“Have I ever told you that I’m French?” Jean-Luc Picard asked the red-head at the bar. He was sipping on his fifth—sixth?—glass of Moldavian wine that evening and was beginning to seriously consider the fact that he might well and truly be drunk.
“I mean, I know that I bloody well sound British but, really, I am a son of the great land of La Barre, France.”
He set his glass down for a refill and turned his attention back to his companion.
“So, I have told you, then? That I’m French.”
The red-head—- Dr Beverly Crusher, who was also on the wrong side of sober-- giggled and took another sip of her champagne cocktail.
“You have told me you’re French, Jean-Luc. Many times.”
She laid a hand on his arm and walked her fingers playfully up it until she reached his shoulder. Her hand lay there for a moment, then moved down to rest on his chest.
“You’ve got a lovely French name. Jean-Luc. So … debonair. So … unusual. So … damn hard to pronounce when I’ve had this much to drink.”
She let her hand drop from his chest and picked up a canape instead.
Picard laughed and raised his glass to his lips.
“You could just call me Captain, if you’re having trouble.”
“I suppose I could,” Beverly mused. “But that takes all the fun out of it. That makes you sound so … formal. So captainly. And I wouldn’t want to stand here flirting with the Captain. I’d rather be standing here flirting with Jean-Luc.”
She’d had enough to drink by now that his name slipped on her tongue and came out as “Jean-Fluke.”
“Would you now?” Picard asked with a raised eyebrow. “Well, then, forget the formalities. Jean-Fluke is fine … however you pronounce it.”
“Good.” Beverly leaned in closer, her hand resting on his arm. “Why were you asking me if I remembered that you were French?”
He leaned casually on his elbow and took another sip of wine. “Oh, it’s not important really. I was just wondering if you had any French in you?”
Beverly looked momentarily puzzled. “I don’t think I do have any French in me. Why?”
Picard slugged back the rest of his drink and gazed at her with unbridled lust.
“Because I thought perhaps you might like some …”