AN: Here we are, another piece here.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
Beverly was standing just in front of the doors to her quarters when they slid open. Jean-Luc felt his breath catch, and he readjusted his hold on the bouquet of flowers to cover over the mix of feelings that ran through him.
A friend had once told Jean-Luc that the greatest moments in life, he would find, always circled back to family. And, in regard to that family, he'd told Jean-Luc that he would someday find that most of life's most beautiful moments would circle back to the woman he loved. There was nothing more beautiful, his friend had insisted, than the woman you loved—and there was something extraordinary about each moment that you were able to see her, and spend with her, especially as she made your home and family all that you could dream it would be.
Jean-Luc felt the rush of that feeling of overwhelm and awe as it collided with a cold splash of guilt over the fact that the friend had, in that moment, been talking about the very same woman that was now robbing Jean-Luc of his breath and his finer senses.
Jean-Luc let his eyes drift over her, drinking her all in. She was beautiful, and Jean-Luc's mind accepted the word only because it could come up with no proper replacement that was strong enough to convey the way that he really felt. The dress she'd chosen was simple, a little old-fashioned, in the best way, and it fit her perfectly—hugging just slightly the evidence that she'd been eating since they'd found the medication that relieved her worst symptoms, and her body was putting that food to good use.
The dress hugged what little evidence there was of his child, and Jean-Luc felt nearly dizzy in a way that not even a fully loaded Klingon Bird-of-Prey could prompt him to feel.
"Jean-Luc…" Beverly said, her voice soft and full of question.
Jean-Luc cleared his throat and put on his best smile, ignoring the flushed feeling that had settled over him.
"I thought you might like an escort for dinner," Jean-Luc offered. "These are for you."
Beverly's eyes were wider than usual, and her mouth was just barely open like she meant to say something. Jean-Luc had surprised her, of that he was certain.
"Come inside," she insisted. "Thank you. They're beautiful. Let me just—put them in some water. Wesley—the captain is here."
The collection of words didn't sound carefully planned or chained together. It sounded like an amalgamation of everything she could think of that might be appropriate in the moment, but it sounded as though she hadn't had or taken the time to sort any of the words out too carefully.
Jean-Luc followed her into her quarters, and the doors closed behind him. He followed her as she went for a vase and filled it with water. He watched her arrange the flowers in the kitchen. While she was occupied with the flowers, he indulged his senses with the opportunity to take her in—everything he'd studied over the years that he'd known her.
He knew the curve of her jaw. He knew every angle of her face. He knew more of the subtle changes that time had left there than he would have ever admitted to anyone.
He wanted to kiss her, but he didn't. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but he didn't do that, either.
"You didn't have to come," Beverly said. "I would have come soon. Am I that late?" She asked. The question was added with a hint of panic to her tone, and Jean-Luc saw her muscles seize up with the unnecessary concern that she'd somehow lost track of time entirely.
"I'm early," Jean-Luc said. "I wanted to be sure to arrive before you left so that I could escort you back to my quarters."
She faced him and smiled softly. His pulse responded according to the simple joy of bringing a sincere smile to her face. He wondered if she could detect his change in breathing rate. He covered it over the best he could with a smile of his own.
"I could have walked on my own," Beverly said.
"I don't doubt your ability to find your way to my quarters," Jean-Luc said with a laugh. "Have you—taken your medicine, Beverly?"
Her cheeks blushed pink. She shook her head gently and immediately requested a hypospray from the replicator. Jean-Luc closed his hand over it, and her eyes locked with his a second before she relinquished it.
"Let me help," he directed. She tensed, almost imperceptibly, like she might fight him, and then she released the hypospray into his hand and tipped her head to the side, baring her neck to him more than the hairstyle she'd chosen already did. Jean-Luc pressed the hypospray to her neck and released the medication into the artery there before he switched it to the other hand and impulsively pressed his thumb over the spot where he'd administered the medication, realizing immediately that it probably wasn't the most sanitary practice, though he couldn't seem to stop himself. He could feel her pulse. It was rapid. He brushed his thumb over her skin again, and quickly pulled back before he allowed himself something that he wasn't sure she would want—no matter how desperately he wanted to go on touching her. "Does it sting?" He asked, doing his best to cover over the movement that he hadn't been able to stop himself from doing.
She renewed her soft smile and caught his hand. Her thumb brushed over the skin on the back of his hand. She squeezed his hand in hers.
"It's very cold," she said. "Thank you—it's not unpleasant but, that made it better."
Jean-Luc had the gut feeling that what he'd done had actually done nothing for Beverly. He had seen no proof of discomfort when she'd taken the medication before, in his presence. Still, he appreciated that she approved of his touch, rather than rejecting it.
"Are you ready to go, or…?" Jean-Luc asked, leaving the question hanging so that Beverly could respond however she might like.
She hummed and nodded her head.
"Nearly," she said. "But—Jean-Luc…"
"Yes, Beverly?" He responded.
"If we're walking back to your quarters together," Beverly said, "especially—dressed as we are, people are going to talk."
"I'm certain they will," Jean-Luc said. "Several have already seen me walking here with a bouquet of flowers. I didn't try to hide it at all."
Beverly hummed and nodded her head.
"Most of the ship already knows that I'm expecting," Beverly said. "And if they don't, they soon will."
"You're suggesting that they might begin to put two and two together," Jean-Luc filled in for her, keeping her from having to say what she was clearly thinking.
"Have you thought about that?" Beverly said. "You are the captain, after all."
"I am," Jean-Luc said, nodding his head. "And—of course I've thought about that. I am the captain, as you say. However, I'm also a father-to-be. Am I correct?"
Beverly's cheeks ran visibly red. She swallowed back her smile, but not entirely. She nodded her head.
"It would seem so," she said, clearly and openly teasing him.
Jean-Luc laughed at her teasing tone and expression. Some part of him felt very happy to have it back. It felt like it had been gone too long, and he was only just realizing how much he'd truly missed it.
"Please do correct me if I'm wrong, Beverly," he said. "If I've—misunderstood something…"
"You haven't misunderstood anything. I really only mean to say that—the role that you take in the baby's life is up to you, Jean-Luc. I don't want to push you into anything. That's never been my intention."
Jean-Luc's stomach twisted, and he nodded at her.
"Perhaps it's best if we just—deal with one thing head-on," Jean-Luc said. "The child is my child. Our child. Together. I intend to be a father to this child, Beverly, if you'll let me."
"I wouldn't deny you that," Beverly said. "If that's what you want."
"I want to be a father to this child. Make no mistake about that. I may not be entirely certain, yet, of all that entails, and I may have a great deal to learn before I am comfortable with every part of that role, but I am entirely certain that I wish to occupy that role, and I hope to do so to the best of my abilities. Is there any part of this that I have left open for doubt? If so, please let me know, and I will be happy to clarify anything that requires it."
Beverly smiled at him. He thought there was unmistakable tenderness in her expression, and it made his chest tighten. It was difficult not to respond by closing the distance between them and testing just how far that tenderness toward him went.
"No," Beverly said. "I believe that you've made yourself quite clear."
"Then—it won't be a problem that the crew understands that I am both the captain and a father-to-be," Jean-Luc said. "Because it will be the truth."
"If you want any kind of control over what they say about our situation," Beverly offered, "then you should probably realize that, as soon as they all start talking, you've lost that control. If you walk with me back to your quarters, Jean-Luc, then the majority of the crew will have reached their own conclusions by morning."
Jean-Luc laughed and shook his head.
"Then, let them reach their conclusions," he said. "I can tell them what to think, if I want, but I can't make them think it. A man's mind is his own. As I told you, I already saw quite a few crew members as I was walking here. It wasn't difficult to guess what my errand was—not with the flowers. It has probably proved quite simple for some people to already figure out where I was going, and for whom I intended the bouquet. It doesn't bother me to walk with you on my arm and remove all doubt. Tomorrow, if you think it's best, we could…have some sort of formal announcement. We'll have time to discuss such things over dinner."
"Whatever you think is best," Beverly said. "I'll leave it up to you to decide what the crew needs."
"We'll discuss it over our meal," Jean-Luc said. "Which we should have soon, lest you start to feel ill. Are you ready to go?"
"I have to say goodnight to Wesley," Beverly said.
Jean-Luc nodded his acceptance of that, and he followed her out into the living area of Beverly's quarters. Despite the fact that she had spoken to her son earlier, Jean-Luc hadn't seen him. Now, he saw Wesley sitting at the table and doing what Jean-Luc could only assume was either some sort of assignment or some research of his own creation.
Wesley stood when they entered the room, as he often did, taking attention in Jean-Luc's presence.
"At ease, Ensign Crusher," Jean-Luc said, smiling at Wesley.
Wesley relaxed.
"Wesley—don't stay up too late," Beverly said. "And make sure you choose something decent for dinner. I don't mind if you have dessert, but you've got to eat something substantial."
Wesley opened his arms to her and accepted the hug she was clearly offering him. Jean-Luc watched the way she wrapped him in her arms, squeezing him tightly against her. Wesley returned her affection wholeheartedly, without any show of embarrassment.
"You don't mind my robbing you of your mother's company for the evening, do you?" Jean-Luc asked.
"No, sir," Wesley said, pulling out of the hug and accepting that Beverly fussed a little with straightening his clothing. "It's just…"
"Wesley…" Beverly said, as a word of warning against anything he might be considering saying.
Jean-Luc smiled at Wesley.
"I promise to have her home at a respectable hour," Jean-Luc offered. "And I haven't forgotten that you and I are scheduled to have a little chat, man-to-man. I have some time tomorrow. What do you think of joining me for lunch and a little time on the holodeck?"
"I have some lessons in Engineering tomorrow," Wesley offered. "And I have a duty shift."
Jean-Luc barely managed to swallow back his amusement. He hummed at Wesley to acknowledge what he'd said.
"Yes—well—I happen to know someone who can rearrange such things," Jean-Luc teased. "If you don't object to speaking with me, then I'll handle the rest. Do you object to having a conversation with me?"
"No, sir," Wesley said.
"Very well," Jean-Luc said. "Then, tomorrow, we'll have lunch and a little time to talk at our leisure."
"Don't stay up too late," Beverly warned again, starting like she might walk toward the door.
"Mom…maybe you shouldn't stay up too late," Wesley offered.
Jean-Luc bit the inside of his cheek at Beverly's expression when she stopped and looked back at her son. Jean-Luc reached a hand out and squeezed the upper part of her arm, effectively stopping her before she could reprimand the boy.
"I believe Wesley is correct," Jean-Luc said. "I've heard that women in your condition, especially, need their rest, Beverly."
"I am an adult," Beverly said. "And a doctor besides. I can decide on my own when I'm tired, and when I require rest."
"I have no doubt you can," Jean-Luc soothed quickly. He looked at Wesley. "However, I will respect that you may require freedom to choose a proper time without feeling that you might insult me in any way. You have my word, Wesley, that I will see your mother home at a respectable hour, so that she may have adequate time to rest before her morning duty shift."
Wesley looked pleased. Jean-Luc wasn't sure, honestly, if he was pleased because Beverly would be home early, because he hadn't been scolded for what he'd said, or because he and Jean-Luc were working together on something—even if it was something as simple as assigning Beverly a curfew of sorts.
"I hope you have a good dinner," Wesley offered to the both of them.
Jean-Luc accepted that for what it was, and he acknowledged it.
"Thank you," he said, just as Beverly said the same. "I hope you enjoy your evening."
"Goodnight, Wes," Beverly said, hugging Wesley once more.
"Night, Mom," Wesley said. "I'll be up when you get home."
"Wesley…"
"You won't be out too late," Wesley offered, cutting her off before he returned to his assignment.
Jean-Luc smiled at Beverly when she made eye contact with him. If she were going to protest in any way, it was clear that she decided to wait until later to do so.
"Shall we?" Jean-Luc asked, offering an arm out to Beverly to properly escort her. She didn't say anything—at least not for the moment—but she sighed and then smiled at him, taking the arm that was offered to her so that he could see her back to his quarters for their meal.