When Jean-Luc awoke and realized that Beverly was back, he immediately brought his shirt to her, fully expecting her to dress him. He held it out to her.
"You can put it on if you want to," she said as she went about setting the table for a late lunch.
"You do it," he insisted.
"Jean-Luc," Beverly set a plate on the table, then reached out and gently took hold of his arms, her eyes gazing into his, "I'd like to help, but I've helped enough. You know I love you, and I'll be here for you always, but I've already done too much," she stressed the final words, hoping he understood.
Jean-Luc grimaced, his mouth twisting into a hard, straight line. She wasn't going to help him. Not anymore. He suddenly felt very alone, even with Beverly standing right in front of him. He pulled away from her grasp and went back into his bedroom. When she called him for lunch a few minutes later, he said he wasn't hungry.
It was a long afternoon. Beverly sat at the desk, working on computer files. And Jean-Luc, who had eventually emerged from the bedroom, was seated on the sofa looking at the new books Deanna had brought early that morning. He felt very uncomfortable half dressed in his pajama shorts, but he hadn't tried putting the shirt on again. It lay on the floor next to his bed, seemingly taunting him every time he walked by it.
When Beverly looked up from the computer some hours later and announced that it was bath time, Jean-Luc tensed. Usually, he liked taking a bath, but if he took his pajama shorts off to get in the tub, would she help him put them back on afterwards?
"Come on, Jean-Luc," she insisted, taking him by the hand and pulling him up off the sofa. Sensing his unease, she assuaged his fear. "After your bath, I'll help you put on some more pajama shorts, all right?"
He nodded, allowing her to lead him into the other room. She would help with his shorts, but she'd said nothing about a shirt. "You'll dress me?" he murmured.
"Just the shorts. You're still responsible for a shirt."
"Beverly," he pulled on her hand, but she held on to him firmly. "I can't… "
"Don't say you can't. You just haven't tried enough. I know it's not easy. But nothing worthwhile ever is."
She ran the bath water, then helped him out of his pajama shorts and into the tub. Usually, she would sit with him while he relaxed in the warm water for several minutes, then she would efficiently run a soapy bath cloth over his body, rinse him, help him out of the tub, and dry him off. But this time she handed him the soap and cloth and told him to do it himself. And then she left him there, in the tub, alone. She'd never done that. Never left him. Jean-Luc sat staring at the items in hands, and then with determination, he scrubbed the soap against the cloth and slowly began to slide the cloth over his arms and legs. A few minutes later, he caught sight of Beverly looking in at the open doorway. And she was smiling.
After a while, she came back and helped him out. "You did a very good job of taking a bath, Jean-Luc."
He grinned as she rubbed him down with a large towel. "I know." He took the towel out of her hands and wrapped it around his waist.
She went into the bedroom and he followed, his feet making wet prints on the carpeted deck. He stood in the middle of the room and watched her take a pair of pajamas out of the drawer. They were his blue ones. A lot like the grey ones, only the shirt tied in the front. She threw the shirt on the bed and brought him the shorts.
"I'll help with these," she said, holding the shorts out in front of her.
Jean-Luc allowed the towel to fall to the floor, and, placing a hand on Beverly's shoulder to steady himself, he stepped into the shorts, first one foot, then the other. She pulled them up and settled them around him waist and hips.
"Now," she motioned towards the bed, "you can try putting on that shirt."
Jean-Luc moved slowly to the bed and reached down, picked up the pajama shirt. He realized that since it tied in the front, he didn't have to worry about getting it over his head.
"I'll make a deal with you," Beverly continued. "You put on the shirt, and I'll tie it for you. Come in the next room when you're ready; I've got to see about making us some supper."
Jean-Luc stood there, holding the shirt to his chest as she left the room. And when she was gone, he immediately found one sleeve and stuck his arm into it. Straining the other arm around his back, he managed to find the other sleeve. And then, it was on. He went over and stared into the mirror above the dresser. It was on. Not tied, but on. And the right way.
Quite pleased with himself, he sauntered into the living area. Beverly met him halfway across the room, her hands reaching out and taking hold of the loose ties.
"I knew you could do it." She kissed him gently on the forehead. "Now, watch while I tie it, and you can try tying it tomorrow night."
Jean-Luc started to protest, but stopped himself. He would try tomorrow night.
He smiled into Beverly's blue eyes. "All right," he promised. He knew, at that moment, that he would do anything for her.
~vVv~
