I've never understood the instinctively universal knee jerk reaction of nearly all species in any time of duress to turn to prayer. I'm a scientist and as such I have been raised, bred, and taught to believe in the enduring power of the seeable and the known. Silent prayers to a conjectured deity used to have no meaning to me. But now as I sit in the car, silently driving home with my husband, I can't be persuaded not to pray, hoping that some benevolent, unseen, guiding force of the universe will somehow let everything be okay.

"Jean Luc?"

We haven't spoken since we left the office, but we also haven't stopped holding hands. I'm usually not this frail in the face of adversity. Heck, I risked my life flying into a sun to prove an untested theory! And a hundred other instances on the Enterprise proved that I truly am anything but feeble. But, the thought of this baby being in danger brings me to my knees.

"Beverly?" His voice is soft as he looks over to me. I don't answer right away so he gives my hand a heartening squeeze, refocusing me and bringing me back to him.

"I know it's a relatively simple procedure. I did one similar about 8 years ago on an expectant mother much like myself. I think we're going to be OK." I'm saying it for my benefit as much as I'm saying it for mine.

"I know, by the way Dr. Simon was talking about it, it sounds like a simple hernia repair!" His voice becomes light, airy and I smile.

"Yes. She did, didn't she?"

"To tell you the truth, Beverly, I'm just glad it's not worse." He lets go of my hand as he turns the car down our driveway. "I'm glad that they can fix him. I just hope that everything is really as simplistic as she says it's going to be. Do you know of this Dr. Portland? Is he good?"

I rub my eyes and my hand wanders unconsciously to my belly, "I've not heard bad things. I don't think I've ever met the man. Like I said, I've only seen his name on the OR rotation schedule. But, with doctors, you'd know if someone was bad; the nurses would tell you or you'd hear them gossip. And though I don't really listen to hospital gossip, I think that we can be assured that he'll do a good job."

"Beverly, be honest with me, do you want to go somewhere else? Do you want to go back to San Francisco to Starfleet Medical? Would you be more comfortable with this option." He sounds concerned; he'd do anything for me and this little baby.

"No. I thought about that, but I trust these doctors. They're not Starfleet, but they're all talented. I've seen their work and I'm impressed. No. We'll stay here and go with the original plan."

The car comes to a slow halt in front of our home and Jean Luc slowly turns off the ignition. I smile, remembering something he said, "so, you think it's a he?"

"Well, I know we've talked about it before and I know you want to wait until he's born, but I can't help but think it's a little boy."

I grab his hand again, "is that what you want?"

He smiles warmly, "I'd be happy with anything Beverly. Even if five months from now we find out that you're giving birth to a kitten, I'd be satisfied. I'm just happy that you're here, that we're here, and that he or she or kitten there is ours."

Every day I can't help but keep falling deeper in love with my husband. I never thought it was possible to love someone this much. But right now, sitting in the car parked outside of our house, I'm once again overwhelmed. "I love you, Jean Luc Picard."

His right hand leaves the warm grasp of my hand and slides up my arm, halting its trajectory on my cheek. I lean into his touch, savouring the warmth and the contact. "Beverly Picard, I don't know what I've done to deserve this much happiness. I don't know what strange cosmic power I've appeased to be lucky enough to call you my wife. Know this, I love you and we'll get through this. I know it."