Chapter 2

Beverly stirred as the first shafts of light penetrated the window and slowly opened her dry and scratchy eyes.

I must look like hell, she thought; sleeping in my clothes, my eyes red from crying… Not that it would make a difference to Jean-Luc, she thought. Not anymore.

Anxious as she was for this day to get started and for this disaster to end – My God, another Christmas to forget! she mused – she decided that a few moment spent resting on the bed, regaining her composure, would not be misspent.

Staring at the room around her, she decided that this room must have been Jean-Luc's at one point: though the floral comforter bespoke Marie's touch, a small display of ships in bottles had undoubtedly been Jean-Luc's creations from his childhood. Beverly didn't know much about Marie, but what she did know had suggested that the woman might have deferred to her husband's wishes in some things – but not in discarding the beloved possessions of the other Picard child. The ships, somewhat dusty after six months unattended, were still proudly displayed.

Probably the chest beneath the window that was revealing the French countryside to her also contained some of his childhood possessions, she added, a portion of her tempted to search out the contents.

A saner, sadder, part of her quickly cautioned against that action; after last night, she thought, she knew there was no place for her in Jean-Luc's life.

Or his ship, she added.

Maybe placing a call to Starfleet Command was what she needed to do, she admitted. Starfleet Medical had been asking her to take on a project while the Enterprise was still in dock; she had enough contacts in high places and was owed enough favors that she should be able to parley that project into a full time position – and leave the Enterprise and her captain once and for all.

I should move on, she told herself.

She drew a deep breath, finally ready to face, at last, the day – and felt the bed move.

Turning cautiously, she was shocked to find herself face to face – well, face to sleeping visage – with Jean-Luc.

"What the hell?" she shouted, pulling the blankets around her, despite the fact she was fully dressed and atop the bed's covers – and promptly revealing the fact that Picard was wearing nothing except a pair of briefs.

Her sudden shout and the gust of cold air jolted the sleeping man out of his slumber – but the man who opened his eyes was anything but the typically over-alert Starfleet captain.

He looked at Beverly unrecognizingly – then suddenly realized the situation – and his condition.

Hastily pulling the covers back from her, he snapped, "What the devil are you doing in my room – in my bed?"

"Your bed? You told me to take any room! You told me you were going to sleep downstairs!" she snapped back.

He stared at her for a moment, utterly confused – then closed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. "I remember falling asleep in front of the fire… At some point the fire went out, and I got cold… I must have just gone to bed out of habit," he explained, adding with a rueful grin, "This was my room, you know. If anyone is trespassing, it's you."

They stared at each other for a moment – then they both began to laugh.

Finally, Beverly shook her head. "I'm going to go wash and change clothes. While I'm out, you can get dressed and then I'll start back to town," she said, rising from the bed. "The transportation center should be open…"

"Beverly…" he began, reaching for her hand before she could move too far away.

"Jean-Luc," she said, looking at his hand - then meeting his gaze.

"About last night," he began, but she interrupted with a shake of her head.

"No," she said, "you were right. I wasn't fair to you; you asked for something – but I never said yes…"

"You were right, though," he interrupted. "I love you – but I can't require that you love me back. You had every right to say 'no'."

"But I didn't say 'no', Jean-Luc" Beverly said. "I didn't say anything! I just left you hanging there – for the last three years. If anyone is owed an apology, it's you – from me. I'm sorry, Jean-Luc. I am so very, very sorry," he said, a tear slipping from her eye, trailing down her cheek.

"Beverly," he whispered, raising a hand to her face, brushing the tear away with his thumb.

She raised her eyes to his - and he lowered his lips to hers.

The kiss deepened, and Jean-Luc's hand moved from holding the blanket around his midriff to holding Beverly. A moment later his other hand joined the first, pulling her close – then he felt her hands reach around him, pulling him to her, pulling him down to the bed.

He slowly moved his hand higher, seeking out the lush mound of her breast – and earning a soft moan of pleasure for his efforts – and the realization that her hand was moving lower, sliding beneath the folds of the blanket. After a moment, it reached his thigh then began to move higher.

He shivered, as much from her touch as from the cold of the unheated room; despite his anticipation, he pulled away from her, freed the blanket from underneath him and gallantly pulled it over them both.

Beverly laughed at the gesture then pulled him close once more, tugging the blanket over both of their heads as she did so.

They had just resumed the kiss when a loud noise from the ground floor interrupted their tryst.

Flipping the blankets back from their heads, Picard listened for a moment, then glanced at Beverly.

"I heard it too," she agreed.

"I'd better check it out," he said. Rising from the bed, he pulled the blanket around him once again, then headed out of the room and down the stairs.

Reaching the ground floor, he looked about, trying to determine the source of the noise when it suddenly repeated itself.

The back door, he realized.

Opening it, he was greeted by an unfamiliar face.

With an apology, the middle-aged man introduced himself and the others with him as being the hired workers who were there to finish re-establishing the power to the house. With a nod, Picard stepped back to let them in – only to hear a terrifying shriek – and a moment later watched as Beverly raced down the stairs, clad only in a towel.

"There's no hot water!" she announced - then stared dumbly at the four strangers who were staring at her in astonishment – and undisguised appreciation.

She gaped back, hastily moving behind the blanket-draped Picard – and the workers smiled knowingly to themselves, murmured something to Picard and hastily left the room.

"What did they say?" she asked as the door shut behind them.

"That they'd be as quick as possible," he translated, turning to look at her in bemusement.

She glanced at the towel she had wrapped around herself, tightened and explained. "I thought I would take a quick shower – but I forgot that no power also meant no hot water."

"A shower?" he said, smiling.

She reddened. "I looked like hell," she said, "and smelled almost as bad."

"I didn't notice," he replied.

"But I did. I've thought about… this – but never once included the possibility of my smelling like a Ferengi's armpit," she joked.

He raised a brow. "You thought about this?" he pressed, his voice rough and low.

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. "Fantasized," she admitted.

"About us."

She nodded. "Yes."

"Together."

She nodded.

He stepped closer, pulling the blanket around them both. "Tell me. Tell me what you fantasized," he ordered.

She smiled as she met his needful gaze. "There were quite a few," she said. "Do you want to hear them all?"

He nodded slowly, intently.

"None of them involved you wearing a flower-covered comforter," she said, glancing pointedly at his attire.

He stared at her – then began to chuckle.

"I would rather hope they didn't," he replied, then loosened his hold on her, guiding her toward the stairs. "Perhaps we can dispense with attire altogether…"

As they entered the room, he released her, dropped his blanket, then reached for the front of her towel. It fell to the ground and he stared at her.

She stared back, then reached for the top of his briefs, carefully guiding them over his erection and down to the floor, settling back on her haunches to appreciate the view – then looked up at him.

"They know what causes that now," she said.

He raised a brow in surprise at the remark, then replied, "I presume there is also a cure?"

"A palliative, yes, but no cure. I'm afraid that the condition may return despite repeated treatments," she answered soberly.

"You would administer those treatments?"

"As your personal physician, I would consider it my duty to tend to your care myself," she replied.

"And these… treatments? What do they involve?"

"Fortunately, there are any number of approaches… may I show you?" she whispered.

He nodded; taking her hand, he led her to the bed, watched her lie down, then took a place beside her.

Wrapping on arm around her narrow waist, he pulled her close, resuming the kiss that had been interrupted a few minutes before – only to feel her shiver against him.

Ego would have had him believe it was the closeness of his body; his more rational mind reminded him that the house was still unheated, and that room was damned cold, and that she was soaking wet from her attenuated – and icy - shower.

Breaking the kiss, he moved off the bed, retrieved the blanket, then leapt heroically onto the mattress, the blanket flapping behind him.

The bed, however, had not been used in some time; old, and unfamiliar with sudden shifts in weight, the frame suddenly snapped, sending Beverly rolling onto the floor as Picard tumbled onto the collapsed frame.

"Damn it!" he shouted, doubling over as pain shot through his body.

"Jean-Luc!" Beverly cried out, scrambling over the broken frame to his side. "Are you all right?"

"Yes! I just…" He hesitated, embarrassed at the idea of having to tell her on which part of his body he had landed – but the locations of his hands, cupped protectively over himself, made the answer evident.

Horrified, Beverly pried his hands free, taking his injured - and rapidly softening - member into her own soft hands, inspecting it carefully.

"Did you land on it?" she asked.

"No, I just…hit it," he said.

She pressed the tissue carefully, trying to assess any injury – then looked up. "I don't think there's any serious damage, but I have a scanner in my bag…"

"That won't be necessary," he replied, the pain fading to simply a matter of shock and having fallen on such a delicate part of his body. "I'm sure I'll be fine," he insisted.

"Good," she replied, adding coyly, her fingers delicately running along his length, "because I had some ideas about other, less dramatic ways of addressing your… condition."

Despite the shock of the fall, he found himself growing hard once again under her tender ministrations. "Oh?" he asked.

Beverly smiled, then leading him by the part she already held, guided him back to the mattress, now safely ensconced on the floor. "At least we know the bed won't collapse again," she laughed.

He started to take a place beside her, then stopped, grabbed the blanket, pulled it over them both, and finally resumed the kiss they had begun twice before.

"Yes," she murmured as his hands explored her body. "Yes… There… No, not so hard," she quickly added, then gave another sigh of pleasure.

"Oh, yes," he agreed – then gasped. "Gently!" he begged. "Gently!"

"Sorry!"

"It's all right," he said, then added as he caressed her intimately, "You feel wonderful."

"It would feel better if you were inside me," she replied.

"Already?" he asked, disappointed.

"It's been a long time, Jean-Luc," she told him.

"Yes, of course," he agreed, sliding one leg then the other between hers, parting them, then shifting his weight to her hips. Reaching to caress her once more, he tried to guide himself to the opening.

"A little more to the left," she panted. "No. It's…"

He raised himself up, looking beneath the blanket so he could reach the target of his desire – then certain he was correctly positioned, smiled at her.

"I've been thinking about this for thirty years," he admitted, then moved closer to her.

Beverly drew in a deep breath.

The door to the room burst open. "Monsieur Picard!" the workman announced – then stopped as he realized what he had interrupted.

"Damn it!" Picard shouted as he glared at the foreman. "Get out!"

"Pardonez moi!" the man gasped, horrified, hastily backing out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Infuriated, Picard looked down at his lover – well, his almost-lover – and was astounded to see her break into a smile and begin laughing.

"Jean-Luc, let's give it up for now," she told him, rolling out from beneath him. "This just wasn't meant to be – at least not now. You've got to go find out what's up with the workers, I'm need to get washed, you've got an appointment with the lawyer in two hours – and if we're going to do this properly, I don't want to be rushed."

"Neither do I," he agreed.

"After all, we did wait thirty years – a few more hours won't kill us."

"That's easy for you to say," he muttered, still painfully aware of his unassuaged arousal.

"No, it's not," she countered sharply. "I'm as frustrated as you are – you just can't see it. But I assure you – I want this. But I want it when we can both appreciate it and enjoy it."

She was right, of course – but that did nothing to address his now pressing needs.

"Of course," she added slyly, "I might be able to help you."

He raised a brow.

"Come with me," she said, rising from the bed, reaching for his hand.

He stood up, following as she led him toward the small bathroom that adjoined the bedroom.

Turning on the shower, it began to spray water into the enclosure and she stepped in.

"Beverly, there's no hot water yet," he protested.

"I assure you," she murmured, as she pulled him in behind her, "you're not going to care."

Protecting him against the brunt of the cold water by pressing her body against his, she slowly lowered herself until she was kneeling before him, then slowly drew him into her mouth.

The biting cold water of the shower, the delicious heat of her mouth… Dear God, he groaned silently. He ran his fingers through her hair, slowly setting his own pace as she licked and kissed and tasted his length…

With a sudden shriek, they both suddenly jerked free of one another, Picard slamming himself against the far wall of the enclosure while Beverly pushed the door open and fell onto the floor. Picard followed her a moment later, falling onto the ground beside her, staring into the shower stall as plumes of steam billowed out.

"They've re-engaged the water heater," Beverly said numbly.

"Indeed," he agreed – then began to laugh.

"Jean-Luc?"

"Beverly…" he began, then shook his head. "Sometimes Beverly, sometimes you just have to yield to the inevitable." He looked at her, leaned close and kissed her gently, but not passionately, then moved to his feet.

Sans arousal, Beverly realized a moment as she watched him stand. Raising her hand to him, he helped her to her feet, nodding at the shower. "Take advantage of the water," he said. "I'll go see what the status of the repairs is. Can I get you some coffee while I'm in the kitchen?" he added.

She nodded numbly, then moved toward the shower, turned down the temperature and stepped back in.

All right, she told herself, the first time with a lover – any lover – was rarely that great, but she had never had a first time turn into the unmitigated disaster that today had been.

Maybe I should just go back to the ship, she thought.

A half hour – and two cups of coffee later – her mood had lightened somewhat, especially as she realize that Jean-Luc was anything but upset. If anything, the debacles had left him… amused.

He smiled. He laughed.

And as they left the house shortly thereafter, his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her closely.

Intimately.

And she realized that she wanted that intimacy.

I was a fool, she thought.

Never again.