In the best fanfic tradition, after the hurt comes the comfort. As this is a follow up to Robin Lawrie's "The Guilty Party," all her warnings belong here, too. To remind you: "non-con sex, language, alcohol abuse."

You know the drill--comments appreciated, on the ng or to my email addy.

The characters are Paramount's, I just screw around with 'em...

This is for Robin, who let me.

Jean-Luc was drunk. Beverly felt a wave of deja-vu; only last week (before they hurried to a starbase, before Will's drumhead trial, before he was found guilty of "conduct unbecoming an officer" and was reassigned to a desk job) Will had been stinking drunk. At least here the air was scented with expensive wine and not rotgut.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Commander Crusher. Coming about the job? I hear there's an opening on the ship our late unlamented Riker tried a little too hard to fill." His words were slurred.

"I came to see how you're doing."

"I'm fine. I'm bloody perfect. Sit down and have a drink to the memory of our former first officer."

"He's not dead, Jean-Luc."

"As far as anyone on this ship is concerned, he is." He pushed his glass, filled, to her, and waited until she had downed it before getting himself another glass.

He pressed one drink on her, and then another, and another. When she tried to refuse, he asked her to leave, but since she wanted to talk to him, needed to, she drank her medicine like a good girl.

"Out with it, Jean-Luc."

"Out with what?"

She swiveled her chair to face him. "Tell me how you feel. Really."

"Betrayed."

"He's been punished for it." She suddenly remembered that she wasn't supposed to know what had happened on Risa. "Whatever it was."

"Riker?" Picard asked, his voice shrill. "And to think I've always told people you only look stupid." He reached out a leg and hooked her chair, dragging it closer, its wheels protesting for her. "I meant you."

Beverly stared at him in shock and then drank another glass of wine in an effort to calm her nerves. "What do you mean?"

" 'He wanted it. He let you do it.' And don't look at me like that, all innocent. I have my sources."

She tried to push away from him, but gave up when he didn't free her. She could only stutter incomplete words. How had he known? Who had told him?

"Did you honestly think I liked it? Lying there on some bloody towel--and by the way, Dr. Crusher, thank you so much for checking on your captain's well being, it was a bloody towel--lying on a bloody towel, being fucked up the arse by Will Riker? Did he do that to you? Did you like it? At least I never had the bad taste to choose him as a lover."

"I'm sorry. I didn't think..."

"Of course you didn't. You never do.. What do you do, lock your brains up in sickbay when you go off-duty?"

"You didn't mean that, Jean-Luc."

He took a swig of wine, straight from the bottle. "Just like I didn't mean it when I said 'no'?"

She didn't answer him.

"Just because any man who wants you has to force his way into that icebox you call a cunt doesn't mean normal people's sex lives revolve around rape fantasies."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."

"Yes, you're very good at pretending. Given that it's the extent of your social life."

"That's enough." She grabbed the bottle, evading his first crude swipe at repossession but not the next.

He leaned into her, breathing into her ear. "What made you think I could have wanted...that?"

She sighed. "Jack. I know about you and Jack."

He half stood, his hands clutching her shoulders. "And you think that has anything to do with what Riker did?"

She tried to struggle out of his grasp. "I thought...You loved him," she said, and they both knew she meant Riker. Jack was too sacred of a subject to be discussed.

"Like a son! I loved him like a son. How would you feel if Wesley came home one day and fucked you?"

She shrugged out of his grasp, but he trapped her again, placing his palms against the chair and his one knee between her thighs, completely abandoning his own chair. She shrank back, licked her lips, and then regretted it when she saw him lick his own.

"My son would never do anything that disgusting."

"Will Riker did. He raped me, Beverly, and you told him it was all right. That I liked it."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! What do you want from me?"

He leaned in and kissed her hard.

"Jean-Luc. Stop it."

His hands moved back onto her, pawing at the neckline of her sweater.

"I said stop it."

He kissed her earlobe, his hand caressing her cheek. "You like it, Beverly. You want it. You know you do."

"Get away from me."

"You know, you don't do this 'hard to get' all that well. You're suppose to fight, lash out a little. Maybe rake your nails across my face--or are you saving them for my back? How about pressing your knees to my balls? Even I managed that one with Riker. Makes a nice prelude to sex, doesn't it? Seems to excite some men."

She wanted to cry. She wanted to tell him how sorry she was. She wanted to get out of his quarters and never see him again. "Get away from me or I'll call security."

He stood up and moved away from her, behind her chair. She felt a moment of triumph at her victory. A premature moment of triumph. "You knew about a crime, yet you did not report it. You knew of harm done to your captain, but you did not repair it. You broke your oath as a Starfleet officer and as a physician. Call security, and you'll be in the brig right next to me."

She knew he was right. She'd have to manage this on her own. Somehow. She'd get him to listen to reason. She always had before.

"You know," he said in a conversational tone of voice, "I don't think you're drunk enough."

"Thank you, I've had enough to drink."

His tone hardened. "I said 'I don't think you're drunk enough'."

She leaned her head back to argue, and he grabbed her chin, forcing her mouth open. "Have a drink, my dear." He poured wine down her throat, and she struggled not to swallow, not to gag. The liquid poured out of her mouth until he pushed her lips closed. "Swallow."

Still Beverly refused.

"I said swallow."

Nothing.

"Well, at least we know you can hold a great deal in your mouth. That might prove interesting, later on." Picard put the bottle on the table, just out of her reach, and used his now free hand to pinch her nostrils shut. If she swallowed, he might let her open her mouth. If she didn't, she'd get no air. Dutifully, she gulped down the mouthful.

After what seemed like forever, Jean-Luc released his hold on her nose. "You will behave now, won't you?"

"Please, Jean-Luc, don't do this. I understand."

His face was very close to hers, and the alcohol fumes from his mouth made her dizzy. "You do? You understand? How grand. Then you know how much I enjoyed what happened. As much as you're going to enjoy this."

"I don't want to do this."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Beverly. I don't require it." He leaned over her and kissed her, his hands pushing against her arms, holding her in place. He didn't let up until she opened her lips to his tongue.

He ran his hand inside the neckline of her sweater and down to a breast, making a surprised noise when he discovered no bra there. "You really did want it, didn't you, vixen? Dressed for seduction." She knew then that Riker's defense had made some comment about Jean-Luc's tight bathing shorts.

She had often admired them herself, and wondered if he realized how much he was advertising when he wore them. Beverly smiled at the memory of those shorts, of the thick outline of his cock. The same cock which was pressing against the back of her head. She stopped smiling.

"What were you thinking of just then, Beverly? Were you thinking of me?"

She was too scared of him to lie. "Yes."

He pinched her nipple and elicited a sharp gasp of pain. "I knew you wanted me, no matter what you said. You try to keep your professional distance, but I know."

"You don't know anything," she hissed.

He pinched her nipple again, sending shocks through her system. "Oh, do shut up. Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much? And there are far better things to occupy that lovely mouth of yours."

She felt him back away, trailing his hands up her chest, and when she heard the rustle of his pants being undone, Beverly bolted for the door.

She hadn't realized how much wine he had forced on her. Thinking she was flying, she stumbled and hit the floor. It felt reassuringly solid, and she rested her buzzing head there, just for a second. There was some reason she had to get up, but she couldn't quite remember what menace lay beyond the fog in her brain.

Jean-Luc was approaching her, wine bottle in hand. His pants were unfastened, and for some reason that struck her as terribly funny. She began to giggle, then to laugh, then to howl, tears running down her cheeks.

He helped her to sitting. "There, there now, Beverly. I think you need more wine."

She agreed and grabbed the bottle from him, swigging most of what was left.

"Now let's make you more comfortable." He began loosening her clothing, pulling down the neckline of her sweater, unfastening her skirt and shoes.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

He leaned over her, his face inches from hers. "Tough." He kissed her then, and she remembered why she ought to be afraid, but she couldn't summon up enough coherence to think her way out.

It was easy for him to remove her sweater and skirt, loosened as they were, and as she was. "You're going to love this, Beverly. Great fun," he murmured as he worked his way down her body.

He sucked on her nipples until a choked moan forced its way past her clenched teeth. "Stop it, Jean-Luc. I mean it. I don't want this. Please stop..." she babbled on, trying to get him to listen, knowing that he wouldn't, and too damn drunk to much care.

He turned around to face her feet. "You really ought to keep quiet, my dear," he said, and silenced her by filling her mouth with his cock.

For a minute, her fear and her rage subsided. She no longer felt like crying. All she felt was outraged insult. Jean-Luc finally had her, and he couldn't even manage a hard-on.

Revolted by the soft flesh, she bit him.

"You like it rough?" Picard pushed aside her underwear, grabbed the empty wine bottle and used it to penetrate her. The stifled scream she gave could have been mistaken for a cry of pleasure. She moved her hips, trying to get away. "I'd be careful if I were you, Beverly. The bottle is quite old and somewhat fragile. You wouldn't want it shattering, not where it is now, would you? If you don't cooperate, I'll shove it up that lovely arse of yours. It's not quite as big as Riker, but I think the danger factor might satisfy your urge for a thrill."

She stopped squirming, doing nothing to prevent him thrusting into her mouth. At least he wasn't limp any more.

Beverly couldn't make him move the bottle, and she could do nothing to prevent him stroking his tongue over her clit. She bucked under him in response.

"You like that, don't you, Beverly? I knew you would. After all, you wouldn't get this drunk if you didn't want it. You wouldn't let me do this." He bent back over her, tonguing her again.

Damn her body for responding, anyway....

He withdrew the bottle and she felt it, cold, against her ass. She had to distract him.

She managed to free her mouth enough to slur, "please, please..." and he reared up, looking back along the length of her body at her.

"Did you want something, Beverly? Me, perhaps?"

She sobbed, too scared to say no, too drunk to say yes.

"The bottle or me?" Picard insisted, withdrawing from her mouth so she could speak.

She knew he was giving her a choice, but that she had no choice. And damn it, her body ached for release. "You."

He moved off her and smiled. "Just remember--you asked for this. You're the one who wanted this." He settled on top of her and plunged in, taking her breath away. His lips were on her, his tongue in her mouth, one hand caressing a nipple and the other tucked under her, his blunt fingers buried in her ass, his weight pushing her down. It was hard and fast she cried in shame when she came.

Jean-Luc sat up, tucking his still moist cock into his trousers. "Not bad," he said, bending to kiss her between her legs, smiling as she shuddered against him. "Next time will better, now that we both know what you want."

"I want you to leave me alone."

He brushed a hand over her breasts, watching her struggle not to respond. "Of course you don't want that. I've been covering your mistakes for years, and now I'll be uncovering them, as well. And you can't say you didn't enjoy it."

Beverly responded by gathering her clothing and beginning to dress. This was so much worse than what Will had done to him--Jean-Luc was supposed to love her. Then again, she had told Will that Jean-Luc loved him, too.

"I'm going to wash up," he announced. "Perhaps you'll be good enough to go to sickbay and get us hypos? Otherwise, we'll end up with frightful hangovers."

She discarded her underwear, stained red with what she hoped was the last of the wine. She was still fastening her skirt when she reached the door.

"And, Doctor, I'm sure I can rely on your confidentiality. After all, you did give it to Riker." Picard smiled. After all this time, he knew her so well.

Beverly retreated to sickbay, good little officer that she was. Jean-Luc was right--she should not report the rape. She had been wrong to encourage Riker, wrong about Jean-Luc, wrong, wrong, wrong. Jean-Luc was right--after all this time, he knew her so well.

She snuck into her office for the hypos and paused by her computer. She shouldn't report the rape-- he'd practically ordered her silence. And he knew her so well. Too well, in fact, to think that she'd pick now to start obeying his orders. "Computer, open a secure line to Admiral Nechayev."

Jean-Luc didn't know her at all.

OK, OK, so there was no comfort. Who said I was a traditionalist?