The BLTS Archive- Prior Consultation
by Robin Lawrie (Robinl@bigpond.net.au)


---

WARNING: Bummer warning, controversial topic warning, could be 
upsetting for some people. It's not sexually graphic, but it does  get
very personal and violent, and the opinions expressed are the 
characters' not necessarily mine.

I'm not kidding people. I'm posting it to ascem, even though  there's
no sex in it, because I know if I posted it on asc I'd  probably get
crucified for it. I'm going to trust you. I very  nearly did the anon
thing with this, but I figured y'all know my  style by now. Althea's
been on at me about this story for a  while, and seeing she's had a
shitty April, I thought I may as  well finish it off.


Disclaimer:  Star Trek, and the characters in this story are the 
property of Paramount.

---

'Will. Come in. Thanks for making time. Please, have a seat.  Drink?'

'Sure. Whatever you're having's fine, Beverly.'

Will found a spot on the lounge while Beverly fixed drinks, not  out
of the replicator, but from a square, black labelled bottle 
containing a golden, translucent liquor. Two ice cubes tinkled  into
each short glass. Beverly seemed to be taking her time  with the
drinks, her back to the Commander.

'Beverly? Something wrong?' Will lost his smile.

'You could say that.' The doctor turned, clutching the drinks  eyes
already wet and red. 'You could also say things were  totally screwed
and still be right.'

Will jumped up and lead his friend to the lounge, forcing her to  sit,
and waiting until she'd sipped half the large bourbon,  letting the
alcohol do it's job on her shaky voice, and his firm  grip on her
other hand communicate his support.

'When you're ready.'

'It's OK.' Beverly took a slow breath and held it, closing her  eyes.
When the breath came out, the tail end whispered the  secret. 'I'm
pregnant.'

---

Jean Luc fussed with the replicated peonies, the wicker basket 
containing two perfectly baked croissants, the pot of ginger 
marmalade, and the white curls of freshly churned butter. The  coffee
table was set with the white bone china and linen  napkins, the teapot
was warmed and the coffee was busy  brewing. His quarters smelled very
much like breakfast.

He felt a hand on his neck.

'So. You can cook, too. A man of many talents. Why am I not 
surprised?' The hand was replaced by lips kissing gently along  his
hair line, grazing his ear.

'Good morning doctor. Sleep well?'

'No. But the sex was fabulous.'  Beverly smiled as she felt the  cheek
pucker under her lips as the captain grinned. Who'd a  thought it?
Finally, after all this time. She'd written off their  relationship
ever progressing beyond very close friends. She  wasn't even sure that
she wanted to explore a more physical  relationship, for the long term
anyway. She certainly never  expected the unrestrained passion, from
both of them, once  their barriers had been lowered.

It had started innocently enough with rehearsals of her latest 
production, but Jean Luc was being awkward and difficult, his  lines
too forced and lacking subtlety. She'd walked with him  back to his
quarters, meaning to have a little talk about  loosening up his
delivery, becoming more connected with his  character. Obviously her
pep talk had worked. The rehearsed  kiss had turned into something
much more, and before either  of them realised it, they were naked and
in bed, busy making  up for lost time. But now it was morning, and
Beverly was  thinking the usual morning after thoughts.

No. It was a one off. It was fun, but now it was over. It wasn't  part
of her plan, the future of Beverly Crusher, to start a long  term
relationship at this time. Life on the Enterprise was not  conducive
to stable bonding. She'd had her share of broken  partnerships; she
wasn't about to add to it now. But how to  break it to Jean Luc?

'Pour me a coffee, Captain. It's time for a little chat.'

---

'So when did you find out?'

'Yesterday. I was late. So I checked. Don't look at me like that  Will
Riker! I'm not as old as you think. The Howard women   don't hit
menopause till our late forties.'

'Sorry.'  Will sucked his bottom lip and picked lint from his 
trousers, and considered his next question very carefully.   'How do
you feel about it?'

'Stupid. Very stupid. It was a careless stupid thing, and I'm  mad at
myself for allowing it to happen.' Beverly pushed her  hair back from
her face, and drained the last diluted drops  from her drink.

He glanced at the empty glass in her hand. 'Should you be...?'

'Drinking? Why not? Do you think I'd do this sober?'

'You can always talk to me Beverly. You can trust me.' Will  hoped she
meant "this" to mean revealing her pregnancy, but  he felt a cold knot
forming in his gut, that slipped an icy finger  up his spine. When she
didn't answer, he knew he'd guessed  wrong. 'Your not keeping the
baby.' he stated flatly.

'Wrong, Mr Riker. I'm just not staying pregnant.' Beverly  moved to
the desk, and removed a med kit from the top  drawer. She opened it,
and began studying labels on  hyposprays and vials.

'Beverly! You can't just....how can you?...what about..?' Will 
stammered. 'But have you told the Captain?'

'No. I couldn't. He didn't ask at the time; it didn't cross his  mind.
He assumed I had "taken care of things" and rightly so.  Normally I
would have. But it had been so long between, you  know.' Beverly waved
a hypospray casually. 'It doesn't  concern him. It's my problem. For
the next couple of hours at  least. Ah, this should do it.' Beverly
charged the hypospray  from the selected vial and returned to the
lounge.

'Your going to do that here? Now?'  Will squirmed, wanting to  be
there for his friend but having problems know what the right  thing
was to do. He settled for hand holding, and wishing  Deanna was here.

'Yes Will. I've made my decision.' The hypospray rested in her  palm.
She smiled sadly. 'I'm too old for all this. Hold me Will.'

The commander wrapped her in his arms, pressing his head  into her red
gold hair, smelling the fresh scent of Beverly that  he'd grown so
used to over the years. He could feel her ribs  under his fingers
jerking softly as she began to sob. He heard  the quiet hiss of the
hypospray as she injected it into her neck.

---

The next day on the bridge, Will thought about the previous  evening 
with Beverly; holding her, listening to her rationalise  her decision, 
rocking her carefully until she finally fell asleep  in his arms in 
the early morning, carrying her to bed. He logged a message with sick 
bay saying the doctor wouldn't be  in and left a copy on her console 
to find in the morning. He'd  done all the practical things. He'd 
tried to fix it up, smooth  things over. He'd done his best to help. 
So why did he feel like  an accomplice rather than a friend?

'Number One. Report.' Picard barked as he exited the turbo  lift. He
strode to the big chair and with restrained, thin lipped  tension made
himself sit slowly and deliberately. It had been  like that for the
past four weeks, but at least now Will had a  good idea of the cause
of his captain's bad mood. The Captain  had reacted badly to Beverly
breaking off their physical  relationship. Beverly had spoken of harsh
words and ill  considered remarks that ended all possibility of
further  romance. Picard wasn't used to rejection. And it showed.

'All quiet, sir. The long range scanners show no signs of  Romulan
incursions into the neutral zone. It must have been a  false alarm.'
Will wished there was a Romulan ship present.  Anything to distract
the Captain would be welcome.

'Hmmmf.' Picard grunted acknowledgement. He glanced  around the
bridge. 'Where's Troi?'

'The counsellor reported to sick bay this morning. She was 
feeling...'

'Picard to sick bay,' the Captain interrupted Will.

'Ogawa here, Captain.'

'Is my counsellor there?'

'Was here,  sir. I treated her for a slight headache and she's 
returned to her quarters to rest.'

'Hmmf. Where's Dr Crusher then?'

'She didn't report for duty this morning, sir. I think she...'

'Yes, very good, Nurse Ogawa. Thank you.' Picard crossed his  legs and
scowled at the back of Data's head, tapping his  fingers on the arm of
his chair. 'A sudden rash of headaches.'  he muttered to himself.
'Typical.'

'Sir?' prompted Riker.

'Nothing, Number One. You have the bridge.'  Picard uncoiled  from his
chair and paced towards his ready room. 'Call me if  your sensors pick
up anything, Mr Data. I'll be having a little  chat with our
"indisposed" medical officer.'

'But...aye sir.'  Will grimaced behind the captain's back. The  last
thing Beverly needed right now was Jean Luc needling her  about
neglecting her duties. He had to say something.

'Mr Data?' Will waved towards the captain's chair as he  followed
Picard into the ready room.

---

'Picard to Doctor Crush..'

'Captain, wait!'  Will interrupted, holding up a hand to the  pacing
Captain.

'What now, Mr Riker?'

'I don't think the doctor would appreciate your call right now.  When
I left her last night, she wasn't feeling very well.' Will  stood at
attention, trying to decide what to tell his captain.

Picard's eye's narrowed suspiciously. 'What were you doing  with the
doctor last night? Renewing an old acquaintance?'

Will set his jaw, and silently counted to ten, his red face  showing
his internal struggle. The Captain must have sensed  he'd gone too
far. He perched himself on the edge of the desk,  and rubbed his hands
over his face. 'Sorry Number One. That  was uncalled for. It's just
that...' He waved his hands vaguely,  searching for an adequate
explanation.

'I know. Beverly mentioned "the breakfast". '   Will clamped  his
mouth shut, fearing he'd let slip too much already. Picard  sat very
still, staring at his boot tips.

'I see.' He gestured to Will to sit on the lounge, then went to  stare
at the bright star points of the Neutral Zone. When he  next spoke,
with his back to Will, Jean Luc sounded tired and  far too sad.

'I love her, Will. She is my friend and I love her. And that  night, I
thought we'd finally progressed to the next stage and  that everything
would be perfect and rational and that my love  for her was returned. 
But that wasn't her idea at all. I hated  her then, for slamming the
door on me, trivialising my  affection, writing it off as a
"mistake".' He placed a hand on  the smooth glass of the window as if
feeling the emptiness of  the space outside. 'I apologise for taking
it out on the crew. It  won't happen again. I must apologise to
Beverly too.'

Will squirmed on his seat. How could she hurt the Captain so?  Beverly
was wrong not to include Jean Luc in her choice. They  both loved each
other; it was obvious to him. If anyone could  help Beverly right now,
it was the Captain. They should work  this out between themselves. As
if he'd found the cause of his  unease and a perfectly logical
solution to a logical problem,  Will smiled and made a bad decision.

`Captain. There's something you should know.'

---

Captain Jean Luc Picard pressed a stiff dry finger hard against  the
door panel for the fifth time, with no result. Either Beverly  was
ignoring him or. . .

'Computer. Location of Dr Crusher.'

'Dr Crusher is in her quarters.'

'Computer. Security override on Dr Crusher's quarters,  authorisation
Picard alpha four three.'

'Acknowledge.'

The door swooshed open and Picard strode in.

'Beverly! You here?'

'What? Jean Luc? I'm . . .'

Picard glanced about the empty lounge area then followed the  voice to
the bedroom. Beverly was still in bed, struggling  upright on her
elbows, looking pale and sleepy. The Captain  did not see this. He saw
his own pain. He threw his words  down at her.

'Damn it Beverly! What the hell were you thinking? Or not  thinking,
obviously. What right have you got to do that? How  dare you! You
couldn't tell me? Ha! You couldn't tell me  because you knew it was
wrong. And then I had that fool Riker  tell me he assisted in your,
your, scheme. And then he thinks  he'll make everything right by
telling me now? God damn it!  What the hell were you thinking?'

Picard stood over the bed, looking down on this woman who  had been
his friend for many years. Who had married his best  friend. Who had
recently been his lover. Who had been  pregnant with his child. He
raised his hand, and held it there,  shaking, open, and ready to
strike.

'Jean Luc, it was not, never was, your decision. I. . .' Beverly 
stared at his face, turned hard and thin lipped in his anger, so 
different from the open thoughtful man she knew. Then she  noticed his
raised hand. 'Oh no.' she whispered.

'You could have ASKED ME!' His hand descended, and  caught her cheek
hard, snapping her head around and leaving  an imprint of his palm and
fingers across her face. Still angry,  still not satisfied, he carried
through on a back hand action  and caught her other cheek and eye this
time with his  knuckles, in a blow that pushed the doctor back against
her  pillow. 'BITCH!'

'Ah!' Beverly caught her breath in a small scream of pain. She  sobbed
as her hand came up to her face, shivering in reaction  at the
violence done to her. Picard stood still beside her bed,  his fists
clenching and unclenching, his chest heaving, sucking  in air. His
eyes could see nothing but the murderer of his child.  The last hope
for the Picard family line. And this bitch had  killed it. His eyes
narrowed, and he straightened his uniform.

'Oh Beverly. What have you done?' His voice was quiet, but  the
undertone was one of violence and threat. Beverly lowered  her hands
from her injured face, and turned to see his eyes.  She knew that more
hurt was coming, but seemed paralysed,  unable to flee from it. Her
legs and body felt weak and  unresponsive. She shifted on her bed
trying to bring her knees  up to her chest in a defensive posture, but
even that gesture  made her see stars. Her eyes were drifting in and
out of focus,  and the last words she heard from Jean Luc seemed to
come  from a long way away.

'I'm not done with you, Beverly.'

Then she fell into the waiting darkness.

---

'Captain! Captain!' Will pounded on the door.

'Break in, Will.' Troi urged, as Riker fussed with the door  panel,
the security override having been disabled.

'Oh god Deanna. I didn't realise it would send him so damn  crazy. I
knew he'd been stressed lately, but I thought I was  doing the right
thing.' Will muttered as he worked fast on the  circuitry. Troi shook
her head.

'You should have told me.'

'Like I told the Captain? Jesus, Deanna. I just have to keep my  damn
mouth shut. Beverly will never trust me again, the  Captain hates me
as an accomplice, and you think I'm an  idiot. Hell, I think I'm a
idiot. And now Beverly could be. .  .there. Got it!' The door to
Beverly's quarter's swooshed open.

Troi and Riker burst in, and ran straight to the bedroom.  Picard was
crouched over the bed, his hand on Beverly's  neck.

'NO!' Will shouted, and grabbed the back of his Captain's  uniform and
hauled him away.

'Wait, Will! It's Beverly. I think she's. . .' Picard struggled in 
Riker's grip, trying to get at the doctor, lying pale and  unconscious
under her sheet. Troi rushed over, and turned  Beverly's head to face
her. She noted the bruises and the  swollen right eye, and the thin
trail of blood from a split lip.  The doctor's head lolled against her
hand.

'Damn it, Will. Let me go! I think Beverly's in trouble.'

'You bastard.' Will slammed his captain up against the wall  and held
him there. 'No thanks to you. What the hell have you  done to her?'

'Oh god, Will. Look.'

Troi had pulled the sheet back from the doctor. From her waist  down,
her night gown and the bed clothes were soaked in  blood.

---

One man sat on the edge of his bunk. The room was  darkened, but the
glowing light from the monitors reflected on  the face of the security
officer, nodding at his post. The guard  looked up alertly as the door
opened, and made a show of  attending to his panel, as if guarding one
man was a real job.

Riker nodded at him then jerked his thumb towards the door.  The guard
left hurriedly, pleased to have been given an early  end to his shift.

The man on his bunk did not lift his head as Riker deactivated  the
force field across the cell. From where he sat, head  bowed, he could
see the pair of shiny Starfleet boots enter his  field of vision. He
knew who his visitor was.

'How is she?' he asked the boots.

'Like you care.'

'I'm sorry Will.'

'You're one sorry fuck, you know that?'

'Yes.' His head still bowed, hands clenched together, elbows  resting
on his knees. 'How is she?'

'Still saving your fucking arse. She's not pressing charges.'

'She's alive then?'

'Just. She regained consciousness, kept saying your name.  Your name.
Like it means something. It should mean nothing  to her.'

'I'm sorry.'

The boots squeaked as Riker shifted his weight onto his toes. 
Picard's shoulders tensed.

'And because she asked me to, I'm going to have to let you  go. You
piece of shit.' The boots left his field of view. Picard  raised his
head and looked at Riker's stiff back.

'Will. I need you to do something for me.'

Riker turned, and looked at his captain as if he'd become  some vile
smelling slime mould adhered to his shoe. 'Why  should I?'

'Because we both need it.'

'And that is?'

Picard stood and drew a glass of water from the faucet. He  dropped it
onto the floor of the cell. The glass shattered and  water spread.

'It seems I slipped and fell.'

Riker's fists curled slowly then uncurled. He peeled his  uniform
jacket off and folded it onto the guard's console, then  activated a
secure lock on the brig door, and disabled the  internal sensors.
Picard stood and waited. It was a crime that  shouldn't go unpunished.
Riker stepped back into the cell and  bunched his fist into Picard's
shirt.

'I'm not going to enjoy this. But neither will you.'

'Do it, Will.'

'You FUCK!'

Riker's fist landed heavy into Picard's stomach, doubling him  over.
Then blows landed on his face, his ribs, all over. He  made no move to
protect himself, even turning to offer his  face to Riker's beating.
His legs shaking, Picard fell to his  knees, then curled around his
midriff as Riker's boots  continued to strike him. All the while, only
the sounds of fists  hitting flesh and groans of agony filled the
small cell.

Eventually, it was done. Panting, and rubbing his bruised  knuckles,
Riker dressed. He searched a locker under the  guard's console and
used the dermal regenerator he found  there, running it over his
hands, fixing the small wounds. He  glanced back at the bloodied
figure curled on the floor of the  cell, coughing and moaning through
a broken mouth.

Picard watched through bleared vision a pair of boots  approach.

'Feel better now?'

'Yes. Thank you Will.'

'She wants to see you.' The dermal regenerator clattered to  the floor
beside him. 'Fix yourself up when you're ready.'

The boots departed, and the door swished closed. Alone in the  brig,
Picard's hand curled around the regenerator, knowing  that most of his
injuries could be healed swiftly. But it was a  long time before he
felt he deserved to feel less pain. It was  only Beverly's summons
that finally stirred him into action.

Facing Beverly again would hurt more than any beating even  Riker
could give out. He looked forward to it.

---

The End