AN: Here we are, another piece to this one.

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"That was an absolute waste of time!" Beverly said.

Her frustration was entirely palpable, and Jean-Luc did his best to swallow back his amusement.

"It wasn't that bad," he said, half-heartedly. He had no real need to defend their evening excursion, but he was enjoying the exchange with Beverly, at least.

"Remind me never to take you up on the offer of a walk at dusk," Beverly said. "We could have spent that time a dozen different ways, and all of them would have been better than…that!"

Jean-Luc let some of his amusement escape, then. Still, he moved back toward Beverly, who was walking some two feet to his right, and slipped his arm under hers and around her. He pulled her in close beside him, offering her physical support, if she needed it. He'd given her that very same support earlier, but she'd been so angry—an anger that was, honestly, humorously a bit out of proportion to the situation, in Jean-Luc's mind—that she had shoved him off only a few moments after she'd accepted what he'd offered and leaned on him.

She seemed to be calming just a bit, because she didn't shove him off, again. Instead, she put her arm around him and sighed. The sigh ended in a growl, but Jean-Luc decided that it sounded decidedly less angry than the noises she'd made earlier.

"Now, Beverly—you're only upset because we didn't see the hole," Jean-Luc said.

"Why else would I be upset, Jean-Luc?" Beverly countered. "And we didn't see the hole because it was too dark to be that deep in the woods. It's all too dense. We didn't see the hole. And one of those…those salamander things ran over my hand when I was getting up."

"It didn't bite you, did it?" Jean-Luc asked.

"No," Beverly said, with something of an exhausted sigh. "But it was bad enough that it ran across my hand, and it was just a reminder that we don't have any business being out, where we're not very familiar with our surroundings, when it's getting dark. We don't even know what was out there with us. We're lucky we weren't eaten by some kind of a bear."

Her frustration—and, possibly, at least a little embarrassment—was beginning to wane. Jean-Luc could tell that in her tone of voice and the quality of her breathing.

"There, now," he said. "The house is just there. We'll get you fixed up, and I'll make you some tea."

"The fire has probably burned down to ashes by now," Beverly said.

"And it shall take very little to revive it," Jean-Luc countered quickly.

He felt the weight of her pulling down on his side. She was relaxing. She was leaning more on him. He doubted that she actually needed him for too much support, but he was willing to offer her whatever she might need.

They had spent the evening exploring a bit of the area not far from their water source. They'd found that the caves they'd already found—although they hadn't been too thoroughly explored—seemed to run on as far as they could perceive. At the very least, the rocky parts of the mountainous region seemed to run on forever, and they both assumed that there must be cave systems throughout the mountains that matched those that they'd already seen.

Their exploration had turned up a few mushrooms that they'd gathered to carefully examine and consider trying the next day, but they'd found little else that was a surprise to them.

They'd both eaten dinner—foods they were secure in consuming, and not the untasted mushrooms—and they'd both bathed. It had been an early night, for them, and they'd decided to take a short, easy walk to the woods to simply look around—nothing arduous that would, in essence, undo the good of the bathing that had washed off the thick layer of sweat and dirt that had accumulated on both of them throughout the morning's hard work.

The ground cover in the woods was pretty dense, and the tree cover was dense as well. The first few minutes that they'd spent wading into the wooded area hadn't really been problematic. The sun had still been on their side, at that point. However, as it started to set, it had made the woods around them reach a level of darkness for which they hadn't exactly been prepared.

Beverly's foot had found the hole that neither of them had seen at all. It wasn't too deep. It was just deep enough to swallow up her foot, halfway up to her calf, and send her sprawling flat out on the ground, immediately angry about various, and hopefully minor, injuries at once.

Jean-Luc couldn't exactly check her out too well in the woods. It had been too dark to see much. She had taken quick inventory of herself, and had declared that there was nothing serious, but there were several small injuries that she would rather not have suffered.

As they reached their home, Jean-Luc helped Beverly inside and helped her to take a spot by the fire. Immediately, he added a little of the wood they'd stored by the fire to the fireplace—just enough to keep it going—and he filled and put the kettle into place to warm.

Beverly watched him as he went through these motions. He was aware of her watching him.

He cleared his throat.

"I can bring in a little more wood before bed," he said. "I doubt we'll need it, but I'd rather have in inside than have to dress to go out and get it. I believe those coverings we hung are doing well enough to insulate things over that doorway—don't you think? It's not too drafty."

"It might be cooler in the bedroom," Beverly said.

"It might," Jean-Luc agreed. "I'll put wood in there, too, just in case it's needed."

"It probably won't be necessary," Beverly offered.

Jean-Luc felt a shiver run up his spine. The old saying was something to do with graves, but it hadn't been any thought of death that had brought the sensation upon him. He was thinking, very much, about the life that stretched on in front of them.

There was, sometimes, something in the air that surrounded change that was on the horizon—something that felt like electricity, something you could practically taste.

"We'll be prepared," Jean-Luc said, "just the same."

He wondered if Beverly could hear the slight falter in his voice. When he was satisfied that he'd fussed with the fire and the kettle enough, Jean-Luc lit one of their lamps and brought the light close to Beverly.

"Now, then," he said. "Let's see exactly how worse for the wear you are."

"You don't have to fuss over me, Jean-Luc," Beverly said.

Jean-Luc was already taking her boots off. He laughed to himself as he pulled one, and then the other, off and rolled her socks off her feet. He moved to the leg that he knew had gone into the hole, intending to examine her ankle and leg.

"It's hardly fussing to assess injuries after a fall, Beverly," Jean-Luc said. "Some even consider it a part of their profession."

"I mean the tea…and…"

"Have you entertained the thought that I might enjoy tea, as well?" Jean-Luc asked. "Now—do stop arguing with me and tell me what I ought to know and do to help you."

Beverly sighed, but she relaxed a bit into her spot.

"I think I'm fine," she said. "It's not broken. It may be sprained, but…not severely."

She hissed at him when he squeezed her ankle and turned her foot a little.

"Sorry," he said. "I do believe it's sprained. There isn't much swelling, which is good, from what I know, at least."

"The sprain is minor," Beverly said. "Thank goodness I was wearing my boots."

"Do you think it needs wrapping?" Jean-Luc asked.

"No," Beverly said.

"Elevation, then," Jean-Luc said. "We can easily fashion some way to elevate it here and in the bed. Goodness knows, we have an excess of clothing and other material. We might as well put it to use until it's needed for other things. Tomorrow, you'll take it easy while I work on the panels."

"You can't do that job on your own, Jean-Luc," Beverly said.

"The hardest part is done," Jean-Luc insisted. "The panels are here. I only have to move them into place and connect them."

"And you need my help," Beverly insisted.

Jean-Luc smiled at her.

"I'd rather not argue about it," he said. "Tonight, you'll rest this ankle. Tomorrow, we'll reassess the situation. The sprain may not be bad at all. It may not need more than the night. If that's not the case, and I find that I cannot handle the panels on my own, we'll let them wait until you're better. There's plenty that can be done. You can work on your sewing, and I can prepare some more wood for the winter."

He laughed and moved to pour some of the warm water into a bowl with a bit of cool water. He returned the kettle so that it would continue to heat, and he grabbed a bar of soap and a few rags from the stack of cloth scraps that were of little use for anything else. He returned to where Beverly was, and he dipped the rag in the water. He used the soap to prepare the rag for cleaning her wounds, and he wrang out the excess water. Then, he started carefully washing her legs, feet, arms, and hands to rid them of the dirt that she'd picked up in the fall.

At the same time, he carefully wiped away the blood and examined the scrapes and a few small puncture wounds that she'd suffered from her less-than-graceful landing.

She watched him as he worked, hissing occasionally when the soap burned a wound. Jean-Luc naturally comforted her in a soft voice, blowing on her cuts and scrapes in the same way that he vaguely remembered his mother doing when he was a boy.

He found that he almost became hypnotized by his work. There was something soothing in the methodical action of carefully washing and examining Beverly's limbs. He took his time, being as thorough as he could without asking her to disrobe in any way, beyond pushing her pants up above her knees or her sleeves above her elbows.

There were no serious injuries—something that relieved Jean-Luc—and he had no need for the rags that he'd brought for bandages. Most of the small wounds that had bled were already scabbing over, despite the fact that he'd washed off their original "new skin" of dirt.

"Perhaps, tomorrow, I shall dedicate myself to going back out to where we were," Jean-Luc said, his voice low because, although he wanted to speak to Beverly, he almost hated to break the silent sanctity that seemed to have settled around them. "That hole was too large to have been a burrow for anything we've seen in the area. It's likely, then, that it was made by a downed tree—the roots probably came out of the hole."

Beverly laughed quietly.

"Does it matter, Jean-Luc?" She asked.

He continued his washing—though he knew, honestly, that he'd done the most thorough job that he could. She didn't protest as he held her hand and checked it, for the third time, for any new injury that might have magically appeared in the last few minutes.

"Maybe…I'll find the offending tree and chop it up for our firewood," Jean-Luc said. "At least, then, we can rest easy knowing that it has suffered for its transgressions."

Beverly laughed.

"Jean-Luc," she said, after a moment. He was rubbing his thumb over her arm, just below her elbow.

There was something in her tone—something he couldn't quite name. He froze. He swallowed. He hummed to ask her what she wanted. He couldn't trust his voice beyond that.

"I think—I'm clean," she said. "You've done a wonderful job taking care of everything. I couldn't have done as well, myself. But…"

"I have been done for some time," Jean-Luc said with acceptance. It was her turn to hum. Jean-Luc's heart drummed in his chest. If it weren't for the dim light of their home at this hour, he might have thought that his vision narrowed. He drew in a breath. He steadied his nerves and gathered his courage to the proverbial sticking place.

He slipped his hand down to hold hers.

"And, yet," he said, "I absolutely loathe the idea of…not touching you any longer." The confession felt easy, once he'd made it. Still, his heart pounded. "Although I would never wish you to be hurt…not even scraped as you are now…I do enjoy taking care of you, Beverly. Whether it's…a cup of tea or…washing away some dirt and moss. And—I do enjoy touching you…immensely. I don't want to stop."

He practically held his breath. He held her hand, too. He squeezed it. He reminded himself not to squeeze too hard. Her palm, after all, had a small scrape, and the other had a small puncture wound from a root or stick.

He raised her hand and kissed it.

"Then—don't stop," Beverly said.

Jean-Luc looked at her. She was smiling at him softly. In the flickering light of the dueling fires of the fireplace and the lamp, she looked like an angel—something entirely ethereal.

Jean-Luc swallowed and shook his head.

"It feels as though we've been here before," Jean-Luc said. "In a way…almost as if in a dream. Beverly—I don't wish to retrace our steps and to end up where we've been, only to make the same mistakes again."

"You're an intelligent man, Jean-Luc," Beverly said. "Very capable of learning and making rational and informed decisions. If there's something that you don't want to do—that you truly don't want to do—you very rarely do it."

"I don't want to hurt you," Jean-Luc said. "In any way."

"Then, don't," Beverly said.

"I don't want us to rush into anything."

"We're hardly rushing," Beverly said.

"You know what I mean."

"I do," Beverly agreed. "Do you feel like we're rushing?"

Jean-Luc shook his head gently.

"I have my wits about me, Jean-Luc," Beverly offered. "I'm calm. Relaxed. I'm not feeling even the slightest bit irrational. Are you?"

"No," Jean-Luc admitted. "I'm feeling entirely present in the moment. This moment."

"Then?" Beverly said gently.

"I do love you, Beverly."

"And I love you," Beverly said. "That should be a good foundation from which to start, shouldn't it?"

Jean-Luc couldn't help but smile. The smile seemed to give way to a laugh in his throat. He was thankful for the amusement—for Beverly's tone and the smile she gave him, and for the way she quirked an eyebrow at him in teasing.

"What if I—ruin things again?" Jean-Luc asked.

"Don't," Beverly said. "Jean-Luc…at this point, the way that you ruin things is to run from me. Running from me would be a decision that you make, not an accident. If you don't want to do that, then don't do it. But—please know that—if you decide that you want to do that, and you do it? Jean-Luc…I love you. Intensely. But, I have to love myself, as well. If you decide to do that again, we'll be friends, as you've said, but…this is the last time that I'll invite you to be something more."

Jean-Luc felt the weight of her words. He heard the sincerity of them. He understood them. He appreciated, even, the clarity of her expectations. He appreciated, too, her confidence in him.

His heart still pounded in his chest, and his senses felt a bit overwhelmed, but he welcomed the sensations. He embraced them.

He answered her by moving to kiss her. She met him and she deepened the kiss. For a long while, he held her in his arms, and they exchanged long and lazy kisses with each other, until the hunger in the kisses grew to a point where it would no longer be ignored.

"I'm not running, Beverly," he said, finally. "Not again."

"Good," Beverly said. "How about—just walking, then…to the bedroom?"

He nodded at her and helped her up, supporting her.

"What about your ankle?" He asked.

"We'll work around it," Beverly said. She smiled at him. "Grab the lamp and…Jean-Luc? Take the kettle off the fire. This might take a while."

Jean-Luc laughed and, making sure that she was fine standing without him, he went about doing just what she'd asked, before he returned to support her and escort her to their bedroom.

"I hope it does, Beverly," he said. "Maybe forever?"

She smiled and leaned into him.

"Let's work on tonight, first," she teased. "But—I'm happy to hear that we have long-term goals."

He laughed.

"Me too," he said, honestly. "Watch your step. You can lean on me."

"I'm counting on that," Beverly said.