AN: Here's another piece to this one.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
Jean-Luc assessed himself quickly. His palms were sweaty. His knees felt noticeably shaky. His breathing was shallow and rapid. His doctor would have diagnosed him with anxiety—probably with elevated levels of cortisol and adrenaline.
Yet, he wasn't preparing to face a Gorn, an angry Klingon in battle, or a fleet of Romulan warbirds. Instead, he was only planning to stop by the office of the woman he loved, at her request—though, at the moment, he couldn't actually recall if he'd ever fully admitted to Beverly that he'd loved her, in so many words, as much as he did. If he hadn't, he hoped that she could sense it, much like he sensed her love in the tenderness she showed him.
That tenderness was the reason he had no reason to fear pushing the button and announcing his presence, but he still did. It was, he knew, his own sense of guilt and sorrow that made him feel as he did—Beverly hadn't so much as seemed cross with him during the days of his absence.
Jean-Luc wiped his palm on his pants as discreetly as possible and pushed the button.
"Come in," Beverly said. The door opened to allow him access.
At her desk, Beverly was working on something in her computer and eating. She didn't look up to see who had entered for a moment. When she clearly finished whatever it was that she was doing, she looked up. She smiled at Jean-Luc.
"Jean-Luc…" she said, drawing his name out practically like a song—or maybe his ears only heard it that way because they'd been practically starving for her voice during his self-imposed exile. His heart only beat more wildly, and he briefly felt put off by the irregularity.
"I didn't mean to interrupt your work or your…" Jean-Luc paused, mentally checking the time of day. "Breakfast?"
Beverly looked at the partially eaten food on her desk like she didn't remember eating it only seconds before. She wiped her fingers on the napkin next to it.
"I was just finishing up both. And it's more of a snack," she said, her cheeks tinging pink. "I've already eaten breakfast."
Jean-Luc smiled at her.
"A mother-to-be requires at least a few extra snacks a day," he offered. "At least—that's what I've been told."
She smiled sincerely and leaned on her chin. Jean-Luc felt the nerves and anxiety inside of him starting to untangle. She wasn't angry. If she was, she was hiding it well enough that he would have said that acting should be her profession even over medicine, and she was a very fine doctor.
"What do you need to tell me about the mission, Jean-Luc? What can you tell me about the mission?" Beverly asked. "I haven't heard anything yet; except that we're changing course."
She would know nothing about it just yet. Will and Deanna would currently be making the rounds but, for obvious reasons, they would allow Jean-Luc to brief Beverly on the mission and her personal role in carrying it out successfully.
"I did come here to speak to you about the mission," Jean-Luc ceded. "However, Beverly…more than that, I came to simply speak to you." Across the desk, he offered her the small potted plant he'd brought her. "I—recall you recently lamenting that the greatest sorrow of cut flowers, whether natural or from replicated matter, is that they die."
Beverly took the plant and placed it on the edge of her desk for display. Her smile was sincere.
"Thank you, Jean-Luc," she said. She laughed quietly. "Now…if only I can refrain from killing it, myself. Thank goodness I'm better with people than plants," she teased.
Jean-Luc knew it was false modesty and teasing. Beverly had never really had any problem tending to plants or people.
"Are—other things growing well?" Jean-Luc asked.
With the way that Beverly smiled at him, he couldn't help but smile at her. Most of his anxiety was gone, now, except for that which boiled around in his stomach and was fueled mostly by guilt.
"Didn't you come here to talk about the mission, Captain?" Beverly teased.
"I came here to speak to you," Jean-Luc said. "To see you: Beverly Howard Crusher. When we're done, I'll speak to my Chief Medical Officer, if she has the time to spare to me, about the specifics of our upcoming mission. Please—Beverly—tell me what you needed…or wanted."
"I did tell you that my request wasn't urgent," Beverly said. Jean-Luc nodded his head. He thought he sensed a bit of anxiety—or, maybe, it was simply his own anxiety that he was projecting onto Beverly. "I guess—now—Deanna might say that my reason for calling you was, subconsciously, more about wanting to see you than any real feeling that my pretend purpose was urgent or even important."
Jean-Luc's stomach twisted.
"Deanna might say that my reason, subconsciously, for coming as soon as I could find the time was more about wanting to see you than about any genuine concern," Jean-Luc said. "Still—I'd like to know your purpose for breaking the silence, Beverly. Pretend or otherwise."
The look on Beverly's face made Jean-Luc's throat tighten. For a brief second, he wondered why it was that he'd left her presence for even a moment. He ached to have back every wasted second that he'd cost them both—and she seemed entirely oblivious to it all. He smiled back at her to encourage her. The anxiety he'd sensed was real, but he could tell that it wasn't the kind of anxiety to fear. It was the kind that practically made the air around them intoxicating with expectation.
Beverly wrang her hands, probably subconsciously, as she found the words she liked best for the moment.
"They call it popping, Jean-Luc," Beverly said. "But—really, it's just a way to explain uterine location in comparison to the pelvic bone. I already carried Wesley and, for that reason, things happen a little more quickly, or more easily, perhaps, than they did when I was carrying him. Well…"
Beverly stood up. Jean-Luc noticed, immediately, once she was on her feet, that she'd replicated a different uniform. It was, Jean-Luc knew, a maternity uniform, though he'd never had any reason to really pay them any attention beyond the notice that they did exist.
This one, however, stirred up a reaction in him, because it was Beverly that was wearing it—and it was his child that had prompted her to replicate it.
Beverly walked around her desk where he could see her better and smoothed down the uniform shirt. She smiled at him and shrugged her shoulders.
"I could keep holding it back on purpose, of course," she said. "But…I don't want to do that. Not all the time. I wanted to tell you, myself, before someone said something, or you just saw me and…it surprised you."
There was, arguably, hardly anything there, but there was something there. Jean-Luc didn't think that anyone walking down the corridors, unaware of Beverly's pregnancy, would be overwhelmed by the change in her, but there was enough there that, if they didn't already know, the slight change in her appearance would have started them talking.
Jean-Luc must have paused too long, digesting everything and allowing his brain to run through every thought it conjured up, because Beverly looked slightly chagrined.
"I told you it wasn't urgent," she said. "And, maybe it was just something subconscious…"
Beverly's tone pushed Jean-Luc into leaving his stupor. He stepped forward and, without hesitation, rested his hand over the evidence of their little one that Beverly had displayed for him. She covered his hand, this time not moving it, as she often did, to help him find just the right place.
"Press your fingers in, Jean-Luc, here," Beverly said, pressing his fingers with her own. "You're not going to hurt either of us. Can you feel that?"
"I don't feel anything," he admitted. "I don't think…" Suddenly, he wasn't sure. He didn't know if he did or he didn't—or if anything he might feel was suddenly only part of his imagination. Beverly smiled at him like she understood that.
"Soon, you will," Beverly said. "I'm feeling the baby moving a lot."
"Dr. Moran said the baby is very active."
Beverly nodded her agreement with the statement.
"Very," she said with a laugh. "All the time. Night and day. Much more than Wesley was. Really, I think I notice more when it's not moving than when it is. I don't know what it's going to be like when our little one isn't so little anymore."
Jean-Luc dropped his hand from her belly almost reluctantly. He touched her face, and she didn't pull away from him at all. She looked at him expectantly. He brought their lips together, noticing that she closed her eyes as soon as he'd made any move in that direction. The kiss was soft, but he didn't miss the slightest hint of hunger from Beverly that made his entire body tingle. He rested his forehead against hers as the kiss broke.
"Can you forgive me?" He asked.
"For what?" She asked, holding his hands in hers.
"For running, Beverly, when I felt overwhelmed," Jean-Luc said. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed. It's been…four or five days."
"Six," Beverly said, laughing quietly. "But—who's counting?"
Jean-Luc backed up, but he didn't pull his hands away from where Beverly held them. Instead, he squeezed her hands in response.
"Six, really?" He asked. She nodded. "Time wasted."
"We've wasted more time than that," she offered lightly.
Jean-Luc's chest ached at the truth that he recognized behind the statement.
"I'm sorry," he said, finding that words seemed to fail him when he wanted them the most. "Can we start over?"
She simply smiled at him and half-shrugged her shoulders.
"I hope not," she said. "I would hate to lose the ground we've already covered."
"You know what I mean, Beverly."
"It's been a week, Jean-Luc," she said. "And I've told our little one every day that…the reason it can't hear Papa right now is because Papa is very busy being captain of the Enterprise."
"If the baby can hear me, it can miss me," Jean-Luc said, realizing it even as he said it.
"I think it started moving when you started talking," Beverly said. "I'm pretty sure that's a sure sign that there's no grudge being held. Jack was gone for almost my entire pregnancy with Wesley, and during much of the time when Wesley was growing up, and Wes still thought he was the greatest thing every time he saw him."
"You said you were looking forward to…to sharing things, this time," Jean-Luc said. "To not doing it all alone."
"And…then, it's been a week since I've seen you," Beverly said. "If I overwhelmed you, I'm sorry. Jean-Luc…if it's too much…"
"What?" Jean-Luc asked, humor that he didn't sincerely feel bubbling up inside him. "How do you finish that, Beverly? If it's too much, then what? You'll just do this on your own?" Beverly's gesture said enough. "No," Jean-Luc said, quickly and sharply enough to make it clear that he wasn't hesitating for a moment. "No," he said more softly. "That isn't even up for debate. It was never my intention to…well…none of it was my intention. I admit that I got overwhelmed, but that had nothing to do with you. It had nothing to do with…with the little one. It had to do only with my own shortcomings. I take full responsibility for it, and I'm sorry for my actions."
"There's no harm done," Beverly offered. "Only…"
"Yes?" Jean-Luc pressed.
"If you feel that you need time or space, I respect that," Beverly said. "I really do. Maybe you could simply communicate that to me? Just so I know."
Jean-Luc nodded his head.
"Communication is key," he said. "Of course, I know that, even if I have failed to practice it. May I—have a chance to make it up to you?"
"There's nothing to make up," Beverly said.
"Please…for my peace of mind…"
"What did you have in mind for self-flagellation?" Beverly asked, clearly teasing Jean-Luc, but also making it clear that she would let him voice his need to her.
"I'll fill you in on the mission," Jean-Luc said. "Everything I know to this point. This evening, I'll be having a private dinner with a few members of the Bendalite delegation. I'm asking Riker and Troi to join me. Would you join me?"
Beverly smiled at him.
"As your Chief Medical Officer?" She asked.
"As my date, first," Jean-Luc said. "And then, if I may be presumptuous…would you either stay for the remainder of the evening or allow me to accompany you back to your quarters for the night? I understand, of course, if you should say that you don't want to engage in any particular activities. I suppose what I'm trying to ask, in a rather poor manner, I admit, is if you would do me the honor of…sleeping with me, tonight? Just sleeping, of course, if that's what you would prefer."
Beverly looked a little shocked, but not at all displeased.
"Would it overwhelm you, Jean-Luc, if I were to tell you that I have discovered that I sleep better when you're there?"
Jean-Luc felt a wave of anxiety, but he accepted it for what it was and let it pass through him without taking up permanent residence.
"It is a little overwhelming," he said. "But I'm going to learn to adjust. I promise you that. Still, Beverly, I can say, without hesitation, that I have not slept well in your absence, either."
She smiled at him.
"Should I wear a dress uniform?" She asked.
Jean-Luc's heart beat quickly at her acceptance.
"Civilian clothing," he said, shaking his head. "We want to present this as an informal dinner. Wear something that makes you feel…happy."
"Happy?" She asked, smiling all the way to her eyes. Jean-Luc touched her face because he was overtaken with the need to simply touch her. He brushed her lips with his own, tasting her kiss. The smiled didn't fade when he looked at her again.
"Just like you look now. Beautiful and happy—and more forgiving than I shall ever deserve."
"Jean-Luc…" Beverly said. There was the slightest hint of scolding there. She didn't finish, and he didn't require her to do so. He laughed quietly to himself.
"Shall I—fill you in on the mission?"
"I wish you would," Beverly said.
"There may be some points that are of particular interest to you. May I suggest a walk around the holodeck while we talk? Exercise and fresh air is, after all, good for mothers-to-be and Picards of all ages and sizes—or so I've heard."
Beverly laughed quietly, and the blush of color that came to her cheeks was beautiful to Jean-Luc.
"I could use a little fresh air and exercise," Beverly said. "And I do adore the company."