AN: This is just a little something I threw together because I wanted to play with the characters. I ask that you don't take it too seriously. I have never written for them before, and I wanted to give it a go.
I own nothing from Star Trek. I'm just playing with the worlds and characters.
If you read, I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think! (Though, I do ask that you not be too critical. This is just for fun.)
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Beverly Crusher finished dressing. Sitting in front of her vanity, she fastened her pips and swiped a light coat of lipstick across her lips to give them color. She almost regretted the blush that she'd dusted her cheeks with earlier. She was pale and, at the moment, that paleness made the colors of her makeup too profound. She used her fingertips to try to mute the effects a bit. She didn't know if it helped or not with the coloring, but, at the very least, it helped to distract her.
Looking at her own reflection, she drew in a deep breath and let it out with purpose. The tension she'd hoped to help alleviate remained. The gnawing anxiety in her stomach was still there. It churned, making her feel like simple toast would suffice before her shift.
She stopped looking into the mirror—she didn't want to see herself anymore. Not for a while, at least. She replicated toast with a little butter and forced a few bites of it that she washed down with tea. She ate standing. She was too uncomfortable inside to even imagine being comfortable outside. The food that she swallowed was taken in simply because she knew she should eat something, even if it was forced. Still, as it settled in her stomach—especially the warmth of the tea—it did a little to help alleviate some of her discomfort.
Beverly decided to forego the rest of the toast, but she finished the tea before recycling her dishes. She caught herself wringing her hands—a habit that she only employed when she was feeling particularly overwhelmed and more than a little out of control of her situation.
She was, in this time and in this place, entirely out of control.
She focused on the breaths she'd tried to make herself take earlier—slow, deep, and purposeful. She closed her eyes and tried to focus her mind. She talked to herself.
Everything worked out. It always did. That was how life was—it always worked out. Even the hardest, most horrible parts of life somehow worked out. In her darkest, lowest moments, she'd always managed to survive long enough to see the sun again.
She could find the good—there was so much potential for good—and there would be light here. For now, standing with a rudimentary breakfast churning in her stomach, she might not feel like there was a lot of good, but it was there. She would find it. She would embrace it. Tomorrow, or maybe even after a few weeks or months, she would find the good, and she would embrace it—there was no timeline for happiness.
Feeling a little better, she returned to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth and renewed her lipstick. She picked up the medical tricorder that had been waiting for her by the sink. She'd been able to run the test on herself, but she hadn't been able to look at the results. As soon as she'd done it, she'd left the tricorder on the counter beside the sink, and she'd walked away. She'd told herself that she'd go back, and here she was. Her hands shook as she picked it up, and she didn't try to stop them.
She already knew what the tricorder would say. She knew in a way that went beyond her medical training. She knew all the way down to the very depths of her soul, it seemed.
She'd known for nearly two weeks.
It was time, now, to simply see the truth on the screen. Beverly let her eyes flick down to the tricorder. She smiled to herself—the first smile she thought she could remember allowing herself in a while. There was no surprise there. There was no unexpected revelation. There was a secret, perhaps, but she'd been keeping this secret for a while now, holding it close to her—as close as anything could be.
She felt her pulse respond. She felt her breathing rate respond, too, as her body naturally worked to process the absolutely undeniable proof of what it had already suspected and begun to process.
There would be happiness. She would find it. Perhaps, it was already there and just beginning to grow—along with other things.
Beverly took the tricorder with her, though she moved out of her results. Very few people ever touched her tools, but she didn't want this to be the day that they did. She didn't want those results to be the ones that someone accidentally spied. She didn't want them falling into the wrong hands. Not right now. Not until she was ready.
Beverly checked the time. She was on time, which meant early for her shift. One more deep breath, and the focused release of the air, and she picked up her combadge, touching it to activate it before she attached it to the front of her uniform.
"Crusher to Picard."
"Good morning, Doctor," Came Jean-Luc's cheerful response. Beverly smiled at hearing it. He was in good spirits. She hoped that lasted.
"I wasn't sure if you were ready for company," Beverly responded.
"I've anticipated your visit for at least an hour," he said.
Beverly's pulse and her stomach responded. It wasn't fair, she thought, that he should have the power to make her body respond to him. It wasn't fair that anyone should have that power over someone else—unless, of course, the power was mutual. There were times she believed that she had that effect on him. There were other times she doubted it.
"I'm on my way," she said, hoping her voice didn't give anything away.
The walk to Jean-Luc's quarters was one of the longest walks that Beverly had ever taken in her life. It had never been this long before—not even the morning, what seemed like a lifetime ago, when she'd practically found herself speed-walking from his quarters to her own, nervous that someone might notice the proverbial walk of shame she'd found herself doing after giving in to a desire—a long held desire—and allowing a visit for a drink with a friend to turn into a minor indiscretion that left her waking in his bed.
It had been a minor indiscretion. That was all. She'd told herself a few dozen times that it had meant nothing. It was just the giving in to a desire. It was just a minor indiscretion. They both knew that it hadn't meant a thing—it couldn't mean a thing.
He was her captain, and it had been a lapse in judgement.
No matter how many times she had run the argument through her mind, it hadn't changed how she'd felt. She'd loved Jean-Luc for a long time. She had believed, at least at times, that he loved her. If he weren't her captain, perhaps they could have been more. Perhaps the night she'd spent in his bed some weeks ago wouldn't have been an indiscretion at all.
Perhaps, it would make telling him, now, what she had to say, much easier.
Their minor indiscretion had turned out to be, as well as lapse in judgement, proof of a lapse in contraception injections. It was, arguably, not as minor, now, as it had seemed—and it was growing every day.
One final check in the mirror reassured Beverly that nothing about her had changed overnight. Her uniform still fit, and there would still be time before there was any telling proof of what had happened. There would be time for them to discuss this and to figure out exactly how they might handle this. Based on their history, Beverly imagined that Starfleet would pardon the indiscretion. After a discussion about fraternization, and a slap on the wrist, she imagined that little more would be said by any of the powers that be. There would be time, too, for them to figure out how to handle things on a personal level.
There would be happiness, she was sure, and there was no timeline for that or any other emotion.
Beverly rang the bell and Jean-Luc ushered her into his quarters. He was already dressed, and the PADD and tea on the table suggested that he'd been sitting for some time and reading while he'd waited for her. He ushered her over to the couch in his quarters.
"Would you like some breakfast?" He asked. "I already had something, but I can replicate you anything you like."
Beverly smiled at him from her seat on the couch cushion. She felt rigid and uncomfortable, and it wasn't owing to the furniture. Still, even though she feared his reaction, she felt herself relaxing in his presence. He had that effect on her, as evidenced by the reason for her morning visit.
"I already ate, Jean-Luc," she said.
"Tea, then?" He asked.
Beverly nodded, offering him a tight-lipped smile. She didn't want tea, really, but the beverage would help, perhaps, to move things forward. Beverages, it seemed, always helped to do that. Jean-Luc replicated tea for both of them, and he passed her the hot cup as he sat beside her with his own beverage. She was suddenly thankful for the drink, and she focused her attention on the feeling of the warmth seeping into her palms.
"Now, then," Jean-Luc said, getting comfortable beside her, but not nearly as comfortable as he'd been the night some weeks ago, "you wanted to see me. Was it about anything in particular?"
"I wanted to talk," Beverly said.
"I've wanted to talk to you, too," he said.
"About—anything in particular?" She asked.
"Perhaps the same thing that you've been wanting to discuss with me," Jean-Luc ventured.
Beverly swallowed down some of her warm tea to try to disguise the fact that she felt the need to swallow against a wave of nausea. She was fairly certain that Jean-Luc didn't want to discuss what she'd come there to discuss, and she didn't feel like telling him what was on her mind was going to be easy.
"Maybe you should go first," she offered.
"The other night," Jean-Luc said, letting it hang for a beat too long.
"Which night?" Beverly asked, her stomach knotting to tell her that she knew perfectly well which night he was referencing. His expression told her that he knew that she knew, too.
"Beverly," he said, drawing her name out. It sounded almost musical when he said it, and she hated that, at least a little. In response to it—to the softness in his tone and the dread that created in her gut—Beverly felt a numbness creeping into her.
"Maybe it's best if you say what you have to say, Jean-Luc," Beverly offered. She heard the hint of a bite to her own tone. She saw him draw back, slightly, as though he'd reached out to touch something and found it surprisingly hot enough to scald him. His expression shifted, but not enough to make her think that he'd changed anything about what he was going to say. Rather, she assumed that he was only a little bothered by the fact that she wasn't as receptive to him as he'd imagined she would be.
"What happened was a…a…" He stammered, clearly searching for a word that he might use.
"A minor indiscretion," Beverly offered, smirking to herself. She'd used the words, already, to herself. They didn't hurt because she'd become numb to them. He smiled slightly, pleased to have something he could use.
"A minor indiscretion," he echoed back to her. He reached the hand not holding his teacup out toward her and caught her free hand. He wrapped her hand in his, and she drew in a breath and focused on keeping it steady. He rested both their hands in her lap—so close to the secret she was keeping—as he worked her hand in his. "Don't misunderstand, please. It was beautiful. Wonderful. And—in another life…a different situation…"
"But you're the captain," Beverly said.
"I'm afraid it would make the crew uncomfortable," Jean-Luc said.
"Are you? Or—are you afraid that it would make you uncomfortable?" Beverly asked.
"Starfleet frowns on fraternization between ranks," Jean-Luc said.
"But it's not forbidden," Beverly ventured.
"Perhaps—under different circumstances," Jean-Luc said.
He was a man who, at times, was terrified of commitment. She had seen it a thousand times, it seemed, since she'd known him. Even before she'd married Jack, there had been encounters with Jean-Luc. Since Jack's death, there had been even more. They'd danced so close to something more, but he'd always pulled back. There had been kisses shared here or there, and they'd come so close to something bigger than that, but there had never been anything more.
Not until the minor indiscretion, of course, and it was clear that he was terrified of that—of what they'd done. He hadn't been terrified that night, but he'd spent too long thinking about it now.
"Perhaps under different circumstances," Beverly said, echoing his words back to him.
"You understand…?" He asked, letting it hang. Beverly turned her hand, catching his, and squeezed.
"I understand better than you think I do," Beverly said. "Better than you do, perhaps."
He smiled at her. She saw the very real relief on his features. This smile was real. It didn't have the same tight, worried tension to it that his smile had had before. He raised her hand and kissed it.
"It was a beautiful night, Beverly. A beautiful dream of what could be."
"Except—you don't want it to be," she responded.
"Nobody knows what the future holds," Jean-Luc said.
"No," she agreed. "But—sometimes we have to make decisions now that steer the future in one direction or another, Jean-Luc."
"I hope you don't mean to say that I'm steering it—us— away from any given possibility."
"I don't know what I mean to say, honestly," Beverly said with a sigh. "Not right now." She stood up. She placed the tea cup on the table where he could recycle it. At her abrupt rising up from the couch, Jean-Luc took to his feet and pursued her, reaching out to catch her hand. He tugged it.
"Please—don't leave angry, Beverly," he said. He was sincere.
"I'm not angry, Jean-Luc," she assured him. "I just need to go. I've got work that I need to do."
"I feel like—I ruined the morning," he said. "Maybe as though I've ruined a great deal more."
Beverly considered it.
"You didn't ruin anything," she said. He didn't let go of her hand, but she hadn't tugged yet to request that he release her.
"What did you want to talk about?" He asked.
"Nothing," Beverly said quickly. "You were right. I only wanted to talk about—the minor indiscretion."
"I hope I haven't upset you," Jean-Luc said.
"Not at all," Beverly said, only slightly lying. "You've—given me a lot to think about. The future."
A hint of a smile played at his lips.
"None of us knows what it holds," he said, squeezing her hand. Her heart thumped in her chest. She felt like she knew what he wanted. She felt like he was the only one who didn't know—or simply wouldn't allow it.
"No," she said. "We don't. But—sometimes, we can imagine." She leaned and kissed his cheek before she wiped off the smudge of lipstick left behind by what little bit remained on her lips after drinking the tea. "I have to go. Have a good morning, Captain."
His expression registered something, and she didn't venture to guess what. The smile he gave her was a touch melancholic.
"Have a good morning, Doctor," he said. "Would you be free for dinner?"
"I better not," Beverly said.
"Have I—ruined everything, Beverly?" He asked.
"You haven't ruined anything," Beverly said. "I just—need a little time."
He nodded.
"Take all the time you need," he said. "As long as you need."
Beverly smiled to herself. She nodded at him as a final farewell. She tugged her hand free and left his quarters. In the corridor, she focused on her steps—one foot in front of the other—as she headed toward sickbay.
She would take all the time that she needed, but she knew that couldn't be too long. She could keep her secret for a little longer—the secret of a minor indiscretion—but it wouldn't remain hidden forever. There would be enough time, though, for her to decide exactly how to handle things—and just how much Jean-Luc needed to know. After all, he didn't have any reason to believe that he was her only indiscretion.
One way or another, this would work out, and she was determined to have the happiness she felt growing inside her.
