Part 2
"I preferred the nights when you were here," confesses Picard, taking a large bite from the bowl of oatmeal on the small tray table in front of him. He sits upright in a large lounge chair, Beverly in a chair beside him nursing a cup of coffee in the private room in the infirmary. Beverly had just relieved Doctor George from the night shift, and had brought Picard a hearty breakfast of oatmeal, fruit and herbal tea.
Smiling gently, Beverly takes a sip of her coffee. "Doctor George is wonderful." Tal had insisted that Beverly get some rest, so he had volunteered to watch the infirmary during the night shift and, most importantly, to personally take care of Beverly's personal charge, Jean-Luc Picard. So, the past two nights, Beverly had left Tal, the only one she could possibly trust, to keep tabs on Jean-Luc during the night.
Jean-Luc lifts another spoon of oatmeal to his lips. "He's fine, but he's not you."
Giggling, Beverly shakes her head at him. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," laughs Jean-Luc, looking to Beverly in merriment. "You somehow just know. I think you take better care of me than I ever would have taken care of myself."
Smiling bittersweetly, Beverly quietly sips her coffee.
"I mustn't be very well liked," remarks Picard casually, chewing slowly.
"What do you mean?" Beverly furrows her brow, confused.
Shrugging, Picard sets his spoon in the bowl of oatmeal. "I haven't had any visitors since I was admitted to the infirmary. The only one who's visited is my First Officer. And I got a call from my former First Officer, a William Riker. I mustn't have many friends."
Smiling, Beverly nods apologetically. "That's my fault, Jean-Luc. I haven't permitted any visitors. I've been screening your communication."
"Oh," whispers Jean-Luc, puzzled.
"You are very highly regarded, I assure you," Beverly almost laughs, leaning over in her chair to pat his knee. "Even if, perhaps, you do engender intimidation among many."
Seemingly satisfied, Picard bobs his head. "Where's my family?"
Withholding a frown, Beverly straightens in her seat. "You have a sister-in-law, Marie. She's actually on vacation with some friends. It's her first time ever setting foot off Earth. I…I didn't want to call her and alarm her. She'll be back in a couple weeks and I'm sure she'd be thrilled to see you."
"The rest of my family?" Picard asks inquisitively.
Exhaling deeply, Beverly reaches over and takes his hand. "You had a brother and young nephew. They perished in a house fire. Your mother and father passed a while ago."
Pursing his lips, Jean-Luc nods in understanding. "No family, then?"
Squeezing his hand, Beverly forces a smile. "You have me."
Lips curling into a tiny smirk, Jean-Luc rubs her hand in his. "We're family?"
Chuckling good-naturedly, Beverly's eyes sparkle. "Much better than family."
Chortling, Jean-Luc decides he adores the sound of the doctor's laugh and needs to make a point to say and do more to elicit her laughter. "Well, Doctor, I'd like to hear more about that."
Giggling, Beverly shakes her head, leaning back straight in her chair and retracting her hand. "Actually, I had an idea. You've physically recovered enough for me to release you from the infirmary, but I can't send you back to duty yet. I don't feel comfortable having you totally alone while your memory is still impaired. You still need ongoing outpatient therapy for your concussion. I have plenty of space at my place. While you're recovering you're welcomed to stay with me." Beverly is facing a dilemma. Technically, physiologically Jean-Luc is healthy enough to be released from the infirmary and live independently. He could obtain temporary quarters while the Enterprise is undergoing repairs. However, Beverly is acutely concerned about his long-term memory impairment. She knows he hadn't suffered a large concussion, and by all estimations he should make a full recovery from the minor head trauma he had suffered. What she believes is that she is seeing symptoms of the early stages of Irumodic Syndrome, and the neurographic scan had confirmed her suspicions. Beverly had already consulted with the foremost neurologist who had been studying Irumodic Syndrome for two decades, and the doctor had made plans to personally assess Picard in two days and offer Beverly a comprehensive prognosis and treatment plan for Picard's case. However, that left Beverly with a decision about what to do in the interim, and so she had decided to offer to make Jean-Luc a guest in her own home. She had hoped that that way she could ensure he was getting the therapy he required, she could watch over him, and be intimately involved in whatever steps needed to be taken after he met with the neurologist.
"Is this an offer you make all of your patients, Doctor?" teases Jean-Luc, lifting a brow playfully.
Grinning, Beverly rolls her eyes. "Just for my captain. Now, finish your breakfast and I'll get the administrative work completed and we'll get packed up."
Lifting a spoonful of cereal to his lips, Jean-Luc watches the doctor rise gracefully and make her way to the door. Whoever this woman is to him, she must mean the world to him. He's grateful that she's taken such nurturing and skillful care of him during his recovery.
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"Your apartment is lovely," comments Picard, padding slowly into the living area of Beverly's apartment.
Coming up behind him in the spacious, open-concept apartment, Beverly watches as Picard stares out the large picture windows over looking the San Francisco street. "Thanks. Make yourself at home. Would you like something to eat or drink?"
Shaking his head, Picard meanders around the living area as Beverly drops a small med kit on the kitchen counter. "No, thank you."
"I retrieved some clothes for you and some of your personal items from your cabin on the Enterprise. They're in a travel case in my spare bedroom," Beverly relays, unpacking some hypos of medicine for Picard that she packed in a medical kit on top of the counter.
"Oh, uh…Thank… thank you." Pleasantly surprised, Picard pauses by the sofa. How she would know to do that and what he'd need and want is beyond him. A little light-headed, Picard lowers himself onto the sofa.
Beverly crosses over to the living area, where Picard is perched on the sofa, staring at holophotos on the end table next to the sofa. "I'm going to work from home this afternoon. I have a report I have to finish. I'll be set up at my desk over there, but I'm here if you need anything." Pausing in front of the sofa, Beverly rests her hands on her hips, watching Picard fixated with the holophotos. "Jean-Luc?"
Jean-Luc gestures to two photos on the end table, one of a very young Beverly in a white lace gown in the arms of a young Starfleet officer, and the other of an equally young Beverly cradling an infant child to her chest. "Your family? Your husband and baby? They're not here?"
Face falling, Beverly crosses her arms over her chest, shivering. "No. My husband, Jack, died a very long time ago."
Blinking rapidly, Picard softens, looking up at Beverly sincerely. "I'm very sorry to hear that."
Brushing aside his empathy, Beverly sits next to him on the sofa and draws his attention to the holophotos on the coffee table, pointing to a large group photo taken on the day of William Riker and Deanna Troi's wedding. "That's my son, Wesley. He's on the Titan, with Will Riker and Deanna Troi."
Examining the photo, Jean-Luc smiles easily, studying the cheerful faces of the old crew of his old ship. "Ah, yes, of course. I think Will Riker mentioned Wesley when he called yesterday."
"You were a very important role-model for him for years before he went to the Academy," Beverly tells Picard, pointing at a photo she must have taken on the Bridge of the Enterprise, where Wesley is at the helm and Picard is leaning over giving Wesley some instruction. "He still looks up to you."
Picard's eyes wander to the last photo on the table, three smiling faces, and he can recognize a much younger version of himself, Beverly and her husband.
"On your old ship, the Stargazer," Beverly comments as he examines the picture, squeezing his bicep. "I was visiting Jack. You and Jack were as thick as thieves."
"All of these photos…" Picard runs his thumb over his lips, his eyes scanning the holos. "These faces are somehow familiar. I just…I just can't place them properly."
"That's okay," Beverly assures him, rubbing his arm. "You'll heal and your memory may come back. Our doctors and therapists are going to work with you. There's so much we can do to help you." Beverly knows. She knows she needs to tell him about the Irumodic Syndrome, but she just can't bring herself to do it yet.
Jean-Luc takes her hand in his and squeezes it affectionately, his eyes meeting hers. "Thank you, Beverly. You're right. We are…better than family."
Laughing lightly, Beverly leans in and pecks his cheek.
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"You ready to put down Shakespeare and go to bed?" teases Beverly, lowering herself onto the sofa beside Picard.
Picard, absorbed in the hard-cover paper book in his hands, glances up at her sheepishly. "Oh,uh…Sorry."
Laughing, Beverly rotates to press a hypospray to his neck. "Don't apologize. That's why I brought it from your cabin. It's good that you're reading, that you can concentrate and enjoy it."
Speechless, Jean-Luc stares openly at Beverly as she quickly runs the diagnostic wand of her tricorder in front of his face. He had never seen her out of uniform, and he's awe-struck by her raw beauty. In a soft royal purple terrycloth robe, her hair woven into a loose chignon at the nape of her neck and her face shining freshly washed, the doctor is no super model at present. But, Jean-Luc feels his skin warm and heart palpitate, suddenly feeling a warmth of attraction.
"You okay, Jean-Luc?" Beverly furrows her brows, studying the flush in his cheeks.
Giving his head a shake, Jean-Luc nods. "Yes, uh…Time for you."
A little puzzled, Beverly watches as Picard tucks the book under his arm and stands.
"Goodnight, Beverly. Have a good sleep," stutters Jean-Luc, anxious to retreat to the spare bedroom Beverly had prepared for him.
"Have a good sleep, Jean-Luc." Standing off of the sofa, Beverly touches his arm. "If you need anything I'm right next door. Please don't hesitate."
Smiling lightly, Picard wonders what he ever did to deserve her friendship.
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Startled to consciousness, Beverly jumps up in bed, the bedsheets falling to her lap. She's aware of an insistent knocking at her door, and she blinks the sleep from her eyes in the dark room as she turns on the light. "Come in."
The door slides open and Picard, barefoot, clad in his pyjama bottoms, tentatively steps into the bedroom.
"Jean-Luc? What's wrong?" Sitting bolt upright, Beverly tosses aside the bedsheets, prepared to get up and tend to her charge.
"I remember," Jean-Luc tells her earnestly, crossing the room.
"Remember what?" Beverly asks, studying him cautiously as Jean-Luc approaches the bed.
"Everything," chokes Jean-Luc, hot tears brimming in his eyes.
Beverly pats the edge of the bed, gesturing for him to sit down. "What…what memories, Jean-Luc?"
Perching on the edge of the bed, Jean-Luc shakes. "It was me. I was the one who was responsible for killing your husband."
Eyes widening, Beverly's jaw drops. Clad only in her thin satin nightgown, Beverly clamours up beside Jean-Luc, swinging her bare legs over the side of the bed. "That's not true!"
Nodding, Jean-Luc stares at the floor. "Yes. He was my best friend, and I let him down. And, I betrayed him."
Laying one hand on his knee, Beverly tilts his chin to look directly in his eyes. "You did not."
"Oh, yes," laughs Jean-Luc, covering her hand on his knee with his own hand. "I fell in love with my best friend's wife."
Softening, Beverly exhales, squeezing his knee. "Nothing ever happened between us, Jean-Luc."
"You were scared?" asks Jean-Luc in confirmation, gazing impossibly deep into her clear blue eyes. He seems to recall her rejection, her warm lips on his skin, her hand on her cheek. He had desperately wanted to make it work after decades of repressing his unrequited love and finally discovering that she had harboured feelings for him, only to be rejected, Beverly still nervous about crossing the threshold from friends to lovers.
"I couldn't stand to lose you, Jean-Luc," confesses Beverly, desperately trying to withhold the stinging tears threatening to overflow.
"What makes you think you would?" asks Jean-Luc seriously, a smile in the corner of his lips.
Lips trembling, Beverly looks into the hazel depths of his eyes, begging him to understand her trepidation. " I lost Jack. I was a widow…I…was just a kid and I was a single mother. I learned so young that this was the Starfleet life. But, I had Wesley and I had my life ahead of me, so I was independent and I made a wonderful life for me and my son. But, I didn't know if I could ever put my heart on the line again. I didn't want to experience that again."
A single tear cascading down his cheek, Jean-Luc's heart breaks. He brings Beverly's trembling hand to his lips and presses a kiss to her palm. "I know you've grieved. I know you don't want to go through that pain again. But, is it not better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all?"
Cracking, Beverly sobs, turning her head into his neck and bracing her hands against his warm, bare chest.
Enveloping his arms around her back, Jean-Luc kisses her hair. "I was merely making a terrible literary reference. Please don't cry."
But, she knows it's so much more than all that. Beverly buries her face in the warm flesh of his neck, staining his neck in her tear tracks as her sobs subside. It's not just her insecurity following the loss of her husband at such a young age. Jean-Luc has been the one rock steady of her entire adult life. And, now, with this new diagnosis, she wonders how long she'll be able to cling to that notion. How can she give in and surrender to her feelings, knowing that she could lose him to this ruthless disease? Conversely, how can she possibly let him suffer in solitude? Now more than ever, she needs to be there for him in every way possible.
Caressing her back, Jean-Luc sighs. He's exhausted and hurt and aching and entirely confused. His mind is foggy, trying to recollect specific details, but he's entirely positive that this woman is his world. "I'm on the Enterprise because it's the only companion I have left. My career, my command, has been the only driving force in my life. You're here at Medical because you're hiding. You're scared and you're hiding from the potential pain and hurt that could eventually come from the loss of what I know would be the most fantastic relationship. I'm tired of this rut. I'm far too old for this. No more 'Hide 'N Seek', no more Cat and Mouse. The game is over. Come out of your hiding spot. Let's make this real."
Drawing back, Beverly gazes searchingly into the rich hazel of his eyes, and finds his soul open to her. "Welcome home, Jean-Luc. I've missed you."
Jean-Luc cups her cheek, capturing her lips in a slow, sweet kiss. Slipping her hands around his neck, Beverly returns the kiss eagerly, her head spinning.
"I love you," confesses Jean-Luc, peppering her lips in short kisses, his hands sliding down her backside.
Stroking his neck, Beverly feathers his lips with a light kiss. "I love you, Jean-Luc."
Taking a steadying breath, Jean-Luc pecks her nose, almost shuddering in relief and contentment. "I…uh… woke you up in the middle of the night. I…uh…I'm sorry, Beverly. I should…let you sleep."
Dropping her hands to his arms, Beverly grins, urging him to lie on his back on the bed. "Come lie down."
Jean-Luc lets her guide him and then settles in, turning off the light. Beverly slips into the bed beside him, folding the bed sheets over top of them.
Turning onto her side to face him, Beverly tucks one arm beneath her head under the pillow and lays her other hand on Jean-Luc's chest beneath the blankets. "Comfortable?"
Curled up with his side against her, Jean-Luc covers her hand on his chest with his own and rotates his neck to drop a kiss to her forehead. "Thank you. I feel…right at home."
Rubbing his chest, Beverly lets out a long breath, relaxing into her pillow. "Goodnight, Jean-Luc. Sweet dreams."
Closing his eyes, Jean-Luc kisses her again, wondering if this is the reality or the dream. "Goodnight, my love."