Jean-Luc was on Beverly's left, his right hand lightly supporting her elbow. Just as they stepped into the shadow of the shuttle, an inarticulate shout sounded near them. He turned his head to the left to see what the problem was, and in a heartbeat, she was gone from his grasp.
He instinctively reached for a phaser that wasn't there.
Rainbow colours seemed to swirl in the blazing noonday glare as Omnians moved in on the disruption. The four Enterprise Security Officers gathered close around their Captain, phasers discreetly held at waist height.
Then the crowd pushed back, creating an opening...
Beverly stood a few feet away, her back drawn up to the front of a burly Omnian. The top of her head did not reach his chin. His talons curled into delicate contact with critical points of her neck, three of them resting along her jugular vein, the opposing claw settled on her carotid artery. He might as well have held her at the point of a laser scalpel or a razor blade.
Time seemed to stop for Jean-Luc. His eyes met hers. She was afraid, but resolve and trust shone through. He could see the love they had denied each other for so long, for so many reasons...
When she had walked away from him, he had let her go. He had, admittedly, a small measure of relief at the time. She was right, maybe they *should* be afraid. The scrutiny, the accusations of favoritism... it would not have been an easy path.
He was a foolish, prideful old man who had not seen what was right in front of him. The speculation around their relationship abounded, most of it inaccurate, they *already* were under the microscope. Kes-Pryt had only added fuel to the fire.
The irony, of course, was they were denying themselves that which they were being damned for. What he never realized was how many of his crew actually felt they were destined for each other, and wished them well.
It had always been more obvious to those around them that the connection was already there. The fact that they slept in separate cabins, that they denied themselves, did not change the link.
The link was apparent enough an enemy had honed in on it; In the space of a heartbeat, had grabbed Beverly, held her life in his hands. Struck at Captain Jean-Luc Picard's most vulnerable weakness.
And every belief the Captain had ever held about strength and propriety crumbled in the face of his culpability for her peril. He faltered, he froze. All he could see were her sapphire eyes, gazing at him with confidence, devoid of any fear.
"Captain Picard," her captor spoke, his words loud and gravelly, "You will change the treaty to reflect the demands of the people, not these sell-out politicians."
Some Omnian peacekeepers had shown up and began to push forward at the words. Jean-Luc motioned them to hold their position. A nervous flinch by the hostage-taker, and a thin trickle of bright red blood traced down Beverly's neck.
She looked at Jean-Luc. His face was an implacable mask. The Federation did not
negotiate with terrorists. Only she could read the stark fear in his eyes.
She waited, alert for the right moment, confident in her training, in her crewmates. Waited for a movement, a signal, a sign of weakness from the enemy...
"I am not authorized to negotiate with anyone but the appointed parties." The Captain's voice was strong, masking his emotion. His gaze was locked on hers. He could not let himself see the thin line of red on her vulnerable throat. He willed his confidence in her to transmit through his look. Inside, his heart ached. Beverly... this was Beverly...
The onlooking crowd murmured at the exchange. A muffled shout of "Terrorist!" went up. The captor turned his face to scan the onlookers for the source of the heckle.
The Captain's security detail lived up to their training. Prompt, precise action and the life-and-death drama ended as suddenly as it began. The moment his attention diverted, two of them raised their phasers and shot. The Omnian dropped...
Beverly was spun out of her captor's grasp; the breath left Jean-Luc's lungs in a whoosh...
He reached her side, she was already moving to sit up. Relief overwhelmed caution, and he drew her to him, hands gently, frantically searching for injury. Fingertips brushed the crimson line on her throat, the bleeding had already stopped.
"I'm fine.. I'm fine Jean-Luc." Her voice finally made it through his terror. His hands stilled, he searched her face, trying to affirm her words. "I'm OK. Just caught a stun on my shoulder." She raised her uninjured arm, her hand rested on his jaw.
He raised his own hand to cover hers, to hold hers against him. His eyes searched her face. He turned, his lips finding her palm.
Eyes met, held. He cursed himself for wasting so long worrying about things that were not important. If their connection already was so obvious, why were they still apart? And it was so clear to him now. His life would be shattered without her.
Reality was a blur of motion, the security detail closed ranks around them and they shimmered back to the Enterprise. He made her go to Sickbay, he didn't quite order it, but she could not refuse him when he said "please," and his voice broke. An analgesic and muscle relaxant later, and she was prescribed rest and to take a day off before returning to duty.
To her amazement, he was there when she walked out of Sickbay. Just getting off the lift. She thought he must need something for his report... or...? Her heart bumped when it crossed her mind that he might be injured. "Jean-Luc?"
"You've discharged yourself already, then?" Relief poured through her at his words, followed closely by worry of a different sort.
"I have. What are you doing here?" He had reached her side. He found himself unable to stop his hand from lightly touching her unimpaired left arm.
"We need to talk."
Her stomach clenched. She knew how this would go... he would apologize for his kiss (her palm still tingled at the thought,) and explain how any kind of relationship could only end up in situations like this...
Wordlessly, she followed him to his cabin. Inside, they sat, he on her left. Tea remained untouched before them, instead, he reached for her hand.
He played with her fingers lightly. The hypospray had relieved the pain in her shoulder, but left her muscles heavy, languid. She dreaded what would come next.
"I owe you an apology." His first words, spoken quietly, were unexpected.
He lifted his eyes from their entwined hands, and met hers. "You were right."
She waited, perplexed. "Maybe we should be afraid."
She felt as if all the blood left her heart and sank down into her legs. She lowered her eyes to their hands. They fit so perfectly together... but there never seemed to be a time for them, a time when both of them were on the same page.
"We should be afraid of wasting this precious gift. There is nothing more valuable than time, once it is spent-or wasted-we can never get it back. I have wasted far too much time Beverly... "
He turned, facing her fully. Raised his other hand to trace the line of her throat which had been stained with her blood. His touch felt like a benediction.
Tears pushed beyond her control. "I am so sorry, Jean-Luc. I never, never meant to hurt you."
His dear, dear face drew nearer to hers. When his lips found her temple, she was jolted into action. Without thought she scrambled into his lap, into his arms. Much to her chagrin, however, rather than romance, reaction from the day's events set in, with a trembling she could not suppress.
Carefully he wrapped her in his embrace. She pushed into his warmth. Eventually the storm passed and she relaxed against him.
They talked for hours, then just remained together in the comfortable silence. She drifted off to sleep at some point, and did not argue when he lifted her and placed her in his bed. She only spoke when he attempted to leave her there... "Stay?"
"As long as you'll have me." He whispered, slipping in behind her.