Chapter Text
Beverly Crusher turned from the replicator, the steam from her freshly replicated coffee curling upward in delicate wisps. The door to their quarters whisked open, and she knew without looking that it was Jean-Luc. She could recognize his footsteps, the particular cadence of his breathing when something weighed on his mind.
She looked up to find him standing just inside the doorway, his expression carefully neutral in that way he had when masking concern. Their eyes met, and in that single shared glance, a conversation passed between them. The PADD in his hands. He'd received one too.
"You too?" she asked quietly, setting down her coffee and moving to retrieve the PADD from the dining table. The message glowed on its surface, maddeningly sparse on details but heavy with implication.
Jean-Luc nodded, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly as he crossed to her. He handed her his PADD while accepting hers, and they stood close together, reading in silence. Beverly could feel the warmth of him beside her, solid and reassuring even as her heart rate quickened.
"It's rather vague, isn't it?" She looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of what he might be thinking. "Top secret assignment. Report for briefing. Prepare for extended training." Beverly shook her head. "Jean-Luc, they're not even telling us what we're training for."
"Hmm." Jean-Luc's eyes continued scanning her message, though she suspected he'd already memorized every word of his own. "We'll receive more information in time. They wouldn't summon us without good reason."
Beverly's grip on the PADD tightened. "What about Emilie, Jean-Luc?" The question came out more sharply than she'd intended, but maternal instinct overrode diplomatic protocol. Their daughter—barely four years old—slept peacefully in her room, unaware that her parents might be pulled into something dangerous. Something classified enough that Starfleet wouldn't risk transmitting details over subspace.
Jean-Luc set down her PADD and reached for her free hand, enfolding it in both of his. "We'll ask Deanna to watch her," he said, his voice gentle but certain. "She adores spending time with Emilie, and there's no one on this ship I'd trust more."
Beverly exhaled slowly, nodding. "I'll talk to her tomorrow morning. Before..." She gestured vaguely at the PADDs.
Jean-Luc placed her PADD on the table beside his, then turned back to her with that particular softness in his eyes reserved only for private moments. "Come." He held out his hand.
She took it, letting him lead her toward their bedroom, though sleep felt impossibly far away. "Do you think it's the Cardassians?" she asked quietly as they walked.
"Perhaps. Or the Romulans." Jean-Luc paused at their bedroom door. "Or something else entirely. Whatever it is, Beverly, we'll face it together."
She squeezed his hand, drawing strength from the certainty in his voice even as worry gnawed at her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next day arrived far too quickly. Jean-Luc sat in his ready room, reviewing reports that suddenly felt trivial compared to the weight of the classified briefing ahead. The door chime interrupted his third read-through of the same paragraph.
"Come."
Admiral Alynna Nechayev entered with the bearing of someone accustomed to delivering difficult news. Her blonde hair was pulled back severely, her uniform immaculate, her expression all business. Jean-Luc had served under her command before and knew that behind that stern facade lay a brilliant tactical mind—and a willingness to make the hard choices others couldn't stomach.
"Admiral." Jean-Luc stood, offering her a seat. "I've been expecting you."
"I'm sure you have, Captain." Nechayev settled into the chair with practiced efficiency, her hands folding on her lap. "I'm here to relieve you of duty."
Despite anticipating those exact words, hearing them aloud sent a chill through him. Jean-Luc remained standing, hands clasped behind his back. "I assumed as much. The communique I received was quite vague—deliberately so, I suspect."
"Of course it was." Nechayev's blue eyes fixed on him with laser focus. "We had to maintain operational security until I could speak with you and your team in person. Subspace communication is too vulnerable to interception."
Jean-Luc moved around his desk, already reaching for his combadge. "Then let me assemble them." He tapped the badge. "Mr. Worf, please join me in my ready room."
"Aye, sir." Worf's response came immediately, crisp and professional as always.
Jean-Luc tapped again. "Picard to Crusher."
A brief pause, then Beverly's voice came through, slightly breathless—probably just finishing rounds in sickbay. "Go ahead, Captain."
"Please join me in my ready room at your earliest convenience."
"I'll be right there." Something in his tone must have conveyed the gravity of the situation; she didn't ask questions.
The door chimed within moments. "Come."
Worf entered, his towering frame filling the doorway. His dark eyes swept the room, landing on the Admiral with immediate recognition. "You wished to see me, Captain." Then, with a slight bow of his head: "Admiral."
"Have a seat, Lieutenant," Jean-Luc gestured toward the couch. "Dr. Crusher will join us momentarily."
Worf made his way to the couch, his large frame making the elegant furniture look almost comically delicate. He perched on the edge, back rigid, hands on his knees—the posture of a warrior awaiting orders.
Admiral Nechayev turned to regard him. "Have you read your communique from Starfleet Command, Lieutenant?"
"I have, Admiral." Worf's jaw worked slightly, as if chewing on his next words. "I have... questions."
"I'm certain you do." Nechayev's expression softened fractionally—as much as it ever did. "I'll answer what I can, but let's wait until Dr. Crusher joins us. No point repeating myself."
Worf gave a single, sharp nod of acknowledgment.
The silence that followed felt charged with unspoken concerns. Jean-Luc found himself watching the clock display on his desk, counting the seconds. He knew Beverly would come as quickly as she could, but every moment of waiting tightened the knot in his chest.
Finally, blessedly, the door chimed again.
"Come."
Beverly entered and stopped short, her gaze sweeping from the Admiral to Worf to Jean-Luc. Her medical instincts were clearly reading the room, cataloging tensions and undercurrents. "Admiral," she said carefully.
"Have a seat, Doctor." Jean-Luc nodded toward the space beside Worf on the couch.
Beverly hesitated only a moment before crossing the room, settling beside the Security Chief with her hands folded in her lap. Jean-Luc could see the concern in her eyes, the way her fingers pressed together just slightly too tightly.
Admiral Nechayev stood, commanding the room without effort. "You three have been chosen for a highly classified special operations mission." She let that sink in for a moment, her gaze moving from face to face. "I cannot—and will not—give you specifics about the mission at this time. You'll receive additional information as your training progresses and as operational security permits."
"Training for what, Admiral?" Worf's question came out measured but edged with frustration.
"That information is classified," Nechayev replied without inflection. "What I can tell you is this: you're not to discuss this mission with anyone outside this room. Not your fellow officers. Not your friends. No one. Are we clear?"
Three heads nodded in unison.
Beverly leaned forward slightly. "Admiral, what about our current positions on the Enterprise? My patients—"
"You're being temporarily reassigned," Nechayev cut in. "All three of you. Arrangements are being made for your departments as we speak."
Worf shifted on the couch. "For how long?"
"That depends on the mission parameters." Nechayev's tone made it clear she wouldn't elaborate further.
Beverly bit her lower lip—a tell Jean-Luc recognized as deep worry. "Admiral, you are aware that the Captain and I have a young child aboard the Enterprise?"
"I am." Nechayev's expression remained impassive, but something flickered in her eyes. "Do you have arrangements for her care in the event that you don't return?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. Jean-Luc felt Beverly's sharp intake of breath as if it were his own. He met her eyes across the room, seeing his own fear reflected back at him.
"What are the chances of that, Admiral?" Jean-Luc asked, his voice carefully controlled despite the ice forming in his gut.
Nechayev met his gaze unflinchingly. "The risks are substantial with any special assignment, Jean-Luc. You know that better than most. I won't lie to you—this mission carries significant danger. That's why we've selected you three specifically."
Beverly's hand moved unconsciously to her chest, as if she could physically protect her heart from the words. "Her older brother is at Starfleet Academy," she said quietly. "Wesley would take her if…. He'd..." She paused, swallowing hard. "He'd make sure she was cared for."
"Or my brother Robert and his wife Marie in La Barre," Jean-Luc added, though speaking the words felt like acknowledging a possibility too terrible to contemplate. "They have a young son. She'd be loved there."
Beverly nodded, her jaw set with determination even as her eyes glistened.
"I have every confidence in your abilities," Nechayev said, and for once her stern mask slipped enough to show genuine respect. "Will you accept this mission and carry out the duties that will be assigned to you?"
Silence hung in the air for three heartbeats. Then three heads nodded in succession.
"Good." Nechayev clasped her hands behind her back. "Lieutenant, Doctor—you may return to your duties. Be prepared to begin training at nineteen hundred hours this evening. Remember: not a word to anyone. The success of this mission depends on your discretion."
Both Beverly and Worf stood. Beverly caught Jean-Luc's eye one more time, a look that conveyed a thousand things in an instant: fear, love, determination, trust. Then she turned and followed Worf out, the door whisking shut behind them.
Jean-Luc remained standing until he was certain they were gone, then slowly sank into his chair. The weight of command had never felt quite so heavy.
Nechayev moved to stand before his desk, her hands resting on the back of the chair she'd vacated. "How well do you know Captain Edward Jellico?"
The question came from nowhere, hitting Jean-Luc hard. "I've never met him personally, though I've reviewed his service record. By all accounts, he's a fine captain. Unconventional methods, but effective results."
"I'm giving him command of the Enterprise."
"Admiral, that's not necessary." Jean-Luc leaned forward, his diplomatic instincts engaging despite his shock. "Commander Riker is more than capable of—"
"I'm sending the Enterprise ahead into Cardassian territory," Nechayev interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. "This isn't about Riker's capabilities."
"Cardassian territory?" Jean-Luc's mind raced, connecting pieces of a puzzle he didn't want to see forming. "Admiral, what intelligence have you received?"
Nechayev's expression hardened further, if such a thing were possible. "We've intercepted communications suggesting the Cardassians are planning a significant military operation. Details are scarce, but the threat assessment is high enough that we're taking it seriously."
"And Jellico?"
"Has extensive experience dealing with the Cardassians. He's negotiated with them, fought them, understands how they think." Nechayev straightened. "I need an officer who knows what to expect, who won't hesitate to make the hard tactical decisions. The Enterprise may be walking into a hornet's nest."
"I see." Jean-Luc did see—all too clearly. This wasn't just about his mission; it was about positioning the Enterprise for potential conflict while he, Beverly, and Worf were occupied elsewhere. "When will the change of command take place?"
"In approximately four hours." Nechayev checked her chronometer. "Captain Jellico is already en route. You'll brief him on the Enterprise's systems, crew complement, and current operational status. Then you'll report for your first training session."
Jean-Luc nodded slowly, his mind already cataloging everything he'd need to tell Jellico, everything Riker would need to know without being told the classified details. "The crew should be informed that this is a temporary reassignment."
"They will be." Nechayev moved toward the door, then paused. "Jean-Luc, I wouldn't have chosen you for this if I didn't believe you were the right person. All three of you. What we're asking you to do..." She trailed off, seeming to struggle with how much to reveal. "It matters. More than you can possibly know right now."
"I trust that it does, Admiral."
"Good." She tapped the door control. "Four hours, Captain. Make them count."
The door closed behind her, leaving Jean-Luc alone with his ready room, his ship, and the ghost of a future he couldn't yet see. He looked out the viewport at the stars streaking past, thinking of Emilie, of Beverly preparing her staff for her absence, of all the things he might need to say in the next four hours.
Then he tapped his combadge one more time.
"Picard to Riker. Number One, please come to my ready room. There's something I need to discuss with you."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first night of training had pushed both Jean-Luc and Beverly to limits they hadn't experienced in years. The corridor lights seemed too bright as they made their way back to their quarters, both moving with the heavy-limbed exhaustion of people who'd been pushed far beyond normal endurance. Jean-Luc's muscles ached in places he'd forgotten existed, and he could see the fatigue etched in every line of Beverly's face.
When the door to their quarters whisked open, they found Deanna Troi curled up on the sofa, absorbed in a book. She looked up as they entered, and her empathic abilities must have immediately picked up on their state because her expression shifted to one of concern.
"You both look exhausted," she said softly, setting her book aside and rising to her feet.
Beverly made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan, practically collapsing into the nearest chair. She propped her feet up on the coffee table with zero regard for propriety and began working at the fastenings of her boots with fingers that seemed reluctant to cooperate.
"Exhausted doesn't even begin to cover it," she managed, finally getting one boot unzipped. "I haven't been this tired since my first rotation as a resident at Starfleet Medical." She got the boot off and dropped it unceremoniously on the floor. "This might actually be worse."
Jean-Luc lowered himself into the chair beside her with considerably more care, having already shed his boots at the door—a habit Beverly often teased him about, but which his training at the Academy had ingrained too deeply to break. His feet were bare, and even that small liberation felt wonderful. He let his head fall back against the chair, eyes closing briefly.
"How was Emilie?" Beverly asked, working on her second boot while trying to sound more alert than she felt.
"An angel, as always." Deanna smiled warmly. "We had dinner—she requested spaghetti, naturally, and managed to get more sauce on her face than in her mouth. Then we read two stories, though she fell asleep halfway through the second one." The Betazoid counselor moved toward the door, pausing to rest a hand on Beverly's shoulder. "She didn't even stir when I carried her to bed."
Beverly reached up to pat Deanna's hand, genuine gratitude in the gesture. "Thanks again, Dee. I don't know what we'd do without you."
"You'd manage," Deanna said with characteristic warmth, "but I'm glad you don't have to." She glanced between them, her dark eyes filled with concern that went deeper than simple friendship. "Get some rest, both of you. Whatever they have you doing..." She trailed off, knowing better than to ask questions about classified assignments. "Just take care of yourselves."
"We will," Jean-Luc promised, opening his eyes to meet hers. "Thank you, Deanna."
She squeezed Beverly's shoulder once more, then quietly let herself out.
The silence that followed her departure felt heavy but not uncomfortable—the kind of silence shared by two people too tired for words but grateful for each other's presence. Beverly finally got her second boot off and let it fall beside the first with a thud that seemed too loud in the quiet quarters.
"I should check on Emilie," she murmured, but made no move to stand.
"In a moment," Jean-Luc said gently. "Catch your breath first."
Beverly turned her head to look at him, and even through the exhaustion, he could see the concern in her blue eyes. "That was... intense. Jean-Luc, what they're training us for—"
"I know." He reached over, finding her hand and lacing his fingers through hers. Her hand was warm, familiar, anchoring. "But we're prepared for this. We can do this."
They sat like that for several minutes, neither willing to break the contact, drawing strength from the simple connection. Finally, Beverly stirred, using their joined hands as leverage to pull herself upright.
"I'm going to check on our daughter," she said, her voice soft but determined.
Jean-Luc nodded, watching as she padded barefoot across the living area to Emilie's room. The door whispered open, spilling soft nightlight illumination into the main quarters. He could see Beverly's silhouette as she stood in the doorway, watching their daughter sleep, and he knew she was memorizing this moment—just as he was memorizing the sight of her standing there, backlit and beautiful despite her exhaustion.
After a long moment, Beverly returned to him. "Fast asleep. Deanna was right—she's got spaghetti sauce in her hair."
Jean-Luc smiled despite his fatigue. "We'll deal with it in the morning."
"Definitely in the morning." Beverly held out her hand to him. "Come on. We both need sleep."
He took her hand and let her help pull him to his feet. They made their way to the bedroom, movements synchronized by years of shared space and intimate knowledge of each other's rhythms.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jean-Luc had just collapsed into a chair, his body exhausted from their last training session in the holodeck. Beverly had decided to remain with Worf to work on their timing while he'd returned to rest. Every muscle ached as he settled back, grateful for the quiet of their quarters. Just as he was propping his feet up, the door chimed.
"Come," he called, his voice strained from exhaustion.
"Captain," Will Riker said as he entered. Upon seeing how exhausted his captain was, concern flickered across his features. "Are you alright?"
"Oh Will," Jean-Luc said, looking up at his First Officer with a weary smile. "Fine. Just... fine."
Before Will could respond, the door opened again and in ran red-haired Emilie, her pigtails bouncing as she giggled and scrambled into her papa's lap with determined enthusiasm.
"Emilie, sweetheart," Deanna said, coming in quick succession after the little girl, slightly breathless. "How about we get you changed out of your school clothes, and then you can tell your papa all about your day."
But Emilie had already wrapped her small arms around Jean-Luc's neck and was now resting her head contentedly on his shoulder, looking up at Deanna with bright blue eyes that were so like her mother's.
"Oh," Jean-Luc said, his exhaustion melting away as he instinctively adjusted his hold on his daughter, one hand supporting her back. "She's fine, Deanna. You can go. Beverly should be home shortly anyhow."
Deanna and Will exchanged a knowing look—the kind that spoke of their own deepening relationship—before Deanna smiled warmly and nodded.
"In that case, Counselor, would you care to join me for supper in Ten Forward?" Will asked, deciding his problem could wait as he offered his arm with practiced gallantry.
"I'd like that," Deanna said, her dark eyes sparkling as she took his arm. "If you need anything, Captain, just call."
Jean-Luc nodded his thanks.
"Captain. Miss Emilie," Will said with a slight bow that made Emilie giggle again, before he led Deanna out of the captain's quarters.
As the door whispered shut, Jean-Luc leaned back in the chair, feeling Emilie's weight settle more fully against him. "Now then, ma petite," he murmured, "tell me about school today."
"We learned about stars, Papa," Emilie said sleepily, her earlier energy fading now that she was in the safety of her father's arms. "Miss Robinson said some are very old."
Jean-Luc smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "That’s true, mon coeur. Some stars have been shining for billions of years."
"Billions?" she asked, but her voice was already growing drowsy.
"Mmm-hmm," he hummed, feeling his own eyelids growing heavy. The warmth of his daughter, the gentle rhythm of her breathing, the quiet of the quarters—it all conspired against his efforts to stay awake.
Within minutes, both father and daughter had drifted off, Emilie curled against Jean-Luc's chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her small form.
That was how Beverly found them an hour later. She stood in the doorway for a long moment just looking at the two people she loved most in the universe. Jean-Luc's head was tilted back, his mouth slightly open, one hand spread across Emilie's back while the other had fallen to rest on the arm of the chair. Emilie was completely relaxed, her face pressed into her father's black turtleneck, one small hand clutching the fabric.
Beverly's heart swelled at the sight. She quietly set down her bag and retrieved her padd, unable to resist capturing the moment. Then, moving with the practiced silence of a mother, she carefully lifted Emilie from Jean-Luc's arms.
The little girl stirred slightly. "Maman?" she mumbled.
"Shh, ma chérie," Beverly whispered. "Let's let Papa rest a bit longer. Why don't you go play in your room while I change?"
Emilie, still half-asleep, nodded and allowed herself to be set down. She padded off to her room while Beverly changed out of her training clothes into comfortable civilian clothes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nearly two hours had passed when Jean-Luc's eyes finally fluttered open. The quarters were dimmer now, the lighting adjusted to evening settings. It took him a moment to orient himself, to remember falling asleep in the chair. He straightened with a slight grimace at the stiffness in his neck.
Then he saw Beverly on the couch, her legs tucked under her, absorbed in a book. She'd let her hair down, and it fell in soft waves around her shoulders. The sight made him smile.
"Hello," he said, his voice rough with sleep.
Beverly looked up, her face brightening. "Hello, sleepyhead. Welcome back to the land of the living."
"How long was I out?" he asked.
"About three hours," she said, setting her book aside. "You were completely exhausted. You and Emilie both looked so peaceful, I couldn't bear to wake you." She paused, studying him. "Would you like some supper?"
Jean-Luc glanced around the quarters, suddenly alert. "Where is Emilie?"
"In her room, playing with her dolls," Beverly said with an amused smile.
Jean-Luc stood, stretching carefully. "I should go see her."
"Why don't you do that while I heat up supper?" Beverly suggested. "I replicated that cassoulet you love. Figured you could use some comfort food."
He crossed to her, leaning down to kiss her softly. "Thank you," he murmured against her lips.
"For what?"
"For taking care of us. For knowing exactly what we need."
Beverly's hand came up to cup his cheek. "That's my job. One I happen to take very seriously." She kissed him once more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dinner was a lively affair. They sat together at the small table in their quarters, Emilie chattering away about her day between bites of the child-friendly meal Beverly had replicated for her. She told them about the stars they'd learned about, about how her friend Max had accidentally spilled blue paint all over his shirt, about how Miss Robinson had read them a story about a brave little ship that traveled far from home.
"Just like the Enterprise!" Emilie declared proudly.
"Very much like the Enterprise," Jean-Luc agreed, smiling at his daughter's enthusiasm. "Though I should hope we have fewer adventures than the ship in the story."
Beverly raised an eyebrow at him over her wine glass. "Since when have you hoped for fewer adventures?"
"Since I became responsible for this one," he said, reaching over to gently tug one of Emilie's pigtails, making her giggle.
After dinner, as Beverly cleared the table, Jean-Luc announced, "Bath time, mon coeur."
"But Papa—" Emilie began.
"No arguments," he said firmly but kindly. "You have paint in your hair. Blue paint, unless I'm mistaken."
Emilie's hand flew to her hair. "Oh! That's from Max!"
Beverly laughed. "Come on, sweetheart. The sooner we get you clean, the sooner Papa can tell you a bedtime story."
That was all the incentive Emilie needed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bath time was a negotiation. Emilie wanted to play with her toy starships in the water. Jean-Luc allowed it, but only after her hair was washed. Beverly supervised from the doorway, occasionally offering commentary or a dry towel when needed.
"Papa, why does water make bubbles?" Emilie asked as Jean-Luc worked shampoo through her hair.
"Well, the soap in the shampoo creates surface tension," he began, then caught Beverly's amused look. He sighed and gave Beverly a smile then looked back at Emilie. "The soap traps air, ma petite, and makes little pockets. Those pockets are bubbles."
"Oh," Emilie said, considering this. "Can we make more bubbles?"
Twenty minutes later, with Emilie finally clean and wrapped in a fluffy towel, Jean-Luc looked somewhat damp himself. Beverly handed him a towel with a knowing smile.
"You're worse than she is sometimes," she teased.
"I have no idea what you mean," he said with mock dignity, trying to ignore the wet spots on his pajama shirt.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Emilie's room was a child's haven aboard a starship—toys neatly organized in bins, drawings covering one wall, a small desk where she practiced her letters, and her bed with its quilt. Beverly helped Emilie into her pajamas, soft ones with little kittens printed on them, while Jean-Luc changed out of his damp pajamas in their bedroom.
When he returned, wearing comfortable sleep pants and a t-shirt, Emilie was already tucked into bed, her stuffed bear clutched in her arms.
"Story time, Papa!" she announced.
Jean-Luc settled on the edge of her bed while Beverly leaned against the doorframe, content to listen. "What story would you like tonight?"
"One in French, Papa. Tell me about the princess and the frog."
"Ah, 'La Princesse et la Grenouille,'" he said, his voice taking on the cadence of a storyteller. "Il était une fois, une belle princesse qui vivait dans un grand château."
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who lived in a grand castle.
"Elle avait une balle d'or qu'elle aimait plus que tout au monde."
She had a golden ball that she loved more than anything in the world.
Emilie snuggled deeper into her blankets, her eyes fixed on her father's face as he wove the tale in fluid French, his voice soft and melodic. He told her how the princess lost her ball in a well, how a frog promised to retrieve it if she would be his friend, how the princess agreed but then ran away without keeping her promise.
"Mais la grenouille l'a suivie jusqu'au château," Jean-Luc continued, his voice slightly theatrical now. "Et elle a frappé à la porte: 'Princesse, princesse, ouvre la porte! Tu as fait une promesse au bord de l'eau.'"
But the frog followed her to the castle, and he knocked on the door: 'Princess, princess, open the door! You made a promise by the water's shore.'
He modulated his voice, making the frog sound plaintive and hopeful. Emilie giggled.
"Le roi, le père de la princesse, a dit qu'elle devait tenir sa promesse. Alors la grenouille a mangé dans son assiette et a dormi sur son oreiller."
The king, the princess's father, said she must keep her promise. So the frog ate from her plate and slept on her pillow.
Beverly watched her husband transform into the storyteller, saw how Emilie's eyes grew heavy even as she fought to stay awake for the ending.
"Et puis," Jean-Luc said softly, "quand la princesse a embrassé la grenouille pour lui dire bonne nuit—pouf! Il est devenu un beau prince. Et savez-vous pourquoi?"
And then, when the princess kissed the frog to say goodnight—poof! He became a handsome prince. And do you know why?
"Why, Papa?" Emilie whispered, though her eyes were nearly closed.
"Parce que parfois, les promesses ont une magie spéciale. Et les vraies amitiés peuvent transformer tout."
Because sometimes, promises have a special magic. And true friendships can transform everything.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Bonne nuit, ma petite étoile."
Goodnight, my little star.
"Bonne nuit, Papa," she murmured. "Je t'aime."
Goodnight, Papa. I love you.
"Je t'aime aussi, mon coeur."
I love you too, my heart.
Beverly adjusted the blankets and added her own kiss to Emilie's forehead. "Sweet dreams, baby."
They dimmed the lights to a soft glow and slipped out of the room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
SMUT/SPICE
In their own bedroom, the tensions of the day—the exhaustion, the responsibilities, the weight of command—began to finally ease. Beverly sat on the edge of their bed, watching as Jean-Luc moved to the replicator and ordered two glasses of wine.
"You were wonderful with her tonight," Beverly said as he handed her a glass.
"She makes it easy," Jean-Luc replied, settling beside her. "Though I confess, I'm grateful she wanted a short story. I don't think I could have managed 'The Three Musketeers' tonight."
Beverly laughed softly. "You're exhausted. You pushed yourself too hard in training."
"Perhaps," he admitted, taking a sip of wine. "But Worf insisted we needed to be prepared for—"
"Jean-Luc," she interrupted gently, setting her wine aside and turning to face him fully. "You don't have to be Captain Picard right now. Not here. Not with me."
Something in her voice, in the tenderness of her gaze, made the last of his defenses fall away. He set his own glass down and reached for her, pulling her close. "What would I do without you?" he murmured into her hair.
"Let's never find out," she replied, tilting her face up to his.
Their kiss was slow and deep, a homecoming after the long day. Jean-Luc's hands moved to her waist, then up her back, feeling the warmth of her through the soft fabric of her sweater. Beverly's fingers threaded through the scarce hair at the base of his neck, that gesture he loved, that made him feel cherished and desired.
"Beverly," he breathed as she pulled back just enough to tug her sweater over her head.
"I want you," she said simply, and the directness of it, the honesty, made his heart race.
They undressed each other slowly, reverently, years of marriage having taught them that rushing only diminished the sweetness. When skin met skin, Jean-Luc closed his eyes briefly at the sensation, at the profound rightness of holding Beverly in his arms.
He laid her back against the pillows, following her down, kissing her throat, her collarbone, the curve of her breast. She arched beneath him, her hands exploring the planes of his back, the muscles she knew intimately after all these years.
Their lovemaking was tender and unhurried, a conversation without words. Jean-Luc moved inside her with a gentle rhythm, watching her face in the dim light, seeing the pleasure there, feeling it echo in his own body. Beverly's legs wrapped around him, drawing him deeper, and she whispered his name like a prayer.
"I love you," he said, his voice breaking slightly with the intensity of it all. "Mon amour, je t'aime tellement."
My love, I love you so much.
"I love you too," she gasped, her hands tightening on his shoulders as the pleasure built between them. "Jean-Luc—"
They found their release together, that perfect synchronicity they'd learned over years of knowing each other's bodies, each other's hearts. Jean-Luc buried his face in her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath his lips, hearing her soft cry of completion as his own climax washed through him.
In the aftermath, they lay tangled together, hearts gradually slowing, breathing returning to normal. Jean-Luc shifted to lie beside Beverly but kept her pulled close, unwilling to break the contact. She draped herself across his chest, one leg between his, her hand resting over his heart.
"I needed that," she murmured. "I needed you."
He kissed the top of her head, his arms tightening around her. "And I you. Always."
"Do you think we'll ever stop wanting each other like this?" she asked drowsily.
"I certainly hope not," he replied, a smile in his voice. "Though perhaps with slightly more energy some nights."
Beverly laughed softly. "I think that was perfect, actually. Just... us. No rush, no urgency. Just loving each other."
"Yes," he agreed, feeling sleep beginning to claim him. "Just us."
Beverly pulled the covers up over them both, settling more comfortably into Jean-Luc's embrace. His hand stroked her hair in a slow, soothing rhythm.
"Bonne nuit, mon amour," Jean-Luc whispered as he felt Beverly's breathing deepen into sleep.
Goodnight, my love.
"Mmm," she hummed contentedly. "Bonne nuit."
Wrapped in each other's arms, safe in their love, they drifted off to sleep.