AN: Here we are, another piece here.

As before, I'll admit that I do allow my own interpretations of things to color how I write characters a bit, and I do, at times, play really fast and loose with canon. I don't doubt that is going to change at all in the course of this fic. I always beg suspension of disbelief.

I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!

111

Beverly did her best to get from sickbay to Deanna's office, carrying one of the portable drip poles, without drawing too much attention to herself. She was, on the whole, unsuccessful, and she was sure that someone, somewhere, was going to start talking about things—thus necessitating the need for her to start spreading her own announcement soon, instead of allowing rumors to run rampant aboard the ship—but her biggest concern had simply been not to run into Wesley. She could tell him that it was no big deal, and he'd be fine, but she knew that there were certain things that, upon seeing them, people could be more concerned than was truly necessary.

Beverly's frustration only grew as she made her way to Deanna's office.

The line between the power that Jean-Luc had over Beverly—personally and professionally—and the power that wasn't his to wield was very thin, a little blurry, and broken in places. Beverly had known that for a long time, but it was more obvious now than it had been before. The only way to change things, though, would be to have a personal conversation with him about it—about the personal, and the professional, and the reckless bleeding together of the two that they sometimes experienced. Beverly wasn't sure she could handle that—not right now.

"Dr. Crusher," Deanna said, bringing herself to her full height as she invited Beverly into her office. Beverly was struck by her tone, but she understood it, too. She allowed Deanna to close the door behind them, and she offered her a soft smile.

"I know I've been avoiding you lately," Beverly confessed, not wanting to let anything hang between them for too long. Deanna was, honestly, Beverly's best friend, and she hated the idea of hurting her at all—even inadvertently. "And—I'm sorry."

Deanna visibly relaxed a little. She gave Beverly her own soft smile in return—only slightly holding back.

"You don't owe me any particular amount of attention," Deanna said. "I presume you're here because Captain Picard felt this was in the best interest of the crew? Are you—unwell?"

Beverly shrugged her shoulders—not because she was confused, but because she felt suddenly more overwhelmed than she'd imagined she might.

"I would have come on my own," she said. "I was coming on my own. Today…before he ordered this. I was coming, honestly, to talk to you. But—not for official business. Deanna—can…we just be informal?"

The attempt at being visibly cold and, thus protected, was not one that looked natural on Deanna. She was open and caring. It was what made her a good counselor and an even better friend. She nearly looked teary-eyed at the thought that Beverly confessed that she would have come to talk to her. Beverly's stomach ached with guilt over the fact that, in her attempts to deal with an overload of feelings, she had pushed her best friend away.

Beverly opened her arms, reaching out, and Deanna sank into them in a familiar hug. Beverly closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, relishing the opportunity to simply relax in a warm and comforting embrace for a moment.

"Are you OK?" Deanna asked, pulling out of the hug and turning her attention to the drip. Beverly laughed to herself.

"This is just a Nutralide drip," Beverly said. "Ummm…nutrients and fluids for dehydration and a mild case of malnutrition."

Deanna looked more worried and horrified than Beverly's condition required, really.

"Why? What's wrong?" Deanna asked.

"How much did the captain order you to report about this conversation?" Beverly asked.

Deanna shook her head.

"We have confidentiality," she said. "I am only required to report, to your medical doctor, anything that would directly relate to your physical health, and I'm only required to tell the captain whether or not I approve you for duty."

"You don't need to report anything to my medical doctor," Beverly said. "I've had an extensive physical examination this morning. Dr. Moran knows everything she needs to know about my body. I want to talk to you, Deanna. I'm sorry I've been avoiding you, but…I don't want any of this going to the captain or anyone else. Not until I'm ready to talk about it."

Deanna nodded. Her brow was furrowed, and she looked pained. The realization washed over Beverly that, in addition to all of her own feelings, Deanna would now be sorting through Beverly's feelings, since she had likely opened herself up to Beverly the moment that she'd opened the door. Beverly knew that she felt like she was practically drowning in a swamp of quickly varying feelings, and now she was pulling Deanna down with her.

"Come—sit. Get comfortable," Deanna said. She immediately sat next to Beverly and took her hand, folding it in hers. "Relax. Breathe. Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm OK," Beverly assured her. "I'm OK. I didn't want to stay in sickbay and finish this. It's on a very slow drip for maximum absorption, and I didn't want to be trapped there all day, when I can do this anywhere." She sucked in a breath, held it a moment, and let it out. "This is getting easier to say. Maybe that means that it'll be second nature soon."

"What is?" Deanna asked. "Beverly—if you don't mind my saying, your feelings are very…"

"Overwhelming?" Beverly interrupted.

"Conflicting," Deanna supplied.

Beverly laughed quietly.

"That, too," she agreed.

"I'm—getting something else, too," Deanna said. "Another sensation, Beverly…as though we're not alone."

Beverly's stomach fluttered and it felt like her heart skipped a beat. Her breathing caught—all feelings she'd felt a good deal, lately, for various reasons.

"I don't begin to fully understand how your empathic abilities work," Beverly said. "But—we're not alone. Not exactly. And maybe that's what you feel. Maybe that's why I've been avoiding you lately. I wasn't ready to talk about it, but I couldn't not talk about it. Deanna—I'm pregnant."

Deanna physically responded as though Beverly had splashed her in the face with ice water. She recovered herself as quickly as she could, though, and she squeezed Beverly's hand.

"You're happy about the baby," Deanna said. "I feel it. But—you're also in a great deal of pain, Beverly. Let me help you, if I can."

Beverly considered it. She closed her eyes, suddenly very tired and sincerely grateful that she was in this room, with the sweet and familiar smell of the incense that Deanna burned to calm her patients, and the soothing touch of her friend holding her hand. For a moment, Beverly thought she was the most exhausted that she'd ever been in her life, and she leaned back to let the couch support her entirely. Deanna squeezed her hand in response.

Beverly sighed, breathing out the tension she was willing to let go in the current net of safety in which she felt herself to be.

"I'm in love, Deanna," she admitted. "I am—hopelessly, completely, and…agonizingly…in love. And—sometimes? It feels like it's killing me to be…to be so much in love."

Deanna smiled at her, sincerely this time, and Beverly wondered, briefly, if Deanna possessed the ability to pass emotions and feelings to others in the same way that she could absorb them. The smile felt good to Beverly.

"I've known you were in love for some time, Beverly," Deanna offered.

"You haven't said anything," Beverly said.

"Sometimes—it's not my place to say anything. Not even to a friend. But—I don't understand the pain. It's staggering."

"Neither do I," Beverly said with a laugh. "I don't know what I mean by that, but…" She stopped. She closed her eyes again, not wanting to admit that she felt like she could curl up and sleep right there, and then she opened them again to find Deanna waiting patiently. She still held Beverly's hand, perhaps sensing that she needed that—tender, unjudgmental, expectation-free—comforting touch. "I'm pregnant, and…I think I am happy. I do. But I feel like I haven't had time to even really think about that. There's been so much to think about." She ran her hand over her stomach, pausing with her palm over the slightest show of her little one—the catalyst that made her realize it was time to start bringing things, or at least some of them, to light. "I haven't had time to really think about this," she said. "And this one seems determined to show itself so much earlier than Wesley did, even though I've lost weight, and…the baby's weight is low enough that, really, it seems contradictory to think that anyone can even see this."

Deanna didn't use words. Instead, she asked her for permission with her eyes, and Beverly smiled at her, feeling like she could somehow communicate with her without the need to speak. Deanna let Beverly lead her hand to the barely-there evidence, and Beverly kept her fingers resting over Deanna's.

"Can you sense it?" Beverly asked.

"I think so," Deanna said. "There is definitely something here that's more than the two of us. You're conflicted, Beverly. Is it—related to how this baby came to be?"

Beverly recognized that Deanna was trying to be delicate. She wanted things to be open between them, and she wanted to leave Beverly room to talk about anything she pleased, but she didn't want to press her. Even though Beverly had asked for this to be informal and not a formal appointment, Deanna was still going to employ the practices she learned as a counselor.

"The father doesn't know," Beverly said.

"He doesn't?" Deanna asked. She smiled a little too broadly, stopping herself from laughing. She straightened up, one of her hands still casually holding Beverly's.

Deanna's question, her tone of voice, and her expression made Beverly's stomach twist slightly. Maybe he did know. Maybe he suspected, even though he wouldn't say it…or didn't want to say it.

"I haven't told him," Beverly said.

"Maybe what we need to talk about, then, is…why haven't you?"

Beverly considered it. She was appreciative that Deanna wanted to talk about this—her motivations—without specifically asking her to disclose whose child it was that she carried.

"I wanted to tell him," Beverly said. She felt her throat tighten, even as she smiled to herself. "For a moment—I think I even imagined what it might be like. Something wonderful. Admittedly, something purely imaginative. When I told Jack that I was expecting Wesley, he was surprised. We had talked about a baby—starting a family—but…we hadn't expected it to happen quite when it did. He was so happy, though, that I felt like I was giving him the greatest blessing of his life—like I was the greatest blessing of his life. This baby was an accident, but…I don't feel like it would be the same blessing. Not for…the father."

"But you haven't given him the opportunity to tell you whether or not he would consider it a blessing?" Deanna asked.

Beverly shook her head gently. Deanna leaned and produced a box of tissue for her that she plucked from the table nearby. Beverly thanked her for the tissue quietly. She was reluctant to pull back the hand that Deanna held, so she used the other to wipe at her nose and eyes as she went through several of the offered tissues.

"I'm sorry," she breathed out.

"Don't be," Deanna said, her own eyes sparkling with tears as she absorbed some of Beverly's feelings. "Tears are important. Cathartic."

"I've cried so many of them in the past few weeks," Beverly admitted. "And it's still not enough. He—the father—doesn't want children. He…doesn't want commitment. He has important things to think about, and worry about…and he wouldn't appreciate the added burden. He wouldn't want the burden, and I don't want to burden him. I don't want to put more on him than he wants, and he doesn't want this. He doesn't want—me or this baby."

Deanna clearly considered what Beverly was saying. She worked Beverly's hand in hers, evidently realizing that Beverly felt like she was starving for that touch even more than she was beginning to feel like she was starving for something in her stomach. Beverly allowed Deanna her time to process things, knowing from their past conversations that the half-Betazoid could be overwhelmed, sometimes, by all that she had to work through when feelings were in extreme abundance.

Deanna brought her eyes back to Beverly's.

"You tell me that he doesn't want this," Deanna said. Beverly shook her head. "But you haven't asked him?"

"He's told me," Beverly said. "Not—about this, exactly, but…about this."

"And yet," Deanna said, pausing a moment as she struggled with something—her own feelings or Beverly's, Beverly couldn't be sure, "he has seemed willing to push every boundary in response, I assume, to something he doesn't know and, therefore, can only suspect. He felt it necessary to…to clear my entire day's schedule to be sure that I would feel no pressure to cut short this conversation."

Beverly covered her mouth in response to the sharp wave of nausea that she didn't doubt was brought on by the wave of uneasiness. She might suspect that Deanna knew, or at least could guess, that Jean-Luc was the father, but there was something entirely different in having all doubt removed.

"Are you going to be sick?" Deanna asked, standing and tugging at Beverly's hand. She was, without a doubt, preparing to guide her to the in-office restroom. Beverly nodded as she got to her feet and rushed to the bathroom, already knowing where to find it, and cursing the fact that the drip slowed her down. Still, she managed to make it in time.

She tensed when she felt Deanna's hand on her back. She relaxed as she felt her friend pulling her hair back in an affectionate way. Beverly eased herself down on her knees in between fits of gagging.

"It's OK," Deanna coaxed. "Shhh…It's OK."

"It's awful," Beverly gasped. "It's nothing but…liquid…and…bile…"

She stopped trying to talk. It didn't matter anyway. It was too hard to get it out around the retching, and there was nothing to say until it simply passed—calming like a spasm.

Deanna, for her part, seemed unbothered. She stood rubbing Beverly's back affectionately, massaging her fingertips into her muscles.

"You are very anxious," Deanna said. "The anxiety is enough to make even me feel nauseous."

"Maybe you're just sympathetic to my plight," Beverly offered when she felt the wave ebbing a little.

"I don't think that's it," Deanna said. "Though, it certainly could be. Beverly—I can't tell you that you have to tell the father, and I'll certainly keep your secret, but I think that you should let him tell you his own feelings about the child you're carrying. I think it could help to relieve the immense amount of anxiety that you're trying to bear."

Deanna left Beverly for only a moment, and only to dampen a washcloth which she offered to her, but Beverly felt something of a loneliness just from the brief separation. She found it a bit amusing. She'd been distancing herself from everyone, even Wesley, to some degree, and now she realized that she was aching for interaction and connection. She thanked Deanna as she wiped her mouth and Deanna cooled the back of her neck with another damp cloth.

"Better?" Deanna asked as she helped Beverly to her feet and stood with her while she finished up in the bathroom.

"Embarrassed," Beverly admitted, "but better. At least for now." She pressed her hand to her stomach. "That's the reason for the Nutralide drip. I'm not getting any peace—and that's even with every medication I've tried."

Deanna smiled at her and affectionately brushed her hair back with her fingertips.

"This too shall pass, in time," Deanna offered. Beverly found it oddly comforting. Of course, she was willing to admit that maybe it was simply the renewed touch and the affectionate eye contact. "What can you keep down?"

Beverly shook her head.

"So far? The only thing my stomach tolerates is hot tea—and it has to be the hottest it can be. As soon as it cools down…"

"I will replicate a warmer," Deanna said. "What about food?" She tugged on Beverly's arm and led her out of the bathroom and back to the seat she'd occupied on the couch.

"I can occasionally keep down bread," Beverly said. "But—only if I eat very small bites of it and chew it long enough that I can imagine I'm fooling my stomach into not recognizing it because it's already mostly digested. If I can't get control over it, I'm afraid Dr. Moran is going to insist on the infusions every few days—and I can't say that I would disagree. I don't want to risk the baby's health."

"Of course not," Deanna said. "Let's try—a little toast?"

Beverly smiled at her and reached for Deanna's hand. Deanna let her take it.

"I came here for a required counseling appointment," Beverly said.

"And you've fulfilled that," Deanna said. "I was never not going to sign off on your return to duty. Not unless you came here with something I couldn't even fathom. Now that you're here, though, we have some time to make up for."

"And that requires you to take care of me?" Beverly asked, raising her eyebrows at Deanna.

Deanna smiled.

"I want to do that," Deanna said. "And I hope that—you'll let me. You do owe me, after all, for ignoring me for so long."

Beverly felt her throat tighten, and Deanna handed her the tissues, again, clearly sensing the emotion because she reached for one of her own.

"You have to at least try to eat the toast," Deanna insisted. "At least a few bites."

"If I get sick again…"

"I am afraid that your anxiety surrounding being sick may actually contribute to your feeling unwell," Deanna said. "If you are sick, won't it be better to do it in the company of a friend?"

Beverly didn't want to admit that she felt conflicted about that. She didn't have to admit it, though. Deanna had lowered her defenses to Beverly entirely, and that was obvious from her very visceral reactions to Beverly's changing emotions. She already knew how Beverly felt about it. She put on her best smile.

"Hot tea," she said, affectionately tucking Beverly's hair behind her ear. "Any particular kind?"

"Peppermint," Beverly ceded.

"And toast," Deanna said, nodding her head and smiling at Beverly. "With a little peanut butter."

"That's pushing it," Beverly said.

"A very little bit," Deanna said. "Then—you'll take a nap, right here, and absorb the rest of this liquid, while I work on some files that I haven't finished."

"Deanna…" Beverly started to protest.

Deanna shook her head.

"Beverly—I'll keep your secret. I may not agree with you entirely, but I'll keep your secret, as a counselor and a friend. In exchange, however, you have to let me help you. Not because I feel obligated, but because I want to."

"I don't want to keep you so long…" Beverly said.

"My day has been entirely cleared," Deanna said with a laugh. "And you are so exhausted that…I'm finding it suffocating. You are also more relaxed, however, than you were when you came in. Eat. Drink. Take a nap, Beverly. There is very little in the world that cannot be helped, at least a little, by those three things…especially in the company of a friend."

"What do you get out of this?" Beverly asked. Deanna smiled at her and shrugged her shoulders.

"I get as much from your presence as you get from mine," Deanna said. "You may even find that things feel a little clearer after you've built your strength up a bit."

"You think I'll wake up and decide to tell him," Beverly said.

"No," Deanna said. "I think you'll wake up and feel better. That's my greatest concern and, maybe, his as well…even though he's not being allowed the opportunity to speak for himself." She held a finger up to stop Beverly when Beverly started to protest. "I won't try to change your mind, but I think you should at least consider it."

Beverly frowned at Deanna.

"What if he breaks my heart?" Beverly asked.

Deanna shrugged her shoulders.

"It's a chance we run when we love someone," she said. "But—right now you seem to be doing a good job of it all on your own. You don't have to decide right now. Come on—let's see if you can manage a few bites of food." She smiled sincerely and squeezed Beverly's hand. "Then, a nap will do us both good."

"You're going to take a nap, too?" Beverly asked with a laugh.

"No, but I'm going to absorb the positive energy you're bound to experience while you're improving, at least a little."