Thanks for sticking around and reading my little tryst with TNG fanfiction. All your feedback has been much appreciated. Sorry the ending is a bit longer than I had anticipated. Hope you've enjoyed my work!
The senior staff of the Enterprise took a well-deserved break after they docked at the Starbase. Beverly Crusher began to recover, slowly but surely, over the two weeks of shore leave they were granted. After the first week, she was given leave to return to her quarters. After ten days, she began venturing on short walks through the malls and arboretums, on the arm of her attentive son.
She spent her mornings in physical therapy with Lieutenant Ogawa and Worf. In the afternoons she and Data went over documentation of the infection and its antidote in anticipation of the paper the two of them would write together when she was well. In the evenings, Deanna Troi would come to her quarters, partially for counselling, partially for eating chocolate and watching old films in bed.
Beverly had lost a considerable amount of weight in her weeks unconscious. Her uniform fit a bit loosely, and Deanna was determined to help her gain back her shape. Even more so than a counselling patient, Deanna saw her as a friend in need of love and support.
They talked about Beverly's career, her accomplishments. Deanna wanted her to be as confident and strong as ever, even though she felt a bit of regret in Beverly. It was too late for two of the patients. They didn't make it through treatment, and Deanna sensed that Beverly held herself responsible for this.
They talked about Wesley, and how Beverly could move forward making a stronger bond with him, not losing their closeness through the distance of time and space.
There were things even Deanna was afraid to touch on. She sensed strong indications of falsehood when Beverly talked about her time unconscious-about how she heard voices but couldn't understand words.
Deanna knew Beverly was lying. Beverly knew Deanna was aware of this. The two of them danced around this topic. Deanna saw her fear and understood it. Everyone was very honest to Beverly's comatose body. Too honest, in some cases. Beverly was afraid of acknowledging this, admitting she knew secrets she didn't feel like she deserved. The things you tell someone on their deathbed are meant to stay buried in their grave.
Still, as the two of them shared a bowl of chocolate ice cream while watching a post-noir holofilm, Beverly's voice trembled between the dialogue.
"I dreamt about Jack a lot."
Deanna kept her eyes on the film, knowing that direct attention might scare Beverly away from openness. "Mmhm?"
"Well... there were times when I thought I might be joining him, wherever he may be. I know its against logic and science, but sometimes, I heard his voice clearer than I had in years. It was calling me. Back to that cramped bed in his Starfleet quarters, right before he shipped out. The places we learned each others bodies and stories..."
Deanna traced her spoon on the edge of the bowl. "Did you want to follow him?"
"Sometimes, yes..." Deanna stole a glance at Beverly. Her eyes were fixed and shining, the reflection of the film dancing across her pupils. But she wasn't watching anymore. She was seeing something distant, just out of reach. She broke her gaze suddenly and looked down. "... but there are things here I can't easily leave behind. Wesley, my work, my friends..."
Beverly's voice trailed off and her lips pressed together like she was holding something back. Deanna knew what that something was. Everyone did-they didn't need empathic abilities. She nestled her head between Beverly's neck and shoulder.
"When are you going to tell him?"
"What?"
"That you were awake. That you heard everything."
Neither of them looked away from the film. A silence enveloped them, and Deanna was afraid she had gone too far.
"I don't know. I don't know when I'll be ready. But..."
Deanna closed her eyes. She was hit with such a strong typhoon of emotions that she needed to remind herself to breathe. It was confusion wrapped in uncertainty, and fear woven with guilt and sorrow.
All of this was cradled in the soft velvety embrace of deep love, nurtured for years behind closed doors, restless and beautiful like an exotic bird in a golden cage.
The cage couldn't hold it much longer. It had grown so much, fed with such care, that its bright feathers were poking out between the bars.
"I'm afraid that I won't be able to forget. I can't make myself go back to the way things were. But... where can I go from here? Forward? Backwards? I just don't know."
"There's only one place you can go, Beverly. And it's neither here nor there."
"Where?"
Deanna plucked the bowl from Beverly's hand and set it on the floor next to her bed. She leaned back again, put an arm around her friend and held her against her neck. "The only way any of us can go... onward."
Beverly stared at the holoprojection. She had lost track of what was happening in the movie. Her hand found Deanna's and she grasped it, as though she were a child looking for support in her first steps. "Onward..."
They spoke no more about it. Still weak, and tired from her activities that day, Beverly drifted off on Deanna's shoulder.
Wesley rang the chime to his mother's quarters. Twice. Thrice. His heart began beating a bit faster. He was about to call security when Counsellor Troi opened the door.
"It's okay." She said immediately, sensing his anxiety. "She's asleep. I drifted off a bit myself, actually," she chuckled. "But I have to be getting to my next appointment."
"I thought you were on leave?" Wesley asked as he attempted to calm himself. The smallest things were setting him off. It would take a while before he could shake the feeling of imminent danger.
"I never said it was a professional appointment." She winked. "If you'll excuse me."
Wesley stepped aside. He had just been spending some time learning poker tricks from Riker, when Riker excused himself to "keep an engagement." He could barely hide his smirk as he watched Troi pass.
He found his mother lying fully dressed in the dark. Her cheekbones were even more prominent than usual, and she looked frail. His mother had always seemed so big when he was younger, with hair like wildfire and steady surgeon's hands. But now he was taller and sturdier, and she had to tilt her head up slightly to look at him.
Watching her sleep was hard. Wesley couldn't shake the fresh memories of her on the biobed, and the fear that she would never wake up. He sat on the bed next to her, leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "Mom?" He said softly, squeezing her shoulder gently.
His mother stirred, mumbling something incoherent. Wesley smiled. He remembered countless mornings being woken by her gentle voice, and laughed slightly at the role reversal. "Hey. It's almost dinnertime."
Her eyes fluttered open slightly, and then squeezed closed again. Her mouth twisted into a smile before she rolled over and buried her face into her pillow. "Five more minutes?" Her muffled voice pleaded.
"What's the magic word?" He mimicked his mother's chiding tone.
"Pleaaase?" She mimicked the childish whine she had to scold him out of the habit of when he was young.
He lay down next to her, staring at the ceiling. He nudged her shoulder gently with his, before turning his face to look at her pile of hair. "I missed this: just you and me versus the galaxy. The U.S.S. Crusher sailing through the stars."
His mother's face emerged from the pillow, their eyes meeting with a swell of warmth. "You're making me sad, Wesley. You really have grown up. A few years ago, you would have rather died than say something like that."
He shrugged. "It had to happen sometime. Travelling through spacetime will do that."
She leaned forward and placed an affectionate peck on his shoulder. "Alright, my Number One. What's for dinner?"
"Well, I'm glad you asked because-"
Wesley was cut off by the chirp of the door chime.
The Crushers gave each other questioning looks. They exchanged shrugs and sat up, propping themselves up on the pillows. "Come!" They called out in unison, mocking the Captain's tone, and then breaking into giggles. They heard the door open in the common area, but were too busy jostling each other with their shoulders and laughing to notice who was poking his head tentatively through the bedroom doorway.
"I'm sorry, am I interrupting?"
Both of their faces fell into shock as they snapped their gaze to meet Captain Picard's. He couldn't help but smile at the two Crushers staring at him like children caught misbehaving.
"I can come back if this is a bad time."
"N-No." Wesley jumped up to his feet. "Is everything okay?"
Beverly sat up straighter and crossed her legs. The Captain was in simple civvies, his expression a mixture of affection and awkwardness. "Yes, yes of course. I just... Well I was wondering... hoping, rather... do you have any plans for dinner?"
Wesley and his mother exchanged glances and Captain Picard watched a silent conversation pass between their eyes. They looked back at him.
"Wesley and I had plans to have dinner together, but you're welcome to join us. Wesley's picking our dinner course tonight."
"If I'm not imposing..."
"Not at all." Wesley chimed in. "I'm going to start replicating the food." With that Wesley made a quick retreat. He felt nervous in their presence all of a sudden. There was something vulnerable about the way they approached each other. The ease he had always observed in their relationship had hit a hiccup. Something was changing.
He heard their voices drifting through the doorway.
"How are you feeling?"
"Better everyday. Everyone's been so kind."
"Only returning the favor. I don't think anyone on this ship has been spared your kindness."
"Jean-Luc, you exaggerate."
Wesley felt a bit embarrassed to be overhearing their conversation. Despite their words being completely harmless, there was this softness in their voices that felt private. He was reminded distantly of his first flirtations with girls in adolescence, the way they fumbled through pleasantries, unknowingly changed the timbre of their voices to carry an almost secretive edge before they became confident in the presence of the opposite sex. He began setting dishes on the table a little more loudly.
Captain Picard made it a habit to check on his mother at some point every day. Each time, if Wesley was present, the exchange made him feel unbearably uncomfortable. They acted unlike themselves; Wesley had never seen them like this. He wanted to leave them alone, because watching his Captain and mother acting like blushing school children was mortifying. But every time he tried to make his escape they stopped him. He began to realize that they were afraid to be alone, and he and anyone else who had the misfortune of being in their presence acted as a shield between their feelings-a reason not to talk about the important things. This was not a role Wesley was accustomed to playing, nor one he very much liked.
Wesley and his mother were open about almost everything. They had always been very comfortable discussing their romantic pursuits with each other, but this particular person was on forbidden ground. They both knew he had read many personal entries in her journal but they were both operating under an unspoken agreement not to mention its contents. Every time Wesley came close to saying something, he looked into her eyes and felt himself hit a force field that sent him flying backwards. Yet here he was again. He sighed and paused a moment before returning to the bedroom.
His mother was sitting in the same position, back upright in her dancer's posture, fingers fidgeting with the sheets between her ankles. The Captain was sitting on the edge of the other end of the bed, leaning towards her. She resembled a scared stray kitten, afraid to approach the bowl of warm milk placed before her.
Wesley cleared his throat and they turned their attention to him suddenly. Wesley felt like a parent walking in on his teenage daughter with her first boyfriend-awkward and protective. "Dinner's ready."
"Of course. Thank you, Wesley." The Captain was the first to get up.
His mother slowly unfolded her limbs and got out of bed, stretching. "What cuisine are we eating?"
"Earth, twentieth century, Italian peninsula." Wesley said proudly. He had been spending a decent amount of time coming up with tasty meals for his mother as some form of thanks.
Beverly smiled. "Of course. I'm excited!"
The beginning of the meal was excruciating. Every time their fingers touched, Wesley was afraid either the Captain or his mother would drop whatever it was they were holding, they twitched or trembled so suddenly. Then there was a profuse apology and a long silence, which Wesley then had to break with some desperate small talk. But, after some time passed, they reacquainted themselves with each other. This was the longest time the two had spent together since she had woken up. The display of affection and emotion at that moment was sudden but not surprising to anyone who witnessed it. He heard Commander Riker, Counselor Troi, and Geordi laughing about it later-they were apparently anticipating something a bit more passionate and were somewhat disappointed. After that, though, the two had barely gotten any time together, and their brief interactions had devolved into this awkward disaster as they both fumbled with their words.
By the time Wesley brought out dessert, the two were back to their old banter, arguing about this and that, teasing each other mercilessly. Wesley thought that the wine he had brought to share over dinner might have helped ease the tension a little. The synthohol couldn't get them drunk, but it could certainly make them relax.
"Wesley, you should have seen the look on this poor ensign's face—" They were laughing about some occasion when a fresh ensign had spilled a container of alien waste on the Captain's shoes. "Honestly, Jean-Luc you were giving her such a look too—"
"That's because I couldn't for the life of me remember her name!"
"Alyssa and I were trying so hard not to laugh—"
"—You weren't doing a very good job!"
Wesley settled comfortably next to his mother, content to just listen. Things finally felt natural again. Captain Picard was leaning forward, his eyes laughing and gentle-very unlike the Captain Picard Wesley knew on the bridge. Right now, he was just Jean-Luc. His eyes lit up every time his name passed across Beverly's lips. She was in a fit of giggles, her face half hidden behind her hands. Flushed cheeks and a crinkled nose peeked out from her fingertips. Wesley couldn't help but smile. This was his favorite side of his mother.
As they wrapped up dinner, Wesley insisted on cleaning up. He watched the two of them drift slowly towards opposite doorways, and sensed their reluctance to part. Just as he was coming up with a good reason to run off, Captain Picard made a resolute move towards the door.
"Thank you for a wonderful evening, Wesley." There was something deliberate about the way he addressed Wesley.
Wesley nodded in return, flashed a quick smile. "No problem, Captain. It was fun."
"Will you..." Both of them turned to his mother, who was leaning against the bedroom doorframe. She paused, looking embarrassed with both of them looking directly at her. Her voice was a bit quieter as she continued. "Will you join us tomorrow?"
He nodded. "I would like nothing more. Goodnight, Beverly."
The two of them stared at each other for a long moment before he finally left. Wesley let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. That parental feeling was returning.
He set down the plate he was holding with a sigh. "Mom."
"Wes, don't even."
"I know, I know. I'm not supposed to say it. But, come on."
His mother retreated into the bedroom. Wesley abandoned the dishes momentarily and followed her in, leaning against the doorway and watching her pull out her hair and begin brushing it.
"Why are you two always like this? What's the issue? Is it Dad?" Wesley was going for it. He had stepped onto forbidden turf and he would have to make a mad dash if he was going to make it across.
"Wes, no, that's not it. I really don't want to talk about it."
"What are you afraid of?"
"There... there are more important things than having a romantic relationship. There's a lot to lose." She sighed and rested her hairbrush on her lap, staring into the bristles as though they had answers to all her questions.
He sat next to her on the bed, took one of her hands. "Mom, when I left the Academy, it was one of the riskiest decisions I had made. But you encouraged me, and I made up my mind and took that risk. I didn't even understand the scope of what I had to gain before I took that step."
"Oh Wes, stop being so mature."
"I just want you to be happy."
"You grew up too fast."
"I know."
"I fold."
"Worf, come on. Are you afraid of a little risky business?"
The Klingon growled a little.
Riker laughed and apologized. "Come on, you know I'm kidding."
The old crew was back at the poker table, two nights before they had to return to duty. Captain Picard had opted to stay in his quarters to finish a book he was almost to the end of and Wesley was sitting in his seat. They had come to the usual crossroads; Beverly and Will were the last ones standing and everyone was eagerly waiting for the outcome.
At that point, Wesley leaned over and whispered something into Riker's ear and his face instantly split into his signature impish grin. "Bev, let's raise the stakes."
Beverly cocked an eyebrow. "What do you propose?"
"If I win, Wesley joins me, Geordi, Worf, and Data for boys' night on the holodeck rather than third wheeling your dinner with Captain Picard tonight."
Geordi chimed in with approval and Deanna pursed her lips to suppress a laugh at Beverly's face.
Beverly flushed and then pressed her lips into a tight line. "And if I win?"
"We'll all dine with you and the Captain tonight."
She narrowed her eyes. Everyone in the room seemed to be conspiring against her. Even Worf looked a bit amused by the situation, a small smirk invading his serious demeanor.
"Fine."
The game ended with Wesley and Will high fiving, and Beverly staring at her cards looking absolutely mortified.
"I think you're going to like the program we've got lined up for tonight, Wes."
"Looking forward to it, Commander."
"Shall we make our way to Ten Forward, then?" Geordi stood up. "Have some dinner and get ourselves geared up?"
There were murmurs of agreement and everyone began getting up as Data expertly cleared the table.
Beverly directed one last pleading glance at Deanna, but she just shrugged. "I think I'm going to have dinner with the boys and turn in early. I barely got any sleep last night."
Beverly returned to her quarters feeling betrayed. She was counting on having Wesley with them at dinner again. The shame she felt in hiding behind her son was outweighed by her fear of being exposed.
She returned to her quarters and suddenly felt thirty years younger, the way her heart and stomach wrestled with each other inside her chest. She couldn't even begin to think of what to wear. She had already pulled out and tossed aside several options.
She heard the door open and was hoping it was Deanna (who else would enter without ringing?) coming to her rescue.
Instead Wesley poked his head in.
"Did you change your mind?" She asked hopefully.
"Just forgot my jacket." He looked around the bedroom and a flicker of amusement crossed his face.
"Don't even say a word." Beverly shot him a warning look. "This is your fault."
He shrugged but couldn't suppress a Riker-ish grin. He leaned over and plucked a simple dark green dress off the floor. "Wear this one. Trust me."
A recollection passed through Beverly's mind, but before she could form a response, Wesley had fled the room. She sighed, but put on the dress regardless.
All of the reckless parts of Beverly were threatening to gain dominance. She was actually beginning to look forward to their time alone, realizing how much she was anticipating it. She put away her clothes slowly; folding each one neatly calmed her. When she finished she found herself wishing her insides were as orderly as her bedroom.
The door chimed. She took a deep breath and went to answer it.
Jean-Luc was standing at the doorway holding a bottle of wine. "Good evening." The way his eyes passed quickly over her body before meeting her eyes sent a buzz from her chest to her fingertips. "You are looking better every time I see you. Wesley must be taking great care of you."
Beverly stepped aside to let him enter. "He is."
"Where is Wesley? I brought the wine I was telling him about."
Beverly bit her lip. "He… isn't coming."
It was difficult to gauge Jean-Luc's reaction, but he did suddenly appear less at ease. "Oh?"
"Will and the boys kidnapped him for a night out on the holodeck."
"Ah, yes. I would be careful about that; they expressly told me that I was not being included because they intended to spend an evening that would be inappropriate to share with their captain."
Beverly's eyebrows flew up. "Well, I most certainly don't want to hear any more about it."
"Shall we?" Jean-Luc placed the bottle on the table and traced a finger over the corked top.
"Why not. Now I think Wesley saved a menu for us in here somewhere…"
The two busied themselves with separate things, but the awareness of each other's bodies thickened the air in the cabin.
It was comfortable, very much like the breakfasts they shared before Beverly's illness. They navigated the room as though they were choreographed, chatting and passing by each other as they set the table. Jean-Luc chose to place the settings at one corner of the table rather than on opposite ends. Beverly noted this but didn't say anything. Privately, at moments like this she had fleeting images of what life together would be like. Jean-Luc making breakfast in the morning, Beverly making tea in the evening. Dinner together, talking about their day. She was slowly awakening to how much she longed for it all this time, somewhere in a dark corner of her mind. Her time trapped in paralysis dusted off the remote nooks and crannies inside her. All the artifacts that had been hidden there for years sat neatly in a row, gleaming with new polish.
As the wine worked its way into their systems, they leaned closer, picked bits of dessert off each other's plates (Beverly liked the filling, while Jean-Luc preferred the crust). The soft music in the background began to lull them into a tipsy daydream.
They moved to the couch and resumed their usual positions: Jean-Luc sitting with his body turned towards her, one arm draped over the back, Beverly curled up in the corner resting her chin on her knees.
"Last time we were like this, I fell asleep on your couch." Beverly gave him a small embarrassed smile.
"Oh yes, I remember clearly. You were trying to pretend you were listening to me talk about some archaeological artifact up until the last moment. You were nodding and mumbling agreement when I noticed your head was completely dropped to one side."
She laughed softly, burying her head in her knees. "No wonder I fell asleep!"
"You're right, I might be the one at fault there."
Beverly peeked up from behind her knees and gave him a look that was much more intense than she intended.
At first he looked as though he was about to break eye contact, but then thought better of it, stopping short before turning away. Instead, he leaned a bit closer, brushed her bangs from her eyes in a gesture she had come to find familiar and comforting. She closed her eyes and leaned into it slightly.
"Penny?"
She opened her eyes. "What?"
"Penny for your thoughts?" He said softly, borrowing her phrase.
She bit her lip, unsure of where to even start. "Do you even have a penny?"
"That bottle of wine is worth more pennies than you have thoughts."
She laughed a bit. "That's true."
"I admit... I was very afraid. I didn't know how much I would regret losing you until it almost happened." He held the tips of her fingers gently in his. "I hope we can be honest with each other. I don't want to have so many regrets."
"You were honest, Jean-Luc." She placed her other hand on his cheek. "You've always loved me enough, treated me with such care. You've always been such a wonderful friend. You shouldn't have any regrets."
Jean-Luc recoiled from her touch, releasing her fingers suddenly. "You heard?"
Beverly licked her lips and took a breath before nodding. "Every word." Her voice was barely above a whisper now. Jean-Luc sat back against the couch, took his wine from the table and took a long sip. He stared out at nothing.
After a moment, he spoke again, his voice soft and hesitant. "I tried… I tried to move on. Bury my feelings. They ate at me. Twenty-five years is a long time for something to fester within you. I could never truly be rid of it. And every time we're close to each other, it all comes back to the surface. I know we set our limits, and it's unfair to you, but…"
Beverly uncurled herself and leaned towards him, placing a hand on his knee. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I felt… invasive. But you're not the only one who's been unfair. I admit… I haven't been keeping my distance the way I promised I would. I'm always struggling to keep things in control, but then I indulge myself, spend too many hours in your quarters, I even wore this stupid dress..."
"You look beautiful in it."
"I knew you would think that."
"Beverly, what are we struggling for? To what end?" He looked at her now, very seriously, and placed his wine glass back on the table.
"For our friendship?" She offered meekly.
"We're not getting any younger. If we keep going like this, I am afraid the regrets will begin to outweigh all of the good feelings. The strength of our friendship will fall apart somewhere in the fight."
Beverly brought her knees back up against her chest in response. She reached for her wine and downed her glass to avoid giving a reply. The world was soft beneath its blanket. Despite the seriousness of their conversation, her need to defend herself, she kept getting distracted by the color of his eyes, the proximity of his shoulders, the bold lines that shaped his mouth.
"What are you thinking about right now, Beverly?" He leaned forward and tilted his head to catch her wandering gaze.
"Kissing you." The words came out without a second thought and they stared at each other, both equally shocked by the statement. Neither knew how or when their faces had moved so close.
Jean-Luc closed the gap finally, kissing her gently. She found herself leaning in, encouraging the advance. He pressed forward, moving his fingers into her hair and his thumb onto her cheek. Her empty wine glass slipped from her fingers and rolled onto the carpet.
He stopped, his eyes finding hers. They were fearful and hopeful all at once. "Perhaps…" He was surprised at how difficult it was to keep a steady voice. "Perhaps we should stop thinking for a moment."
Beverly liked that idea. She liked it very much, and showed her agreement by unfolding her legs and leaning forward to resume their kiss. She placed her hands on his chest, slid them around his neck, ran her fingertips along the back of his head. He wrapped his hands around her waist, pulled her hips closer, pressed his palms between her shoulder blades and down her spine. Every touch sharpened their senses, the haze of the wine giving way to the clarity of adrenaline.
Beverly's fingers made quick work before she could second guess herself. She slipped her hands into the opening of his shirt, pulling the robe-like garment out of his belt and over his shoulders. As he pulled the sleeves off and let it fall away, Beverly felt a rush of excitement wash over her at the sight. Jean-Luc felt his heart beat a bit faster at the way her eyes lit up as they wandered over his body. He grabbed her immediately and continued kissing her, not just her lips but her cheek, her ears, and along her neck. He wanted to kiss all the parts of her he had been longing to touch for so long. At first she laughed a bit, then she sighed, then she pulled him closer, squeezing his neck tightly between her arms and chest. She was barely aware of his fingers finding their way up to the nape of her neck, where they deftly undid the zipper of her dress. He trailed his lips along her neck, following the straps of her dress as he pulled them off, kissing her shoulder before pulling the whole dress down. He broke off, pulling back to look at her, running his hands along the shape of her waist. She was thinner than before—it was now more apparent than ever—but no less appealing.
She couldn't help herself from laughing now. "You look so amazed. How long has it been since you've undressed a woman, Jean-Luc?"
He was embarrassed suddenly, color rising into his cheeks. "It's not that… It's just… admittedly this sight has crossed my mind a time or two in the past quarter of a century, and it doesn't quite seem real."
She smiled, leaned forward, and pressed her body against his, kissing his neck. His eyes closed and he fell back onto the couch, Beverly climbing on top of him. Her hair left feathery touches on his face and neck. He pulled the dress over her hips. She climbed out of it one leg at a time, and dropped it to join his shirt on the floor.
"What are we doing, Jean-Luc?" She whispered between kisses.
"Don't tell me you've never thought about it."
"Of course I have." She slid her hands down his stomach, slipping her fingers into the hem of his pants. She felt his body tense as he inhaled sharply at her touch.
Neither of them could be sure they weren't caught up in one of their own fantasies. Countless scenes like this one had strayed into their minds over the years, but they never thought it would come anywhere near reality. They pulled the rest of their clothes off and reveled in the sensations of bare skin on skin contact. They explored every inch of each other with their hands and mouths, trying to imprint the shapes and textures in their minds. It was a clumsy pursuit, both out of practice and unfamiliar with each other's bodies, but even the missteps brought them closer, their gasps permeated by laughter and teasing quips.
Beverly's first climax sent her floating out of her body, even as her fingers grasped at edge of the couch and traced the shape of Jean-Luc's head between her thighs. She found herself back in the void of her mind, only this time consumed by the flame she had so carefully avoided, every part of her from her skin to the marrow in her bones catching, burning up, until the ashes settled back into her body.
Her second one severed the two of them from the rest of the ship and the starbase as she stared wide eyed into colors of the painting behind the couch. All matter dissipated and they were enveloped by the nothingness of space, Beverly holding onto his neck to keep herself from drifting into another galaxy as they rocked against each other.
The third time, they were on the floor and Jean-Luc went with her, his neck arching as he tried and failed to keep his eyes on her, his body trembling underneath her. They dematerialized together, their molecules ripping into atoms and then into subatomic particles that formed new compounds with each other before once again returning to their original forms in a shower of sparks. The words that they had been struggling to say out loud never needed to be spoken in the first place; the phrase simply passed through the stellar material that had been travelling space and time for billions of years to connect them in this moment.
Beverly rolled over and they lay on the carpet side-by-side. Her fingers found Jean-Luc's hand and she hooked her pinky in his. "What now?"
Jean-Luc turned his head to face her profile. "Well we certainly can't go back to the way things were."
"But after all this time, words like 'boyfriend' and 'husband' have lost all meaning."
They both knew this was true. Definitions seemed irrelevant in the wake of everything that had transpired between them. It was as though they had lived multiple lifetimes in the span of their time together, been several completely different versions of themselves.
"Well then what are we? Where do we go from here?"
Beverly turned her head and their eyes met. "Onward."
They crawled into bed together as the ship's morning crept closer. Things wouldn't be different right away. More years would pass, taking them on more ups and downs, ins and outs. At times they would be apart, and here and there they would play with the idea of being with other people. But in that moment as they drifted off into dreams, they both knew that they would always find their way back to each other, and their story would end like this: Beverly's head cradled in the crook of Jean-Luc's neck, their bodies suspended in the stars.