Props and Costumes

"What do you want, Jean-Luc?"

He had started moving forward, sure of her welcome, but the anger in her voice stopped him. Only then did he realize that she was in her robe. Perhaps he had awakened her?

"I'm sorry to disturb you Beverly. I …" He wanted desperately for her to allow him in, to see some sign of greeting in her eyes. She gave him nothing.

"I'm sorry." He turned to go, took a hesitant step away from her before she called him back.

"Get in here." A hard grip on his sleeve led him through the door into her quarters. As the door slid shut he thought he felt a chill.

"Out with it." She dropped him arm, leaving him in the center of the room while she strode to the chair farthest away from her usual place on the sofa.

"Beverly, is something wrong?" He used his diplomat voice, hoping to soothe whatever had angered her. Her hard expression didn't give him much hope.

"Why would there be something wrong? My best friend has just returned from a 6-month tryst 4 months early, and presented himself on my doorstep in the middle of the night." She leaned forward, almost sneering. "Tired of the old lady already, Jean-Luc?"

"I didn't come here for this." Indignant, he stood, preparing to leave. His sadness turned to anger. He welcomed it; anger was easier.

"What did you come for?" Beverly stood, fingers swiftly working the belt to her robe. "This?" The robe dropped to the floor. She kicked it away, moving closer but staying just beyond his reach.

He was mesmerized, unable to speak or look away as she tortured him with her nakedness.

"Enjoy this now, Jean-Luc." She told him before reaching for her discarded robe. Holding it down at her side she looked at him straight on for a long moment before pulling the robe on and belting it tightly. "It will never be yours again."

She walked to the replicator, still feeling his hungry eyes watching her. She didn't care. Ordering two lemon teas, she brought the tray to the coffee table and set it down carefully.

"I don't understand," he told her softly, finally taking a seat. He accepted the beverage she offered, fully aware that it was not his preferred Earl Grey, but not understanding why.

"Must I spell it out, Captain?" She regarded him coldly. When he didn't answer, she continued. "You waited twenty-five years for me Jean-Luc. For what? One night?" She set the teacup down with a sharp clink and stood. "Well that's precisely what you got. So don't expect me to wait up nights for you to come home crying about your failed love affairs."

"No, I guess that would be too much to ask." He threw the teacup down, not caring if it broke. "Why should I expect you, my *friend* to support me? You'd rather lead me around by the balls for the next twenty-five years than let me move on."

"So sleeping with every alien you meet is how you intend to move on?" She laughed. "Then by all means. I wouldn't dream of stopping you, Jean-Luc. In fact, I never asked for you to commit yourself to me in the first place."

"No, you wouldn't." He took a step closer, gripping the front of her robe. "You would never lead a man on, tease him, flirt with him. You, the pristine widow." He dragged her closer. "What a sacrifice it must have been for you to let me fuck you."

She slapped him hard, wrenching herself out of his grasp.

"Get away from me."

"No." he moved closer, stalking her. She moved back again.

"Leave me alone."

"Never."

Her nails scored his cheek while he dodged her kick. With a lunge he pinned her against the wall, only to have her twist around, sending him crashing to the floor. She sat on his chest, pinning him.

"I will tell you this once. I am not your lover. We have no claim on each other. You can sleep with whomever you want to. But I do not want to hear about it. And I will not tolerate it interfering with your responsibilities to this ship and its crew. Is that clear?"

He nodded.

"Good," she said, rising carefully, stepping back as he stood up. He smoothed his uniform before looking at her.

He moved slightly forward, his hand outstretched. She took it and found herself slammed back against the table. He pressed himself against her, using his weight to bend her backwards until she was lying on the table, his erection pressed hard against her. She struggled wildly at first, but as he continued to press himself against her she calmed, waiting to see what he would do next.

"Now it's my turn." He ground himself against her one last time, letting her know he saw the hint of desire she fought to conceal. "I didn't ask you to sleep with me. You followed me to LaBarre. You came to my room that night. And you left while I was sleeping. Did you really want me that night or was I just a sympathy fuck? Give the poor old man something to fantasize about?"

"You won't come back to me, but you don't want me to have other women either. Too bad you didn't tell me the price up front; sleep with you once, then give up sex forever. Most whores advertise their prices better."

Her reaction was swift and furious, exactly what he expected. Jean-Luc merely pressed her harder against the table.

"Maybe I should take you right now. I could remind you how you screamed with pleasure. Or I could tease you, then walk away. See how you like it."

She threw her weight up and to the side, catching him off balance and sending them both crashing to the floor. As soon as they landed she untangled herself and stood, backing away from him, watching but not helping as he rose.

They regarded each other, Jean-Luc sagged against the back of the chair as if he was too tired to stand. The violence seemed to have drained them both.

"I'll go," he offered, turning away.

"Like you always do," Beverly replied, bitterly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Did you ever bother, even once, to ask me?"

"About that morning? Why should I? I didn't read your 'Dear Jean-Luc' letter then. I don't need to hear your excuses now."

"Fine." She surrendered quietly, dropping into a seat.

"You were gone for three months, Beverly. Not a call, not a message. Did you expect me to follow you? To throw myself at your feet? Haven't you tortured me enough?"

"I expected you to read my letter." She turned away, tears in her eyes. "I expected you to trust me."

"You didn't deserve it."

Her eyes met his, her pain and betrayal reflected back at her. She tried to maintain her anger, but couldn't find the strength. Defeated, she sagged back against the chair.

"Think what you will, Jean-Luc."

The victory was hollow. He rose unsteadily, prepared to leave her, intending it to be the last time. Each step seemed harder, and just before he reached the door he stopped, turning back to her.

Her back was to him as she sat with her head down, her elbows on her knees. He couldn't tell if she was crying. He stood, immobile, struggling between his anger and his love for this woman.

"After all this time, you would think we'd be better at this," she said at last.

"No," he replied softly. "It's only made us more adept at making a mess of things."

"We are good at that," she conceded.

He moved closer, but still not in front of her. It might hurt less if he couldn't see her face.

"Why did you leave me that night?"

"Why didn't you read my letter?"

"I couldn't bear the thought that I had lost you. That sleeping with you had driven you away from me forever."

She laughed bitterly before raising her head, turning to look at him.

"You. It's always about you, isn't it, Jean-Luc. You being too noble to sleep with Jack's widow. You being too proper to sleep with a crewmember. You being afraid of being hurt." She looked away again. "Have you ever looked at me without seeing yourself?"

"Why did you leave?" he asked again, his voice softer this time, with less self-pity.

"You don't deserve an answer to that. You don't deserve to be here right now. You came here for sympathy tonight, didn't you? You wanted someone to comfort you because you left Anij. Just like you leave all your lovers." She rose slowly, as if the weight of the world were pressing down on her.

"I'm one of your casualties, Jean-Luc. Don't come here asking me for absolution."

She walked to the bookshelf, selecting a volume of poetry he had given her as a gift several years before. She opened it to the middle and extracted a single sheet of paper. It had been torn and repaired.

He recognized it as soon as he touched it. Her note. The one he had never read. He'd torn it and left the pieces scattered in her empty quarters on Earth.

He read it now, the one brief paragraph that had destroyed his life, shocked to find it held a very different message from what he had expected.

"You went to Caldos for a funeral."

"Clara O'Keefe. The last survivor of the Arvada 3 tragedy, save one."

"Beverly, I'm..."

"Do not say you're sorry, Jean-Luc." He closed his mouth, nodding his acceptance of her command.

"She was the youngest of us. When we were on Arvada, watching everyone die around us, she was barely old enough to walk." Beverly's eyes were dark. "But she remembered. She knew." She raised her eyes to his.

"After Nana died, it was just the two of us. She was the only one who understood, even if we rarely spoke of it. Now there's no one."

He moved to offer her comfort but she held up her hand to stop him, her expression hardening.

"Do you want the rest? Do want to know what else happened during those three months? While you were damning me for my unfaithfulness?"

She went to the desk and picked up a padd. Tapping in a few commands she scanned it briefly, then handed it to him.

His face paled as he read. Staggering to the nearest chair, he dropped into it as if the floor had been pulled out from under him.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"How could I? There was the Borg to worry about. Besides, you made it clear when I returned that I was no longer your concern."

"I had a right to know."

"Why? What could you have done? It was an ectopic pregnancy."

"You almost died."

"I'm much better now."

"If I had known."

"What would you have done? Blamed yourself? Played the martyr again? You've done that enough. We made a mistake, both of us. The pregnancy wasn't viable. It happens."

"How can you be so cold?" he demanded of her, wanting to reach out and shake away the bitterness she wore as a shroud.

"I learned from the best." Ice shards dripped from her words, cutting him deeply. Defeated, he turned away.

"Please don't let this happen," he whispered brokenly. He felt as if the ground had dropped out from under him. Desperately he searched for some way to reach her; to let her know that he truly loved her. Half afraid of her reaction, he reached for her.

"Beverly, please."

"What do you want from me?"

"Nothing. I've asked for and taken enough from you. I want to do things for you. If you'll let me. If you can find some way to forgive me."

He approached her carefully, slowly, measuring her reaction to his presence. He touched her arm, drawing her close, surprised when she let him embrace her.

He started to lead her to the sofa but she stopped him, directing him towards the bedroom instead. He looked at her questioningly but she continued on.

The knowledge that she was allowing him into her private refuge gave him hope. He smiled gently at her, trying not to show how fearful he was that she would send him away again.

"I don't want to talk anymore, Jean-Luc." She sounded weary beyond measure. "I just want to sleep. If you can accept that, you can stay."

He accepted, and they prepared for bed in silence, then climbed under the covers. He would hold her tonight, nothing more. And in the morning, they would resume their long-abandoned breakfast routine. And, hopefully, eventually, they would regain what they had lost.

Just before turning out the light, Beverly turned to him. She smiled a very sad smile.

"I always forgive you, Jean-Luc."

:::end:::

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