'm not mistaken. Dry sense of humour, when you let it surface. You know how to balance your professional relationships with your personal ones. You're well respected by them, yet still a good friend. Walker and Jack, that is."
"And hopefully a friend to you as well."
She raised her glass of wine to his in a toast. "I'll drink to that."
Beverly watched the deep-hued liquid roll over his lips, and she envied the wine's entry into his sensual mouth. Every word, every action attracted her even more to him… adding to that the wine's cooling of her inhibitions, the candlelight sending amber tones over his features… . Ah. She wanted him more than anything, damn the consequences.
"Beverly, are you all right?"
"Hm?" she replied blearily. Her attention snapped back to focus on him from her daydream; there was real worry in his eyes.
"You look unwell."
"Uh… actually, I do feel a little lightheaded." She looked down at her hands to avoid looking at him. She wasn't a good liar, but then again, she wasn't exactly lying.
"Why don't I take you home, then."
She thought for certain that nearby tables would turn to look at her for hearing the pounding of her heart. "That's very kind of you."
"Where do you live?"
"In an apartment near the Academy. We could probably walk there from here."
"Oh no," he scolded. "You're a medical student; you should know better. If you're coming down with something, walking in the cool night air is not going to help you. We'll take a cab." He turned and called the waiter over, paid for the meal, and, draping her shoulders with her tartan, helped her to the door. Beverly probably didn't need his arm about her waist for support, but she didn't mind in the least.
Indeed, she probably did feel feverish, but it had nothing to do with any physical malady.
The cab ride was warm and close. She shut her eyes and leaned into him, his warmth and presence swallowing her, enveloping her. She wondered if he had any idea of what she was feeling, and if he did, would he take it seriously? Would it be nothing to him but a girlish crush? She'd been infatuated before; this was so much more than that. Already she admired, respected, and cared for him, and she was so attracted to him she would have taken him in the cab, given the opportunity. As his arm tightened about her shoulders, she wondered if she was crazy to be feeling the way she felt.
They arrived at Beverly's building; he helped her into her place just as the rain began to fall. The wine had begun to fade from her system, and some of the reservations were beginning to return. What about Jack? Gods, she didn't want to hurt him. He was a good man, and she did love him. But this… oh, this would never work. She had no right to rock the boat this way.
Ignoring her feelings, though, could do nothing but backfire on her in the long run. So she marries Jack… and then what? She spends the rest of her life wondering about what never was, eventually driving her to be a bitter, angry woman, blaming Jack for her many unhappinesses?
Blast and damnation.
As he opened the door and stepped into the apartment, she turned on the lamp by the door, which immediately illuminated Jack's face in a picture frame beside it, as if to punctuate her doubts. Unseen by him, she slipped her wrap off and nonchalantly draped it over that smiling face. "Thank you, Jean-Luc. I'm feeling much better now."
"My pleasure." He had his hand on the doorknob, as if to leave.
"Don't go yet." She hoped it didn't sound too panicked. In what she hoped was a more relaxed tone, she finished, "Stay for a nightcap. I don't have any classes tomorrow."
His fingers released the knob. "If you insist."
She walked to the replicator and ordered two mulled ciders; the steam licked up from them deliciously. "My Nana's recipe. I hope you like it."
He sipped at it tentatively. "Very good. Sweet and warm." He took another, longer draw. "Is that honey I taste?"
She nodded. "Please, sit and enjoy." She indicated the couch and he settled into it quite comfortably. Raindrops began to rhythmically drum on the windows as the rainstorm intensified. She took a seat beside him, though at a respectable distance; she didn't want him to tense back into Jack's-best-friend mode.
"Are you sure you're feeling better?"
"Much. Thank you."
"Glad to hear it. Wouldn't want to return damaged goods to Jack."
Why did he have to keep mentioning Jack? She wanted to scream. She absolutely had to change the subject, and she all but blurted out the one thing that had been on her mind most of the night. "What did you think of me before tonight?"
Did she hear him cough on his cider? "What do you mean?"
"I know what Jack told you about me, but am I different than you thought?"
He appeared to relax again. "Quite. I never knew you were so—"
"Never knew I was so what?" she prompted, her lip curling up in a smile.
"I'm rather embarrassed by this so I hope you don't take it the wrong way." He actually flushed pink, and hid an flustered smile behind a hand before continuing. "That said, nothing against Jack, and nothing against you, certainly… but I wasn't expecting you to be quite so… lovely." Her eyebrows shot up in an amused surprise, but she smiled reassuringly. He relaxed as he finished his thought. "I had rather an image of a freckle-faced kid… something more like Pippi Longstocking than Greta Garbo."
As she laughed softly, surprised yet impressed that he knew who Ms. Garbo even was, he looked even more at ease. She spoke. "I'm nothing but flattered. I should think that a man of your many experiences would be jaded to every attractive young woman that crossed his path."
"Usually, yes. Jack's very lucky. You're quite special."
Her annoyance was blatantly obvious this time and his face became a question mark. She sighed. "I'm tired of being considered little more than some accessory of Jack Crusher's."
He nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so thoughtless."
She smiled, forgiving his transgression. "I'm sure you didn't. It's all right."
"But it's not all right." He looked deeply distressed, and extremely vulnerable, which made him even sexier in her eyes. "I know you're with Jack, but I should know better than to treat anyone like I just did. Especially someone like you."
Her heart was doing gymnastics inside of her ribcage; it was either now or never. She knew she wanted him, and this was her chance. Act on it now, she told herself, or never know what his touch feels like. She asked in a somewhat timid voice, "What if I wasn't with Jack?", not relinquishing her hold on his gaze.
His expression defined the old saying 'thrown for a loop', and his voice took on a papery texture when he spoke again. "Beverly, what do you mean?"
Beverly had not misread him during the course of the evening; so why was he asking? How could he possibly be surprised? She reached out a trembling hand and placed it on his leg, then inched closer to him, clarifying her intent. "What would you do if I kissed you?" His spine stiffened; she placed her other hand on his cheek. "From the moment I saw you, I've wanted to kiss you." Her hand moved from his face to settle on his shoulder, her eyes searching his, her breath coming to her roughly now.
He looked as if he'd just been asked to plunge a knife between Jack's shoulder blades, but also made no move to get away from her. They sat there for many silent moments, her palm hot against his leg, their eyes dancing across the distance between them, the rain singing on the windowpanes.
"What about Jack." It was a statement, not a question.
She did not know what to say exactly, so she brought her lips close to him and brushed them against his cheek. Tiny bolts of electricity leapt up to meet her. "What about you," she whispered, not really a question either, her steamy breath rolling across his face.
She felt his broad hand on her upper arm, and for a split second she thought he would force her away. But he didn't. Instead he turned his head to meet her, his lips hot, slippery, and sweet against her own. Hungrily he kissed her, passion escalating with each caress on her mouth. It felt as if the herculean restraint he had been exercising all evening had finally given way.
"Beverly," he moaned as his lips broke from hers. She pulled away to look at him, ready to answer the questions in his eyes.
"All I know is that I have never wanted anyone as much as I want you… Jack included. I can't fight this. I don't want to."
He looked at her as if he were asking, was this real? A smile assured him that it was, as he crushed her to him with his kiss. He hadn't said much, but he didn't need to speak to show his feelings; his wanton desire was evident in every movement, as he teased and tasted her lips and mouth, his hands eager to touch every square of skin, slipping his hands beneath the billowing silk folds of her shirt, fingers racing across her smooth, bare back. Responsive and ardent were her own kisses, impatient were her own hands, roaming over his broad back and chest.
He pulled back with some difficulty and spoke brokenly, "Your bed. Where's your bed."
She quietly memorized the look on his face, touching its chiseled planes once again, before she extricated herself from his lap, teasing him with a quick kiss to his flushed cheek. Beverly made her way towards her bedroom, but lingered at the door, watching the decision cast clouds over his features as he sat staring at the place she'd been, before she made a turn into the room. Beverly sighed, not exactly confident about any of this. She wasn't one to make rash decisions or to be so impulsive in matters like this, and a little angst-ridden voice inside her kept creeping up to ask her what the hell she thought she was doing. But who was she to not listen to her body, when it was crying like this to be heard?
Seating itself alongside that doubt was the fact that she didn't have half the experience with men as he did with women. She was no virgin, and she knew her way around the male body well enough, but she was nearly half his age. How could she ever please him, or compare to the women he'd loved in his life?
It seemed too much time had passed; she thought for sure that he had gone. She looked at herself in the vanity mirror, suddenly feeling very foolish. "I can't very well go out there and get him," she muttered to herself.
And then movement in the mirror caught her eye.
From the suddenness of feeling his fingers brush her hair from her neck and then feeling his lips there, she knew at once that he had not gone, after all, and she sighed in pleasure. One of his arms came across her neck and shoulders; the other, around her waist with only the silk between them. She thought it again, that he had not gone. She was euphoric, at the very least, that he had not run in terror from her place to Jack's with a million questions, and at the very most, that he was about to make love with her as she'd fantasized all evening.
He whispered into her ear, "May I?"
She sighed her assent, closing her eyes and resting her head against him, as he took down the buttons of her blouse one by one, nuzzling into her neck. Once the shirt was in a puddle at her feet, he ran his fingers lightly over the bare skin of her arms, shoulders, chest, before embracing her as before. Sighing again, she opened her eyes and noticed that he was intently looking at their image in the mirror. Intently staring at her.
"You're even more beautiful than I could have dreamed possible, especially like this," he said quietly into her ear, holding fast her reflection's gaze. He then turned her towards him, his hands gentle and guiding. Raising his hands up, he threaded his fingers into her fiery mane of hair just at the temples, then slowly combed down the length of it, nuzzling his face into the downy hair near her cheek, to settle both hands on the small of her back. He remained like that, just taking in her scent, before he placed a kiss there. Quietly into her ear he said, his voice full of wonder, "I've wanted to do so much more than kiss you when I saw you tonight. But I didn't think you'd give me a second look because of Jack." He wrapped one arm around her waist; his other hand traced a trail up her spine to settle at the base of her neck. He kissed her again just beside her cheekbone, his tongue flicking out to taste the skin there, causing her to make a soft sound. Pulling away just far enough to see her, he finished hoarsely, "I want you, too."
He then began to kiss her again, this time her more deeply than she had ever been, holding her, caressing her more exquisitely than ever in her life. He sure did know what felt good, what made her feel like the only woman in the world. She undid the button at his neck, then the next, before sliding his shirt down over his shoulders. She heard him laugh low in his throat.
"You didn't need to tear it."
She hadn't realized she'd done that, and she touched her nose to his with a smile, before tilting her head slightly and placing her mouth over his, running her tongue along his lower lip, before kissing him fiercely.
That was when she lost track of reality, where one minute began to blur into the next; she was lost irretrievably in ecstasy. Jean-Luc Picard was as gentle and giving as a lover as he was logical and emotionless as a captain. Each time he touched her was pure magic and as a result she found herself responding in ways she never had before—and probably more vocally than she ever had before. No one had ever made her feel so uniquely deserving of such pleasure; none had made her feel so uninhibited and free. They were like pieces of a long separated puzzle; she had never felt so complete, or so intensely revered.
It seemed to have lasted forever, but she knew that a night on Earth was all too short, and she was, after all, only a mortal woman. Feeling sleepy yet satiated, Beverly nestled her face into his neck, reveling in his scent, tasting his saltiness with languid, open mouthed kisses, her hair splayed about him like tongues of fire. Beverly didn't remember dozing off, least of all while splayed upon him; she must have, because simultaneously the sun cast a ribbon of light across her face, and her personal monitor began chirping, waking her. Good lord, morning already?
Morning. Jack's call.
She leapt from the bed on weak and unsure legs, reached for her robe, and ran for her desk in the other room.
"Yes?" she asked breathlessly.
It was indeed Jack. "Hello, sweetheart. Sleep well?"
"Well enough. How are you?"
He shrugged, looking terribly boyish. "All right… I seem to have misplaced my best friend, though. Did he give you any idea where he might have been heading after your dinner last night?"
Jean-Luc was hovering at the bedroom door, far out of the monitor's range. He'd taken a moment to slip his pants back on, and was pinching the corners of his eyes between his forefinger and thumb.
"I don't think he really knew where he was going to end up." Well, it wasn't entirely a lie. Despite whatever fantasies he'd had the night before, this tryst probably had taken him quite by surprise.
Jack pondered innocently. "All right. He must have headed for Starfleet Headquarters already. I'll catch up with him. Love you, and talk to you later."
She raised her hand and waved to him as he blinked away. And she turned to meet eyes with her lover.
What kind of delusion had she been under last night, thinking this would be easy? Gods, he stood there looking glorious; her desire began building all over again. For so many reasons, last night had been a terrible mistake. It didn't mean she regretted a minute of it.
He looked like he did though, and that troubled her.
"Good morning, Jean-Luc."
He silently regarded her for many moments. "Beverly," he said at last, nothing more than a clipped acknowledgment of her presence. Now he wordlessly passed by her to retrieve his shirt, inspecting the tear in the fabric.
The tension was heavy in the air. If she didn't say something, she'd burst, but she didn't know what she should say. She folded her arms across her chest, then unfolded them. Maybe she'd start with an inane question and work her way up.
"Want some coffee?" she decided on, at last.
"What are we going to do, Beverly?" he asked almost at the same time. She felt foolish for having asked the question she did.
"I don't know," she replied plainly. "All I know is that I don't want last night to be the only night we have."
"How can you face Jack after this? How can I?"
"I will have to be honest with him. There's no way I can marry him; I will have to break off our engagement."
His eyes registered surprise, but he was quick to quash it. "That will destroy him, you know. You mean the world to him."
She turned to her replicator. He hadn't answered her about the coffee but she ordered two cups anyway. She placed one on the counter top for him to take.
"I know it will… but do you think my marrying him when I have doubts will solve everything? I can't live that kind of lie."
He turned away from her with the coffee snug in his hands, not even taking a drink. "How can I face him?" he asked again. "I have destroyed our trust." He slammed the cup down and walked away from her, heading into her living room.
She knew he was trying to make her say she was sorry for last night. There was no way in the world she could do that. She wasn't sorry, she couldn't be sorry! She didn't delude herself; telling Jack would be the most difficult thing in the universe for her to do. But even now she found her hunger for Jean-Luc hard to ignore. "What happened last night was meant to be from the moment we saw one another. I felt it; you felt it. We will find a way." She followed him.
He turned around to speak to her. She never expected what she heard next.
"Beverly, I am a Starfleet captain. It would be improper for me to have an affair with a medical student who is engaged to one of my finest officers."
Keeping her jaw from hitting the floor, she retorted, "It's a little late for that line of reasoning, don't you think?"
"Last night was a terrible mistake. I should have resisted."
Her legendary temper was surfacing, and she didn't do much to rein it in. "All right," she steamed, "we have determined that perhaps last night was a mistake. Does that invalidate how you feel about me?"
His voice was cool, but his eyes were pure fire. "You're a medical student, not a mind reader. How on earth can you possibly know how I feel about you?"
"So you lied to me last night?" she asked, incredulously. "Do you often lie to get young women into bed?" She knew her words would sting, but she hoped the sting would get some kind of an honest response from him.
He looked surprised, and a little hurt. "Certainly not. I think you are reading a lot more into what I said than I intended."
"Ah. You merely misled me to get me into bed." She didn't believe it for a second. She was a pretty good reader, not of minds, but of human nature. His actions spoke more to her than anything he could have said. This kind of denial irked her to no end. "Is that the M.O. of Starfleet captains?"
He sighed, folding his arms. Classic 'back off' posture. "Beverly, you're being ridiculous."
She laughed lightly. "I am being ridiculous? You are the one seriously rationalizing your actions last night." She looked down to quiet her temper, took a few steps towards him, so that she was within arm's reach of him, then raised her head again. When she spoke, her voice had softened to tenderness, and the anger had left her eyes. "When I first saw you, I felt much more than physical attraction. I actually believe it was love at first sight." She thought she saw a spark in his eyes, but he quashed that, too.
He knit his brows together, his arms remaining firmly across his chest. "What are you saying? That you think you love me?"
She nodded. "I'm sure of it."
He laughed heartlessly.
"Sure. Like you 'love' Jack."
Beverly stared at him mutely, disbelieving he could be this cruel. She felt tears welling in the corners of her eyes and quickly turned away but it was too late. He had seen them. "Please leave now," she managed, staring out of the window to the panorama of San Francisco. "Apparently I was foolish to think what I did."
The soft closing of the door some minutes later told her that he did leave. Beverly buried her face in her hands and wept with long, rocking sobs.
Perhaps he was being honest, after all.