AN: This is just a little one shot that was influenced by a Twitter (call it what you want, it's still Twitter to me) post from yesterday. It's just for fun.
I own nothing from Star Trek.
I hope you enjoy! If you do, please do let me know!
111
"Mom—why didn't Captain Picard ever get married and have children?"
The question was, Beverly supposed, not an entirely abnormal question. Still, it caught her off-guard, and she realized that she'd paused a moment longer than she'd planned while chopping the vegetables for dinner.
Wesley was staying with her for the weekend—his shore leave—and she had to make the best of their very limited time together. He was growing up, and she knew that she had to let him grow and become the man that he would be, but it didn't mean that she didn't savor the small pockets of time when she was able to simply be his mother.
"What kind of a question is that, Wes?" She asked, wondering if she sounded as casual as she meant to sound. The question unnerved her a little, though she didn't want to admit, even to herself, why.
Anytime anyone asked about Jean-Luc's romantic prospects, Beverly felt that it took her somewhat off balance for at least a second.
"It's a perfectly normal question," Wesley said. "Isn't it? I was just wondering why he never married and had children."
Beverly considered her answer. She considered a half a dozen answers. She'd asked herself that question before, and she'd given herself a plethora of possible answers—some were more publicly acceptable than others.
"Well—I suppose that it's probably because…perhaps, he would say…a captain's life doesn't allow for marriage and children. There isn't time for such things."
"Plenty of captains have families," Wesley offered.
Beverly felt slightly frustrated, mostly because he refused to accept her explanation. She tried to keep that annoyance down, though.
"Well, Wes…then, I would suppose it's most likely because he doesn't want to get married. He doesn't want to have children," Beverly said. "Some people don't want those things. They don't feel that they're important or necessary parts of living the life that they find most fulfilling, so they choose not to have them. And, if that's what the captain wants, then that's the best choice for him."
"I know some people don't want marriage and children," Wesley said, "but…Captain Picard does."
Beverly nearly dropped the knife. She felt her face grow warm.
"Why would you say that, Wes?" Beverly asked.
"Because he said so," Wesley said. "When he and I were in the shuttle on the way to Starbase Five One Five, and I asked him about it."
Beverly finished her chopping. She digested what Wesley had said. She scraped the chopped vegetables off of her cutting board and into the pan. Then, after placing the knife and cutting board in the sink to be cleaned, she looked at Wesley.
"What exactly did you ask him?" Beverly asked.
"I asked if…he ever wished he had children," Wesley said.
"And? What did he say?" Beverly asked.
"He said that…well…he said that wishing for a thing doesn't make it so," Wesley said.
"That is true," Beverly said.
"But—if he wishes for that, then…why hasn't he ever tried to make it happen?" Wesley asked.
"I don't know, Wes," Beverly said, sincerely. Her stomach squeezed and her throat tightened unexpectedly. She gave herself a second, and she cleared her throat as if the fumes from the cooking onions were what might be bothering her. "I guess—you'll have to ask him that."
111
The conversation that Beverly had with Wesley came back to her many times over.
It came back to her when she received an unexpected, late-night communication from Jean-Luc. It came back to her as she sat, talking to him about seemingly nothing, pretending that she didn't want to ask him a thousand questions he probably wouldn't have wanted to answer, and reminiscing with him about Jack and the times that the three of them had spent together so many years ago.
It came back to her when she was welcomed aboard the Enterprise, once again, to resume her duties there as Chief Medical Officer. She'd thought about it over breakfast—the first of many, as they'd resumed their old practice. She'd thought about it, too, over dinner, when the invitation had been made to her, very tentatively, and she'd accepted. She'd thought about it when a nice, candlelit dinner, which might have still passed as somewhat platonic, had become something a little more when Jean-Luc had suggested music, and she'd suggested a dance, and he hadn't refused.
She'd thought about it, wrapped in Jean-Luc's arms, as he'd swayed her gently in the living area of his quarters, and she could feel the tension in his body. He'd apologized for not being much of a dancer, and his apology had turned to a rambling sort of monologue that Beverly had been forward enough to hush with a kiss.
She hadn't thought of the conversation again—in fact, she'd thought of very little outside of what she was feeling in each moment—until she found herself lying in bed with Jean-Luc while he slept.
Both of them were entirely naked. The room's temperature was pleasant enough that Beverly hadn't minded that the blanket was only somewhat draped over Jean-Luc—it didn't quite reach her body. She was hot enough, still, from the heat that they'd created between them, that she welcomed the coolness of the air on her skin.
She'd lain partially draped over Jean-Luc's body, their skin somewhat stuck together with drying sweat and other residual proof of their time together, and she'd watched him sleep.
He had slept with absolute abandon. She could hardly recall seeing a grown-up sleep with quite so much absolute peace as she saw on Jean-Luc's features. In his sleep, he had one arm draped over her, holding her much more lightly, now that he was asleep, than he had when he'd been drifting off.
He held her, even as he slept, and it seemed as if the act of holding her brought him some comfort and some peace—some promise of safety and security.
Beverly remembered her conversation with Wesley as she rested her head on Jean-Luc's chest and thought about the hollow ache in her own chest. Why hadn't he ever married? Why didn't he have children—especially if he wanted them?
Was it all simply because the opportunity had never arisen before? Was it all because he'd been afraid to ask her? He had, after all, confessed that he'd loved her for a long time. He'd confessed that he'd dreamed of this for a long time, and she had admitted that she shared the same truth, but he'd made his confession in the throes of passion. Could she really hold such a confession as truth?
Would he still feel the same, or at least admit to feeling the same, when his blood had cooled?
And if he did feel the same, what would that mean?
Beverly had not had reason to revisit that conversation for some time since then. The awkward morning-after conversation between herself and Jean-Luc had involved apologies, reassurances, and a few timid kisses, touches, and flirtatious glances that made them seem more like teenagers than adults who had already been to bed together.
Marriage hadn't come up, and neither had children.
What had come up, though, was the fact that they both hoped to continue their breakfast conversations, to which they'd become accustomed, and they wouldn't mind making dinner something that happened at least once in a while.
A few dinners, after that, had even been shared on the holodeck, and a few others had been shared on shore leave.
And a few of those dinners had led to other nights where they'd slept tangled together in sheets and blankets, the rhythmic breathing of each of them soothing the other to sleep.
Beverly found that she'd stopped thinking about the conversation entirely, actually, for some time.
It wasn't until she'd stood in the bathroom in her quarters, her face still damp from the cool water she'd splashed on it a moment before and had failed to dry entirely with her towel, and stared at the screen of the tricorder.
As a medical professional, it had felt like the time to run a detailed scan of herself and consider that the stomach virus she'd diagnosed herself as having was possibly something more.
The conversation came back to her as she stood reading the information that couldn't be mistaken.
She laughed to herself when she felt like her whole body had gone practically numb for a moment with anxiety. No matter what, this was a big piece of news to share—with the captain, no less—and Beverly couldn't expect her anxiety to be entirely nonexistent, not even if she'd wondered a half a dozen times what he might say if this were to somehow come to pass.
She tapped her combadge.
"Crusher to Picard."
"Is everything alright?" Jean-Luc came back. "You're quite late. I thought you wouldn't be coming this morning. Are you still feeling unwell?"
Beverly smiled to herself. She'd put off their breakfast dates for a while.
"I'm feeling better," she said. "At least—I've finally diagnosed the problem correctly, and I have a treatment plan to follow."
"That's excellent news," Jean-Luc said. "If you're feeling better, I still have an hour before I have to be on duty."
"I'm on my way," Beverly said. "But—Jean-Luc—just croissants?"
"Just croissants," he assured her.
111
"I'm glad you're feeling better," Jean-Luc said, meeting Beverly at the door.
She felt her cheeks grow warm, and she smiled at his smile. He was happy to see her. He'd missed her at breakfast. He didn't have to say that for her to know it. It was written all over his face. His body practically exuded his excitement to have her there.
She stepped inside as he beckoned, and she stopped before sitting in the chair that he pulled out for her and gestured for to her to take. She held a hand out to still him, and he stood holding the back of the chair with expectation, and a touch of concern, on his features.
"I'm not feeling entirely better," Beverly said. "Really, Jean-Luc, I'm not feeling any better at all. What I mean to say is that…my stomach is still quite unsettled, and it may be so for some time longer."
Jean-Luc stepped away from the chair, now. Now, he took the upper part of Beverly's arms into his hands instead of the back of the chair. The way that he gently squeezed her muscles made her feel slightly more relaxed and a great deal more supported.
"But you know what it is? You know how to properly treat it?" Jean-Luc asked.
"I know that it will run its course," Beverly said.
"I see," Jean-Luc said, at least a little concerned. "And, in the meantime, what can I do to help?"
"A great deal of things," Beverly said. "If you really want to help. I wouldn't expect it of you, of course."
"Of course, I want to help," Jean-Luc said. "As much as I can. In any way that I can. Croissants—you said you might like to eat them."
"I think I can keep them down," Beverly said.
"Well, then, by all means…" Jean-Luc said, trying to gently push her toward the chair, coaxing her to sit and eat. She caught his arm with her hand to still him once more.
"Jean-Luc, I have to say this before I lose my nerve and too much time passes, and then it becomes even more complicated than it already is," Beverly said.
He blanched a little and she saw his Adam's apple bob.
"I must admit, Beverly, that sounds quite serious…"
"This is serious," Beverly said. She couldn't help but smile, though.
Jean-Luc laughed quietly in response.
"I'm afraid your face doesn't quite match the seriousness you're suggesting," Jean-Luc said.
"It's very serious," Beverly said. "But—it's also very wonderful. At least…it is to me, and I think…it may be to you, too."
She couldn't read his face. She could see that the color was quite drained out of it, though, and she half-considered offering him the chair that he'd been trying to offer her.
"Please…go on," Jean-Luc said.
"Jean-Luc…I think…if I'm not being too presumptuous, and recalling a conversation that you once had with Wesley…"
"Wesley…" Jean-Luc said. Beverly hummed and nodded.
"He told me about it, after the fact," Beverly said. "I hope he didn't betray any sort of confidence, but…if what he said was accurate, then I may very well be about to make some of your wishes come true, Jean-Luc."
Jean-Luc looked like he visibly relaxed a little. He laughed quietly, this time not sounding quite as nervous as before.
"Forgive me," he said, "but…you already make a great many of my wishes come true—some I didn't even know I had until you were busy granting them."
"I hope you still feel that way in a moment," Beverly said.
Jean-Luc surprised her by kissing her. At first, she didn't respond to the kiss because it was so wholly unexpected. Then, she gave into it. Her throat ached in response. She loved him. There was no question about it. And she hoped that what she had to tell him really would grant at least one of his wishes, instead of being something that brought all of this—still growing as it was—to an end.
"Jean-Luc," she breathed out, when the kiss broke, "I'm pregnant."
"Pregnant?" He asked.
"You're going to be a father," Beverly said.
"You're going to…have a baby?" Jean-Luc asked.
Beverly found herself laughing at his response. She didn't take it personally. She didn't feel insulted. She could sense that he was simply and genuinely processing something he hadn't expected.
"That's the general idea behind pregnancy," she said. "But—if you ask me how this happened…"
"No—of course not," he said with a laugh, coming out of the initial shock slowly. "I suppose I know how these things happen. But—forgive me, Beverly—I assumed that there must be precautions. Contraceptive injections…"
"Which neither of us noticed had lapsed for you at least six months ago," Beverly said. "I didn't realize it until yesterday, when the stomach virus was persistent enough that it began to make me start to consider other things, and I checked your file. You put off your physical every time, Jean-Luc, and you don't keep up with your contraception."
"Well…what need have I for it?" He asked. He laughed, then. "Well…except, of course…but…Beverly…you must have taken yours. It's not like you to neglect anything like that."
Beverly raised her eyebrows.
"And the contraceptive is only ninety-eight percent effective," she said. "Usually, when both partners are up to date, there's really next to no risk of a pregnancy. But when we're relying on only mine…"
"There's a two percent chance," Jean-Luc said.
Beverly smiled at him and nodded.
"There's a two percent chance," she said.
She wanted to ask Jean-Luc how he felt, but her heart swelled with the thought that she could already tell. Even as he was still clearly processing everything, she could tell. The smile on his face and the color in his cheeks was genuine.
"Tell me what you're thinking, Jean-Luc," Beverly said finally.
He laughed—a short pop of genuine laughter—and he pulled her to him in a tight embrace. She inhaled as deeply as she could and savored it. The strong hug was just right. It made her feel safe, and secure, and very much like Jean-Luc would never let her go. He kissed her, and she felt his happiness and sincerity in the kiss. She returned it with all the enthusiasm she possibly could, and she held it as long as he wanted. When it broke, his smile immediately returned, and his eyes practically twinkled with unmistakable happiness.
"I was simply thinking, Beverly, that I couldn't possibly have wished for better odds…"
"So…I did grant at least one of your wishes?" Beverly said, half-teasing, and half- seeking just a touch more reassurance in the moment.
"Indeed," Jean-Luc said simply and sincerely. "And I have only the hope that you will grant me a few more, before this is through."
She smiled, feeling as though she might infer his meaning, but intending to leave things up to him, so that they might happen when and how he wished.
"I have a pretty strong suspicion that I'll grant nearly any wish you may have, Jean-Luc," Beverly said.
"Could I really be so lucky?" He asked.
"I'd say the odds are in your favor."
