DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns 'em. I don't. I figured they needed a vacation, so I've provided one. Companion piece to The Bevster's "The Truth Revealed." This one is told from Bev's point of view. Read The Bevster's first, or you won't know what the hell is going on. Author's notes at the end. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ MOONS, MOANS AND THE MANIC MONARCH by TrexPhile July 1999 I hate you, Jean-Luc Picard. All right. I shouldn't say I "hate" you, if only because I remember Nana's soft voice telling me that we should never say that we "hate" someone, that "dislike" is more appropriate and less... well, hateful. I dislike you, Jean-Luc Picard. I really *really* dislike you. Somehow that doesn't feel as good... I'm walking up and down the beach, sandals in hand, trying to look like I'm enjoying myself. Trying to look nonchalant and totally unaware of the two sets of eyes boring into me from across the sand. This little acting job is tougher to carry off than playing Roxanne to Barclay's Cyrano. The sun is comfortably warm, the breeze is flicking at me delicately, the air smells of salt and water, the rhythm of the surf is delightful -- but I'm ignoring all this sensory input right now. I don't want to be distracted or placated by nature right now. I'm enjoying my anger. It all started innocently enough. I was walking along the promenade, having just left Deanna. The woman is insatiable, I tell you -- she never stops shopping. After five hours of browsing and comparing and haggling, I was ready to sign on to a Cardassian warship and go blast Betazed to smithereens. I do have to thank Jean-Luc at this point. He rescued me. I spotted him in the fifteenth candle shop of the afternoon. He was hovering over by a display that featured garish wax representations of past Federation presidents -- each in their own scent, no less. Truly frightening. Anyway, I knew Jean-Luc wasn't in there to shop, that he was doing his best to save me, and I was so very thankful. Besides, I was rather... anxious for Jean-Luc's "company." The trick would be getting away from Deanna with minimal explanation. And Jean- Luc could *not* be part of that explanation. I have to say, I'm quite proud of how well we've been able to keep our newly intimate relationship secret from the others. They haven't a clue. Not even Deanna. I caught Jean-Luc's eye and nodded and he slipped out of the shop before Deanna saw him. Switching into actor mode, I told Deanna a convincing tale of too much wine and not enough sleep the night before, throwing in something about not being as young as I once was. She bought it (along with half the store's inventory, I believe) and I was free. When I exited the shop, I wasn't exactly sure where Jean-Luc was, but it didn't take long to find out. I strolled along the promenade, searching, until I saw him close by the cabanas at the end. He was standing casually, hands clasped behind him, looking down at some strange plants growing haphazardly beside the little building, looking so damn good. Soft shirt, blue, just tight enough to reveal the lines of his chest beneath. Sleeves that exposed his magnificent arms. White shorts hitting mid-thigh, showing off his splendid legs, all muscle, just the right shape and size. As I approached, I couldn't help noticing what else the shorts were showing off. I tried not to run down the promenade. When I reached him, he didn't say a word. He took my hand and, after a brief glance around, leaned in and kissed me. Sweetly. Gently. I wasn't in the mood for sweet and gentle. "Thank you for rescuing me, Jean-Luc," I said. He answered by laying his hand on my back and slowly moving it down till he was caressing the back of my thigh just below my bottom. I have to say that, ever since he discovered this particular erogenous zone, he's found a quick and easy way to distract me whenever he feels the urge. I haven't been able to turn him down yet. And after visiting that one shop that featured Risiian sex toys... quite frankly, he didn't even need to touch me to get me ready to take a trip to There. I launched myself at him. Okay, it wasn't subtle and it wasn't sexy, but it was effective. He ended up with his back against the building with my tongue down his throat and my leg wrapped around his hips. We wrangled away for a couple of minutes, groping and thrusting and moaning just a bit -- until Jean-Luc decided to turn us so that *I* was against the wall. The next thing we knew, we were both in a heap on the floor inside the cabana. Obviously the door that Jean-Luc had meant to throw me against wasn't quite latched all the way. That little accident didn't quell our spirits (or libidos) in the least. We righted ourselves and checked for injury, then Jean-Luc slammed the door shut and shoved me against it again. This time the door stayed firmly shut. Cabanas, even in the 24th century, are not the most spacious of rooms. They're tiny and cramped and rather hot. I have to admit, though, that I wasn't really aware of my surroundings. I was too engrossed in trying to divest Jean-Luc of his shorts while he was suckling on my breasts and kneading my ass and thrusting that hard groin against me. Once I managed to get his shorts down, he finally decided to take the next logical step and get my panties off of me. Now, I don't know if Jean-Luc has read too many gothic romances or what, but he apparently is not aware that ripping off a woman's undergarments in the heat of the moment is *not* a good thing. Cloth doesn't rip that easily, plus it's *painful* for the woman. After two ineffectual hard tugs during which my cries were definitely not passionate ones, he finally got the message. "I'll take them off," I said, but he was already changing tactics and had them down to my ankles before I could move. With a smirk, he held them up, then tossed them over his shoulder to land who-knows-where. I didn't really care -- all I wanted was to be lifted up and wrapped around him and ravished like a gothic virgin. He didn't disappoint me. Afterward, we both sat on the sand-strewn floor to rest and relearn how to breathe. We may be able to hump like teenagers, but our more "mature" ages necessitate a longer recovery time. Which is nice when you're lying in bed but not when you're hiding out in a stuffy little room getting sand up your ass. We finally got up and began pulling ourselves together. And that's when I discovered it. It's too bad Jean-Luc never went out for basketball as a youngster. Judging by what he'd done, he would have made an excellent player. My panties were in the toilet. ~~~~~~~~ And now I'm walking along the edge of the surf, waiting for Jean-Luc to get rid of Will so that I can get back to the room and get some damn underwear on. We made our exits from the cabana separately, just in case anyone we knew was around, which was a good idea, seeing as Will happened along just as I came out. I wish he would hurry. I'd really like to get the sand off my ass. And suddenly, Jean-Luc is here and I look around to see that Will is still watching. "Finally," I say through gritted teeth, careful not to touch him. "I was thinking I was gonna have to spend the night out here." He leans in and brushes my arm with his fingertips, leading me back toward the hotel. "Beverly," he whispers, "you need to watch how your skirt is blowing. Riker... saw." For a moment, I have no idea what he means. Then it hits me. "Oh, shit." "Yes," Jean-Luc responds. "Yes, indeed." I am absolutely mortified and can't speak. Not only did I lose my favorite pair of panties -- they matched my dress -- but now, thanks to my randy, impetuous captain, I've been giving one of my best friends a peek at something I would only allow him if he had a slug inside him. We're approaching the boardwalk and then -- dammit to hell -- I see that Deanna's joined Will... and they're both staring. "Just keep walking," Jean-Luc says softly as he steers me onto the promenade. We walk away from the others, hands clasped demurely behind our backs. Jean-Luc looks natural and totally comfortable walking this way. I look like a woman who's trying most desperately to keep her skirt down. I can feel eyes boring into my back. I swear, I must have somehow offended the Wind Gods because right as I relax my grip on my skirt, the wind suddenly swirls in a violent gust and I think I can actually *hear* it laughing as it once again lifts my skirt and dances across my bottom. I just pray that Will and Deanna aren't still watching. ~~~~~~~~~ When we get back to the hotel, we go to my room so we can clean up. On the books, there are separate reservations for Captain Picard and Dr. Beverly Crusher, but in reality, we're sharing this room. In the shower, I let all my anger and frustration leech out of me as I let the water wash the sand and sex from my body. It really was very irrational of me to be so angry at Jean-Luc earlier -- after all, it wasn't all his fault that I ended up in such a bare condition. *I* had attacked *him*, and he wasn't to blame for the gusting wind. It just seems that every time we get a little more *physical* in our lovemaking, we end up paying for it somehow. Like the time during one rather strenuous session when Jean-Luc had to be treated for a concussion after falling off the bed and smacking his head against the bulkhead. Or the time I slipped in the shower while we were going after it and fractured my wrist. At least this time the only casualty was a pair of panties and my dignity. When I come out of the bathroom, I'm in much better spirits. Jean-Luc has apparently been using the bathroom in his room to clean up -- it's the only time he ever goes in that room -- and he's looking very nice in his pearl grey shirt and black pants. He holds out a glass of wine and I take it while clutching my towel demurely. "Manic Monarch," he says as we click our glasses together. "What?" "The 'Manic Monarch.' That's the name of that plant I was looking at when you approached me at the cabana." "Ah," I answer. "Strange name for a plant." "Yes," he says. "Apparently the thing grows everywhere here. It's a wild weed, and resists all efforts to control it. The natives have finally given up and allow it to grow where it may." "Hmmm," I reply, not really all that interested. He continues. "I thought I'd toast the Manic Monarch since, if I hadn't been examining it, we might not have had that most pleasant little interlude in the cabana." "You mean that little interlude where my underwear met an untimely death by drowning?" I fight to keep the smile from my face. He looks sufficiently contrite. "I *am* sorry about that, Beverly. I didn't intend for that to happen. I'll buy you some more if--" I interrupt. "That's all right, Jean-Luc. It's no great loss -- I have plenty of underwear. Besides -- I think it was a sacrifice worth making. I enjoyed myself. *Very* much." I raise my glass. "To the Manic Monarch." He sets his glass down and looks me over. I'm thinking that we just might be beginning another little interlude, which is fine with me. Until he speaks. "You'd better hurry, Beverly. We're expected at Will's soon." Oh damn. I'd forgotten. Jean-Luc had told me about the invitation, but it had slipped my mind. I had been too busy keeping my ass covered. "Do we *have* to go, Jean-Luc?" "I think we should. It's not often that we all have the opportunity to get together like this in a relaxing environment." He's right, of course. I do enjoy spending free time with our friends. "Give me twenty minutes and I'll be ready." I lean in and give him a kiss. I saunter back into the bathroom, dropping my towel in the process. I'm flirting viciously, of course, doing my makeup and hair while in the nude, but it's just too much fun to have someone who's actually paying attention after all those years alone. I notice that Jean-Luc is making a concerted effort to stay away from the bathroom, although I catch him every now and then staring blatantly at me. I love it. When I'm done, I call out to him. "Jean-Luc -- please be a dear and bring me some underwear from that top drawer." "Which pair?" he says. "Oh... just pick your favorite," I answer seductively. And then I hear a loud "Merde!" and some frantic clanking sounds. And then, nothing but silence. "Jean-Luc?" Nothing. "Jean-Luc!" "Ummm... Beverly?" Okay, something is definitely wrong. I come out of the bathroom to see him standing beside the dresser, wine bottle in hand and looking at me sheepishly. "What is it?" I ask, and then notice that the wine bottle is empty and he's pointing at the open drawer. "I'm so sorry, Beverly. I must have knocked the bottle with my elbow and it all spilled in--" "Inside my underwear drawer??" I holler and race to his side. There, floating in a sea of merlot, is every last pair of underwear that I own. ~~~~~~~~ I hate you, Jean-Luc Picard. I don't care what Nana would say either. I'm standing in the middle of my hotel room, alone. Jean-Luc did the smart thing and left for Will's. He didn't even *try* to appease me -- he just mumbled something about how he'd see me soon and left. If I was on the Enterprise, I'd just replicate some new underwear. But unfortunately, that option is not available to the general public. I don't even have the option of washing and drying them. Dammit. Okay, so first thing I have to do is stop being mad at Jean-Luc. He didn't do it on purpose. I *do* wonder, however, if he has this secret hatred of underwear that's manifesting itself by destroying all the pairs that I own. And that's when I make my decision. Of course, I don't really have much of a choice at this point. I find the dress I was planning to wear -- another little sundress, basically the same style as the other but in a different color. I smooth the skirt down over my bare ass. I must tread carefully this evening. It's a short trip to Will's room and I hear him holler at me to come in after I knock. Everyone is settled on the floor around the low coffee table, and Will has set up his little grill on another table close by. Everyone greets me and Deanna points to an empty space between Jean-Luc and Geordi and says they've saved me a place. The only way I can get there is if everyone moves to let me in. And in that instant before everyone starts moving, I have a wicked idea. I move to Jean-Luc's side and start to step over the table. He grasps my hand automatically, which gives me just the leverage that I need to slow down my movements so that this will work just right. As gracefully as I can manage, I glide over Jean-Luc's head, making sure that I'm at just the right angle... I take my seat and smile over at Geordi, then look over at Jean-Luc. He's blushing. I can see it. Gotcha, Captain. I glance at Will and my throat clenches. He's staring at Jean-Luc and he's *smiling.* That patented Riker smile that I've so often wanted to slap right off his furry chubby face. And then the events of this afternoon come rolling back, and it's my turn to blush. Will doesn't suspect, does he? ~~~~~~~~ We don't speak until we're all the way down the hall from Will's door. "A concert, Jean-Luc?" I finally manage to squeak. He shrugs distractedly. "It's the first thing that popped into my head." We reach the end of the hallway and I slump against the wall. "My god, Jean-Luc, Data *heard* us! He heard us in the cabana!" I bury my face in my hands. "I don't think I will ever be able to face any of them again." "Just because Data heard something, doesn't mean he made the connection," he says softly, running his hand across the back of my neck. My head snaps up. "Jean-Luc! *Data* doesn't have to make the connection! He's got Will and Deanna and Geordi there to help him!" I raise up to my full height, staring into his eyes. "Remember? Deanna and Will *both* saw me trotting along the beach with my *ass* exposed to all who cared to glance my way! It doesn't take a genius to figure out what happened!" And then I realize that Jean-Luc is laughing! He's standing there, arms crossed, chuckling in that infuriatingly superior way that he has. Have I mentioned that I hate Jean-Luc Picard? I can't take this right now. I march to the 'lift on the other wall and punch the button so hard I bend my nail back. And of course, the 'lift is in use and I'm not allowed to make the dramatic exit that I so desperately need. I can feel him behind me but I refuse to turn around or acknowledge him in any way. "Beverly--" he begins, and the doors open. Thank God. I step inside and whirl around to face him. That was a mistake. As soon as I feel the air against my skin, the ludicrous nature of this whole damn situation hits me, and I start to laugh. Jean-Luc is standing in the entrance, holding the door open and I can feel him watching me as the laughter builds. I can't stop -- it's so wonderfully liberating to just let it all go -- the frustration, the anger, the tension. He steps inside and the doors close and I feel his arms move around me as he leans in and kisses my cheek. I return his embrace as my laughter subsides. "Oh, Jean-Luc," I sigh. "We are such fools. First we're afraid to let each other know how we feel. Then we're afraid to act on our feelings. Then, when we finally act, we're afraid to let anyone else know." I raise my head from his shoulder and look into his eyes. "Do you think we can finally get past all our fears and just *be*?" He takes my face in his hands and when I see the intensity in his eyes, I shiver. "I think," he murmurs, "that today's incident is just what we needed to 'strip' away our fears, don't you?" I can't help but grin at the play on words. And he's right -- there's no longer any need for secrets and lies. We love each other. We're committed to each other. And there's no reason why we shouldn't share it with everyone. I kiss him, a sweet and gentle kiss. Now is not the time for rough and ready sex in a 'lift. "Come on," I whisper and pull on his hand. "We have a party to get back to." The door opens and we head back down the hall. AUTHOR'S NOTES: Many thanks to Krusher175 who gave me the idea to turn Real Life into P/C. I hope this story fits the bill! The Bevster -- thanks for doing more with this story than I could have and giving me a great template to work with. Happy dreams, B!