AN: Here we are, another piece to this one.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
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"I know that you've probably thought about this before, Beverly, but—hear me out," Deanna said.
"Here?" Beverly asked, ignoring Deanna for a moment in the quest to get their picnic blanket spread out on the ground in their serene, woodland holodeck simulation so that they could eat the lunch they'd packed and brought with them. It had been all that Beverly could do, honestly, not to sneak her hand into the basket and eat one of the chicken legs while they'd walked. She'd needed to give her stomach a day or two of telling it when to eat for it to seemingly figure out that she was free to consume food again, but now it had caught on and seemed to be doing its best to make up for lost time.
Deanna didn't seem annoyed by Beverly temporarily putting her off. She nodded that the little clearing was fine, and put down the basket. Beverly laughed to herself when the passing thought crossed her mind that Deanna had offered to carry the basket—not because she worried it might be too heavy for Beverly, or because she didn't want Beverly to overexert herself but, rather, because she wanted to be sure that Beverly wasn't dipping into the food before they were settled.
Beverly helped Deanna spread out the blanket, and they both sat. Deanna served the food and the thermoses of water they'd brought with them. Beverly dosed herself with the hypospray she'd tucked into their basket, and she waited for the initial wave of dizziness to pass that came with each dose—something she was becoming accustomed to and starting to consider simply part of her "normal" for the time being. As soon as they were both settled with their meals on plates, Beverly simply made prolonged eye contact with Deanna to let her know that she was free to go on with what she'd intended to say.
"What if you simply told Jean-Luc the truth?" Deanna said.
The words washed over Beverly's body like a bucket of iced water being dumped over her head.
"I haven't lied to him," she said.
"I'm not suggesting you have," Deanna said. "But—there's still such a thing as omission.
"It's not that simple," Beverly said.
"What if it's truly not that complicated?" Deanna countered. "Have you forgotten that I'm an empath?"
Beverly felt defensive, and maybe it was because she suddenly felt vulnerable.
"I can't forget that," she said. "I'm fully aware that I never have any privacy with my feelings around you."
Deanna looked momentarily struck, and then she furrowed her brow with anger—or maybe frustration, but Beverly wasn't as capable of reading feelings as Deanna was.
"I'm going to forgive you that," Deanna said, "because I don't believe you meant it at all. Beverly—my point is that I know how you feel. I feel how you feel. But—you're not the only person on this ship that I encounter on a regular basis, and yours aren't the only feelings that I feel."
Realization washed over Beverly. She took a bite of food because Deanna did—because it seemed right and reasonable to mirror her when they'd both come here for a lunch at the end of a morning shift. Suddenly, the food didn't taste like she'd dreamed it would, and her stomach wasn't as hungry for it as it had been. Now, instead, it was chewing on anxiety. She forced the food down because it was necessary, not because it was desirable.
"Jean-Luc?" Beverly asked.
"I won't disclose anything he's told me in confidence," Deanna said as a disclaimer. "Just the same as I wouldn't disclose, to him, anything that you've told me in confidence."
"I understand," Beverly said. "But—you've sensed something."
Deanna laughed, more to herself than over any joke she shared openly with Beverly, and shook her head. She seemed to be enjoying her food a great deal more than Beverly was, and Beverly felt something like jealousy over how easy everything seemed for Deanna at the moment.
"I've sensed a great many things," Deanna said. "And for some time. Beverly—Captain Picard is a man who expresses himself very well when it comes to matters of diplomacy. When it comes to personal matters, however…it's a whole different story. I've heard your explanations a few times. Have you considered examining his actions, though, rather than his words or lack of words?"
Beverly drank half her thermos of water trying to wash down the food that was stuck in her throat—and any other lump that might be obstructing the easy passage of air and food.
She shrugged her shoulders, holding the thermos like a comfort item for the moment.
"He's asked Dr. Moran to perform a scan of the baby," Beverly said. "A detailed one—visual and everything. I didn't think one was necessary when Dr. Moran first examined me. But—Jean-Luc wants the full thing, and he wants to be there, today."
"That seems like a reasonable request," Deanna said. She smiled softly at Beverly and raised her eyebrows. "It seems like a very—fatherly request…to want to see the baby. It may be important to remember that Captain Picard doesn't have the same connection to the child that you do. He may be looking for something to help make it concrete for him."
Beverly held Deanna's eyes.
"Has he talked to you?" She asked. Deanna smiled in response.
"He is my patient," Deanna said, "and he makes use of my services whenever he's feeling the need for advice or the simple opportunity to unburden himself."
"He wants to…make the baby something real?" Beverly asked.
"Perhaps you should have a conversation with him," Deanna said. "After the scan might be a wonderful opportunity for that. Maybe you could suggest dinner—somewhere quiet, where there is no pressure."
"I keep having entirely irrational thoughts about the scan," Beverly said. "Irrational fears. I know they're irrational, but…"
"But our fears, no matter how irrational, are still fears," Deanna said. Beverly nodded. "Tell me about your irrational fears?"
Beverly shrugged and laughed to herself.
"I keep thinking—what if I'm not pregnant at all? I don't mean that I'm imagining anything has happened to the baby, though…I did wake myself up with that last night. I mean—what if Dr. Moran is performing the scan and we realize that I'm not pregnant at all. That I never have been. I've created all this trouble and—and I've caused a great deal of stress for Jean-Luc for no reason at all."
"Dr. Moran examined you prior, correct?" Deanna asked. Beverly nodded. "And—you've been scanned with a tricorder probably numerous times." Beverly nodded. "And—nobody has noticed that you're not pregnant before, right?"
"I told you that I knew it was irrational," Beverly said with a laugh. Deanna echoed her laughter.
"You'll enjoy the scan," Deanna said, slightly changing the subject to happier things, since there was nothing she could really do about entirely irrational fears.
Beverly sucked in a breath and purposefully released some of her tension. She smiled and nodded.
"I will," she said.
"It will make everything real. Concrete. You will have something to reassure you that everything is real and just as it should be."
Beverly hummed.
"I think that's one reason why I'm nervous. I'll hear the heartbeat, and I'll see the baby…hopefully forming just like it should be."
"Your fear is that you will see something that you don't want to see," Deanna said. "And that's manifesting itself into a fear that the entire pregnancy will be something that's, somehow, not real."
"I'm sure you're right," Beverly confirmed.
"Having Captain Picard there will be a comfort to you," Deanna said. Beverly caught her sideways glance. Deanna just barely smiled before abandoning her plate—her food mostly gone, thanks to the fact that she'd eaten with the enthusiasm that Beverly had felt before they'd started talking—and burrowing in the basket in search of the container she'd placed in there earlier. She came up with a spoon and a sealed bowl. Opening it, she smiled at the chocolate pudding she'd packed, and she swallowed the first spoonful while watching Beverly intently.
"What do you want me to say?" Beverly asked. Deanna's smile didn't fade.
"To me, or to the captain?" Deanna asked.
"Deanna," Beverly said. She stopped herself before saying anything else. She heard her own words, in her mind, and realized that her frustration with her friend was, really, just frustration with her life. She sighed. "I'm listening."
Deanna smiled.
"Why don't you tell the captain your fears?" Deanna asked. "It's entirely possible that he has some fears of his own. Encourage him to share them with you."
"He knows that he can share with me…" Beverly said.
"And he would say that you know the same," Deanna said. "That may be true, as long as you're not sharing about your feelings for each other. I would say that's where both of you draw the line. What if you at least told him that it will be a comfort for you that he's there during the scan?"
"He's the one who requested it," Beverly said. "Of course, he's going to be there."
Deanna rolled her eyes. For a moment, not even her chocolate pudding or her carefully constructed counselor's countenance could cover the fact that she was irritated with Beverly.
"Beverly—what if you simply told the captain that you're in love with him?" Deanna said, diving straight for her point.
Beverly felt nearly struck by the words. She turned them over, and then she shook her head.
"If I were to do that, then he'd have no choice but to respond…" Beverly said.
"That's how conversation works among members of most species," Deanna countered.
"I don't want him to feel like he's between a proverbial rock and a hard place," Beverly said. "He said he needed some time to think about his feelings about the baby. I can't rush that, and I can't heap more onto his plate."
"Things are fairly calm right now aboard the ship," Deanna offered gently. "It's possible that he has room on his plate, Beverly, as you put it. Maybe—he wants things on there. Maybe this is a thing he would actually enjoy having on his plate—like chocolate pudding."
"He doesn't even know how he feels about the baby…" Beverly said.
"Neither did you, immediately," Deanna said.
"I knew that I wanted it," Beverly said. "Immediately. Over everything else, I knew that."
"Has the captain said that he doesn't want the baby?" Deanna asked.
"Not in so many words," Beverly said.
"Then—why not allow him the opportunity to select his own words?" Deanna asked. "I'm not speaking to you as your counselor. I'm speaking to you as your friend. You should tell him how you feel."
Beverly didn't have to respond. She didn't have to count for Deanna all the reasons that her gut told her it might be a bad thing to do that—all the reasons that it counted out for her that things could go badly. Her combadge chirped almost as soon as she'd had time to start thinking of what she might say to Deanna.
"Picard to Crusher."
Beverly briefly felt like all the blood in her body rushed downward—if she hadn't known any better, she might have looked around her, on the picnic blanket, to see if it pooled there. She had the irrational fear, for a second, that somehow one of them had activated their communicator without realizing their error.
She touched hers.
"Crusher here," she said, noting a slight tremor in her own voice that she hoped he didn't notice.
"Where are you, Beverly?" He asked. Beverly couldn't help but smile. He was somewhere private—or relatively private.
"I'm on the holodeck, Captain, with Counselor Troi," Beverly responded, letting him know that they weren't entirely alone.
"Very well, Picard out."
Beverly thought of calling him back to ask what was going on or what was wrong, but she didn't have much of a chance to do so. The arch appeared nearby and Jean-Luc stepped through it.
"I thought this might be where you were," Jean-Luc said. "Counselor Troi," he said, as a way of greeting Deanna.
"Captain," she said. "If you'd like some privacy, I've finished my lunch."
"You don't have to go," Beverly offered.
"Please—stay and finish your meal," Jean-Luc offered. He looked at Beverly. "Am I correct in assuming that—you've taken Counselor Troi into your confidence?"
Beverly knew what he was saying. She smiled at him and nodded gently.
"If I hadn't," she countered, "then, I would imagine that you had."
Jean-Luc laughed quietly.
"You would not be incorrect," he confirmed.
Deanna was already getting to her feet. Beverly reached out to touch her—to stop her—because she didn't want her feeling like she was being kicked out of the lunch invitation that had been extended to her. Deanna caught Beverly's hand and squeezed it in a friendly manner. Then, she released it and smiled at Jean-Luc.
"I've eaten my lunch, but Doctor Crusher has barely touched hers," Deanna said.
Jean-Luc smiled at her.
"Point taken, Counselor," he said. "Please—don't feel pressured to leave. I only meant to stop by for a moment."
"I have some things to do," Deanna said. "I'll see you later." She directed the last words to Beverly, but she didn't wait for a response before disappearing back through the arch that Jean-Luc had used to reach them.
"I hope I didn't ruin your lunch, Beverly. That wasn't my intention," Jean-Luc said.
"You haven't ruined anything," Beverly assured him. "Sit? There's plenty of food left. We overestimated how much we would want."
"I'm not hungry," he said. "However, it would please me, to no end, really, to see you eat what's here."
Beverly laughed quietly at his teasing. She sensed he was being sincere, but he also didn't want to be too serious. She found, too, that she suddenly felt more like eating. Her appetite had returned. Instead of putting her more on edge, his presence—rather than the conversation about discussing her feelings—relaxed her. She returned to the food with an enthusiasm that nearly felt rude while he refused to take any. She reminded herself that he would not consider her rude for eating the lunch she'd packed.
"Was there something wrong, Jean-Luc?"
He had been staring at her, while she ate, with a half-smile just barely quirking up one corner of his lips.
"Nothing at all," he said, jumping slightly at being addressed. "I went to talk to Dr. Moran. She asked if we could come in an hour, instead of later. I told her that would be fine, but that I would talk to you and let her know if there was any unforeseen conflict. Is there any reason we would need to cancel?"
Beverly's pulse picked up and she felt a rush of nerves. Her mind reminded her of everything that Deanna had said.
"Jean-Luc…"
"Yes?" He asked, leaning toward her.
"I'm a little nervous—about the scan," Beverly admitted.
He almost looked amused.
"So am I," he admitted.
Beverly could imagine that Jean-Luc wasn't nervous about the same thing that she was. She would feel silly if she tried to admit to him that she feared they might go in there and, somehow, find out that this entire pregnancy was psychosomatic or something like that. Her imagination immediately offered that he might even be angry, believing that was likely to be the case. It was ridiculous, and irrational, and she knew that. She shook it out of her head as well as she could.
"What are you nervous about?" She asked.
"Where could I begin?" Jean-Luc asked. Beverly shrugged.
"At the beginning?" She asked.
"No," Jean-Luc said. "For now—you've got your anxiety to deal with. Mine will keep. Would you—like to talk about what's bothering you?"
Beverly knew that he wasn't going to confess to her what was on his mind. He'd made his mind up to hold onto it for a while—to chew on it. She didn't want to confess what worried her—the creation of an overactive imagination that was running free at the moment. She shook her head.
"No," she said. "As you said, it'll keep. At least until after the scan. But—Jean-Luc…?"
"Yes, Beverly?"
She smiled at him.
"I'm happy you'll be there," she said. "It will be comforting…to me."
He smiled at her.
"I'm happy that I'll be there, too," he offered. "Should we—take a walk after you've finished your lunch? We have a little time."
"I'd like that," Beverly assured him. "Very much."