AN: Here's another piece to this one. If you haven't read the previous two chapters (one posted yesterday, and one posted this morning), then please be sure to read those before you read this one!
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
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"Beverly," Jean-Luc said, meeting Beverly at his door. He reached his hands out to her, and she let him take her hands and pull her inside.
Simply upon seeing him, her heart began drumming in her chest. Some of it, she was sure, was the leftover anxiety that had kept her pacing her room all night, but the rest of it was the simple reaction that her body had to him.
"Jean-Luc," she said, indulging herself in a smile that she gave to him—the first she'd sent his way in a long while. He smiled in response.
"Come…breakfast? I didn't try to anticipate what you may like. I know that women in your condition can be very particular."
"And how would you know that?" Beverly challenged, her pulse kicking up at the idea that they were teasing each other. She had missed this. She had missed him, and she knew it now more than she'd known it before.
He simply smiled at her and looked a little chagrined.
"So I've heard, at least," he offered. "What would you like for breakfast?"
The table was set for breakfast—at least to the point that he'd put out napkins and silverware in anticipation of a meal. He walked her over to the table and pulled out the chair for her. She considered saying something about his "gentlemanly" manners, but she decided against it.
"I'm not very hungry, Jean-Luc," Beverly admitted.
"You'll eat something, Beverly, won't you?" He asked. Before she could refuse or explain, he spoke again. "Beverly—I hope you won't mind my saying so, but you're starting to look entirely unwell. I find it unsettling. It's a little frightening. You're very nearly skeletal, and I know that Dr. Moran has cleared you for duty, but…there are times when I hardly imagine you have the strength to even remain upright."
Beverly felt her cheeks grow warm.
"Why—thank you, Jean-Luc," she said. "It's every woman's dream to have her ego boosted over breakfast with the affirmation that she looks like a terrifying skeleton."
Jean-Luc frowned at her.
"If I've offended you," he offered, "then please accept my apology. I only meant to say that you appear far thinner than I've ever known you to be, and I'm concerned about your health."
Beverly had to swallow against the immediate response her body offered. She felt tearful for even scolding him at all.
"I'm sorry," she said. "You're only concerned and…"
He smiled at her and shook his head.
"Don't apologize. Make it up to me by eating something for breakfast," he offered. "Anything. If you want one of your…elaborate creations…"
"I've hardly been able to eat anything, Jean-Luc, for…months," Beverly said. "It's morning sickness, but whoever named it that is a liar. I never had anything like it when I was pregnant with Wesley. I mean—I had some nausea, but this is persistent. It's never-ending."
"Dr. Moran can't treat it?" Jean-Luc asked.
"Nothing is helping much," Beverly said. "There's the possibility that she'll find something else—she's asking around. But for now, I'm living mostly on bread, hot peppermint tea, and Nutralide infusions—at least until we find something or it takes care of itself."
Jean-Luc squeezed her shoulder, and for a half a second, Beverly let her eyelids flutter closed at the touch. He smiled at her.
"For now, there will be tea and croissants," he said.
Beverly didn't argue. She didn't offer to help, either, since Jean-Luc had made it abundantly clear that he intended to serve breakfast. She thanked him, instead, when he put a cup of tea in front of her with a plate that carried two croissants. She didn't have the heart to tell him that she was very likely not going to make it through even one of them.
Still, for his benefit, she decided to do her best, and she pinched off a corner of one to start dutifully chewing through it and trying to break it down to a size that would fool her stomach into digesting it.
"Now then," Jean-Luc said, quite cheerfully, as he sat down with his own breakfast—this time in the chair next to Beverly instead of across the table, "what was it that you wanted to talk to me about? Here—have some preserves."
"I can't eat that," Beverly said, shaking her head.
"Some butter, at least, to fortify your breakfast," Jean-Luc said. He might have, any other time, been at least a little horrified by a heavy doctoring of croissants but, at the moment, Beverly wondered if he was going to slather butter on her food for her and offer it to her to eat, like a shuttle flying into a shuttle bay, in the same way she'd once fed Wesley.
"Jean-Luc, I'm fine," Beverly insisted. "Please—believe me when I tell you that…I've given up eating."
"And it shows," Jean-Luc said. Suddenly, he looked cross with her. He'd raised his voice, slightly, when he spoke again. "Beverly—this cannot be healthy."
Beverly laughed at him.
"And it cannot be helped," she said. "You're sincerely running the risk, already, of having your whole breakfast ruined when I can't keep mine down."
Jean-Luc frowned at her, but he didn't insist any further. He sat back in his chair.
"I'm certain that you didn't come to argue with me about breakfast," Jean-Luc said.
"No," Beverly said. "I didn't come to argue at all."
"Perhaps it would be best if you were to just tell me what you wanted to say," Jean-Luc said.
"I wish it were that simple," Beverly said, laughing quietly at the wave of anxiety that rolled over her. Her muscles tensed in response.
"It's not that complicated, Beverly," Jean-Luc said. "Am I correct in assuming that—it may have something to do with the…indiscretion that occurred between the two of us?"
Beverly's stomach knotted. She picked at the croissant with her fingertips, pulling tiny chunks off like she meant to eat them, but she ended up just piling them onto the plate—shredding the bread, ultimately, but managing to get very little of it into her mouth. She nodded her head.
"It does," she admitted.
"Tell me, Beverly, what it is that you have to say to me," Jean-Luc said. "And, then, we'll figure out how to best handle the situation."
"That situation, Jean-Luc, is a human child," Beverly said. "It's my child."
"And, I presume, you're here to tell me that it's mine, as well," Jean-Luc said. "Or—have I entirely misread the situation?"
Beverly thought she could almost feel everything drain out of her body and puddle around her feet. She felt a little dizzy, but she recovered well and quickly convinced herself that it was nothing more than the occasional wave of dizziness she'd been feeling lately.
"Jean-Luc…" she said, wishing she knew what to say—wishing that everything she'd thought of saying the night before, as she'd paced around her bedroom, hadn't left her mind entirely.
"Then…it is mine," Jean-Luc said. It wasn't a question or a statement. Still, Beverly managed to nod. Her chest ached, and she felt as unwell as she'd felt in a long time.
"Yes," she stammered out.
"You see? I already knew," Jean-Luc said. "Why didn't you tell me? Why did you wait so long?"
"Are you going to tell me you're happy?" Beverly asked.
"Well…" Jean-Luc said. His hesitation and his tone, along with his furrowed brow, really told Beverly everything she felt she needed to know. Anything that followed would be whatever he constructed for her benefit, really. "Surely, I would say that it isn't an ideal situation, Beverly, but…"
"No," she said. "No—it isn't ideal."
"But you've decided to have the child," Jean-Luc said.
"Would you have asked me to do otherwise?" Beverly asked.
There was a moment of silence between them. It felt like a stand-off. It felt like a painful stand-off that made Beverly's chest ache. Jean-Luc's expression was troubled, but otherwise unreadable. He didn't let his eyes drop away from hers for even a moment. He raised the corner of his mouth in a quick hint of a smile.
"What we may say or do in a moment of…of doubt or difficulty should hardly define the rest of our lives," Jean-Luc said.
Beverly digested it for what it was, and she nodded.
"I'm going to have the baby," she said. "I'm not willing to discuss that. I wouldn't have been willing to discuss it, even then."
"There's no need to discuss it," Jean-Luc said. "All that matters, now, is not the past. It's the present and, with that, the future. The baby is healthy?"
"I've reached the second trimester. The baby is a little underweight," Beverly said. "But—otherwise, it's healthy."
Jean-Luc smiled softly at the words.
"Then, our mission, perhaps, is to find something that his mother can eat," Jean-Luc said. "Or, at the very least, something that relieves the discomfort that keeps her from eating."
"We're working on that," Beverly said, daring to let herself smile slightly at the expression on Jean-Luc's face. Her breathing was rapid, and she couldn't consciously slow it, but she thought it was slowing itself.
"What can I do, Beverly?" Jean-Luc asked. "I'll admit, I'm at the edge of my knowledge here. This is beyond my experience. What will you allow me to do for you—for the baby?"
"You can do whatever you want," Beverly said. "I didn't come here to make demands of you, Jean-Luc. I only came to tell you that…I'm pregnant, and the baby is yours. Anything you do from here is up to you. You're under no obligation to do anything at all."
"But—as the father of this child, it is my responsibility."
"No," Beverly said quickly. "No, Jean-Luc, it isn't your responsibility. That's what I don't want. It's what I never wanted. I don't want this to be a responsibility for you."
He laughed to himself. He sat back in his chair a little, like she'd slapped him and he was recoiling from the unexpected blow.
"A child is a great responsibility," he said.
"I'll agree with that," Beverly said. "I will. But a child is—it's so much more, Jean-Luc. It should be, at least. A child should be…a blessing. A gift. A miracle. Something precious, and wonderful…and not just a responsibility to be handled like any other job. I don't want you to feel like I've just come here with another responsibility to put on your plate."
He stared at her. He waited. Then, he smiled softly and calmly ate a few bites of his own breakfast before responding. He tapped the edge of her plate, drawing her attention to it, as a passive reminder that she hadn't tasted any of the croissant for a while. She dutifully put a piece in her mouth.
"I feel as though you misunderstand me," Jean-Luc said. "And—I'm willing to admit that I mostly have myself to blame for that. Beverly—a child may be all those things, but I've never wanted a child before. I've spent very little time thinking of them as anything more than…a responsibility. I've certainly never had a child before. Maybe it will simply take me a little time to experience the blessing and everything else that you mentioned." He caught her eyes and held them. "However, that doesn't mean that I'm not anxious to try…if you'll allow me."
Beverly chewed on the croissant, not because she wanted it, but because she relished the distraction that it provided her for a moment.
"What will the crew say, Jean-Luc?" She asked. "What will Starfleet say?"
"Starfleet will likely offer both of us a speech about improper fraternization," Jean-Luc said. "A reprimand. Nothing more. There's hardly anything they can say or do, now, that undoes what's been done. I'll tell them after breakfast, and we'll let them have their time to give us both a lecture on professional conduct."
"And the crew?" Beverly asked.
Jean-Luc smiled and shrugged.
"I imagine that the crew will say congratulations," Jean-Luc said, "once they've had the time to come to terms with the whole thing."
"Be honest with me, Jean-Luc. How do you feel?" Beverly asked.
"I feel a great many things right now," he admitted. "I feel—hurt, Beverly, that you didn't tell me until this morning. I feel—a nearly overwhelming concern for your health and well-being. I feel the weight of responsibility, though you would wish that I didn't. And I feel—something else. Like I'm about to embark on an adventure. It's one I never imagined going on, mind you. If I'm going on this journey, though, then there's nobody else that I would rather have by my side…or, I suppose I should say, there's nobody else that I'd rather have as the mother of my child."
"Do you mean that, Jean-Luc?" Beverly asked.
He smiled at her and caught her hand. He lifted it and kissed her knuckles—a simple, somewhat playful action that sent a shiver through her body—before he worked her hand in his.
"Please—Beverly—eat as much of that as you can. When Starfleet has finished reprimanding me for impregnating the Chief Medical Officer under my command, I'll ask them to be sure that any of their current leading physicians and specialists are in touch with Dr. Moran to share any suggestions they may have for finding you some relief."
"I don't need special treatment," Beverly told him.
"Perhaps not," Jean-Luc ceded. "But—I'm going to demand that my child gets the best care that Starfleet has to offer."