AN: Here we are, another piece to this one.
There's an AN at the end that's something of a PSA, I guess you could say.
I hope you enjoy! If you do, please do let me know!
111
"Rest…just rest…you're safe…"
Jean-Luc found that for the first few minutes after their son was born, the only thing he could say was something of a mantra that reminded Beverly—and maybe more himself than her, honestly—that she was safe. She could rest.
They were both safe.
"You're very safe," Laris offered, having returned to her work as a midwife. Now, when she gave directions to Beverly to continue to help her, Beverly heard her, and listened to her, but she followed those directions with a nonchalance that was nearly as though she couldn't hear her at all.
There was, perhaps, an instinctive trust in the realization that nobody was lying and, in fact, she was safe—safe with their baby.
Beverly was relaxing. Jean-Luc could feel it. Her body was heavy against his. Her shoulders hung heavy and forward. Her head lolled slightly as though she were still too young to hold it properly. She rested it against him, and his heart swelled at the feeling of holding her and supporting her.
If only it were under different circumstances.
"Jean-Luc…" Beverly said, finally breaking the silence she'd maintained since the baby had been born. He smiled just to hear his name on her lips, but he winced, too, at the sound of her voice. He kissed her temple, again, before catching her eyes and trying not to notice the yet unhealed bruises and cuts on her face.
There would be time for that. There would be time for everything.
"I don't know what to say," she confessed. "I have so much to say…but I don't know what to say…"
Her confession made his throat ache. It made his chest ache. It made some part of him question if he had a broken rib—or, merely, a broken heart.
Not broken. Cracked, perhaps, but not broken.
"Is…he my son?" Jean-Luc asked.
The expression Beverly gave him nearly made him laugh. Despite the fact that there was definitely some sign of everything she'd been through in her eyes, she looked entirely like herself for a moment. She scolded him with nothing more than a glance.
Jean-Luc smiled. It felt like being home. It felt like being welcomed back home after an exile—after being sure that home was a place that you would never see again.
"Forgive me. I did not want to be presumptuous. Am I quite in line with my rights as…" He stopped. The words stuck in his throat for a moment. He was coming to terms with them. It was easier than he might have thought it would be. It felt oddly and unexpectedly natural and normal. He might have believed he'd never be a father, and some part of him had believed that, but another part had always seemed to know that, if he were to become a father, this would be how it happened. "Am I within my rights a…father…to hold him?"
"If you're not feeling quite ready for that, Beverly," Laris offered, coming from the en suite bathroom where she'd gone, presumably, to wash her hands, "that's fine, too." She made eye contact with Jean-Luc. She looked tired, but entirely happy, herself. "Mothers don't always want to share their babies so quickly," she offered gently.
Beverly seemed to consider her options. There was the slightest hint of reluctance there, but Jean-Luc had already decided not to take it personally. He couldn't even begin to imagine everything that might be going on inside Beverly's mind.
"Of course, I want you to hold him," Beverly said.
Jean-Luc accepted the baby, and when Beverly winced and quietly gasped at the physical requirements of turning her body to smoothly make the transfer, Laris's hands were suddenly in place to make sure that the transition was gentle and easy for everyone involved.
Jean-Luc examined the still-messy newborn, wrapped in a blanket that had been replicated for him with everything else that Laris had thought of, with his face not yet entirely clean of all the evidence of his birth.
"Did you know, Beverly?" Jean-Luc asked. He carefully avoided the mention of "before" or anything else, not knowing what would pull her back into the place she'd been before, where her eyes had looked hollow and somewhat empty.
"I knew," she admitted. "That last trip to Meridia. We went for the weekend. We were only there three hours before you got called back."
"You were going to finish the trip and return to the ship," Jean-Luc said.
"I was going to tell you about the baby," Beverly said. "But—you'd been distracted, at first, with all the discussion about Romulus. And, then you got called back. I realized that…it was always going to be that way. Worse than that, I realized…maybe that was the best it was ever going to be. We don't know what the future holds, and it seemed like things only ever got more intense, instead of calming. I was afraid for the baby—for what everything that was happening meant for the baby. I resigned my commission. I decided to do everything I could just to keep the baby safe."
"You weren't going to tell me?" Jean-Luc asked.
"I was," Beverly said. "I was. Jean-Luc…I always meant to. I just needed time…"
"We always need a little time to fully come to terms with things," Laris offered. "And—speaking of time—I think it's almost time for me to go and do a few other things that simply can't be put off for much longer. But, before I go…it's best to get the little one cleaned up. And, if you're feeling strong enough, perhaps Jean-Luc can help you get cleaned up in the bathroom. I'll change the bed and you'll have a nice place to get some rest."
Jean-Luc understood. The message was the same as before. There was time, and Rome didn't have to be conquered in a day.
Beverly had known about their son. If work and duty hadn't hadn't gotten in the way—along with some healthy moral needs to help with situations that turned out to be just short of hopeless—Jean-Luc would have known about his son over a picnic on Meridia. Thanks to everything, though, there was no telling when Beverly might have decided she was ready to tell him. And, then, thanks to the Changelings, he might have never known about his son…or Beverly's fate.
But he knew now, and Beverly was safe, and his son was here. He was healthy, and he needed to be tended to a bit more. Beverly needed to be cared for. Those were the things that mattered now—not the past.
"I can carry you," Jean-Luc offered.
Beverly laughed quietly. She laughed, no doubt, because she remembered once, before, when he'd tried to carry her and, finding too late that there wasn't enough difference in their height to make that comfortable or even very easy, Jean-Luc had very nearly dropped her.
"I can walk," she said. "But—I would appreciate the help."
"May I…take the baby?" Laris asked. "Just to help get him clean and comfortable?"
Beverly nodded, and Jean-Luc allowed Laris to take the baby. He didn't miss the way that Laris looked at the baby. Beverly, he doubted, missed it either, since she was watching Laris like a hawk. She smiled slightly, though, when she saw the look of absolute adoration slip across Laris's features.
"Let me help you up," Jean-Luc said. "There's no rush. Take your time."
"Are you…a doctor of some sort?" Beverly asked Laris.
"No," Laris said.
"A nurse?" Beverly asked.
"I'm only a housekeeper," Laris said.
"Laris," Jean-Luc scolded gently. It was all he needed to say.
She laughed quietly.
"I've delivered a few babies in my life," she said. "Mostly, now, I help manage things with the vineyard. I work in the vineyard. I keep the house tidy, do the shopping, and cook the meals. And, whenever it's necessary, I keep Jean-Luc in line."
"That, in itself, is a full-time job," Beverly teased.
Jean-Luc's pulse felt like it kicked into hyperdrive. Even if they were teasing at his expense, he felt an easy sort of connection pass between Laris and Beverly, moving through the air with almost the same energy as an electrical current.
And Beverly seemed, all at once, so much lighter—her old self—as though everything that happened to her had been washed away. Jean-Luc knew, of course, that it would surface again…and again, and perhaps, again…because trauma had a way of never really leaving, and this trauma was still quite fresh.
As her laughter faded, and as she made it to the side of the bed and signaled to Jean-Luc that she needed a moment before progressing further, she looked a bit more serious and sincere.
"You look like you could use a little cleaning up," she said to Laris. "That cut near your eye needs to be cleaned."
Laris laughed quietly, not at all offended that Beverly would call attention to her disheveled state. She would have seen herself, by now. She would know what her face looked like.
"There's more than one dermal regenerator in the Château. They aren't the best, but they'll get the job done. I've already put the one I was using in the bathroom for Jean-Luc. I've healed a few while you were otherwise occupied, but he can help you with some of these other superficial injuries. And, with time, he'll help you with a few of the deeper ones, I'm sure."
"How did I get here?" Beverly asked.
"Are you sure you want to talk about it?" Jean-Luc intervened. "There is no rush, Beverly."
She held a hand up and toward him. Though he knew that she wasn't actually asking him to do so, he took her hand and squeezed it, holding it between both of his own for whatever comfort it might offer her. Laris shifted the newborn in her arms that was, for the moment, still relatively calm. Jean-Luc knew, though, even from his very little experience with infants, that it wouldn't last long. He would begin to want all the things that newborns wanted.
"It's OK," Beverly said. "I'm…OK. I want to know"
"Of course, you are OK, and of course, you want to know," Laris said. "And you're safe. And when you're not OK, that will be fine, too. I suppose I might as well say this now, since Jean-Luc would like to know, too. But, then, you have to get cleaned up, and so does this little man. I have been working closely with an independent resistance group that's been doing what we can to help weaken the Dominion forces. I suppose you could say that I am mostly involved in the intelligence side of things, but…I don't mind getting my hands dirty, when it's necessary."
"Laris…" Jean-Luc started, surprised. He wasn't surprised at her ability to do these things, of course, but he was surprised to find out that this had all been happening under his nose. She gave him a look and shook her head, stopping him before he could say anything else.
"If I had told you the truth, you wouldn't have approved," Laris said. "So—I didn't lie, but I didn't volunteer the entire truth."
"When you said you were going out, I thought you were going for walks. I thought you were…dealing with things. I thought you were visiting…"
"Jean-Luc," Laris said quickly and a touch sharply. He realized that she was interrupting him before he could give away any of her barely-hidden truth. She wasn't ready, just yet, to be a Romulan woman holding Beverly's newborn baby. That realization made his stomach ache, but he accepted it by stopping the flow of his own words and nodding his head gently. "At any rate—Jean-Luc hasn't been…well…I'll let him tell his own truth. We'll just say that I knew that I had to know what had happened to you. I needed to know if you were gone of your own accord. I set out to find you, with the help of some others, and I did. I went to get you, and I brought you here. Just in time, it would seem."
She smiled, again, at the baby.
"The rest of the story isn't very interesting," she said. "Now, then…Beverly…with your permission…may I take the little one to clean him and dress him while Jean-Luc is helping you?"
"I would thank you for the help," Beverly offered. "I already thank you for…so much. I don't have the words. Right now…it would seem like I don't have any words that I need."
Laris smiled at her.
"Words aren't necessary. Thanks isn't required or expected," Laris said. "But—you are welcome. I would do it again, except I won't need to. You'll find the Château is safe and comfortable."
"I can already tell that," Beverly said.
"I will be right back," Laris said, taking the baby.
Beverly watched her go, and lifted slightly, as though she might go after her. Jean-Luc squeezed Beverly's shoulder.
"If I can't promise you anything else," Jean-Luc said, "I can promise you that…Laris will take good care of him."
"Somehow, I already know that," Beverly said. She looked back at Jean-Luc.
"Are you ready? We can go as slowly as you like."
Beverly nodded at him, and Jean-Luc leaned down to put an arm around her and under her arms, so that he could support her as she stood. She got to her feet slowly, and Jean-Luc stood by her, not feeling at all impatient or rushed.
They had time. For the first time, perhaps, in all their lives, they had time.
And he realized that, maybe, that was what had been missing all along. Maybe that's what Beverly had been saying. Before, they had never had time. There was always something interrupting them. There was always something that must be done—and, usually, it was something that would necessarily separate them. There was always a shortage of time together, and only a half-believed promise that the future would hold that time they both needed.
Now, though, ironically enough, they had time. Jean-Luc was retired—somewhat against his will—and Beverly had resigned her commission. There was unrest with the remaining Romulans, though it was mostly just a general sense of unease caused by a people who felt they had lost everything and were no longer certain where they belonged, and the Dominion was wreaking havoc all over much of the galaxy.
Yet Beverly and Jean-Luc had nothing to do, really, except let it all happen—out there, hopefully, and far away from the Château—and live in the here and now.
For the first time, there was time. They had time.
Beverly leaned on Jean-Luc, and he savored the feeling of her in his arms as he walked slowly with her toward the bathroom.
"Jean-Luc…I'm sorry," Beverly said.
"I don't need an apology, Beverly," Jean-Luc said, realizing it was true. He didn't feel the need for an apology. At the moment, the hurt that he'd felt earlier, which might have left him thirsting for some sort of apology, felt like it had dissipated. "You were protecting our son."
"I should have told you," she said. "You deserved to know…"
Jean-Luc couldn't deny that he felt that he should have known. Still, he understood. He accepted. And it didn't matter. The past didn't matter. It was gone. Burned away. All that mattered, now, was the moment. The hope for the future.
"I know now," was all he said. "That's quite enough."
"I didn't do a very good job of protecting him," Beverly lamented.
"You did the greatest job of protecting him that anyone could have," Jean-Luc said.
"He was nearly born…there," Beverly said.
"But he was born here," Jean-Luc said. He laughed to himself. "And that's all that matters now. This, Beverly…this moment…and the hope of all the moments to come. That's what matters now. And, in this moment, you are healthy enough to walk with me, however slowly, to the bathroom. You will only get stronger and healthier with time. And our son…our son looks perfect. I just want to hold onto that, to this, Beverly, for just a moment longer."
She smiled at him and leaned her head against him, consequently leaning her whole body into him a bit more.
"There's so much we haven't said…" Beverly said.
"That's always been true," Jean-Luc said. "It's always been one of our greatest obstacles, perhaps. But—there's time, now, to say it all. For the moment, though, let's just get you clean and feeling better. We can talk about the rest later."
"There's one thing we have to talk about soon," Beverly said, as they reached the bathroom and Jean-Luc followed her inside. He hummed his question. She smiled at him. "Our son needs a name, Jean-Luc."
111
AN: You don't have to read this. I only needed to get it off my chest and out of my feelings, a bit.
I spent some time thinking about if I wanted to say anything at all about this, and I decided that I do. I simply needed to say it, so that I get it out. I'm a very direct person, which is sometimes taken negatively, though I don't ever mean it that way, so I'll try to be as gentle about this as I can. My intention, really, is only to explain myself, and address a few things.
There's a saying that what other people thing of you is not your business…or something like that. I don't know who said it, but it may be true.
Last night, I ended up, through some round about internet exploration, reading some opinions of my fics. These were not posted for me, directly, so it's arguably my own fault that I even stumbled across them and read them. It doesn't matter who said them, or even why.
I just wanted everyone to understand that I am a P/C shipper. The fact that I write the Triad, and love it, doesn't change the fact that I also love P/C, or that I shipped P/C first. I am a multi-shipper, especially when it comes to fic, and I enjoy a lot of things for creative purposes. I love and respect all three characters in the Triad.
I do not write the Triad because I genuinely believe it is something that would have ended up on our screens. I know that's not the case for multiple reasons. I don't write it to pander to anyone. I don't write it to convince anyone that I'm right and it's the best ship ever, or the only possible ship, or whatever else. I don't write it to invalidate any other ship. I don't write these stories to say anything against monogamous P/C (I shipped them first, and I love them so much!). I don't write them to force anything down anyone's throat.
I write these stories because I enjoy the stories. I share it for anyone else who might enjoy them. That's it.
I also don't write these stories because I believe they're anything we would genuinely see on our screens. I don't write them to be great literature. I don't write them with the claim that they are perfectly realistic, plausible, or necessary. I simply write silly little stories because I enjoy them, and I know I won't see them on the screen, and I hope that someone else gets even a modicum of joy out of them.
As for my characterization, I'd just like to say that we all read characters differently, on the screen and in written situations. We see them through lenses, and those lenses are unique to us in different ways, because they are tinted by our experiences. The way that I see characters may differ from the way that someone else sees them. One of the beautiful moments in sharing stories, discussions, etc. with each other is when we find someone who sees something in exactly the same way that we do.
Just because someone has a slightly different perspective than our own, though, or a slightly different understanding, even, of human behavior and psychology, doesn't mean that our way of seeing them is the only "right way."
If you ever feel so inclined to do so, please consider not telling others that an author's way of interpreting and portraying characters makes the characters unidentifiable as the characters that we know and love. What you mean, perhaps, is that you might see them differently, personally and subjectively. What it says, however, is that the author creates a character that is objectively not at all representative of a character that we know and love (and who the author also knows and loves), and that has a way of putting people off. People who have never read that author may consider not giving them a chance, based solely on the fact that you see things differently than that author.
If you don't care for my characterizations of characters, and if you think that I do them (and anything/everything else) wrong, that's OK. Your opinion is perfectly valid. It's your own opinion.
Just remember that I'm not here to force you to read anything, and I love these characters just as much as you do. All I want to do is write stories that I enjoy, about characters that I love, and share them with others who might enjoy them. Please remember that about other authors, as well!
If you do enjoy my stories, I am so glad! And I thank you for reading my silly little stories and for sharing this love with me!