AN: Here we are, another piece!

You all have been so incredible, and I'm so glad that you're enjoying this! It means so much!

I beg a little suspension of disbelief for this chapter, since I did take a few liberties while writing the characters. I hope they're in-character enough not to bother anyone!

I hope you like the chapter! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!

111

"Now then, Beverly," Jean-Luc mused as he led Beverly into her quarters, supporting enough of her weight that he was practically carrying her.

In the distance between sickbay and her quarters—the longest distance, it seemed, that she'd traversed in a great deal of time—the whole world had started to rearrange itself. At the very least, that's what it was feeling like to Beverly. There was a feeling of disconnect between her body and mind. The two didn't work together. There was limited cooperation between the two, and only some of what she told her limbs to do actually occurred.

She felt so incredibly, utterly, and completely relaxed, though, that she could hardly make herself care. Once, in the turbolift, where it felt like they'd taken hours to arrive at their destination, she'd tried to convince Jean-Luc that she was fully capable of standing on her own. When he'd tentatively let go of her, though, and her knees had proven not to be as trustworthy as she'd always known them to be, she'd been very happy that he hadn't moved away and, instead, was close enough that he was unable to wrap his arms around her, again, before she'd been able to do more than just slightly indicate her inability to function normally.

She wasn't going to ask him to take his arms from around her again. After all, she didn't really want that. She wanted quite the opposite. His arms were warm, and strong, and comfortable. They were right where she wanted to be. His body was warm and hard against hers. She felt safe. She felt like she wouldn't fall, because he'd proven that, but she also simply felt, for a moment, entirely sheltered from—everything.

She wasn't going to ask him to let go of her, because her heart didn't feel that request at all.

"Here we are," Jean-Luc said. "Let's sit you right here. Can you sit on your own?"

Beverly laughed. She was still holding to him, and he still had his hands around her.

"I can sit in a chair, Jean-Luc!"

He laughed, too. All the usual sternness that he wore as captain, when he was feeling the weight of the world, perhaps, on his shoulders, seemed faded at the moment. Beverly realized that, perhaps, she was simply perceiving him through her own proverbial and currently tinted glasses, but she felt like he was unexpectedly relaxed.

"I think you over estimate your coordination and motor skills," he said. "Your pent-up exhaustion and weakness have become increasingly evident since we left sickbay, Beverly."

Beverly felt her entire body flush with warmth—she felt ashamed, but unable to stop what it was that shamed her.

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "I'll—be fine. You don't have to stay."

"See? There I go again, muddling my meaning," Jean-Luc said. He straightened up, but he put both hands on Beverly's shoulders to steady her. "I wasn't criticizing. I wasn't scolding. I was observing. I had no doubt this medication would affect you in this way. You haven't taken in proper nutrition for some time, Beverly, and that's one thing that's necessary to metabolize the medication well."

"I don't want to be a burden," Beverly said, acutely aware that her mind, although fuzzy and relaxed, was still functioning a great deal better than her misbehaving body.

Jean-Luc tipped her chin up. Her pulse suddenly started racing. It seemed to feel all the more rapid because it felt as though her body, and everything around her, was moving in slow motion. For a second, observing his very-intent expression, she thought he might kiss her. She ached for that to be the case.

"You are never a burden, Beverly," Jean-Luc said. "Not to me." He shook his head at her. "If you can't manage the chair, we'll sit somewhere else. That's all there is to it." He moved her—chair and all—until she was sitting very close to the table. He moved both of his hands away from her, though Beverly was fully aware that he was hovering, and she was able to remain upright in the chair. "Excellent," he said. He moved her hands. "Here—hold onto the table. Just in case. I'll return very shortly. You're not to attempt to go anywhere or do anything except what you're doing right now."

Beverly had neither the strength nor the desire to argue. She focused her attention on remaining in the chair, suddenly more nervous than usual that she might forget how this particular rudimentary piece of furniture functioned. Jean-Luc was gone a long time which, she assumed, meant that he'd actually been very quick about what he was doing. When he returned, he took the seat next to her, with just the corner of the table between them, and put down a glass of water and a plate.

"Baked potato," he said, using a knife and fork to nearly make a mashed potato out of the food. "Soft, not too hot, with butter and salt."

The words made Beverly's mouth water and her stomach ache. It issued an embarrassingly loud growl, and Jean-Luc looked amused.

"You approve of my culinary choices for bland food," he said. "We will leave the skin of the potato on. I've heard that it contains a great deal of nutrients, and you're in need of all of those that you can get. Here you are…careful, it's a bit warm…"

He forked up a small bite of the potato and, cupping his hand under it, offered the fork out in Beverly's direction. He leaned forward, bringing the bite of food right to her lips.

For the briefest moment, Beverly thought that she should insist that she could feed herself. She thought that she should relieve him of such a ridiculous duty. The other part of her, though, seemed to win out. She simply wanted this, even though she couldn't be fully certain of why she did, and she hadn't forced him to offer. Beverly opened her mouth and accepted the bite of food. As soon as she tasted it, she closed her eyes to further savor the flavor.

It was warm, and buttery, and salty—and it was the best food she'd ever eaten in her entire life. She moaned out her pleasure with it before she realized how loud she'd been. It was too late to take it back, and when she opened her eyes, her cheeks burning warm again, she found Jean-Luc smirking at her, his own cheeks slightly tinged with color.

He was leaned somewhat close to her, and his voice was low, despite the fact that there wasn't a soul there to overhear them.

"I happen to know that that particular sound means that you enjoy…the choice that I've made for you," Jean-Luc said.

Beverly felt her body run warm from what seemed like head to toe.

"Jean-Luc," she said, but she wasn't able to finish, and she wasn't able to put any real significant sound of protest behind it. He smiled and laughed quietly before offering her another forkful of potato. She took it, eager to eat it, and Jean-Luc's smile renewed as he pulled back the fork.

"In this manner," he said, his tone one of instruction, "you can't eat too quickly. You are understandably anxious to eat, but your stomach is quite unaccustomed to digesting much these days, and so we should give it some time to gently adjust to the new expectations."

"Are you teaching me about the way the body works, Jean-Luc?" Beverly asked, laughing quietly. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"Perhaps, I am," he said. "Perhaps, I'm only telling you about my understanding—and a little of my fanciful imaginings—about the way that your body works."

Beverly's heart thumped hard in her chest. Her breathing felt shallow and out of her control. She nearly clamped her teeth shut to keep any thought that shouldn't escape from getting out, since her mind raced with things that she knew were inappropriate.

Her mind raced back to that night. One drink had turned into a few. While neither of them had been drunk beyond all use of their reason, both of them had been very relaxed. They had been, arguably, far too relaxed, if their goal had been to avoid such an indiscretion. They'd been sitting on the couch together. Jean-Luc had touched Beverly's face a dozen times it seemed—at first with one excuse or another: there was an eyelash, he'd tucked her hair back, he'd never noticed this particular smattering of light freckles, and did she know they were there, and so on. Finally, he'd ceased offering any excuse at all, and she hadn't required one.

The kisses—there had been several of them—had been soft and sweet at first. The very first had come with an apology that had been waved away. The following ones hadn't even come with that much pomp and circumstance.

Beverly's body felt warm every time she remembered that night. Somehow, she had thought it perfectly acceptable to drape her legs over his body—to recline slightly and relax that way. A hand had naturally squeezed her knee, and her thigh, and she'd thought nothing of its upward trajectory, and he had only asked permission with his eyes—a permission she'd granted before it was asked.

His hand had been between her legs, touching her through the pants she'd worn, when the first truly hungry kiss had come—she'd felt as hungry then, in a way, as she felt now. If she remembered correctly, she'd been the one to suggest retiring to his quarters, but he hadn't put up a fight of any sort—not that night.

That night, there had been no hesitation. There had been no indication that he might not want to do what they'd done. In fact, he had been the most dedicated lover she'd ever known, determined to make the experience one that she would remember.

Of course, the next morning when she'd left without waking him, neither of them had known just how very memorable that little indiscretion would be.

She certainly hadn't known she was carrying home a truly lasting souvenir of the night.

Beverly was pulled out of her day-dreaming when she felt Jean-Luc touch her face. This was different than the touches from that night. He'd moved his chair closer to hers—his knee touched her leg—and he was pressing his hand to her face.

"Beverly—are you OK? You have to communicate with me—are you feeling sick?" Jean-Luc asked.

"What?" She asked, looking at him. Her eyes focused on him again—at least as much as her eyes seemed able to focus at the moment. Everything was slightly blurry and vaguely divided into two versions of itself. She felt a little unsteady, suddenly, and she reached out for him. Immediately, hands were around her ribcage, and he steadied her in the chair.

"It's OK," he said softly. "It's fine. Relax. You tensed and, in your current condition, that throws your balance off entirely."

Beverly smiled to herself, her heart was still racing, but she could feel her mind—which felt like a separate entity, as did nearly every part of her body—telling the rest of her that there was no need to panic. It was time to be calm.

"Thank you," she told him as she relaxed back into the chair. He slowly released her, clearly testing to see if she was as stable as he believed.

"Are you sick?" He asked. "You left me for a moment there, and you got quite…red and hot."

"I'm fine," she said. "I was just…thinking. About what you said."

"What I said?" He asked. Convinced that she wasn't currently rejecting the two bites of food he'd already allowed her to swallow, he offered her another bite. She hummed at it, careful not to be as suggestive as before.

"I was just thinking—your understanding of my body has never been…inaccurate," Beverly said. "Not now or…" She left it hanging. She saw him turn red. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I don't know what came over me."

"I think I do," Jean-Luc said, laughing quietly. "And—you owe me no apology. Here. Have some more." Beverly accepted the bite of food, content to let Jean-Luc dictate the speed at which he thought she could and should eat the potato. She'd waited this long for food; she could wait between bites. Besides, he wasn't wrong that eating slowly was better for her digestion. "The medicine seems to be working. That's good. You have to eat for…for the baby, Beverly. He's going to require it."

Beverly hummed at him. She didn't feel that he needed her to say anything, and there was nothing that she absolutely needed to say.

She was content to simply be in the present moment. There was nowhere else that she wanted to be.

Beverly opened her mouth and accepted another bite of potato when it was offered to her. She allowed herself to relax comfortably in the chair, and she laughed quietly when Jean-Luc clearly and instinctively reached out to touch her arm and make sure she was steady in the seat as she got settled.

She hummed her approval to another bite of food and, for a bit, he simply fed her with a hint of a smile on his face.

"Tell me how you're feeling," he said after a while. Beverly hummed.

"I'm not certain," she admitted, feeling like all the possible answers to that question were too overwhelming when they were considered all at once.

"Are you feeling unwell?" Jean-Luc asked. "How does your stomach feel?"

"Wonderful," Beverly breathed out.

"You're tired," Jean-Luc said with a smile.

"A little," Beverly admitted. She accepted another bite. She was getting full. She could admit that she hadn't eaten what she would have normally been able to eat, but she had grown accustomed to eating very little, and the potato was quite filling. She figured she could manage a few bites more to make Jean-Luc happy and to satisfy him that she'd eaten all that she possibly could.

Jean-Luc seemed to be able to read her mind. He smiled at her and raised his eyebrows. His tone was enough to make a bit of a shiver run through her.

"You'll eat a few more bites," Jean-Luc said. "And then, I think you might be ready for bed. You should sleep well on a full stomach, and you'll wake up ready for an actual breakfast."

"What will Wesley think if I go to bed this early?" Beverly asked rhetorically. "He'll worry."

"I'll explain the medication to him," Jean-Luc said. "And the fact that you'll be better in the morning. You simply need to adjust to the medication now. Once you're used to having something on your stomach again, and you've slept, you shouldn't have any trouble. I'll be sure that he isn't too concerned."

"You'll talk to him for me?" Beverly mused.

"I shall," Jean-Luc assured him.

"You won't say…" Beverly said, starting slightly.

"I won't say anything that does not pertain to your medication and the reassurance that you are, in fact, quite well," Jean-Luc assured her. "We'll save other conversations for other days. Have you had all that you think you can eat?"

"I'm…full," Beverly admitted. "I don't want to overdo it, Jean-Luc."

"I agree. Come, Beverly—it's time to go to bed."

Beverly let Jean-Luc help her up. She sank into his arms and, for a moment, he simply held her—just like she had so achingly wished that he would. He stood, by the table, and held her in his arms. She closed her eyes and enjoyed it in silence.

When he apparently thought it appropriate, he led her to the bedroom with the same silence that they'd guarded during the prolonged hug. He stopped with her to get pajamas, and he ushered her into the bathroom and, though he didn't follow her inside, he did hover outside the door, letting her know that if she felt unsteady, he wasn't against helping her with whatever she may need. She assured him that, though she didn't feel entirely normal, she was far less dizzy and stumbling than she had been prior to consuming the food.

Regardless of that fact, though, he slipped his arm around her again, when she emerged from the bathroom, and he walked her to the bed. He helped her pull the blankets back, and he pulled them up again when she was settled.

Beverly couldn't recall the last time she'd been tucked into bed by anyone, honestly, accept Deanna Troi in her recent bouts of trying to care for Beverly, and just that tender act of care was enough to make Beverly ache for the joy of it and the hunger for more.

"Goodnight, Beverly," Jean-Luc said. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, affectionately stroking her hair as he did.

"Goodnight, Jean-Luc," she said, aware that he wouldn't be sleeping for some time, though she could already feel her eyelids growing heavy. "Thank you," she said.

"I require no thanks from you," he said. "It has been my pleasure. Sleep well. I'll check on you in the morning." He hesitated. "Beverly—would you…object to having breakfast with me?"

Beverly sighed. Her eyelids felt heavy. She felt like she was swaying and rocking, even though she knew the mattress was stable and the movements of the Enterprise were undetectable. The slight anxiety that had begun to knot in her chest at the thought that Jean-Luc was leaving and there was so much left unsaid—and that she already missed his presence—slowly started releasing itself.

"I would love to have breakfast with you," she said.

"Excellent. I'm happy to hear that," he said. "I'll see you for breakfast. Sleep well."

Beverly thought she responded to him, but maybe she hadn't. She closed her eyes, and she was peacefully drifting in sleep immediately. She let herself go entirely, happy to relinquish the last bit of control onto which she held.