This is torture. Exquisite torture. She actually expects me to sit here, three feet away, and behave myself because she just wants to be friends. Absolute torture. For God's sake, Beverly, I've been in love with you for over twenty years. You think that will change just because you...
"Jean-Luc. You're staring again."
Jean-Luc Picard started abruptly, forced out of his thoughts by the voice of the woman he loved. He'd been having those thoughts more and more often lately, and his attentions towards his new ship, the Enterprise -E, had been sorely lacking. He forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand, eating breakfast.
Beverly eyed him, concerned. He'd been doing this a lot recently, and it only seemed to happen when she was around. Not for the first time, she wished that there had been a way to make the Prytt implants work. Right now she desperately wanted to know what was going on inside the head of her best friend.
"Jean-Luc, would you like to talk?" Her voice was warm and inviting. If she couldn't read his thoughts, she could at least try to encourage him to voice them.
He swallowed sharply. Talking was the last thing on his mind right now. What he needed Beverly to know couldn't be told with mere words alone. Avoiding her gaze, he said, "We're being sent on a diplomatic mission to Calonius VII. It's a delicate situation. I've been preoccupied with it, I guess."
Her fingernails clacked against the polished tabletop repetitively. She didn't say anything for a moment, and he began to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he would be off the hook.
"Nice try, Captain. Now you can tell me what's really on your mind."
So much for that idea. Let's see here. Maybe getting up, pulling her out of her chair, and kissing her would be sufficient explanation. It would certainly make a point, at any rate. She'd probably smack me and leave, and not speak to me for a month.
"Nothing," he muttered. Then, pretending to look at the chronometer, he stood. "Oh, look at the time. We really should be going." He made a move to walk past her, but she stood as well and grasped his arm, stopping him.
"You're not leaving here until you tell me what's been bothering you. You've been like this since we left spacedock two weeks ago, and I want to know what's going on. Now."
He yanked his arm away, surprising both Beverly and himself with his vehemence. "Damn it, Beverly, back off! If I say nothing is wrong, then nothing is wrong!" He stalked through the doors of his quarters, Beverly hot on his heels. She grabbed him by both arms this time and spun him around.
"Don't you ever speak to me like that, Jean-Luc Picard! I am not some. . .some ignorant child! I asked you a question, and you will by God give me an answer if it's the last thing you do!"
His arms jerked away, and his hands grabbed hers, totally oblivious to the fact that they were standing in the middle of a corridor of the Enterprise shouting at each other, with crew members walking back and forth witnessing the fight between their captain and CMO.
"Maybe if we were having this "discussion" by a campfire, you'd be able to figure out what's wrong with me!" he yelled harshly.
With that, he turned and stormed off down the corridor for the
bridge. Beverly Crusher, still raging mad, was trying to figure out what the hell Picard's
parting comment meant.
"Beverly?"
Dr. Crusher looked up at the sound of her name to find Deanna Troi standing in her doorway. Oh, great. I should have known she'd show up sooner or later. . . Beverly was still in a horrendous mood, and especially didn't feel like being picked apart by the ship's counselor, though admittedly a good friend. "What can I do for you, Deanna?"
Troi sensed Beverly's guard go up from the moment she laid eyes on her. Sighing inwardly at her friend's stubbornness, Deanna sat down in the chair across from Beverly in front of the desk. Deciding that beating around the bush would raise Beverly's ire quicker than anything, Troi said, "I understand you and the captain had a misunderstanding this morning. A rather public one, at that."
Beverly rolled her eyes. "Misunderstanding isn't the word I'd use, Deanna. 'Fight' would be more appropriate. And I don't care where the hell we were doing it, either. If he hadn't walked away, I might have slugged him. He would have deserved it, too."
"Would you mind if I asked what the. . .what the fight. . .was about?"
Beverly's head canted back against the chair and she stared at the ceiling, as if trying to find the answers there. "I don't know. He's been so quiet lately, and he stares a lot, mostly at me. I finally asked him what was wrong, and it progressed from there."
"And what did he say?" Deanna asked.
"He said that nothing was wrong. I didn't believe him, and told
him so. Then, with no warning, he cursed at me and stalked out of the room. I went after
him, cornered him, and he shouted something about campfires before storming off to the
bridge -"
Deanna noticed the abrupt pause. Concerned by the high level of emotions that just spiked in her friend: surprise, anger, astonishment, and a sudden realization, she gently prodded, "Beverly? What is it?"
Rather than answer, Beverly bolted from her chair and out of the
office, promising, "I'll talk to you later!"
She found him sitting in a little-used lounge tucked away in a corner of deck 12. It was a small room, with only three tables, and a replicator on the far wall.
He was at a table next to the one small viewport in the room. If he had heard her come in, he gave no indication. He just sat there, staring out the window, seemingly oblivious to everything going on around him. In his hand he held a small glass, with a bottle resting on the table near his elbow.
"I didn't think that drinking was your style, Jean-Luc," Beverly said gently.
Still, he didn't look up. "If you've come here to continue our fight, you can leave right now. I'm tired of fighting with you." His voice, while calm, held a trace of resignation.
"Tired of fighting with me. . .or with yourself?"
His brandy glass slammed onto the tabletop. In the silent room, it banged like a clap of thunder. "Damn it, Beverly! Why can't you leave me alone?"
Ignoring his outburst, she informed him, "Jean-Luc, I figured out what you meant this morning. About the campfire. We need to talk." She saw him slump down further in his chair, as if he were trying to hide from her upcoming words.
"You did, did you? You didn't do too badly then, I suppose. It only took you twenty-five years," he said bitterly.
Her arms crossed defensively across her chest. "As I recall, Captain, you were the one who kissed me by that campfire so long ago, not the other way around."
He now stood and took a step forward, bringing his body only inches from hers. "And as I recall, you didn't put up much resistance. It didn't seem to bother you too much then. Especially later that night, when you and Jack thought everyone was asleep and decided to-"
Beverly's right hand came whistling out of nowhere and connected hard against his cheek, the sound exploding within his head and the otherwise silent lounge. "How dare you! I felt so guilty about that kiss, I didn't know what to think! Here was this man, my husband's best friend, who I thought disliked me to no end and couldn't stand to be near me, kissing me with more passion than my own husband! And you wanted me to analyze my thoughts and feelings about that! You go straight to hell, Jean-Luc Picard!"
His face, still burning from her words as well as her hand, grew even more mottled with rage. "I've been in hell, Beverly. For a long, long time. And you sent me there," he hissed. "I've been in love with you since the moment I met you, and you've known it since that night on KesPrytt. I thought I could fool you that night, but I didn't. And, you know what? I discovered that you're in love with me, too.
"How does it feel," he continued relentlessly, "to be in love with your best friend? Torture, isn't it? Only, in your case, you have the power to do something about it. Power that you took from me that night we were back on the ship. That night, you took our future into your hands. And you've never let it go.
"Well, I'm taking some of that power back, Beverly. And I'm taking my future back, too." With that solemn pronouncement, Picard pulled Beverly against him and lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss was almost bruising in its intensity, and her first instinct was to struggle. She was, after all, furious beyond belief with this man, and now here he was kissing her. More surprising, though, was the fact that she was now kissing him back.
His mouth plundered hers with a singular intent, seeking and finding the treasures within. His tongue was a fearless invader inside her mouth, and she was only too happy to drop her guard and let him in.
His hands began to follow the example his mouth had set, and began exploring as well, discovering all the places she liked to be touched.
They both began to fall into a tunnel of forgetfulness: of where they were, who they were, and what had been said. Nothing mattered except two bodies starved for the attentions of the other, and the fractured souls waiting to be melded.
Jean-Luc abruptly pulled himself out of the dark tunnel of Beverly's being. His mouth tore away from hers, and he released her from his grip, stepping backwards. Gasping for air, he leaned back against a chair and closed his eyes, trying desperately to find his calm.
Beverly's eyes snapped open and, ignoring her heaving chest and drumming heart, she managed to tear one phrase from her mouth. "Jean-Luc?"
His eyes opened, and Beverly was stunned to see two wet trails making their way from his eyes down his face. His whole body was shaking, and he murmured, "I'm sorry, Beverly. I'm sorry. . ." before turning and bolting out the door.
She didn't know what to be more shocked at: what had happened between them moments ago, or the fact that Jean-Luc Picard broke down because of it.
She decided on both.
She didn't bother to ring the door chime. He would never have answered it. Instead, she used her medical override to open the door. It slid open at her command, and she stepped inside Jean-Luc's quarters. It was dark inside, and quiet. Finally, she made out the outline of someone sitting on the couch in the darkness. "Jean-Luc," she said softly.
"I had a feeling you'd come after me. You've been doing it all day long," he said. His voice was low. There was no trace of anger there, as there had been earlier. It was as though the fight had gone out of him all together.
She slowly approached the couch, and sat next to him after a moment of hesitation. Placing her hand over his tightly clenched fist, she said firmly, "I'm not leaving here until we figure out what we're going to do. About us."
He pulled his hand away from hers and took a deep breath. "And what are we going to do, Beverly? I know what I want. I'm just not sure that you know what you want. I can't keep this up, Beverly. It hurts too much. It's hurt for twenty-five years, and I've simply had enough. I don't want to hurt anymore."
She closed her eyes in an effort to hold the tears back. What she'd just heard had been the words of a man whose heart had been pushed farther than it had ever had the right to go. And she'd been the one who'd done all the pushing.
"Jean-Luc," she whispered tentatively. Her mind was screaming for her to stop where she was and leave. Her heart was aching with a love repressed for years. Her soul was crying out for its other half, the part she'd found in this man, and no other. And her mouth uttered the words that would silence all the voices within. "You don't have to hurt anymore, Jean-Luc. I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere."
Her fingers found his chin, and they gently lifted it so he would meet her gaze. His warm hazel eyes were slightly widened with surprise, and perhaps tinged with relief. She was right. He didn't have to hurt anymore.
With her thumb, she traced the outline of his lips. He reached up and removed her hand, and she replaced it with her lush, full lips. This kiss was nothing like the one they had shared minutes before, and it was certainly nothing like the one they had shared twenty-five years before. This kiss was entirely mutual, and filled with passion . . . and love.
The kiss began to grow reckless, lips and tongues and hands tangling to find the best grip, the most delicious fit. Jean-Luc pulled away and lost himself in her fiery blue eyes. "Stay with me," he whispered stridently.
"Always," she whispered back.
He stood and wordlessly took her hand. She knew where they were going. And she knew that it was time. They'd waited twenty-five years. They would wait no more.
She fell with him onto the bed, and her heart soared at the tender smile on his face. It was the first one she'd seen all day, and she was glad. Soon enough, she felt that smile pressed against her mouth as his lips covered hers once again.
He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. She could feel his breath tickle her face as he whispered, "I love you. I always have."
She traced a solitary finger down his face. "I love you, Jean-Luc. I always will."
After twenty-five years, Jean-Luc and Beverly . . . together at last.