AN: Here we are, another piece to this one. We are doing some short time jumps in between pieces, here, as we move toward the next part of this story!

I do hope you enjoy! If you do, please let me know!

111

Jean-Luc would never have considered himself a man who could still benefit from something of a comfort item, but that's exactly what Deanna's list had become to him, and he did find a great deal of comfort in it.

The list had been transferred to a PADD, and he found that the list soothed some of the more primal reactions to fear and feelings of inadequacy—because he owned the fact that his desire to run was nothing more than those things—far better than he might have imagined it could.

Instead of the somewhat generalized idea that all his readings gave about the fact that Beverly required certain things from him—things which seemed mostly unnamed and quite nebulous—Jean-Luc had a list of things that he could do for Beverly. He had something concrete. He had guidance. And, any time that he felt that he should offer her something, but he felt unsure as to what he might offer her that she would possibly appreciate, he could look to the list to choose something that might be a good selection for any given day or moment.

The list, he knew, was simple. It was, more than likely, nothing but common sense for most men. But it was concrete, and it made him feel more prepared and adequate. He knew things that he could offer his wife—things that he could do for her—from which she and his daughter would benefit. He knew things that he could do to help him be a better husband and father.

The humor was not lost on him, as he poured the sparkling juice and placed the glass champagne flute at her plate, that the list was something of an electronic teddy bear to Jean-Luc—a promise that he could do things correctly and well for his wife, and a promise that he could feel competent and, perhaps, even more, as a husband and future father.

For weeks, Jean-Luc had been clinging to his list, and for weeks it hadn't been letting him down, even as the arrival of their daughter moved ever-closer and a feeling of anticipation and anxiety simply seemed to settle in all the nooks and crannies of the ship.

"What's all this?" Beverly asked, as soon as she came through the door from her shift in sickbay—something Jean-Luc was certain she was going to insist on working up until they welcomed the baby into the world. Some part of him thought that she would likely already be in sickbay, working, when he got the call that it was time for their daughter to come into the world.

Jean-Luc smiled at her. He was still waiting for that time people assured him was coming—the time when he would find his marriage a burden and his wife some kind of nightmare.

So far, Beverly still made his pulse change slightly, simply by walking into the room.

"I thought you might like a little champagne with dinner," Jean-Luc said. "And in the absence of a safe alternative that you would find suitable, since I know how you feel about synthehol at times, I thought that a little sparkling juice would be a nice substitute."

He offered her the flute of juice and she smiled at him. She drank some of it, and her smile was only that much brighter.

"Mmm," she mused. "My favorite vintage."

Jean-Luc let his eyes flick to her belly. Their daughter would arrive before long and, still, he felt nervous whenever he merely touched Beverly's belly.

She knew that, too, and so she often took his hand, as she did in the moment, and pressed his hand to her belly to break whatever ice there was that seemed to keep re-forming. Jean-Luc relaxed as soon as he touched her, and then he tensed again when he felt the now-familiar sensation of movement beneath his palm.

"She is very much awake at the moment," Jean-Luc said.

"She approves of her Papa's choice," Beverly said.

"And she, no doubt, is anxious for a meal and a rest," Jean-Luc said. "As is her mother. Am I correct?"

"I could certainly eat," Beverly said.

"Steak and baked potato," Jean-Luc said. "Simple fare, yet a current favorite of our little one."

"Sounds wonderful to me," Beverly said. "Do you need help? You've been working all day, too, if I recall correctly."

"My shift ended a little early," Jean-Luc said. "I had some time coming to me, and I thought I'd take an opportunity to do a few things that needed to be done."

"Such as?" Beverly asked.

Jean-Luc took the flute from her hand, placed it back on the table, and tugged her arm to lead her.

"I hope that you won't be upset," he said, as he tugged her, "and that I haven't done something I shouldn't have…"

She pulled back, stopping their progress.

"What'd you do, Jean-Luc?" She asked.

He stopped and faced her. He touched her face. He smiled at her.

"You look worried," he said. "And that wasn't my intention at all. It's only—well—when I asked you about a shower or, at the very least, something to celebrate the baby, you said that you didn't want to do something like that aboard the Enterprise."

"We can have anything we need," Beverly said. "And having a shower, as the Captain and the Chief Medical Officer, would only make everyone aboard feel that they needed to make some kind of gesture, even if they didn't mean it. I don't want that, Jean-Luc, and it isn't necessary."

"I agree," Jean-Luc said, catching her shoulders and squeezing them affectionately. "I agree with you, and I'm not trying to argue. However…I do think that it's necessary to have some things in place for our daughter."

He pulled Beverly toward the room that they'd meant for a nursery—a room that hadn't ever been finished, for one reason or another. Every intention they had of adding furniture and preparing things seemed to get somehow side-lined. There were emergencies, shifts, and inconveniences. At every turn, there were responsibilities that kept the room from being little more than a collection of good intentions and a few scattered messes.

When Jean-Luc led Beverly into the room this time, however, he tried to see it with her eyes. She tugged back a little, clearly surprised, and then she relaxed a bit more and brought her hands to her face.

"It's nothing, really," Jean-Luc said.

"You did this?" She asked.

"Most of it," Jean-Luc said. "Though—I do admit that I had to ask for a little help. Geordi and Data had a few moments to help with some of the assembly, and Deanna put a few of the more feminine touches on the space."

Jean-Luc wrapped his arm instinctively around Beverly and pulled her to him. She was given to springing leaks, as he liked to tease her, especially now that she was expecting. His only concern, these days, was whether or not the tears she shed were positive or negative. If they were positive, he didn't even try to get them to stop, he simply let her have the catharsis that seemed to accompany them.

"From my understanding, you will probably want to do a great deal of arranging and rearranging," Jean-Luc said. "I understand that it seems to be something natural and expected. However, I do hope that you will be pleased to have much of what you need to indulge in that arrangement of our daughter's space."

"Jean-Luc…" Beverly said, breathing out his name.

He didn't doubt, at least not entirely, that she was pleased. She looked around the room as though she couldn't believe it was real. Her expression made it appear that she could see something far greater than the simple space that they occupied.

He'd done relatively little, honestly. He'd seen to it that the crib was put together and tested for strength and safety. He'd seen to it that the other furniture she'd mentioned, and even some she'd requested from the replicator, had been assembled and placed around the room. He'd requested a few of the basics that he'd been assured, by several things he'd read, would be necessary for their little one, and Deanna had folded and tucked away clothing, blankets, diapers, and a large variety of other things that Jean-Luc didn't fully understand.

"If you don't like it," Jean-Luc offered, but he didn't finish it. For a moment, Beverly didn't answer him. "If I've overstepped, in some way…"

"You're her Papa," Beverly said, quickly, turning to him. Her eyes were damp, and her cheeks were damp, but she was clearly trying to work up a smile for him. "You're her Papa," she breathed again.

Jean-Luc laughed.

"Shhhh," he responded, in a soft tone, hoping to soothe her a little. He brushed his fingers over her cheeks to wipe away tears. "Come here…now then…" He drew her into his arms and moved her head against his shoulder. He rubbed her back and hugged her as he rocked her from side to side in the same way that he might if they were dancing. "I'm very much her Papa," he agreed. He decided to tease her a little, in the hopes that he might lighten the mood. "At least…that's what her mother tells me."

Beverly hugged him a long moment, without response. She rubbed her face against him, effectively drying her tears on his shoulder. He felt her deep inhalation of breath. He heard the tired sigh that followed. He continued to rub her back, soothing her.

Finally, she pulled away and looked at him, still close enough that her belly pressed against him.

"You can't overstep your boundaries, Jean-Luc," Beverly said. She shook her head at him. "How do I make you understand that—there are no boundaries when it comes to loving her and taking care of her. You're her Papa. And this? This is wonderful, Jean-Luc!"

He smiled at her. He felt his muscles relax. All the tension he'd been carrying, mostly doing his best to push it out of his mind, relaxed.

"I know you'll want to rearrange things," he said. "It's natural."

"It's nesting," Beverly said.

"I seem to recall that description," Jean-Luc said. "Preparation for her arrival."

"But you've done most of it," Beverly said. "And—it's such a weight lifted off of me…you have no idea."

"Are you being sincere, Beverly? You know, I'm not a man who needs to be falsely praised."

Beverly laughed. She leaned and kissed him. He closed his eyes and sank into the kiss. He let his hands trail over her body, increasing his physical enjoyment of the kiss. He couldn't question her sincerity when she deepened the kiss and showed him, far beyond what her words might have, exactly how much she appreciated him at the moment.

She licked her lips when the kiss broke, and Jean-Luc's body responded.

"It's been constantly in the back of my mind," Beverly said. "I have to get ready. I have to get things ready. If I don't, she won't have a place. We won't have more than the scraps of our good intentions scattered around our quarters. We won't have anything for her. We won't be ready. Every day, I tell myself that I'll alleviate the concern as soon as my shift's done, or as soon as I have a day off. Every day, I'm either too tired to think about it, or something else comes up and I never get that anticipated day off. You fixed that for me, today, Jean-Luc, and the way that makes me feel right now?" She held his eyes and the smile on her face sent a surge of electricity through him. "There's nothing false about my appreciation or my praise, Jean-Luc."

He smiled at her and raised his eyebrows.

"Wait'll you see what we did in the bedroom," Jean-Luc said.

She laughed low in her throat.

"What'd you do in the bedroom?" She asked.

It wasn't lost on Jean-Luc that there was clearly a shift here, in their lives, that might never go back to what it was before. This was romantic. He felt turned on by the act he'd performed for her, in preparation of their daughter's arrival, and she clearly felt turned on by that same act. Her pupils gave away anything that the rest of her—including her hold on his arms with her fingertips—hadn't yet given away.

"The bassinet you wanted is set up and ready," Jean-Luc said. "And there's a small table in the corner with a basket of baby clothes, some diapers, and a few things like pacifiers…and some ointment and what have you that the fatherhood documents I've been reading suggested you might want nearby, especially just after her arrival, when the two of you will want to rest and recover where you can be most comfortable."

"You made a…a baby station in our bedroom for after she's born?" Beverly asked. The corner of her mouth turned up slightly. Jean-Luc laughed quietly in response.

"Have I done something terribly wrong?" He asked.

"No," Beverly assured him, drawing the word out a bit. She leaned and pecked his lips gently. The gentle kiss, somehow, did more to him than the longer, deeper kiss had. She smiled, again, when she pulled back. She cupped his face with cool fingers. Her eyes didn't leave his. "In fact—I was just thinking of suggesting that, perhaps, you could…show me what you did? What you prepared for…us…our daughter and me…in the bedroom? And, maybe, you and I could stay there just a little while and delay dinner?"

He knew exactly what she was proposing, and he wouldn't dare turn her down.

"You're sure you're not too hungry?" He asked.

"I think I can wait for dinner just a little while," Beverly assured him. "As long as—you don't make me wait for anything else."

Jean-Luc's body flushed with desire.

"Not a moment longer," he assured her, catching her hand to lead her from the nursery to their bedroom.