Chapter Six:

It had been far too long since Beverly had shared croissants and tea over breakfast with Jean-Luc. They had parted after dinner the night before, and Beverly did not need Betazoid senses to realize that neither of them had wanted to leave the company of the other. Yet as they had many times over the years, they each returned to their own quarters--alone.

Now here was Jean-Luc Picard standing in the doorway to her quarters, asking if he could come inside and share breakfast with his favorite doctor. How could she possibly refuse him?

She let him inside and he sat down at the small table in her living area while she replicated the meal.

"Smells delicious," he said as she placed hot croissants and a cup of Earl Grey before him. He sipped at the tea, savoring its flavor. "Somehow, it tastes even better in your company."

"Oh really? Have the replicators on the Stargazer been malfunctioning again?" she teased as she picked up one of the croissants.

"Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are when you wrinkle your nose?"

She finished chewing before replying. "If I didn't know better, Jean-Luc, I'd swear you were trying to seduce me."

"Perhaps you don't know any better," he said and leaned forward to cup her face in his hands. "It's been far too long, Beverly. Regeneration not only brought me back to life; it awakened me. I have a lot of regrets about my past life, and one of them is that I didn't do this sooner."

He brought his lips to her's and she accepted them eagerly. Quickly, they abandoned their meal and retreated to Beverly's private bedroom.

"And are you sorry you waited to do this?" she quipped as they began helping each other out of their clothing.

"My regrets run so deep," he replied, nibbling at her ear.

"Tell me more of your regrets."

"I'd rather show you."

Slipping out of her under clothes, Beverly allowed him to lead her to the bed.

"So often I've wanted to do this." He kissed her along the neck and down the shoulder. "And this." His mouth reached her breast, lingering at her nipple before traveling to the other.

"Oh show me more!" she panted and moaned with pleasure.

"And then I thought about moving downward."

"Is this what you dreamed of during those long hours in your Ready Room?" She guided him toward her wet mound, her breathing quickening. "All this time, you pretended you were just reading Shakespeare. Ohhh. . .I can't wait any longer, Jean-Luc. Mount me now!"

Eager to comply, the captain rolled her onto her side and engaged her in such exquisite pleasures. It had been so long since either of them had had a lover. He knew how to excite her, though, running his fingers and lips along her most sensitive areas.

Beverly could not recall the exact moment she had fallen in love with Jean-Luc Picard and although there had been affairs along the way, Odan most prominent in her mind, she had always found herself back in the position of fighting her attraction to Picard. Why had they denied themselves this pleasure for so long?

She rolled into the top position to more easily manipulate her movement. Gyrating her hips, she enlisted moans of pleasure from both of them as a warm, tickling sensation ran between her legs, escalating with each rock, bounce and jiggle. He coaxed her downward so to suckle again at her nipples. This sent shivers throughout her body as she drew nearer to coming. She felt him spasm inside her followed a moment later by the warm trickle of his cum. A few more rocks and she, too, felt a wave hit her.

"Oh Beverly," he said softly, lovingly as she placed her head atop his chest. He ran his hands through her red hair. "I could stay here, on this station, with you forever."

She rolled off of him and with her hand propping up her head, peered into his eyes. "I believe you love me, Jean-Luc, but we both know you would never be happy anywhere but on a Starship."

He sighed heavily with resignation. "Come join me, then. There's a place for you on my ship--and in my heart."

"I'm afraid I'm just not ready to return to that life." They stared silently, longingly into each other's eyes.

"Long-distance relationships never work," he reminded her. "If only we'd done this years ago. . ."

She rolled onto her back, musedly contemplating the depth of that statement. "Regrets always seem to get in our way, don't they, Jean-Luc?"

After a long silence, the captain said, "I think I'll take those croissants now."

"I'll make you a fresh tea," she said as she got up to gather her discarded clothing.

Once dressed, he followed her out into the living area. He hugged her from behind as she replicated his tea and nuzzled her on the neck.

"Jean-Luc, you can't possibly want another round." She turned slowly to face him so as not to spill the hot tea. "You are resilient!" She wrinkled her nose in that lovable way. "Makes me wish I had more time."

He accepted the drink from her. "Pity you don't. But Shannara needs you."

"Speaking of needing, Deanna and Worf agreed to meet with Counselor Bennett today," Beverly told him.

"I'm glad to hear that," Picard replied as they ventured over to the table and began eating. After a long moment, he added, "One thing I certainly learned from my own therapy is that mental health is every bit as important to care for as your physical health."

"And often the recovery takes far longer than any physical injury. If only I knew how to comfort them, to help them get through the coming days."

Picard grasped her hand. "You're doing just fine. I could tell they appreciate your efforts."

"But are my efforts enough?"

"Beverly, you know I can't answer that. You're doing the best you can by their daughter. Her odds of recovering would be no better with any other doctor. You need to stop feeling guilty about any Human shortcomings. We must all face them."

They finished eating in relative silence, their only communication touching and smiling.

As Beverly gathered their empty dishes, she asked, "Shall we do lunch, too?"

"I would love that. I'd love to spend the entire day with you if I could."

"Makes me wish I weren't scheduled to go to the infirmary. But you know I have patients counting on me." She leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. "Lunch it is then. See you at 1250 hours."

*****

"I have a 9:15 appointment with Counselor Bennett," Deanna told her mother as they were finishing their breakfast. "Perhaps you should see him as well."

Lwaxana waved the notion off. "I'm doing fine."

"Mother, I can sense how upset you are. You're hurting, too. Why do you not wish to care for yourself?"

"Tell me, Little One, how did you find your rationale this morning? You were plenty upset last night. I mean, how can we go on if a two-year old child--a child of our flesh and blood--must suffer so?"

"I am not fine, but I have to function for my little girl's sake. For the same reason, I am concerned for you, Mother. We have to hold ourselves together and be there for Shannara when she wakes up."

Lwaxana fixed her daughter with a bewildered stare. "Darling, how much sleep did you get last night?"

"Enough."

"How much?"

"Maybe four hours."

"If that is all you are getting each night, then you are hardly functioning yourself. But let's stop lecturing each other, okay? I agree that we need to pool together. If we can't count on each other--"

Before Lwaxana could finish, Deanna went around the table and Mother and daughter accepted each other's comforting embrace.

*****

When Picard returned to his station quarters, he found his first officer standing out in the corridor waiting for him. He could see the concern on her face, unnecessary by his opinion. With dread, he walked up to her.

"So did you tell her?" Martha asked urgently.

"You knew very well that I couldn't."

"The longer you put it off the more difficult it will be."

"You're not my mother," he said tersely and stepped into his quarters. He should never have confided in Martha.

*****

Beverly arrived at the infirmary at 8:30 and spoke with the nurse who had been on duty for the night shift. As expected, there had been no change in Shannara Rozhenko's condition.

She thought about her time with Jean-Luc and how it could be a new beginning for them if she really wanted it. Then she looked down at Shannara's lifeless face and wondered if it weren't the end for the Rozhenkos. Could Worf and Deanna support each other if their daughter didn't make it, or would they drift further apart?

Contrasting her happiness with their pain, Crusher felt guilty. It didn't matter that she had endured her own share of pain over the past two years. There was nothing worse than losing a child!

Her first patient arrived for the day, and the doctor turned to offer them aid.

*****

Counselor Bennett greeted Deanna at his office door and walked her over to a chair. She seemed almost unable to walk on her own. "I know how difficult this is for you," he said as he made his way around his desk. "Take your time. When you're ready to talk, I'll be here to listen."

She could not meet his gaze and so she stared at her fidgeting hands. On several occasions, she'd counseled grieving friends, spouses. . .parents. How much more difficult it was to be the patient! "If my little girl doesn't make it, then I don't want to live either."

"That is a common feeling, Mrs. Rozhenko. I understand that you are also a counselor. Your judgment, I'm sure, is a bit clouded right now. But if you will allow me to tell you a little story about a seven-year old boy who fell off a cliff."

A moment passed before Deanna realized he was waiting for her approval. She nodded, her face remaining a mask of anguish.

"He was instructed to stay close to the house, but he enjoyed climbing too much and wanted to reach the top of a hill to stare down at the most breathtakingly clear river. He almost managed it, too. He was nearly to the top when he slipped on some rocks and tumbled more than thirty meters. Fortunate for him, he wasn't dead on impact. Unfortunate for him, he spent over an hour immobilized and in severe pain before someone found him. He had busted ribs, a punctured lung, fractured hip bone and bruises that left him unrecognizable.

"He lived through the accident and learned a valuable lesson that day--and he learned how to sympathize with others who are hurting because a loved one is injured." He leaned forward. "It's easy to blame ourselves, Mrs. Rozhenko, for whatever reasons. It's much harder to forgive ourselves." Bennett paused, hoping his story would give his patient the courage to speak up.

"Everyone assumes that Alexander is solely to blame for Shannara's injury," she said weakly. "I am angry, very angry, but not just at him. I'm the one who likes to take real baths with real water--not those pseudo showers. I've asked myself why a thousand times." Now she did look up at Bennett and burst into tears. "Why didn't I remember to empty the tub? I only needed to utter three simple words, 'Computer, drain tub,' and my baby wouldn't be in the infirmary in a stasis tube right now fighting for her life."

"You didn't know. Everyone forgets now and then. That doesn't mean that you wanted to hurt your daughter. Don't convince yourself that you are a bad person."

"Bad? How can I ever tell my husband what I've done? Worf will never understand."

"Do not sell your husband short. He is grieving as you are now. When he begins to think more clearly, chances are he will view this as an accident. You need to ask yourself whether you feel it is right to allow him to continue to believe that your stepson is solely at fault? Or would it be better in the long run to tell Worf the truth?"

"I want to tell him. It's just. . .so difficult. In all the years I've known my husband, I'd never seen him cry before. He loves our daughter so much. He would do anything for her. Worf and I have always been so happy and now I can hardly bare to look at him."

"That will pass in time. How are you sleeping?"

"I take a couple of naps a day. I can't sleep very long at a stretch. My dreams--they're horrible."

"Perhaps talking about them would help you."

"I'm not ready to talk about them."

"In all your years of counseling, I imagine you've told at least a few patients how important it is to understand their dreams, particularly those they find disturbing."

"I'm not ready," she reiterated. I don't think I ever will be."

"For your sake, I hope you're wrong." He leafed through his appointment book. "I'd like to see you again in three days, same time, but if you wish to speak with me any time before then, don't hesitate to contact me."

"Please have a seat, Commander Worf," Bennett said ten minutes later, gesturing.

"I would rather stand," the Klingon responded.

"Very well, then," the counselor shifted uncomfortably in his desk chair. He felt uncomfortable peering so far up at the tall Klingon. He was the one who was supposed to be calm, rational, and in control of the situation. "Why don't you tell me how you feel?"

"I feel angry!" After only a slight hesitation, he added, "and I feel so out of control of my pain. I never thought I would make a good parent. When Alexander first joined me on the Enterprise, we had a lot of problems, but then, with Deanna's help, we became a family. Now--I feel as though I failed with him somehow. I thought I had instilled trust and honor into my son. It is my duty to teach him his responsibility. I accepted that he did not wish to become a warrior, but to be so irresponsible! A Klingon not only dishonors himself by such immature actions. He dishonors his family for several generations!"

In a soothing voice, Bennett said, "Consider this carefully, do you also blame yourself for your daughter's accident?"

A growl rumbled deeply in the Klingon's throat. "I should not have gone out that evening."

"Every parent deserves a little time away from their children. Wanting it is not evil. It does not mean you don't love your kids."

"But if I hadn't--"

"You could not predict what was about to happen."

"No, I could not. I trusted the boy. Why did I not see that he wasn't ready for the responsibility?"

"It is a difficult thing to judge. Sometimes, even the most responsible people behave irrationally. Have you spoken with him about what happened?"

"I do not wish to speak with the boy at this time."

"And why is that?"

"Because I am afraid of what I might do to him," Worf answered honestly. "I do not trust myself with my own son! He has behaved most dishonorably."

"You realize that nothing can be resolved between you until you begin to open up communication again, don't you? I believe you could all benefit from a family session. Would you agree to counseling with your wife and son?"

Worf mused over this question for a minute. He had once thought himself incapable of becoming a family man. Despite his warrior attitude, he had been frightened when first faced with raising Alexander. Fortunately, Deanna had been around to help him figure out the proper way to guide a young boy toward manhood. No one had been more surprised than he was when his feelings toward the counselor had changed, how easily he had come to imagening a life with her. Now they were a family. He would do anything to keep his family together.

"Commander?"

"Yes, I will consent to family counseling."

"Good. I have another session with your wife in three days. Perhaps you can convince her that it would be best if you all came in together."

"I will try," the Klingon promised. Then he finally sat down and bringing his face to his hands, hid his anguish. "As a Klingon, I am supposed to be brave and strong. I am always ready to face battles without fear, but I cannot control whether my daughter lives or dies. It is a battle she must face on her own."

"And does that pain you most of all, that you cannot protect your daughter?"

"Yes. As her father, it is my duty to protect her."

"It is not easy to accept that you are unable to protect your children. No matter how careful or how loving you are, accidents can happen. You must find a way within yourself to learn how to cope with your own vulnerabilities in this situation. Your daughter needs your strength and your love."

"How can I comfort her when I cannot even hold her?" Worf fought against tears. He could not let another man--not even his counselor--see him cry.

"Talk to her. Sing to her. Tell her stories. Coma patients can hear and understand much of what is said to them. Her father's voice will comfort her."

After leaving Counselor Bennett's office, Worf went to the infirmary. He found Deanna already there, standing quietly over their daughter.

Approaching them and placing his arm around Deanna, he said, "Shannara, your Daddy is here." He raised his other hand to the stasis tube. "Don't be afraid. I will tell you stories and sing to you."

Deanna looked at her husband and smiled sweetly. She raised her free hand and placed it atop his. "Tell her the one about the warrior who faced seven enemies and still came out victorious."

"You are referring to 'The Hero of Seven Calamities'?" They both lowered their gaze to their daughter, and Worf began the story. "Once there was a brave warrior. . . ."