AN: Here we are, another chapter here. (Apologies, I don't think it's my best, but it moves us forward some and, hopefully, sets the tone for the forward movement that is coming soon.)
I hope you enjoy. If you do, please do let me know.
111
Jean-Luc straightened up the bed in the bedroom—their bedroom.
They had brought mattresses from the ship—two of them—and they'd placed them side-by-side. It was easier to share the mound of blankets that way. It was easier to share their warmth. It was safer sleeping close to one another, just in case their little house let in some kind of predator.
The stream of rationalizations they'd created while hauling things from the ship had kept them occupied for most of the day's work, but Jean-Luc couldn't help but wonder if Beverly felt like he did—most of what he'd said, he knew, were excuses.
He wasn't sure if he was ready to admit to her, though, that the truth of the matter was that he simply liked sleeping next to her. When they'd been tired from a full day of work, he'd talked her into abandoning their plans for another chimney insert—one that would keep the bedroom warm—in favor of carrying one of the temporary camp stoves and some other assorted supplies back to their house with their final trip of the day. He'd offered over the rationalization that the stove would allow them to prepare what they were finding in different ways, but he'd never quite told the full truth, and that was that moving a chimney into the bedroom might take away one of his strongest arguments for sleeping next to her—and holding her while she slept—and he wasn't ready, yet, to feel his arms empty of her again.
Smoothing the additional blankets over their improved bed and fluffing the pillows they'd retrieved from the ship had Jean-Luc's mind drifting more than he liked.
Frustrated with himself, he retrieved one of the books they'd brought from the ship, arranged the pillows so that he could recline somewhat comfortably with his back against the wall, and crawled under the cover to wait for Beverly to finish her nightly preparations for bed—all of which were starting to become familiar to Jean-Luc, and an expected part of his life.
Beverly came into the bedroom trailing the scent of soap that, somehow, she managed to make smell much better than Jean-Luc ever recalled it smelling before. Jean-Luc glanced up at her when she came in the room, and he turned his eyes back to his book, pretending that he was going to read and leave her to groom herself without him ogling her.
He failed, however, in controlling himself enough to look away entirely, and he found that he kept glancing up at her, against his own will.
She'd dried off in the little room where she showered, and she'd put on her pajamas there. For all that effort, though, she clearly hadn't been entirely dry. The soft fabric of the pajamas still clung to her and, despite the fact that they were not immodest in any way, they seemed somehow thin and revealing to Jean-Luc. He also found himself questioning how it was that they seemed to only cling in the worst places—or, perhaps, the best.
He swallowed and shifted somewhat, under the cover.
"Good book?" Beverly asked, glancing over at him.
"Hmmm?" He asked. "What?"
"The book—is it good?" Beverly asked.
"It will do," Jean-Luc said. "It's one I've had on the shelf for some time. I've always meant to get around to reading some of them."
"You've got the time now," Beverly mused.
"I suppose I do," Jean-Luc said.
Beverly went about combing her hair. Jean-Luc watched her, though he tried to divert his eyes to the pages of the book. To keep up the charade, even with himself, he felt the compulsion to turn the page, despite the fact that he wasn't sure that he'd absorbed even one word. He couldn't remember the words he'd tried to read, but he felt like he couldn't ever possibly forget how Beverly looked silhouetted in the light of the candle that was sitting near her, with the light of the flames seeming to catch every bit of light in her hair.
He gritted his teeth at his own thoughts.
"Jean-Luc," Beverly said, her voice light, and happy, and soft.
It had an unexpected effect on Jean-Luc, and he shivered slightly in response.
"Yes?" He asked, his throat feeling somewhat dry. "What is it?"
She looked up at him and raised her eyebrows.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to disturb your reading."
"No," Jean-Luc said, realizing he might have sounded unintentionally harsh. "You're not. I mean—it's fine. It isn't as if I can't start back again when we've finished talking."
"Maybe you don't want to talk," Beverly said, slathering her exposed skin in some kind of lotion that she'd brought in one of the bags she'd taken from the ship.
"What did you want to say, Beverly?" Jean-Luc asked. "Please—I want to hear it."
She turned around to face him and hugged her knees as though sitting on the floor and having a conversation with him by the light of their camping candles was the most normal thing ever. Of course, each day it was becoming more and more their norm.
"I was thinking…even if we haven't found the hunting and fishing kits yet in storage, there's nothing to stop us from taking a day and going out to the lake again," Beverly said.
"What did you have in mind?" Jean-Luc asked, sensing that she was waiting for some interaction from him, before she continued. "Besides collecting water?"
Beverly smiled and shrugged.
"A picnic, perhaps?" She said. "We could sharpen sticks. Try to catch the fish that way."
"Are you talking about spear fishing, Beverly?" Jean-Luc asked. He was almost thankful for the distraction from his own overwhelming thoughts. They were replaced, at least for a moment, by the absurdity of the idea of the two of them spear fishing.
"People have been doing it forever," Beverly said. "I was just thinking—we don't have to work all the time, Jean-Luc. We haven't really taken any time for rest and relaxation since we ended up here. We would benefit from the chance to just…breathe. We could take a picnic lunch. Sharpen some sticks and try to learn a new skill. The afternoon sun is warm enough that we might even be able to swim a bit."
Jean-Luc couldn't stop his mind from going directly to the idea of swimming in the lake they had found and, from the thought of swimming, his mind got away from him a bit more and imagined how they might swim.
He couldn't help but imagine Beverly, stripped down to nothing, rising up out of the water, the sunlight glittering as the water ran over her bare breasts.
And he nearly tore the book he was holding in half to find a way to channel his pent-up frustration.
"You're certainly feeling much more confident about your fishing skills than in days past," he heard himself say—practically growling the words. He wondered where they came from, and why they burst out of him with such venom, but he almost felt like he was no more able to stop them than anything else that was happening to him. "A few days ago, you couldn't catch a single fish, and now you're going to go about stabbing fish with pointed sticks."
Beverly had frozen. She looked at him with her brow furrowed and her lips just barely parted.
She didn't look angry. She didn't even look particularly hurt.
Jean-Luc tensed his fingers. If it hadn't been for the book that he was still holding, he would have balled his hands into fists out of instinct.
"I'm sorry," Beverly said softly, and without any of the anger he might have expected in response to his admittedly nasty tone. "Jean-Luc…have I done something to…make you angry with me?"
Jean-Luc's whole body tensed, but the tension called him back to himself. His mind seemed to gain the upper hand, for a moment, over the feelings that had been driving him for the last little bit. He took quick inventory of himself and willed himself to relax. He willed his fingers to soften their hold on the book, feeling the soreness in his knuckles from the mere act of having squeezed it so tightly while trying to channel his frustrations anywhere else except inside of him.
He sighed.
"I am sorry, Beverly," he said. He closed the book and put it to the side. She visibly relaxed, as well, and he saw her shoulders roll forward as she continued to sit on the floor at the foot of their bed and hug her knees.
"I beg your pardon, Jean-Luc, but…I can't help but notice that you've been a little tense with me today," Beverly said. She contemplated the blankets. She laughed quietly to herself. "A few days, perhaps." She looked back at him. He practically shivered when they made eye contact.
How could he ever tell her that she was simply trying to live her life—the only one that either of them could expect, anymore, unless there was a rescue that, admittedly, neither of them truly expected—and he practically felt like his blood was on fire in her presence? The burning seemed to worsen with every new day. He understood, now and in his own way, why Vulcan's had called their time of greatest need a "blood fever."
"Have I done something?"
"You haven't done anything," Jean-Luc said.
"Then—is there something I can do?" Beverly asked.
She blew out her candle, the one by the bed still keeping the small room lit enough that Jean-Luc had no problem seeing her. She folded forward and, placing her palms on the mattress, crawled up it to join him. It was an act that, really, he knew shouldn't be nearly as seductive as it seemed. Yet, he found himself trying to discreetly tuck the blanket under himself just enough that, if she were to join him under the cover, she would keep her distance from him—at least long enough for certain conditions to improve.
She didn't immediately crawl under the cover, but she did come to sit close to him—very close to him. Too close to him, given his current feelings.
"You seem stressed. Tense. I know that things are challenging right now, Jean-Luc. We're adjusting to a new…everything. I know it hasn't been easy on you to lose the ship, and the crew. To be out here, alone. But the stress isn't good for you. That's one reason that I thought that, maybe tomorrow, we could…you know…take a day to relax. Maybe spear fishing isn't something that either of us will excel at. I'm willing to admit that I might fail at it as much as I did at trying to catch the fish with my hands, but it's a way to try something that isn't too stressful. We can maybe have a little fun. Relax a little. It'll be good for stress. Tension. That's the only reason I suggested it. If you want to keep scavenging or…"
"No," Jean-Luc said quickly. "No…Beverly. You're right. Until we manage to find the kits, we ought to try different methods of hunting and fishing." He softened, seeing her expression change. She smiled, and he thought that, no matter what, he would always do what he could to see that smile. "And you're right. I've been…I've been dealing with some stress, perhaps. I think that—a day at the lake may be exactly what the doctor ordered." He smiled at her. "Literally and figuratively."
She laughed at his joke, and he felt his body flood with a more soothing feeling than the ones he'd been nursing, though those still boiled and bubbled deep within him.
Beverly bit her lip and leaned toward him. His pulse kicked up a notch as he imagined what he might do if she got too close—all the while knowing he would never allow himself to move beyond imagining. He would never hurt her, after all, and he wouldn't want to do anything that would ruin what they did have—but imaginations had a mind of their own sometimes.
"If there's anything I can do, Jean-Luc," Beverly said. "Anything to help you…relax?"
Jean-Luc felt a catch in his chest. For a moment—just a moment—he imagined there was something behind those words that went beyond a simple concern about the health of her long-time friend, once captain, and now only companion.
Jean-Luc quickly pushed that thought of his mind. Imaginations had a mind of their own, and sometimes they were a little too daring.
"Just come to bed," Jean-Luc said. "We'll get some sleep and, tomorrow, I'm sure we'll have a…a very relaxing day."
She gave him a soft smile and nodded gently. He thought he saw a flicker of something there on her features—it had almost seemed like disappointment with his response—but he shook the thought of his mind. He settled in the bed, waited for her to crawl in next to him, and held his breath as she made herself comfortable with her head on his shoulder.
He closed his eyes for a moment as she fitted her body next to his, and somewhat wrapped her leg over his. He dared to wrap his arm around her, since she was already lying on top of it, and he let his hand rub her body, feeling the soft cloth of her pajamas, only once before settling—an act that could be explained away by saying he only wanted his arm and hand to find a comfortable position.
He didn't dare to touch her more, afraid that once he started, he would find it too hard to stop.
"Comfortable?" He asked.
"Very," she said with a sigh, rooting into him slightly.
He blew out the candle and lie there, for a moment, in the dark, just thinking about how she felt against him.
He felt desperate—nearly like he could dissolve into tears. But, at the same time, he knew that he would never want to risk what they had. If he couldn't have her all the way, he'd have her as a dear friend.
After all…he'd always been willing to settle for that. Why should he expect things to change now?