She heard them even before she saw them. The loud, strident tones of none other than Deanna's mother, Lwaxana Troi, out in the corridor, complaining about something Beverly couldn't make out – followed a moment later by the soothing rumble of Jean-Luc's unmistakably resonant baritone.
So, she's arrived then. Sorry, Deanna, Beverly mentally sent to her friend, then sighed and stood up from her desk as Captain Picard ushered his guest into sickbay.
Mrs. Troi was instantly recognizable in a long, shimmering gown of royal blue, which contrasted sharply with the muted grey of Jean-Luc's uniform. She was cradling her left arm protectively across her torso – apparently the source of the consternation – and leaning heavily against her companion. Her other arm, Beverly couldn't help noticing, was wrapped smugly around the captain's waist – possibly contributing to the obvious stiffness in his demeanor.
At that instant Jean-Luc's eyes met Beverly's and a frisson of pleasure swept through her. He had been off the ship for nearly a week, attending a conference of Federation and Betazed diplomats on Ferred VII, and just the sight of him swelled her heart like a lovesick schoolgirl.
She hoped it never stopped doing that.
"Doctor Crusher, you must help me!" Lwaxana demanded as Beverly came towards them, tricorder in hand. She thrust out her wounded arm and drew up the sleeve to reveal a cluster of angry red puncture marks just above her wrist. "We'd only just left the outdoor reception and were on our way to the transporter area when this thing just flew out of nowhere and bit me!"
"A bat-like creature called a Timellian redwing," Jean-Luc supplied to Beverly as she ran her tricorder over the injury. "We've been assured that it's not poisonous to Betazed physiology."
"It certainly hurts!" Lwaxana snapped.
"Don't worry," Beverly said in her most soothing bedside manner, picking up a hypospray and injecting a local anesthetic and painkiller into the woman's arm with a practiced touch. "We'll have you fixed up in no time, Mrs. Troi."
She walked Lwaxana and her reluctant escort towards an empty biobed and motioned to the Betazed woman. "Please sit," she invited as she busied herself with a tissue regenerator. "This should only take a few moments."
Lwaxana perched on the edge of the biobed and, finally releasing her hold on Picard, carefully pulled the long sleeve of her gown up as Beverly began to run the machine over the torn skin on her forearm. "Thank you, my dear." She turned to Jean-Luc. "I knew I could count on you."
Beverly noted the bright, admiring gaze that Lwaxana fixed on the uncomfortable man standing at her side and bit back a sardonic smile. Mrs. Troi never changed. She was still beautiful, still imperious, and still throwing herself at the first available handsome, sexy man. Or just the first available man.
Only Jean-Luc wasn't available, she reflected with a hint of smugness. Not any more.
Dark, penetrating eyes met hers as Mrs. Troi looked up from watching the progress of the tissue regenerator across her wrist, and Beverly was suddenly reminded why being in the presence of a true telepath was like walking naked in public. All her innermost thoughts and secrets were on full display to the Betazed matriarch.
Yet at the moment she found she didn't mind. She loved Jean-Luc with every fiber of her being, and she didn't care who knew it. And she had no doubt that he felt the same way about her.
And unexpectedly, instead of showing affront or anger at the earlier uncharitable thoughts that had been running through Beverly's mind, Lwaxana's expression was soft – even kind. "Well, I see," she said with a knowing nod. "He's yours now, is he?"
The question was clearly rhetorical. Which was just as well, because Beverly wasn't quite sure how to respond. She felt a blush rising over the collar of her uniform. Her personal life – and that of the Captain – was something she still rarely felt comfortable talking about in public. And definitely not here in the middle of her workplace.
"Oh, no need to be embarrassed," the older woman told her, her voice sounding unnecessarily loud to the doctor. She wasn't as keen to attract attention to the subject as the telepath seemed to be. "Anyone with half a brain can tell the two of you are besotted with each other."
Beverly felt her jaw drop in surprise, and saw Jean-Luc stiffen beside her. Fortunately, a quick glance around the room told her that the other members of her staff were currently busy with their own patients and, hopefully, were out of earshot anyway.
Lwaxana's shrewd obsidian eyes gazed at them benevolently. "And you have nothing to worry about, you two," she added apropos of nothing. "Not one couple in ten thousand loves each other the way you do."
Beverly risked a furtive glance at Jean-Luc, who judging by the look on his face seemed just as stunned as she was by the comment.
Before either could reply Lwaxana rubbed her fingers briskly over her newly healed arm and inquired, "Are we finished, my dears? I feel positively as good as new."
Beverly nodded and reached out blindly to lay her equipment on the table beside her.
Lwaxana patted her cheek and stood. "Thank you, darling," she said. "And you, my gallant Captain," she added to Jean-Luc. Her eyes slid back to Beverly's as she grinned an impish grin. "Or should I say, Doctor Crusher's gallant Captain."
Jean-Luc's strangled-sounding cough was the only sound as Mrs. Troi sailed across the room towards the door.
"I only hope you'll be a good example for my daughter," the Betazed woman added as she paused in the doorway and looked back at them over her shoulder. "I do so wish she'd get together with that handsome young Commander. Or that tall, ever so distinguished Klingon. One or the other." Her eyes lit. "Or both."
She airily waved a hand at the pair. "I'll see the two of you later. Ta ta."
Beverly stood motionless in bemusement until the sickbay door slid closed behind the telepath. Then she slowly blinked and turned to stare at Jean-Luc, feeling a bit like she'd just been caught in the path of a benign yet extremely perceptive hurricane.
"Not one couple in ten thousand," Beverly murmured at last. It felt oddly like a benediction of sorts.
"Not one in ten million," Jean-Luc replied firmly.
He said it with such fervor, such heartfelt conviction, that Beverly nearly forgot her resolve to be professional with him in public at all times and kissed him senseless then and there.
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