AN: Here we are, another piece to this story!
I do hope you enjoy! If you do, please don't forget to let me know!
111
Jean-Luc felt like he was almost constantly wearing the tight collar of his dress form, and it was always buttoned. He might have tugged at it, almost incessantly keeping a finger between his throat and the constricting fabric—only to have Beverly fuss at him to leave it alone—if the choking sensation hadn't been mostly imaginary.
A wonderful honeymoon of sorts on Risa had done nothing but make Jean-Luc's marriage more pleasant—a feat, really, given that he couldn't imagine loving anyone more than he loved Beverly or, even being able to possibly love her more than he already did—and they'd returned to the restored Enterprise to settle into some relatively easy, and mostly diplomatic, missions.
Having his wife happy and healthy, and having his ship in full repair, everything felt perfect with all the women of Jean-Luc's life.
Still, he was slowly truly settling into the fact that there was another lady—tiny though she may be—that would soon be taking something of a center-stage in his life. And, though Jean-Luc had been working to fully accept the presence of his daughter, the reality of it all seemed to be closing in more and more as the days moved by at what seemed like an alarming speed.
They fulfilled a mission to diplomatically help with the conflict between two colonies on a planet. They escorted a few diplomats to various locations. They took supplies to an outpost. Jean-Luc had dinner with the leader of a potential Federation planet. Things progressed, on the whole, routinely and calmly.
At night, Jean-Luc slept next to Beverly in his quarters—their quarters, though her move there had been mostly quiet and subtle, leaving Wesley to taste somewhat supervised freedom through retaining his room in the quarters that Beverly had once called home.
During the day, they both went to work, usually after sharing breakfast together, and parting with a kiss that held so much sweet promise that each of those offered kisses practically made Jean-Luc's heart flutter in his chest.
Jean-Luc had been well-informed that the honeymoon phase of marriage would end. He'd been made aware that, one day, he would wake to find that Beverly didn't thrill him like she once had. There were almost as many marriage fish-tales as there were stories of anything else, and men loved to pass them around. From what Jean-Luc understood, he would eventually be bored by Beverly. He would feel trapped. He may even find that she cooled to him so completely that he found her to be little more than a shrew. He may come to resent her, and even practically hate her.
Jean-Luc felt sorry for all the men that came to feel that way about the women they at least claimed to have once loved and adored. He felt even worse that they felt inspired to share those feelings across drinks and tables and, sometimes, across comm channels when they chatted with him about "business" and slowly let the conversation turn to some sort of required harassment about his life as a married man.
Jean-Luc could never imagine feeling that way about Beverly. He didn't want to imagine it.
He did, however, notice that he was slowly starting to feel some other emotions, rather strongly, where his wife was concerned.
The days moved relatively slowly, and truly limited time had passed in the lives of any of them, but time, Jean-Luc learned quickly, was a different thing, entirely, for an expectant mother than it was for everyone else.
Beverly hardly mentioned it, as though she sensed Jean-Luc's feelings, and Jean-Luc didn't bring it up since the book he'd read suggested that women could be sensitive about drawing attention to changes that you noticed about their bodies, but there were obvious changes taking place in Beverly's body as time went on.
The evidence of the baby she was carrying—their daughter—grew. There became a marked difference in Beverly's movements. Jean-Luc noticed it in the way she sat, and rose from those taken seats. He noticed it in her stride, and the way that her hands sought out parts of her body when they weren't otherwise occupied—stroking her belly or kneading some muscle that was behaving in a way she found less than desirable.
Other things about Beverly seemed to be changing, almost imperceptibly, though Jean-Luc found it impossible to pinpoint, exactly, what those changes were or exactly how they looked.
Something about Beverly felt softer. She hadn't changed. She was still Beverly. She still worked full days in sickbay—even when she was supposed to be on break—and she hadn't so much as blinked when the Federation had asked her to handle the injuries and other medical emergencies that needed tending around both the conflict they'd helped resolve and the outpost that had been a little too long without some necessary supplies.
She still listened to Jean-Luc discuss issues surrounding crew members, diplomats, or Federation higher-ups who made suggestions and issued commands from a place of something akin to ignorance. She counseled Jean-Luc, and she bruised his ego, when necessary, to keep him from allowing it to make him make mistakes that he would regret.
There was nothing—not a single thing—about Beverly that was truly softer, but there was still something.
And it comforted and warmed Jean-Luc, like being her presence was a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, while also stirring up an almost primal anxiety inside of him that he couldn't explain.
Jean-Luc made the appointment with Deanna Troi for when he had some off-duty time. He had gladly left Will in charge of things, and he'd gone quickly to Deanna's office. His knees had only begun to try to make him question his decision once he'd reached her door. Still, he'd sounded the chime and stepped inside when he was granted entrance. With the door closed behind him, he felt a bit of fortification, thanks to the privacy that they were granted.
"Captain," Deanna said, greeting him with a warm smile. She met him and took his hands. He felt a sensation of peace coming from her, and he wondered if she could project her feelings, as he knew that her mother could, or if he was only crediting her with such ability because a part of him almost needed her to have it.
"Counselor," he said.
She tugged his hands to bring him to the couch.
"Sit, Captain," she said. "Tea?"
"If it's no bother," Jean-Luc said.
He knew that Deanna very often treated her clients with food and beverages. She believed that such things went a long way to calming people and to opening them up to their feelings and experiences. Her office was warm and inviting. She'd carefully set the temperature for him, he could tell, as a human, and he wondered if she cultivated the lighting and temperature for the particular needs of all her clients.
Jean-Luc rarely met Deanna like this. Normally, he called her to his ready room, when he needed her advice, and then he usually stuck to asking what she thought about missions and other Starfleet-related issues. Jean-Luc very rarely sought actual personal counseling—and Deanna knew that.
Perhaps, he thought, sinking into the comfortable seat she'd offered him, that was why she'd been so quick to accommodate him. Of course, it was possible that he also got priority simply because he was the captain and there was an overarching worry that if a captain wasn't in a good mental place, the whole ship would suffer—purposefully or otherwise.
"What is it that you wanted to see me about, Captain?" Deanna asked, passing Jean-Luc a cup of tea as she sat, with her own cup in hand, near him. She leaned forward, her body language suggesting that she was open to whatever he might have to say and anxious to hear it. The hint of a smile on her lips was meant to offer him whatever reassurance he might need.
He needed reassurance—a great deal of it. He recognized that, to seek her help like this, at least some part of himself was feeling truly desperate for help to resolve his internal conflict.
"I came to ask you to talk me out of doing something impulsive, Counselor, that I do not actually desire to do on more than what feels like a truly primal level," Jean-Luc said.
He was not offended by the quick show of amusement that flashed across her features before she could control her expression. She had not known what to expect. She could not read his mind, as her mother might. She considered his words a moment, and nodded.
"I can sense you're uneasy, Captain," Deanna said.
"Very, Counselor," Jean-Luc assured her.
"Anxious," she added.
"I'm not feeling at all myself," he said.
"And this is not a…physical issue?" She asked.
He shook his head, understanding what she was asking. Sometimes, given their exposure to a great many things every day, they could undergo certain physical changes that were short-lived, most of time, and brought on by the influences of things around them. In those cases, a hypospray could set things right more quickly than anything else.
"I'm afraid that this is something else, entirely," Jean-Luc admitted. "I admit that I'm uncomfortable just being here, but I'm made more uncomfortable by my own thoughts and considerations."
"I'll help you however I can, Captain," Deanna said. "Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"
"I feel—almost irrational," Jean-Luc admitted. "Not in a way that I believe puts the ship or her crew in any danger, please don't misunderstand me. If that were the case, I would ask to be relieved of duty, immediately, until this could be resolved. Rather, what I seem to be experiencing is of a much more personal nature."
"I see…" Deanna said, as a way of urging him on.
"You see, Counselor, I find myself feeling…inadequate," Jean-Luc said.
"In what way?" Deanna asked with a furrowed brow.
"In every way," he said with a nervous laugh. "No—that's not true. Not quite. Again, I speak only of my personal life which, as you know, until relatively recently could hardly have been said to exist…"
"You're talking about your marriage?" Deanna asked.
Jean-Luc nodded.
"You feel—sexually inadequate, Captain? Forgive me if that seems insensitive, but these are often ways that people find themselves feeling inadequate in personal relationships, and it's very common."
"I believe that Beverly and I are fine, as far as that's concerned," Jean-Luc said. His face grew warm, and he wanted to call the whole session to a close, but he didn't. He recognized that these were things that didn't embarrass Deanna as a professional—no more than coming to Beverly with some ailment would cause some sort of embarrassment between them. "At least, if my wife is unsatisfied, in that way, she hasn't let me know about it."
"Has she mentioned some other form of dissatisfaction?" Deanna asked.
"Not at all," Jean-Luc said. "I feel this is primarily a problem of my own. She may not even know about it, and I'm not sure that I want her knowing about it. I do not wish to cause her any distress. For that reason, I have sought out your assistance, instead of trying to clumsily breach the topic with Beverly."
"I'm here to help you in any way that I can," Deanna said. "Tell me what's on your mind. Take your time. As Captain, your time with me is…unlimited."
She said the last part gently, after Jean-Luc had hesitated a long moment. He drank the tea that was cooling quickly.
"If everything goes according to plan, our daughter will be entering the world in approximately seven to eight weeks," Jean-Luc said.
"I am aware," Deanna said.
"I know that, in this stage of pregnancy, Beverly requires certain things that she hasn't required before. She would benefit from others. I know that—she needs to be pampered. Cared for in ways that she hasn't been cared for to this point. I know that there are things that should happen—ways she should celebrate her pregnancy. I am aware that there are things that must happen. Things must be prepared in anticipation of the baby's arrival."
"Yes…" Deanna urged.
Jean-Luc laughed nervously to himself. He finished the tea and wished there was more. His throat felt dry, and it was difficult to swallow. He felt like he was choking—like he'd been choking for some time.
"Then, there's the whole question of labor and delivery of the child," Jean-Luc said. "I have some basic knowledge of what Beverly must undergo. I have some knowledge of the dangers and concerns surrounding the experience. There is a great deal of worry and concern that goes with such a thing…"
"Our medical staff is very talented," Deanna offered.
"And yet, things still happen," Jean-Luc said. "And, if all goes well, there's the need for Beverly to recover, as she must, after such an experience. There's a whole new life that will, very suddenly, be a part of the world—and entirely dependent on those who care for her."
Deanna smiled and raised her eyebrows.
"That's the idea," she agreed. She stood up and, without asking him what he might want, she went to her replicator and requested more tea. She offered him the tea without comment and sat again.
"And I feel entirely and utterly unprepared—absolutely inadequate—to deal with any of it," Jean-Luc confessed. "I am prepared to deal with irate Romulans, warring Klingons, yet-unknown-to-us alien species, hostile worlds…and even the Borg. And, yet, when I think of any of those things, regarding the love of my life and the child we have created between us, my palms practically grow sweaty."
Deanna smiled at him.
"Captain," she offered softly, "many men feel inadequate when it comes to children—especially their first. Many of them find things surrounding the gestation of their mates to be utterly terrifying, regardless of their species. You're not alone, and what you're feeling is not unusual."
"It feels cruel and…horrifying," Jean-Luc said. "I want you to help me correct the feelings."
"Cruel…" Deanna said, letting the word stretch until it finally became a question.
"You see, when I feel these things, I feel something like the instinctive drive to run," Jean-Luc said. "To—abandon my post, so to speak. Only, it isn't my post that some part of me seems to be considering abandoning…it's my duty to my family." Jean-Luc didn't miss the expression that Deanna very quickly tried to get under control. He didn't fault her for it. "Now do you see why I've come?"
Deanna reached a hand out and took his. She squeezed his fingers in hers and he was thankful for the comfort she offered.
"I feel like I monster," he said. "And—I understand if you think of me that way."
"Not at all," Deanna said. "These are intrusive thoughts, Captain. You cannot control that you're having them. Beverly is very likely having some of her own. They're very normal, especially in times of stress. And stress can be good or bad. You can only control how you act regarding the thoughts. For that reason, you're here, and we're going to find ways to handle them."
"How?" Jean-Luc asked. "I don't want to hurt Beverly—not in any way. You must understand that."
"I do," Deanna said. "I absolutely do. And that's why—you and I will come up with some ways for you to accomplish what you feel must be accomplished. You say you feel inadequate. Your fear—your thoughts about impulsive reactions to those fears—come from that. The way we combat that is to give you tools and abilities—to make you feel confident about handling all of it."
Jean-Luc felt some relief, already, as though the imaginary collar that was choking him was being loosened.
"Do you believe you can do that?" He asked.
Deanna smiled at him reassuringly.
"Absolutely," she said. "And, perhaps, when you're ready, we may even let Beverly in on everything. Until then, it can be our secret—doctor-patient confidentiality."
"When can we start?" Jean-Luc asked. "Because I'm feeling better, already, with just the promise…"
"Then, I believe it's best if we start now," Deanna said. "I have some time. Let's start with making a list of everything that's worrying you. We can work, from there, with creating practical solutions."