BOOK ONE: BEGINNINGS
CHAPTER TWO
She’d wanted to curse Mark. Curse him ten times over and then again.
"I'm sorry, Kath. It's something that's come up, and we have to sit in with the mediators of Almari IV to give them some idea on how to continue resolving the conflict there."
"Oh, Mark..."
She had sighed heavily, pouted, knew it was childish to pout, before her eyes flashed angrily. It wasn't that she didn't want Mark to travel off world to Almari IV, but that they had a date. A date! He’d promised! She wanted to go the concert. There wasn't going to be another Command Performance for the President of the Federation sometime soon. At least not one that she would be able to attend. She'd be reassigned by then and the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity would be gone forever. And, she'd had the tickets since her return from Deep Space Nine.
"I'm sorry, Kath. Kiss me?" he asked.
He’d looked so like a penitent pup that she melted a little. Mark was so loveable, so huggable that she’d stood on tiptoe to reach him and planted a perfunctory kiss on his cheek. When she’d rested back on her heels again, she saw the fleeting flash of disappointment in his eyes that the kiss wasn't anything more than friendship. She sighed. Mark loved her and she just wanted a friend. But he was so good about it, never pressuring her, accepting that he would be her friend always. They always attended functions together whenever she was back in Paris or in her late father's apartment in San Francisco. Mark was so good about it. Another man would have asked: "Is taking you to functions the function of my life"?
Kathryn paced her living room. She was restless, it was Friday and her date was supposed to press her bell at exactly 1930. She had no idea who he was, no idea of what kind of deal she was getting, how the man looked, whether he liked classical music. Hell, she was as bad as those types who used the Federation's dating service to show up at events. What the hell was she doing? Scraping the barrel? Where the devil did all the men in the Alpha Quadrant go?
Why didn't she just say no to Dalene? That woman! She had barely mentioned that Mark was going to be tied up elsewhere when Dalene pounced.
"Kathryn, you've got to go to the concert. Don't worry about Mark. I'll find someone."
"I beg your pardon? I'm not destitute, Dalene, or in the hunt for a man - "
"Yeah, like you could have married Mark five years ago, or God forbid, slept with him!"
"Dalene!" Kathryn exclaimed, her face registering shock. It was true. She could never bring herself to sleep with Mark…
Dalene threw up her hands in defence as Kathryn leaned closer to her. They had been on one of their rare get togethers, enjoying lunch at Starfleet Headquarters. .
"Okay, okay! Don't hurt me!" Dalene cried theatrically.
Kathryn looked at her, then sighed resignedly. Dalene's look changed from mirth to contrition. She reached over the table to touch Kathryn's hand.
"So, Mark's going to Almari IV and he leaves you stranded - "
"It's not like he owes me, Dalene."
"Or owns you, sure. But you've not been serious about anyone in a while - "
"You know, Dalene, we're friends, but don't go taking me up as a lost cause, will you? I'm pretty sure I can manage." She hadn't wanted Dalene to mention a period in her life that had been most painful, when she thought that dying was better than being alive.
Dalene remained silent for five seconds.
"Fine. Then go out! Take someone else to the concert - "
"You don't want to go with me?"
"Kathryn! How boring can you get?"
For a few minutes Kathryn remained quiet, not replying to Dalene comma and concentrated on her pasta.
Dalene had blonde hair, almost white, with liquid brown eyes. She was a beautiful woman, Kathryn thought, although so self-sufficient and self-contained that a man at her side was regarded as merely a nuisance. Kathryn thought privately that Dalene's heart had been captured, but the man in question shied away from attachments such as Dalene would have appreciated. But at the moment, she played the field in a light, flirtatious manner. In which case, if anyone did get serious, it would be regarded as a nuisance…
Kathryn sighed. If she were honest with herself, she had begun to look on Mark that way, as soon as he wanted to widen their friendship to something more. She wasn't ready for that, and her reticence when he wanted to embrace her a trifle longer, wanted the kiss on the cheek to become a kiss on the lips had been enough to send him a clear message of her needs. Or lack thereof. She shrank back from the thought that Mark Johnson had wanted to make love to her on so many occasions.
Still, to her, he was the kindest man on earth - kind and gentle with a great capacity for loving. She didn't love him, and she knew it would be grossly unfair to give him any kind of encouragement that she'd want to take their friendship in a different direction.
With friendship, it was so easy. There was a great deal of the known about it, something enduring, something where there was a mutual understanding, a trust that no boundaries would be overstepped. In that respect there was a predictability about being friends with Mark and, she thought with growing alarm, it’s still a possibility, even if a remote one that it would be predictable and pedestrian were they in an intimate relationship. After Justin... She gave a heavy sigh as she lifted her fork, the utensil hovering near her mouth. After Justin...
"You're thinking of him, huh..."
Kathryn put her fork down slowly. Her eyes clouded suddenly, a pensiveness filling them.
"I can't go through that again, Day..." she said softly.
"Hey," Dalene said, realising how serious the conversation was suddenly becoming, "you won't know if you don’t at least try..."
"Look, Day, leave me alone, will you?"
"I wish I could, Kath. But you're my friend and I care. I haven't seen any sparkle in your eyes since - since well, you know... And dear Mark is sure as hell not putting it there. So where to now, Kathryn my sweet?"
Kathryn gave a light laugh, her eyes suddenly bright.
"To the concert, I daresay. I shall walk on the arm of an old, decrepit gentleman you found somewhere in the outer reaches of Federation space and who is so woefully out of touch with humanity that I'll want to scream, vomit, then scream again. I shall be sitting in the third row from the front - by the way, they're the best seats in the House - with the same old gentleman who will have fallen asleep halfway through the Allegro of Mozart's Clarinet Concerto, and who shall irritate the audience immediately in front and behind us because he will be snoring so loudly."
Dalene burst out laughing.
"Kathryn, just for that I ought to set you up with such a man!"
"Don't you dare!"
"Will you, huh, Kath?" Dalene asked, smiling sweetly, swinging her fork at her friend in a wheedling manner. Kathryn relented.
"Oh, okay. I don't want to know who he is, mind you - "
"A blind date?" Dalene Petranoff pounced instantly at the insinuation of Kathryn's words. "You're actually agreeing to a blind date? Kathryn Janeway?"
"Why are you twisting everything, Dalene Petranoff?"
"You're not too old for that?" Dalene insisted, ignoring Kathryn's annoyance at her own slip that made her friend swoop with such great alacrity.
"I certainly didn't mean it quite as you put it. I just don't want to go searching the Federation database and know beforehand the man taking me to a concert is a louse. It's so... humiliating..."
"I get your point. You're curious enough to go sniffing around and I'll just go 'shame on you, Kath' for checking out the wares before you're buying?"
Kathryn choked on the pasta and coughed for a few seconds. When she looked at Dalene again, noting the smirk on her friend's face, she was ready to crawl somewhere under a rock and never come out.
"Is this conversation over?" she asked.
"For now, honey. I'll let you know on Thursday. Not a day later - "
"I don't know why I agreed to this. It's not like me, you know, Day."
"For once in your life be impulsive, Kathryn. Do something against the grain for heaven's sake, colour outside the lines, if you will. Just...do it!"
***
She knew if she looked down there'd be a path burned in the carpet where she paced continuously. She hadn't felt this nervous in years, not since that big lummox of an oaf Will Riker tried to date her and bed her. She had been stand-offish with him and... She sighed. They had called her Ice Maiden at the Academy. She wasn't like that at all. She had just been overly withdrawn, shy of men at the time, and Will Riker had been the consummate playboy. His overtures had intimidated her, and when she could finally breathe again, she stood her ground against him and he’d been none to happy at the put-down. Hence the ice-maiden tag. Now, she laced her fingers nervously, and if she had still been in that over-shy teen stage when she was so raw, she'd be chewing her nails to the quick.
She had no idea who her companion was to be for the evening. Earlier, she had stood in her bedroom, seriously considering calling it off and returning to San Francisco to her parents' apartment. It was hers now, since her mother had retired to their home in Indiana. She could stay there and lie all evening on her bed, hands behind her head, and think of the chance she’d thrown away. No, better to get it done. She wanted to go to the concert, didn't she?
Now her mirror - or rather, her face – taunted her as she stood in front of her dresser. The droop of her mouth was quickly restored to an upward curve of her lips. What the hell, she didn't care if he snored. Now why would she think that? Why would she know if he snored? Why should she even care? Didn't that suggest - horror of horrors - that she'd have to be in bed with the man for at least a few hours before she would get insight into his sleeping habits? Oh, well, it might not be like that. She didn't have to bed anyone to know what they did while they were sleeping. All she had to do was play peeping Tom and listen.
Her face broke into a grin. She shook her head at the direction her thoughts had taken her. Her hair looked good, which was a plus. When it was loose, it flowed down her back. However, tonight, after washing it, willing it into a semblance of order, she had decided to pull it into a tight bun. But then she had second thoughts.
"No, that won't do. Too stiff, too schoolmarmish."
She didn't want to leave that impression, not even with the snoring old fogey from the outer reaches of Federation space, who wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself. She shuddered at that thought. She twisted her hair in all sorts of knots, even trying to make a French braid and pinning it in an inward curve at the nape.
Kathryn groaned. Why was she doing this? Certainly, being in an auditorium full of people was not going to sway her choice of hairstyle one way or the other. She didn't care too much for some admirals' wives who dressed up and never down, so why was she even making so much effort?
"Let's face it, Kathryn. You thrive on the unknown, and your companion for the evening is as as much an unknown as the furthest star in the furthest quadrant."
Only, she knew, that was a bald faced lie. All she had to do was look him up. Call Dalene. Or something. It was a grand delusion.
Finally, she settled on a soft chignon.
"Okay, Janeway, do it."
She appraised her dress: a long, flowing gown that would make the President's wife look twice, and then again. In deep burgundy, it was of a soft velvet that appeared to change colour and texture as she moved. She’d had it designed for this occasion, spoiling herself for once. Raoul loved her, said she was his inspiration. Her hands went to her hips, smoothing down the dress over them, striking a seductive pose and pouting naughtily.
Most of the human males at the performance, she knew from experience, would be dressed in tuxedos; others would wear their dress uniforms if they were high ranking officers of Starfleet. She wondered for a moment what her companion would be wearing. He was in Starfleet, that much she knew. She rather preferred being out of uniform on occasions such as tonight. Her father had been a lifetime member of the Juilliard School of Arts, and upon his death, she had gained membership. She hoped her escort liked classical music. If he didn't, he'd better put up a good show of liking it, or look at least interested.
She missed Justin, she thought with some alarm. He had been dead ten years, but she still missed him. He didn't hadn’t had much of a liking for music. Still, she missed him because he’d constantly challenged her and she loved him. That was the bottom line. She had loved Justin, and she was always going to measure any man whom she remotely considered as a soul partner, against what she’d had with Justin. It was why she couldn't love Mark. No, she corrected herself. Even without Justin, she would not have been able to love Mark, as kind and as gentle as he was. She was not the bed hopping type, and thought that Dalene was more likely to run in and out of the no-strings-attached relationships.
Sometimes, sometimes she could still see the despair on Justin's face, on her father's face as the shuttle went down in the icy water of Tau Ceti Prime. It haunted her, their eyes, the knowledge in them that they knew they were going to die, that they knew there was little she could do herself. She had not been a good person in the months following Justin's death. Sunk in deep depression, she had wallowed, seen their faces flitting by her, in slow motion, frame after frame after frame. Some nights she had woken up screaming, then she couldn't sleep afterwards, walking around the house in the darkness. Then the loneliness ate at her. She'd sit on the porch and watch the moon. It would be so close, suspended against the black sky, that she could reach out and touch it almost. More than anything, watching the moon silently drifting by had given her a sense of calm, and she'd be centred again for a few more hours another day.
In the early hours of the morning she'd get up from the swing seat, cramped and stiff, but she'd feel better inside. She'd become good at not sleeping... Most of the time she'd lie in bed and mull over this dictum, a silent affirmation of her own plight:
"Why love, when losing hurts so much?"
In the harrowing, dark days after losing Justin, she had asked herself that question a thousand times.
And so she had taken on armour, clothed herself in it and protected her heart.
Now she considered her actions. In a few minutes, someone was going to knock on her door and for one evening she'd be in his company. She could get it over and done with. It was only a concert, a man sitting next to her. Big deal. So why was she so nervous?
Her hand went to her neck and trembled as she touched the pendant. She had decided on the gold and diamond pendant and matching earrings to offset her burgundy dress. She hoped she looked good for her companion, or that at least, he would appreciate her appearance. In that she had given in to a little vanity, lightly touching up her lipstick again, then smoothing her chignon. She turned this way and that way, making certain not a hair was out of place.
Kathryn rocked up suddenly when her doorbell chimed. Taking in a deep breath, patting her hips again, she walked slowly to the living room. She stood at the door and when the chime sounded again, she pressed a key and the door slid open.
He had been looking down, one hand braced against the door jamb; when the light from her living room fell on him, he looked at her and straightened up suddenly. Kathryn stood rooted to the spot for endless seconds, just staring at him. He was dressed in a black tuxedo after all. His skin was tanned, a natural tan, she thought absently, and his hair was pitch black, like a raven's and cropped short. He smiled, and dimples formed in his cheeks. Kathryn blinked and stared again. He had to be the most handsome human male she had seen in a long time. He towered above her, standing with his hands at his sides. One hand held a small package. She wanted to smile, but her face was stiff. She could see there was an imperceptible tremble about his fingers. Did he dread this moment too? she wondered. For one crazy moment she was glad that she wasn't the only one whose heart had to be fluttering like mad.
He remained standing on the threshold, a question in his eyes. She was still staring stupidly at him when he spoke finally.
"Sergei told me you had ten moles and a wart." There was a teasing lilt in his voice, a twinkle in his eyes, something of a relief too, that she didn't have ten moles and a wart. Still, Kathryn found the action involuntary as her hand went to her face to touch an imaginary wart.
Her voice was low, husky when she replied, equally teasing. At least, she hoped that was what it sounded like.
"I was expecting to see an old man from the outer reaches of Federation space, an old fogey out of touch with humanity and who snored." Kathryn emphasised the 'snored' as if that very thought repulsed her.
"Then I'm glad I don't snore. Hello, I'm Chakotay - "
"Oh! You must think me rude! I am Kathryn Janeway. Please, do come in…"
"Kathryn Janeway?" Chakotay frowned as he took a few steps into her living room and Kathryn, a little flustered by the way Chakotay stared at her, touched her hair nervously. She looked at him, still dazed at his height, his bearing, the handsome face. "Admiral Janeway was your father?" he asked a little superfluously. She nodded, wondering if that counted against her. She hoped not. This man was not to be turned away. He had to take her to a concert, he had to talk to her, he had to escort her to her home…He had to… Her mind was in a whirl. Did Chakotay even know of the charm he exuded? He appeared so unaware of it… Then he spoke again, breaking into her meanderings.
"Oh, I have something for you." Chakotay lifted his hand, the one that held the package. "A gift. You don't have to look at it right now. Perhaps when you return home…" He held it out to her. "You look surprised," he said as she took the gift. "M-Maybe," he stammered suddenly, "I should have brought you a - a corsage?" She shook her head vehemently, wanting to kick herself mentally for disturbing her neat hairdo.
"Well, naturally, I didn't expect this," she said quickly, assuaging his concern. "I should kill Dalene, probably. You're nothing that I expected, though I'm certain we must have crossed paths in the Academy…" she said a little reflectively.
"It's custom, isn't it? To give one's companion a little gift before leaving on a date…"
"I…don't know such a one, Chakotay."
"Well then, Kathryn Janeway, I've just created a new tradition - "
"You say that as if - as if there…" Kathryn paused suddenly, knowing instantly that the entire idea, the prospect of future meetings with this man would be folly. Folly, folly, folly. But for the moment, sweet nectar breezed through her veins and suddenly, the evening took on a whole new colour and ambience. She was looking forward to walking with a stranger, and curiously, not feeling strange. More than that, Kathryn Janeway thought, she was going to the Performance on the arm of one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. Oh, bless you, Dalene…
She had a sudden urge to open the package.
"Because if you do," he continued as if he didn't hear the faltering in her voice, and sensing that she wanted to open it anyway, "bad luck will fall upon you…"
Then Kathryn burst out laughing. She felt infinitely lighter than she had in months, like a bubbling brook, or a butterfly suddenly discovering it could spread its wings and fly off, or an eagle climbing the heavens as if there were no boundaries. She liked that sound. She felt it and she felt good. She put the gift down on the table and collected her purse. When she turned and looked at him again, her heart almost flipped. Chakotay was uncommonly attractive, his good looks enhanced by his starched white shirt and the contrast of the black suit, as well as the dimples. He'd held his arm to her; she smiled and placed her hand on his. Minutes later they were in their transport to the Bayreuth Concert Hall.
Kathryn was quiet on the way, so aware of him that she was afraid to stir, to create any movement that might make him look at her and cause the heat to spread through her body again. She wanted to tell herself he wasn't real, there couldn't possibly be men in this age who were still gentlemen. So she trained her gaze on something in the flitter, or outside, something non-threatening like the stars, which were so far away. Chakotay was as preoccupied, remaining almost motionless. Perhaps, the thought went through Kathryn, he was experiencing the same warmth that had been filling her since she had laid eyes on him. Perhaps, she thought with self-derision, she was being too in thinking that he might be as affected by her presence as she was by his.
She inhaled his cologne, faint and understated, and tried hard not to close her eyes and emit a moan of pure pleasure. For a moment she pondered on her reaction to Chakotay. She had never responded like this to anyone. I'm not an impressionable teenager. I'm a thirty five year old mature woman being taken out by a mature man. So why am I reacting like this? There was a thrill coursing through her, a secret pleasure which made her insides curl, that she would be entering the foyer of the concert hall on the arm of a tall, dark and very, very handsome man.
When they arrived, Chakotay was the perfect gentleman, courteous and smiling. For a moment Kathryn was reminded of an eighteenth century knight who bowed with a flourish, before his hand touched her back lightly and they entered the foyer of the concert hall.
"Well, Kathryn Janeway," he whispered close to her, "we're here…" Chakotay's breath fanned the fine hair at her nape and Kathryn shivered deliciously. She looked up briefly at him and gave a smile that made her lips curve at the corner. There was a twinkle in her eyes. Her hand squeezed his arm and she sidled instinctively closer to him. Did she imagine that Chakotay pressed closer to her?
"I think, Chakotay, I am going to enjoy the evening after all…"
****
It was Admiral Paris who remarked to his wife later that his former protégé had an uncommonly healthy sparkle in her eyes. They had met in the foyer of the concert hall and the Admiral had been impressed by the young man who accompanied her. He had known Chakotay as a cadet under his tutelage in his first year as a rookie fifteen year old, who, even then, was already showing the makings of a brilliant military tactician.
"It is not surprising that they made such an eye-catching couple, Owen. Chakotay is very attractive. Everyone was watching them…"
"They do stand out, don't they?" Admiral Paris remarked.
"And she looked so…how can I say? Something that came from inside her, you know. Like joy…"
Elizabeth Paris gave a sigh that made her husband look sharply at her, then he turned to observe the couple. From their vantage point at the other end of the foyer, they could see how Chakotay and Kathryn interacted with other patrons whom they. Kathryn did indeed sparkle as she laughed, talking with some animation, her eyes constantly going to the man beside her. Chakotay looked contented, smiling down at her as if no one else existed around them, very pleased as his hand sometimes reached for Kathryn's back when he steered her way to walk towards other couples or patrons.
"Kathryn has had a hard time of it, Elizabeth," Owen Paris said as they returned to their seats after the interval. "It's good that she has found someone again." Elizabeth wondered for a moment how Owen could speak as if he were convinced beyond doubt that Chakotay was to be a permanent fixture in Kathryn Janeway's life.
"It's rather sudden, don't you think, Owen love?" she asked. "I've never seen her with that good-looking young man before. So polite and chivalrous."
"He certainly is, my Elizabeth. There is depth in him. I can sense he has goodness in him."
"I daresay!"
"You do?" Owen asked as he looked with their son Tom's eyes at her. Her heart leaped again. Owen was her man…
"Owen" she said softly her voice urgent as she leaned closer to him. "Chakotay looked completely bowled over by Kathryn. Did you see how he couldn't keep his eyes off her?" She paused, then asked again, "And you say they met only tonight?" There was incredulity in her voice, but also an enigmatic edge as Owen looked into her eyes, a warmth spreading through him. When he had met her, he had given Elizabeth Illingsworth one look and knew he'd never be the same man again.
"Yes, I understand Mark was unable to escort her."
Elizabeth was tempted to add 'more pity Mark' when Owen spoke again.
"But you know what, Lizzie?"
He knew she hated being called Lizzie. He had no hair she could pull later tonight at the apartment in San Francisco, but she'd think of some other unique punishment.
"What?"
"There's something about Chakotay…an unpredictable edge, something lurking beneath the debonair appearance, a mix of…."
"Excitement, gentility and danger?"
"Precisely that," Admiral Paris reflected. He leaned closer to her. "Precisely that…"
"Then we should pity Mark. He is not the man to make Kathryn Janeway's heart rush like a wild brook."
"Chakotay," continued the Admiral just as the orchestra launched into the first bars of Mozart's clarinet concerto, "is just the man Kathryn needs to tame her. She is by far the most wilful person I know…"
"Oh?"
"After my own Elizabeth, naturally," he conceded. then added softly, …"and Tom…"
For a moment she saw how her husband's eyes clouded, became sad. Their son had not been home for months although he was in Marseilles… So Elizabeth, in order to drive the clouds away, pulled her husband's brief preoccupation away from their son and said:
"I'd like to see Kathryn alive again, Owen. I'd like to see the old fire return to her eyes - "
"Shhh…"
Admiral and Mrs Paris immediately halted their conversation, realising that their whispering distracted the other patrons, and once Elizabeth imagined she had actually seen Chakotay stiffen and look back as if he heard his name. Kathryn and her companion were sitting only two rows in front of them, and though they seemed engrossed with the concerto, their heads were close together like two young people in love.
Elizabeth kept staring at the head of Chakotay. The soloist, Harry S Kim, still a cadet at Starfleet Academy, was quietly fading from her conscious mind as she ruminated on the couple sitting in front of them. If it weren't for her dear Owen McKenzie, she'd be just as bowled over by the man who looked so dashing, so enigmatic in his tuxedo. Owen was wearing his dress uniform and he looked dashing too, but Chakotay's colouring somehow enhanced the suit. Fortunately, her dear sweet Owen, not a man commonly given to extravagantly outward displays of emotion, and sometimes too austere for the liking of many cadets at the Academy, had bowled her over long ago; now she was happily exercising her power over him. Mr Chakotay, so devilishly handsome on the outside, with a predatory lurk just beneath the exterior, was in for a great shock, if he should so much as think that men were the powers that be of the universe, or that he'd have Kathryn Janeway under his control.
Why, she, Elizabeth, had her dear sweet Owen happily eating out of her hands, and there was no earthly reason that Mr Chakotay, whose destiny she believed had been sealed by a pair of very fine eyes, wouldn't sit like a bird and eat happily out of Kathryn Janeway's hands. It said much for their sex that they could create the appearance of their men harbouring illusions that they were in charge. There was no doubt about it, that blind date or not, sudden meeting for one night only or not, this night was not going to be the end for Kathryn and Chakotay. Look how his head moved ever so closer to Kathryn, and how Kathryn was turning her head to cast him a glance. She was just as absorbed in Chakotay as he was in her, and poor Cadet Kim could play as brilliantly as he ever would in his life, but Elizabeth Rowena Paris could tell that Kathryn and Chakotay did not hear a single note of the Adagio.
***
The trip back to Paris had been too short for Kathryn Janeway. The whole evening she had been so aware of Chakotay that she couldn't concentrate on Harry Kim's performance. She had given Chakotay cursory glances all evening, and one or two times she’d caught him staring at her just as she turned to look at him. He had been quiet on the journey, and she had been worried. If the evening was a success, why wasn't he saying anything?
"Did you like Kim's performance?" she asked at length as he walked with her from the flitter to her apartment. She shivered again as she felt his hand lightly against her back as he guided her up the short stairway to the foyer of the building.
"I was listening to a recording of the performance a few days ago," he replied.
She paused on one step and looked at him, unable to keep the surprise from her eyes. She wanted to kick herself. So much for thinking her companion might not be interested in music of the classical kind. She looked away and continued up.
"What, did you think I'm not the type to listen to good music?"
She looked at him again, her heart burning at the warm appraisal in his eyes.
"I was expecting anything, Chakotay. Dalene was too - "
"Dalene, huh…"
"Yes, Dalene. Did you know she was instrumental in getting Sergei and Svetlana together?" Then Kathryn wanted to kick herself again. What the hell was she thinking? What was Chakotay thinking when she spoke like that? She almost clamped her mouth shut with her hand. She heard him give a little sigh. She felt suddenly deflated, and proceeded towards her flat. He followed her, not saying anything more. When they reached the door of her apartment, she looked at him speculatively. She wanted to invite him inside for coffee, or something stronger.
"We're here, Kathryn. It's been a…good evening. I will give Sergei credit. I enjoyed the concert. "
Chakotay held out his hand. She placed her palm in his, felt again the little shock at the touch of his hand. He gave a half smile.
"You're leaving…"
Oh, why was she feeling suddenly so bereft? She could swear there was a hesitance in his movement as he gripped her hand. His eyes bore into hers, warm, appraising, pleased with the result. Did a very slight smile hover on his lips and did his eyes become more heated? She knew she was drawn in like a magnet, inexorably captivated to the point where she didn't want to be released. Her breathing became shallow and it was as if she could feel her heart hammering against her rib cage. Chakotay was supposed to leave, wasn't he? He’d brought her home, hadn’t he? His job was done. Yet, he was drawing closer to her. Something was happening, something of the lightness of being she experienced earlier in the evening before they left for the concert. There was a strange magic about everything; strange yet very, very real. She didn't have to pinch herself to know that Chakotay was real, the concert was real, her hand in his was real. She felt at once afraid and thrilled.
His breath warmed her face as he came closer, bent down. The hand that gripped hers, released her. By the time she felt his hand gently pressing her head closer in his embrace, her eyes had closed. She experienced a sense of drowning, of falling backwards into a vortex of pleasure as his other hand pressed into her back, gently urging her closer - a firm, yet comfortable pressure. She inhaled his musk, an indescribable wave of pleasure coursing through her as her body became pliant, yet not touching his completely. She wanted to press herself hard against him and melt together into bliss, a sensual experience for which she had unknowingly hungered too long…too long… A soft moan escaped her. Chakotay paused, just centimetres away from her face. No words. Just intent. Glorious anticipation…
Warm lips brushed hers, featherlight at first, a touch that sent her reeling with ecstasy as she pressed into him. Her hands that had rested against his chest crept up to his shoulders. Kathryn parted her lips; a hot tongue darted in. She felt a sting of tears behind her closed eyelids as she heard his groan. For a few flaming seconds his tongue probed her mouth; his heat scorched, their breaths mingled in between soft gasps.
Then Kathryn felt a waft of air as he broke off the kiss, leaving her bereft. Her eyes flew open. Chakotay's eyes burned; he breathed hard for a few seconds until it became even. Then he lifted a hand and cupped her cheek in a gentle caress, his thumb resting against the corner of her mouth. Her eyes closed again at his touch, and when he removed his hand, she looked at him.
When he spoke, his voice was gruff.
"Goodbye, Kathryn…"
Then he turned quickly on his heel and before she could stir into action again, Chakotay was gone.
Kathryn stood outside the door of her apartment for a long time, her fingers touching her lips. When she finally opened her door and went inside, there was again a deep feeling of regret that the evening was over too quickly, that her sojourn with Chakotay tonight had been too brief. In her bedroom she sat down heavily on the side of her bed and held her head in her hands for a moment. The image of Chakotay was burned on her brain: black eyes, raven black hair in short cropped spikes, dimples when he smiled, the calm look when he appeared pensive. Kathryn knew that for a very long time, she'd see Chakotay's face every time, in every mirror of her house, on board the vessels she served on, in every man who passed her way and whom she’d so disdainfully overlooked in the past.
For a moment a sliver of fear ran through her body. She had not reacted like this to a man since Justin. She had loved Justin with all her heart, had given all of herself to him; they had shared moments that had been sublime, almost ethereal, and then there were moments in which their passion had been so all consuming. She had believed then, with youthful exuberance and naïveté that Justin was invincible, like she had believed her father was. Just at the time in her life when she had become so much closer to her father, and when she had believed that marriage to Justin would be the most passionate and natural follow through of their relationship and engagement, they left her. Stranded, with no father, and no Justin, she had been left alone, rudderless. Like a piece of flotsam she had drifted aimlessly on an unforgiving ocean whose wild waves heaved her high and then plunged her into its depths.
Not again would she walk that road. It was long, painful, filled with so much terror that years later, she still felt that deep sense of loss.
Chakotay's kiss had given her a glimpse of that pain again. Kathryn knew that pursuance would mean the possibility of loss. Why then should she allow herself to entertain such thoughts of Chakotay as a fixture in her life when she knew that ultimately, history could repeat itself? Still, the thrill of feeling Chakotay's lips on hers was impossible to ignore, it had been rapturous…. She still tasted his tongue in her mouth. For a few moments she had experienced paradise…paradise…
She remembered suddenly the gift he had given her when he arrived. Walking back to the living room, she lifted the package from the coffee table and opened it carefully. A few seconds later the eagle lay on her palm, exquisite in its detail, flawlessly carved and gleaming darkly. She sucked in her breath as she held it up. The eagle appeared alive, ready for flight, its wings spread out, the head cocked exactly as if it knew in which direction to fly.
"It's as if it has a sense of its destination - fearless…undaunted by danger…" Kathryn whispered in awe. For a fleeting moment she had an image of Chakotay's face, dark, fearless yet kind… Kathryn frowned. Was this his own work? Someone else's? she wondered. She sighed. She had no way of knowing…She'd probably never know.
Kathryn walked to her mantelpiece and put the eagle down on it. She gave a smile as she saw how even there, the sculpture looked more alive, like it could fly off into the unknown.
Back in her room she sat down again, reluctant to prepare for bed. She had a feeling she'd not be able to sleep. She could still smell Chakotay, still feel his breath on her face, still taste his lips on hers, his tongue in her mouth….
On her bedside stood the framed photograph of Justin. Kathryn smiled a tender smile as she looked at Justin's face: the laughing eyes, broad smile showing perfect teeth. Her hand caressed the face of her fiancé. For the first time, looking at his picture didn’t make her ache so deeply; for the first time she could place the accident in perspective. Kathryn pressed her lips against the cold glass of the frame, then held it away from her, her eyes soft.
"Oh, Justin…Justin…" she murmured, "it's time I finally let go of the past…"
***
END CHAPTER TWO