Desiree
by Brenda Shaffer-Shiring
Oh, to be young and in love...
A smile touched the corners of Jean-Luc Picard's stern mouth. Well, perhaps that was not precisely the right way to put it. After all, at more than 60 Terran years of age, he was hardly an objective observer's idea of 'young.' Yet the rest of it was true enough, for he did love, with all the strength and intensity of a man one-third his years. And if his chronological age did not matter to Desiree, he thought, why then should it matter to him?
After a moment, he came up with a quotation that more accurately summed up both his joy and his situation: Love makes all things new again. Yes, he thought, that was it. Though he might be no youth, with this enchanting young woman he was, indeed, a man renewed.
He was sometimes astonished at the joy with which he'd accepted the changes she'd made in his orderly world. At first, he recalled, he had not even wanted her aboard, had nearly wished her out of existence. However, once he'd been firmly and gently reminded that not all decisions aboard a starship were the sole prerogative of her captain, he'd yielded with what grace he could muster. Eventually, he'd even professed willingness to let her become part of the Enterprise's complement. His private reservations, however, had remained.
Until the first time he saw her — and was suddenly and absolutely smitten. He'd never in his life been so taken by anyone, not Vash, nor Nella, nor even Beverly. Nor, he was certain, had he ever seen anyone so radiantly beautiful.
Desiree was petite, her face a sculpture of small, perfectly-formed features with surprisingly voluptuous coral lips. (How fascinating those lips were when parted in a smile, even though Jean-Luc might realize that the smile was not directed at anything he had said or done.) Her eyes were clear, green, and observant, following him with a particular, flattering interest, and her hair was that bright, glowing shade of red that had always been his fatal weakness. Her form matched her face, dainty and perfect.
She had attached herself to Jean-Luc almost at once, ignoring the blandishments of all the younger, handsomer men who immediately flocked to her shrine. Riker's outrageous flirtations, Data's wistful pronouncements, LaForge's teasing banter were met with no better than a tolerant, bemused stare, but a single soft word from Jean-Luc and her face lit as if a sun shone on it. Though the other men continued to shower her with attention, it was clear from the start that they would not win her. Her heart belonged to their balding, patrician captain just as certainly as his belonged to her.
A small sorrow tugged at him sometimes, for he knew her fidelity would not last. Someday, surely, another younger and perhaps stronger man would steal her from Jean-Luc's loving arms, and she would sweetly but certainly bid Jean-Luc au revoir. He would have no choice but to smile and let her go, though it tore his soul to lose her.
Ah, but that evil moment must lie years hence. In the meantime, he could hold his Desiree, and cherish her, and bask in the warmth of her unstinted love.
Thinking of that, he could not bear to remain away from his dearest a moment longer. Springing from his command chair, he tossed over his shoulder, "You have the bridge, Number One," before striding lithely to the turbolift. As the doors closed behind him, he knew that the bridge crew were chuckling, certain of his destination. Once that would have bothered him, but not now. He'd a feeling he'd amused them quite often of late. After all, hadn't it been he who'd always set himself apart from long-term relationships, warned that command officers must be wary of them? In loving Desiree, in keeping her on the Enterprise with him, he was violating the same traditional Starfleet codes he had fought (unsuccessfully, thank God) to sustain when he'd first been offered command of the Enterprise. He shook his head, himself amused. He had been a fool, back then.
His step was swift, almost sprightly, as he covered the remaining distance to Sickbay. "Jean-Luc," Beverly greeted, a welcoming smile gracing her lips for the split-second before they found his own. He took the slender woman in his arms and kissed her, for that space of time forgetting the beautiful miss who had occupied his thoughts all morning. His feelings for Beverly had not been weakened by his love of Desiree — rather the opposite, in fact.
After a few minutes, Beverly pulled away, still smiling. "I don't suppose you came down here just to see me," she teased knowingly.
"Not quite," he conceded, grinning in return. "I was also looking for a certain lovely young lady. I believe you know her?"
"Intimately." Beverly took his arm and escorted him to the room where Desiree lay peacefully sleeping.
Jean-Luc simply looked at her for a moment, entranced by the sight of his beloved at rest. Then, unable to restrain himself longer, he went to her bed and gathered her to him. She cuddled close, her flame-colored hair tousled against his chest, and he whispered, "Desiree," into the tiny ear of his infant daughter.
END