AN: Here we are, another chapter for this one.
I hope you enjoy! If you do, please do let me know!
111
Beverly woke slowly, first opening her eyes to the blinding sunlight, and immediately closing them again. She blinked several times and squinted as the world around her took shape—a world that, whether she liked it or not, was now home.
At least, with each passing day, it was beginning to feel more like home. She was beginning to feel more and more like she belonged to this world.
She stretched and rolled onto her side. She accepted that it was time to wake from the truly delicious nap she'd just taken, and she looked around for Jean-Luc.
She smiled, when she found him, not far away and somewhat poking at the clothes that he'd laid out across the grass. He was dressed, and the clothes he was poking must have been hers. She rolled onto her stomach and rested her head on her arm for a moment as she watched him.
Whether he felt her watching him or simply turned out of some instinct, he turned. He smiled at her, but the smile seemed to only flit across his lips. He didn't hold it there too long or too steadily. Only a soft memory of it seemed to remain to curl the corners of his mouth slightly upward and to ease the harshness of his brow.
"You're awake," he said.
His voice was soft and, in light of what had happened between them, it struck Beverly even more than it normally did—and Jean-Luc's voice had always had a way of affecting her.
"You're awake," she echoed, raising up off of her arm, just enough to speak clearly. "I expected you to still be sleeping."
Jean-Luc looked up, like he was studying something in the sky, and then he looked back at her.
"The sun was too hot," he said. He looked back at Beverly. "I couldn't sleep." He frowned, then, at the clothes that he practically seemed to be tending.
Beverly realized, of course, that he was probably thinking or, in Jean-Luc fashion, stewing over something. With a touch of a sinking feeling in her stomach, she understood what he was likely stewing over, though he probably wouldn't say it—not yet.
"It would seem that, for as hot as it is, the sun doesn't seem too determined to dry these clothes." He gathered hers up, and he brought them over, sitting beside her on the blanket for a moment as he handed them over. "They're still damp. Mine are, too."
"As long as they aren't cold," Beverly mused, working her way into the wet clothes. The sensation of putting them on nearly made her declare that she'd just walk back to their little house as she was—after all, there was objectively very little need for modesty now, but she decided against it and finished dressing. "Oh…" She said, not able to hide her displeasure with the sensation of wearing the wet, dirty clothes.
Jean-Luc frowned, and she could practically feel his discomfort—ironic, because she got the distinct idea that much of his discomfort came from his perception of her own.
"Come," Jean-Luc said, getting up quickly and offering her a hand. "Let's take these things back to the house and get you into something comfortable and dry."
"I'm not going to be the only one chaffing if we don't get out of these soon," Beverly said, getting to her feet.
Jean-Luc blushed a little red, but he laughed.
"I look forward to something dry, myself," Jean-Luc confirmed.
Once on her feet, Beverly started to fold up their blanket. Jean-Luc began gathering their other things.
"I'm afraid we are no more destined to have fish for our supper tonight than we have been to have fish any other night," Jean-Luc said. "However, with any luck, we may find that at least one of our snares has something to offer. Are you ready, Beverly?"
Beverly pretended to be smoothing some piece of the blanket into submission, and then she folded it over her arm. Jean-Luc had gathered everything up in what she might suggest was a laughable frenzy, and he was now clearly going to attempt to carry everything without her assistance.
She might have considered offering to help him, but something in her gut told her that he would not only refuse, but that he really needed to carry everything.
It was his way, perhaps, of avoiding anything else for the moment.
Jean-Luc didn't know how to walk her home—not after what had happened.
Jean-Luc was very unfamiliar with the "what came next."
The truth of that struck Beverly as she hugged the folded blanket against her and put on her best smile, despite the emotions inside of her mixing with the borderline misery of the feeling of the wet clothing. She was more familiar with the "what came next" in general, but she had no idea how it went with Jean-Luc. She was learning, just as much as he was, and it looked as though it might be a very rocky road to traverse.
"I'm ready," she said.
Jean-Luc stepped forward, hesitated, and stepped forward again. Beverly thought she understood what he was feeling, even if he didn't. She gave him a smile that she doubted was truly reassuring, and she stepped ahead of him, practically double-timing her steps back to their house. Jean-Luc was behind her, and she was aware of that as she went, but she didn't stop for him, and she didn't look back.
111
There was plenty to do by the time they got back to their little house and began to prepare for the night.
There was wood to collect. There was a fire to get started. There were snares to clear and reset. There was water to haul, barrels to refill, and several of the small, flightless birds to be cleaned and prepared with their favorite greens for something of a salad. After a meal that was eaten mostly in an unmistakably awkward silence, there were things to be cleaned and water to be warmed for bathing. There was even the chore of washing and hanging their laundry—a task which Jean-Luc took up with the same frenetic energy he'd seemed to use for everything he'd done since they'd left the lake, declaring that Beverly should enjoy her bath or shower, whichever she may choose, without any worry about the chores.
And, so, Beverly filled the tub for herself and took her time bathing in the hot water by the fireplace, the very noticeable chill in the air around her making it clear that the sun was settling low and the drastic drop in temperature that they tended to expect with each nightfall was beginning again.
She had a feeling that the clothes Jean-Luc was washing outside and hanging to dry, would be the cleanest they had ever been, including when they'd gotten them from the replicator. He would take his time with these clothes, and he would meticulously clean them, because he was clearly trying to avoid any opportunity for conversation.
He was buying himself time, and Beverly understood that.
Jean-Luc didn't know "what comes next" and, honestly, neither did Beverly. Not with Jean-Luc.
He had fought the idea of a relationship for so long, it had practically become a part of his identity. He had fought the idea of anything that even resembled domesticity. He'd always been able to run and hide behind his role as captain, and that security blanket was stripped away now. Now, all that Jean-Luc had to hide behind was a pile of their dirty laundry and the determination to make washing it take as long as he possibly could.
Beverly laughed to herself.
"He's a damn fool, and he'll freeze out there," she muttered to herself. No part of her fully believed it, but the thought did at least linger for a moment in her mind.
Still, she loved Jean-Luc. She had loved him for a long time. And, if she were honest with herself, she was no more certain about what should come next than he was.
She was comfortable. This was their home now. She had truly very little belief that Starfleet would ever come for them. She didn't know where they were, or even when they were, but something in her gut told her that they were far beyond the reach and perception of those that they loved and who loved them. They were here, in a world apart, alone together.
Beverly was able to accept that. She was able to turn her attention to the present and, to some degree, to the future.
Building a life here didn't frighten her. The monotony of the day-to-day, broken only by the adventures of exploring as far as their feet could take them and by the simple challenges of creating—and continually improving—their life here, didn't frighten Beverly. The thought of building a home, making that home comfortable, and enjoying the comfort that they created, didn't frighten Beverly.
And, eventually, it might not frighten Jean-Luc, but he wasn't there just yet.
He was still frightened.
It was hard, perhaps, to stop running, when one had spent a lifetime doing it. It was hard to accept that all of his excuses were gone, now, and he would either have to admit that this was simply something that he didn't desire, or he would have to face his fear.
What had happened between them by the lake hadn't felt, to Beverly, like any lack of desire on Jean-Luc's part. In fact, his desire had been overwhelming and all-consuming. No man had ever desired Beverly in quite that way, at least as far as she'd ever been able to tell.
But great fear was difficult to face, even for the bravest of souls.
Beverly finished her bath. She left the tub for Jean-Luc to empty when he was done with the laundry—if he should ever finish scrubbing it. She wondered if he was washing each garment one square inch at a time. She dried openly and unashamed by the fire. If Jean-Luc were to walk in and see her naked, it would be no different than what he'd seen only hours before by the lake.
She dressed in their bedroom, preparing herself for bed, and she turned back the cover on the bed to have it ready for them to sleep.
Then, she made her way to the door of the little house and peeked out. The darkness was beginning to settle in earnest now. When the sun set, it seemed to do so quickly, and the cold seemed to somehow wash in over the surface of the planet like a wave.
"Jean-Luc," Beverly said. She didn't see him, immediately, but to see the place where they washed their clothes, she'd have to step outside, and she didn't relish opening herself up to the chill of any breeze. "Jean-Luc," she called again, this time a little louder. "Answer me, or I'm coming to look for you."
"Stay inside where it's warm, Beverly," Jean-Luc called in response.
She smiled to herself. She had heard the slightest tremble in his voice. The sound might be unrecognizable to most, but she knew his voice well. She knew how he sounded when he was dealing with something that had him quite overwhelmed.
Jean-Luc could face the Borg, if that's what he had to do, but facing Beverly after what they'd done by the side of the lake—that was nearly going to be his undoing.
Beverly laughed quietly to herself.
She loved him, and a part of her almost hated herself for loving him as profoundly as she did.
"You'll freeze to death, Jean-Luc," she said. "Come inside."
"I've…well…there's…" he stammered, clearly looking for something more to occupy his time.
Beverly closed her eyes and shook her head.
"Leave whatever there is to be done, Jean-Luc," she called out to him. "We'll finish it in the morning, when the sun's out. There's plenty of water in the barrels for tonight, too." She added the last part, hoping to head off whatever else he might use to try to prolong his exposure to the cold and his avoidance of Beverly's presence.
It didn't take too long before he came, practically slinking around the house like he was afraid of what awaited him at the door.
Beverly bit her tongue before she spoke and said something about being so very frightening to Jean-Luc. She considered what she might say—what she might ask of him. She also considered what might happen, if she were to push him before he was ready.
She tested the waters.
"Jean-Luc…there are…things we should talk about," Beverly said.
He seemed barely able to meet her eyes. His anxiety was palpable.
"Yes," he said. "Yes. I suppose there are."
Beverly softened. She had waited for Jean-Luc this long. She could wait until he was ready. She could wait however long he needed, really. After all, it seemed as though they had a lifetime—one way or another.
Beverly drew in a breath and let it out, trying not to make her sigh too perceptible.
"What if—we used nets for the fish, Jean-Luc?" Beverly asked. "We could look for something in the ship's storage. Something suitable that we can fashion into nets for fishing."
He looked confused. His eyes met hers, fully, for the first time since the lake.
Beverly gave him a soft smile. She saw him relax, slightly.
"You want to talk about fishing nets, Beverly?" He asked, his voice already sounding clearer and a bit stronger—more confident.
"For now," Beverly said.
A hint of a smile crossed his lips and he nodded his head.
"Tomorrow, we'll look for something suitable to use for fishing nets. In the meantime—there are still some of those puddings you like so much from the ration packs. Why don't you relax in the bedroom, and I'll bring you some tea and pudding?"
"Alone?" Beverly asked, leaving it for him to simply understand what she was asking.
Jean-Luc renewed his smile, and this time it was more sincere than before—more purposeful.
"I'll join you as soon as I've had my bath," he said.