AN: Here's another piece to this one. I'm so excited that some of you seem to be enjoying it! I'm having a great time working on it!
I hope you enjoy the chapter! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
Beverly's duty shift should have ended at least a half hour earlier, but Dr. Moran hadn't come to relieve her yet. Beverly could have called to check on things. She could have reached out to report that Dr. Moran wasn't fulfilling her duty. She chose to do neither of those things. Everyone needed a little grace, at times, for one reason or another. Beverly didn't mind working a little overtime. She released the nurse that was under her, and she stayed on to finish up with treating the last in a series of small injuries suffered by the engineering crew that had been dealing with a particularly troubling damaged panel.
Beverly had just sent a young ensign out of sickbay with her burns entirely healed, when Jean-Luc and Dr. Moran entered together. They came in at the same time that the ensign left, and Beverly had almost missed their entrance entirely.
"Captain," Beverly said, going to half attention, only, since Jean-Luc excused it before she'd even taken the proper stance.
"Dr. Crusher—please forgive Dr. Moran's tardiness," Jean-Luc said. She was with me.
From somewhere deep inside her, and without any reason at all, Beverly felt a flash of jealousy strike in her gut like lightening. She was able to recover quickly, and she was able to scold herself for the foolish jumping to probably ridiculous conclusions, but the flash of jealousy had been beyond her control.
"It's fine," Beverly said, putting on a smile. "Everything's calm, now."
"You've had your hands full after the panel incident?" Jean-Luc asked.
Dr. Moran left them both, going to work on something. Beverly followed her with her eyes until she'd settled into working, and then Beverly turned her attention back to Jean-Luc.
"It wasn't anything too serious, Captain," she said. "A few burns and minor lacerations. Everyone involved has been treated, each of them was well enough to return to duty."
Jean-Luc touched her arm. He squeezed the upper part of it, and Beverly felt ashamed of herself. Such a simple touch—inconsequential and one imparted to nearly everyone—and everything inside of her cried out for more. She couldn't bring herself to tell him, though, even privately, that she wanted, desperately, for him to simply hold her—just a moment, she thought, and she would feel better. She knew that wasn't true, of course, but she felt like she spent a significant portion of her days, these days, battling with irrational thoughts.
Starfleet had scolded both of them individually. She hadn't made a confession to them, but they'd contacted her after Jean-Luc had made his confession. She'd listened to what they had to say, plead her mea culpa, and gone about her day. She assumed, from his cheery disposition, that he'd done much the same. They hadn't gotten to him quite as much as she'd feared they might.
"Doctor—after I requested Starfleet's assistance in the medical matter we discussed, a human scientist and doctor working in the Gamma Quadrant got in touch with me and, consequently, with Dr. Moran. Come here—have a seat."
Beverly might have argued that she didn't need to sit, but he was insistent, already tugging her by the arm toward one of the chairs. She sat, feeling somewhat vulnerable in the position while Jean-Luc stood over her.
"The doctor has been working for years at an institute on Argelia VI. She said that, following the death of a small star some distance away, the people of Argelia VI began suffering from what they call the Argelian flu, though it's really a reaction to the changes that were made to their atmosphere following the star's death."
"I see…" Beverly said, feeling as though she needed to say something that would express that she was listening, intently, and would hide the fact that she felt a little uncomfortable and anxious—she had the feeling that something was coming, but she didn't know what, and she didn't know if it would be negative or positive.
"The Argelian flu is characterized, primarily, by extreme stomach discomfort, digestive issues, and, above everything else, nausea," Jean-Luc continued.
Dr. Moran walked up behind him with a hypospray, and Beverly's stomach twisted, but her mind slowly began to relax. The only thing that was taking place was the discovery of some new experimental drug that might make her stomach decide that she and her baby deserved a chance at sharing solid food with one another. Dr. Moran finished the introduction to the medication.
"Dr. Reynolds, the doctor on Argelia VI that contacted us, said that she's used the medication for the flu to treat patients of every species that has come to the base. She said that it hasn't had any adverse effects in humans, and it's proven safe for pregnant women. You simply take a hypospray when you need it. She said those most sensitive to things require up to four a day, but it's easy to synthesize, and I can program it into our replicators immediately. Given the other effects of the flu, it does have a light sedative built into the composition, but Dr. Reynolds said that it shouldn't affect you even enough to limit your duties, as long as you're taking the medication with food."
Beverly laughed.
"Then, that excludes me right away, Doctor," Beverly said. "I haven't had a meal in…"
"You're off duty, Beverly," Jean-Luc said, a hint of the earlier bite of annoyance coming into his voice—the feeling that had led him to bang his hand on the table in frustration with her. She thought she could see the moment that he checked himself. "I told her it would be acceptable. The medication will help you to be able to consume a meal and, following that, you shouldn't have any difficulty."
"You may feel intoxicated for a little while," Dr. Moran offered, "but that should pass when you're able to eat something and properly metabolize the medication."
"And if it doesn't work?" Beverly asked. Still, despite her doubts, she tipped her head enough to make it clear that she was willing to try the medication. Dr. Moran injected it into her carotid artery. It caused a cold sensation, and Beverly felt like she could feel as it started moving through her bloodstream. The effects wouldn't be immediate, but they wouldn't take long to kick in.
"Then, the effects will pass as you metabolize the medication," Dr. Moran said. "Captain—I'll be happy to call for someone. There's no need for you to stay."
"I'm not staying," Jean-Luc said. "I'm going to see Dr. Crusher safely back to her quarters." He looked at Beverly. There was something in his eyes that he was trying to communicate with her. She furrowed her brow at him in question. Before she could tell him that she couldn't read his mind or anticipate what he wanted to say, he straightened himself up to near-attention and addressed Dr. Moran. "Doctor…"
"Yes, Captain?" She pressed, when he broke off, deciding that he must be waiting on her to acknowledge that she was listening.
"Now is as good a time as any to say what needs to be said," Jean-Luc said. "I ask for confidentiality in what I'm about to say to you."
Dr. Moran furrowed her brow, clearly concerned and running, possibly, a thousand scenarios through her mind of what her captain might be about to tell her. Beverly felt her stomach squeeze as she realized what Jean-Luc was about to say, but a passing thought brought it to her attention that the sensation didn't come with the all-too-common wave of nausea that she was accustomed to feeling any time she was the slightest bit anxious. She feared it was too early to get excited about the medication, and she knew this wouldn't be the true test of its abilities, but part of her felt a flutter of joy at the possibility that she might know some rest from the incessant sickness she'd been tolerating.
Another part of her reacted to the knowledge of what Jean-Luc was going to say, and her pulse kicked up—her heart fluttering a little in her chest in response to the heightened emotion and, very likely, the dehydration that she'd come to accept as a near-permanent state.
"Of course, Captain," Dr. Moran said, assuring Jean-Luc that he could expect confidentiality from her.
"You'll understand that—there are things that one would rather have the chance to say oneself, instead of allowing hearsay and gossip to carry the news," Jean-Luc said. Beverly thought she heard, perhaps, a hint of a catch in his voice. Of course, she was willing to admit that she might have imagined it, but she didn't think she had. Watching his face rather intently, she thought she saw some sign of anxiety on his features.
"Of course, Captain," Dr. Moran said, her responses sounding somewhat tight and anxious, as well.
"I will be frequently present in sickbay," Jean-Luc said. Dr. Moran didn't respond in the least. Beverly didn't even see the slightest flutter of her facial muscles. She was waiting him out, now, and his anxiety was becoming a bit more palpable—Beverly wondered if she noticed it more because, suddenly, her own anxiety seemed to be dissipating almost entirely. Her head swam a little, and she closed her eyes for a moment to focus them and to avoid feeling any sort of motion sickness. Her hands found the side of the chair. "I don't know what Dr. Crusher may have told you about the child she's carrying."
"Only that she would be the only one present for…everything," Dr. Moran offered.
Jean-Luc smiled. He laughed quietly. Beverly knew she heard it, then, the slightest catch—the slightest tremor—of nervousness.
"That is no longer accurate, Doctor," Jean-Luc said. "You see—the child that Dr. Crusher is carrying is…well…the only way to say it, is to say it. It's my child."
"I see," Dr. Moran stammered out.
"I will, of course, expect to be present as much as time and duty allow," Jean-Luc said.
"Of course…" Dr. Moran said, her response sounding almost robotic as she worked to process her thoughts.
"I will expect frequent updates, as well, on Beverly's—Dr. Crusher's condition—when I am unable to be present," Jean-Luc said. "And any information which you may need to convey to her should also be shared directly with me at the first possible opportunity."
"Of course," Dr. Moran offered.
Suddenly, Beverly was aware that Jean-Luc was addressing her again. She was aware of his hand on her shoulder. She was aware of the warm and affectionate squeeze.
"Beverly…"
Beverly wondered if it was proper or improper for him to call her that. She was off-duty, or at least she thought she was—but he was never off-duty. At least, he would say that he was never off-duty, and it was mostly true. Even when he was on his R and R time, he was always at least somewhat on-call.
"I'm sorry?" Beverly asked, realizing that she'd somehow missed a question.
Jean-Luc smiled reassuringly at her.
"Have I misspoken?" He asked. "Or overstepped some boundary in telling Dr. Moran about…my expectations?"
Beverly considered it. She hadn't really thought about it before—not entirely. She could hardly seem to grasp everything now. Still, she felt, in her gut, that it didn't matter. She didn't need to analyze it. She didn't want to overthink it. There was a simple, peaceful feeling—it simply felt right.
She smiled to herself. It felt like it had been a while since things simply felt right.
"No, Jean-Luc," she offered. He patted her shoulder as a response.
"You understand why we would appreciate your keeping our confidence, Doctor," Jean-Luc said, "until we've had time to tell the rest of the crew."
"Of course, Captain," Dr. Moran said. "And—if I may—I've said it to Dr. Crusher, but I suppose it bears saying again. Congratulations."
Beverly saw Jean-Luc smile in response. She felt like it was a slow smile. She thought he looked like he was tasting the word—savoring it. Of course, she wondered if it might be that everything seemed to be moving a little slow at the moment.
"Thank you, Doctor," Jean-Luc said. "Now—if you don't mind, we'll let you get your shift started. Was there anything else that she needed to know?"
Dr. Moran looked at Beverly and, then, back at Jean-Luc. She addressed Jean-Luc.
"If it works, you should get her to eat what she can," Dr. Moran said. "Take it slow and easy. Her stomach is likely going to need to digest simple things for the time being. Nothing too spicy or too complicated. She can work up to that, but for now…bland is best."
"Understood," Jean-Luc said.
"And—I'll enter the medicine into our database. If it works, she'll be able to request a hypospray whenever she needs it. If Dr. Reynolds' reports are correct, the effects should be quite different when she's accustomed to having something in her stomach. She shouldn't have any difficulty functioning normally with the medication. It induces a relaxed state, according to Dr. Reynolds, but it shouldn't impair her judgement or motor skills in any way when it's being properly metabolized."
"Which I'm not certain we can say is the case at the moment, Doctor," Jean-Luc said with a laugh. "Thank you for your help, and for keeping a secret for the time being. If you'll excuse us, we'll let you get to work, and I'll help Dr. Crusher back to her quarters."
"I'm fine," Beverly insisted. Still, when she stood up, it became immediately clear to her that she was not quite as fine as she might have thought. Her head swam a little, and her feet didn't feel as steady on the floor as they had. She felt like she could feel the floor sway beneath her feet.
Suddenly, there were strong arms wrapped around her and her heart nearly stopped in her chest.
"You're perfectly fine," Jean-Luc said. "You're just going to humor me by granting me the favor of escorting you back to your quarters for a meal."
Beverly felt her face grow warm. She glanced in the direction of Dr. Moran, but the woman had moved away—either feeling the need to get to work, or simply deciding to grant them some kind of privacy. Beverly looked back at Jean-Luc. His face was close to hers, and he seemed to be studying her intently with a hint of a smile on his lips.
"You don't have to…" she stammered out.
"No," he agreed. "I don't. But I want to—and I would be very much obliged if you would indulge me."
Beverly smiled at him.
"How can I say no to that?" She asked.
"I was hoping you couldn't," he said. He moved, rearranging them so that he could slide an arm around her and support her. "We can go slowly, Beverly—Number One has the bridge, and there's nothing on the long-range sensors."
Beverly laughed at the reassurance and let herself relax a little as he effortlessly supported more of her weight than she might have normally allowed. He didn't seem to mind, and Beverly let him lead her out of sickbay and toward the turbolift.