[STV: J/P Fic] The Dance
The Dance
Sydney Alexis
Kathryn:
He's speaking to me again, but I can't force myself to listen. My eyes are drawn to his face- a face that is too tan, with a chiseled jawline, a square forehead, short spiky hair as a frame. Raven in color, his eyes are nearly the same color as his hair, and I can't help but notice that they are on the exact opposite side of the light spectrum as his.
Chakotay's wrinkles belie his age. Of course, I am not so narcissistic as to be blind to the fact that my own youthful skin is slowly dwindling. 'Laugh' lines are deepening with each birthday. Creases at the corners of my eyes, described by some as Crow's Feet, have started to show. They were once easy enough to hide with make-up. I suppose if I was truly vain, I could ask the Doctor for some cosmetic surgery. Those thoughts, however, were just a passing thought.
I idly wonder if it was our closeness in age that allowed me to become 'involved' with this man rather than the one in my mind's eye. After all, the pair of use are just starting to gray. On him, it looks regal. On me...well...I've convinced myself that it is the stress of the situation. Perhaps I have grown arrogant with regards to my appearance. Still, I don't like thinking of my own demise any more than I like dwelling on the idea of what I'm doing here tonight.
A hand that is too large inches its way across the table. My disjointed thoughts finally meld when I feel the rough surface of his fingers come in contact with my own soft flesh. He is smiling at me- that damned all-knowing smile deepening the dimples in his cheeks. He beings to speak again; I can clearly see his lips moving. I only half catch what is said. I chastise myself lightly. Listening to him is the least I can do considering the liberties he is allowing me to take of him.
"Long day, Kathryn?" he asks in an even tone.
"Wha..why do you ask?" I started to ask him to repeat himself since I wasn't fully listening. Slowly, his question seeped in, and I changed the course of my response.
"Because you haven't heard a word I have said all night." he replied, trying to keep the even quality to his voice that he had accomplished seconds before. A momentary flash of pain crosses his face, and I know that I've hurt him. I sigh inwardly, knowing that I have to repair the damage somehow. The command team needs to function at peak efficiency; the whole crew will be thrown off balance otherwise.
My eyes scan the room, finally taking note of the lengths he went to tonight. The table setting was exquisite but overdone. The plates that he used were not standard, Starfleet issue. On the contrary, they were fine bone china that displayed a blue willow pattern. The intricate design featured a tiny garden setting complete with a small pagoda, cranes, a willow tree, and a small bridge. The oppressive picture detracted from the meal's presentation. Personally, I was fond of simplicity; a white plate would suffice as long as the meal on it was well chosen.
The dinner he had prepared matched that of the china in its intricacy. Four separate dishes to pick from, and all four difficult to make 'from scratch' as he claimed these were. I was not fond of any of them. Unfortunately, I had arrived without my customary stop at the mess hall to prevent such problems; a grumbling stomach would belie my hunger but unwillingness to eat what was prepared.
A centerpiece was placed between us. In keeping with an oriental theme, he had replicated a center piece that contained bamboo shoots, white and pink azaleas, and a few orchids. The pleasant smell of the latter was just barely able to overpower the sourness of the azaleas. Personally, I am partial to less elaborate settings- daisies, hydrangeas, gardienas, or roses if one wanted to get extravagant. In fact, the grandious arrangement was too complex to elicit any other feeling from me other than shock at the exorbitant amount of rations he had spent on the evening. However, some good did come from his selection. It was rather tall and nearly blocked my view of him. This was a mixed blessing. I was able to convince myself that he was someone else and he was able to pretend that I was their souly to spend time with him.
The acrid scent of the candles' wisps of gray smoke were the next thing to draw my attention. White in color and approximately ten centimeters across, their light was the only that cut through the darkness of the room. Their flames flickered effortlessly as they cast odd shadows across the room and helped mask my emotions as they passed over my features.
There was a certain irony to the fact that every meeting we had like this was held by candlelight. The pair of them burned on to the night indifferent to movement around them. Their only desire was to stay alive by consuming the wax as fuel as it required. Just as the base of the flame spent the paraffin beneath it so I used the man before me. I was empathetic to Chakotay. I knew what it was to love a someone whose heart would never belong to you. And so, we used each other. In this way, I would permit him to believe that I loved him and he would act as the persona of the one person in this world I truly loved.
It was then that I registered his musical selection. Funny how music does that; it acts as a background soundtrack, soaring louder in the subconscious but, being that it is the most primal of languages that remain, it forces its way into the light. The steady thumping rhyhtm beneath all pieces. Similar to a heartbeat, it thunders louder and louder until all that comes to the forefront is the conscious thought that this is somehow familiar and fitting to current mood of the listener. A change in timbre, movement to a minor key, and the dissonance of the melancholy chord reaches out to me through the darkness just as this man before me did.
It was then that I recognized the composition as belonging to my personal database. The genre was classical- Brahms to be exact. I sighed at hearing this. The irony of the parallels between the composer's life and our own would be lost upon him. Brahms was condemned to love a woman that was already married.
Chakotay has never been fond of Romantic Period music. Jazz or blues perhaps, but never anything this high brow. He must have sifted through my collection until he stumbled across something that he could tolerate.
The true object of my affection, on the other hand, always had a taste for classical music. In fact, he had introducted me to a few composers I had never heard before- mostly 20th century and mostly those I had only associated with musicals. In that respect, he opened my eyes.
The last object in the room that my gaze fell upon was Chakotay. I finally notice that the outfit he wore was well planned. It was the embodiment of the cliché idea of picking one's wardrobe simply because it brings out the hue of his skin and compliments his black cropped hair.
He smiles while still holding my hand. I know he is waiting for a response. Actually, he is waiting for me to call the evening off by telling him that I'm tired. I came here tonight seeking to lose myself, to allow myself to be comforted, and to pretend that he's someone else. It may sound cruel, but I suspect that these night meetings are all that keep both of us going.
I return his smile. "I was just thinking about a problem in Engineering, but it's not important. B'Elanna and I can work on it in the morning," I replied, allowing our fingers to intertwine. Fingers that are much too wide and not long enough. I watch in my peripheral view as his back straightens momentarily at the mention of B'Elanna's name. A flash of pain coincides as his mind draws a logical path to the true cause of tonight's encounter.
"They certainly didn't take that much time off for their honeymoon," he adds. The comment, meant to hurt me, hits its target with malicious percision. And so it all begins- carefully stepping around issues so that those too controversial are only alluded to.
"They are both senior officers. Missing two of them at the same time greatly thins out our resources," I counter in a commanding tone.
"Uh huh."
He quells our petty quarrel by trailing his hand up my cheek. The game renewed, I allow another man's face to enter my mind's eye. The large hand and stubby digits are replaced be the soft caress of slender fingers. The sandalwood scent of his skin is replaced by the spicy soap smell I came to know so well while standing behind him on the bridge. Dark, haunted eyes and equally black hair are replaced with blue eyes and flaxen locks.
I close my eyes, revelling in the touch. He murmurs something in hushed tones, and the music selection suddenly changes. It too is old Earth. A soft melody...the title long forgotten in the fog surrounding my mind, but the voice is so distinct- Ella Fitzgerald. Somehow, I know it is a song that he would pick.
"Care to dance?" he asked, lifting my chin to be even with his. The man standing before me is taller than Chakotay is by a few inches, and his movements are much more fluid. Attentive to my hesitation, he took my arm are in his and lead me into the open area of the living room.
I allowed myself to be pulled so close to him that I can feel his heartbeat and the warm vapor of his breath. I close my eyes, trying to hold the image of him. Slowly, I register the differences: his chest is too wide, he is shorter even in his regulation boots, the timbre of his voice as he whispers in my ears is off as is the inflection of my name. However, those thoughts dissolve as quickly as they arrive.
His hands are suddenly all that matters. I feel them move from the 'comfort zone' on the base of my spine to my side, slowly following the curve if my hips up to my breast. The action is just a whisper of touch, but it is enough to drive my fantasy home.
"Tom," I breathe. I feel the body against me become momentarily rigid. Within a beat or two of the music, we fell into step together again. Seconds later, he kissed the nape of my neck, my earlobe, then, growing bolder, he finally meet my lips. I opened my eyes then, locking onto a soft blue pair even with my own. My heart beats faster involuntarily as I momentarily feel dizzy. I blink in response. When I look up again, I find those glorious blue eyes have turned black. Sighing, I lean up against the body again. I don't have enough wine in my system for this yet.
He kissed me again, and I force myself to respond. I vaguely recall his lips on the soft skin of my throat for a few seconds before I felt him pull away. Relief and apprehension washed over my system at the same time. I was glad he had stopped his ministrations as I had lost the image of Tom in my mind that I had worked so hard to erect. However, I knew that 'the dance' for this evening was over.
Chakotay stepped back a pace or two and gripped my shoulders in his bear paws. His eyes leveled with mine, and, for the first time that night, I saw him and not the vision of Tom.
"Kathryn," he whispered, "why didn't you ever love me?"
As guilt washed over me, I lowered my own sight towards the carpeting. The charade is over...at least for this evening. We both know it.
I knew that he only did this out of obligation and out of a need to receive love from me in the only way I was willing to give it. And I...I did this so that, at least for a few hours each week, I would feel something again. Other than adrenaline rushes following battles the only thing that I felt as of late is a growing blackness within me. The depths of which were beginning to terrify me. Distrubing images replaced the usual bland images within my dreams to form never ending nightmares. Seven years of living life in a world in which I was nearly devoid of all human contact because I wanted to appear strong for the crew had left me an empty vessel.
From the first night, Chakotay's image was blurred during dinner to be replaced by that of Tom Paris. Perhaps it was because I had always felt at ease with him or the way he always seemed to know when I really needed to just be myself and escape into the holodeck. I suppose I could be totally honest and say that I had developed feelings for him early on- feelings that I would never take actions on.
I was easier to keep myself aloof. A strong captain that needs little support is, after all, one that derives more confidence from those that serve under her. On New Earth, Chakotay practically offered himself to me. While I was flattered, I never saw him as more than a friend...a good, close friend that I came to rely on like Tuvok.
When he approached me for dinner all those weeks ago, I didn't intend for things to turn into this ritual. On the contrary, I just wanted a few hour's worth of escape, but the allure of this self-created realm kept me coming back. Now, the two of us were stuck in unending loop of meeting, manipulation of the mind's eye, and confrontation of reality.
I took his face in my hands, and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. "I do love you. It's just not the way you want."
"I'll never stop caring for you the way that I always have."
"I know that."
"But I can never be him, Kathryn."
"I know that too."
And in the stillness of that moment, we began our dance anew. In the morning, he would still be just a friend to me- pretending not to notice when my gaze fell on the object of my affections, inviting me to the holodeck to escape the mounds of work that I foist upon myself, and, most importantly, allowing me moments like this.
A/N: Years ago, a friend of mine asked me to beta a piece that she had written for a J/C contest. The idea was that all of those presented had to have the title The Dance. While I hate Chakotay, I was inspired to write this after watching a series of Xena episodes. Eternal Bonds left that Joxer/Gabrielle scene floating around in my head. Add to that the confrontations between Xena and Ares after the mother/daughter reunion with Livia, and you have the makings for an angst filled story.
Sydney Alexis
Kathryn:
He's speaking to me again, but I can't force myself to listen. My eyes are drawn to his face- a face that is too tan, with a chiseled jawline, a square forehead, short spiky hair as a frame. Raven in color, his eyes are nearly the same color as his hair, and I can't help but notice that they are on the exact opposite side of the light spectrum as his.
Chakotay's wrinkles belie his age. Of course, I am not so narcissistic as to be blind to the fact that my own youthful skin is slowly dwindling. 'Laugh' lines are deepening with each birthday. Creases at the corners of my eyes, described by some as Crow's Feet, have started to show. They were once easy enough to hide with make-up. I suppose if I was truly vain, I could ask the Doctor for some cosmetic surgery. Those thoughts, however, were just a passing thought.
I idly wonder if it was our closeness in age that allowed me to become 'involved' with this man rather than the one in my mind's eye. After all, the pair of use are just starting to gray. On him, it looks regal. On me...well...I've convinced myself that it is the stress of the situation. Perhaps I have grown arrogant with regards to my appearance. Still, I don't like thinking of my own demise any more than I like dwelling on the idea of what I'm doing here tonight.
A hand that is too large inches its way across the table. My disjointed thoughts finally meld when I feel the rough surface of his fingers come in contact with my own soft flesh. He is smiling at me- that damned all-knowing smile deepening the dimples in his cheeks. He beings to speak again; I can clearly see his lips moving. I only half catch what is said. I chastise myself lightly. Listening to him is the least I can do considering the liberties he is allowing me to take of him.
"Long day, Kathryn?" he asks in an even tone.
"Wha..why do you ask?" I started to ask him to repeat himself since I wasn't fully listening. Slowly, his question seeped in, and I changed the course of my response.
"Because you haven't heard a word I have said all night." he replied, trying to keep the even quality to his voice that he had accomplished seconds before. A momentary flash of pain crosses his face, and I know that I've hurt him. I sigh inwardly, knowing that I have to repair the damage somehow. The command team needs to function at peak efficiency; the whole crew will be thrown off balance otherwise.
My eyes scan the room, finally taking note of the lengths he went to tonight. The table setting was exquisite but overdone. The plates that he used were not standard, Starfleet issue. On the contrary, they were fine bone china that displayed a blue willow pattern. The intricate design featured a tiny garden setting complete with a small pagoda, cranes, a willow tree, and a small bridge. The oppressive picture detracted from the meal's presentation. Personally, I was fond of simplicity; a white plate would suffice as long as the meal on it was well chosen.
The dinner he had prepared matched that of the china in its intricacy. Four separate dishes to pick from, and all four difficult to make 'from scratch' as he claimed these were. I was not fond of any of them. Unfortunately, I had arrived without my customary stop at the mess hall to prevent such problems; a grumbling stomach would belie my hunger but unwillingness to eat what was prepared.
A centerpiece was placed between us. In keeping with an oriental theme, he had replicated a center piece that contained bamboo shoots, white and pink azaleas, and a few orchids. The pleasant smell of the latter was just barely able to overpower the sourness of the azaleas. Personally, I am partial to less elaborate settings- daisies, hydrangeas, gardienas, or roses if one wanted to get extravagant. In fact, the grandious arrangement was too complex to elicit any other feeling from me other than shock at the exorbitant amount of rations he had spent on the evening. However, some good did come from his selection. It was rather tall and nearly blocked my view of him. This was a mixed blessing. I was able to convince myself that he was someone else and he was able to pretend that I was their souly to spend time with him.
The acrid scent of the candles' wisps of gray smoke were the next thing to draw my attention. White in color and approximately ten centimeters across, their light was the only that cut through the darkness of the room. Their flames flickered effortlessly as they cast odd shadows across the room and helped mask my emotions as they passed over my features.
There was a certain irony to the fact that every meeting we had like this was held by candlelight. The pair of them burned on to the night indifferent to movement around them. Their only desire was to stay alive by consuming the wax as fuel as it required. Just as the base of the flame spent the paraffin beneath it so I used the man before me. I was empathetic to Chakotay. I knew what it was to love a someone whose heart would never belong to you. And so, we used each other. In this way, I would permit him to believe that I loved him and he would act as the persona of the one person in this world I truly loved.
It was then that I registered his musical selection. Funny how music does that; it acts as a background soundtrack, soaring louder in the subconscious but, being that it is the most primal of languages that remain, it forces its way into the light. The steady thumping rhyhtm beneath all pieces. Similar to a heartbeat, it thunders louder and louder until all that comes to the forefront is the conscious thought that this is somehow familiar and fitting to current mood of the listener. A change in timbre, movement to a minor key, and the dissonance of the melancholy chord reaches out to me through the darkness just as this man before me did.
It was then that I recognized the composition as belonging to my personal database. The genre was classical- Brahms to be exact. I sighed at hearing this. The irony of the parallels between the composer's life and our own would be lost upon him. Brahms was condemned to love a woman that was already married.
Chakotay has never been fond of Romantic Period music. Jazz or blues perhaps, but never anything this high brow. He must have sifted through my collection until he stumbled across something that he could tolerate.
The true object of my affection, on the other hand, always had a taste for classical music. In fact, he had introducted me to a few composers I had never heard before- mostly 20th century and mostly those I had only associated with musicals. In that respect, he opened my eyes.
The last object in the room that my gaze fell upon was Chakotay. I finally notice that the outfit he wore was well planned. It was the embodiment of the cliché idea of picking one's wardrobe simply because it brings out the hue of his skin and compliments his black cropped hair.
He smiles while still holding my hand. I know he is waiting for a response. Actually, he is waiting for me to call the evening off by telling him that I'm tired. I came here tonight seeking to lose myself, to allow myself to be comforted, and to pretend that he's someone else. It may sound cruel, but I suspect that these night meetings are all that keep both of us going.
I return his smile. "I was just thinking about a problem in Engineering, but it's not important. B'Elanna and I can work on it in the morning," I replied, allowing our fingers to intertwine. Fingers that are much too wide and not long enough. I watch in my peripheral view as his back straightens momentarily at the mention of B'Elanna's name. A flash of pain coincides as his mind draws a logical path to the true cause of tonight's encounter.
"They certainly didn't take that much time off for their honeymoon," he adds. The comment, meant to hurt me, hits its target with malicious percision. And so it all begins- carefully stepping around issues so that those too controversial are only alluded to.
"They are both senior officers. Missing two of them at the same time greatly thins out our resources," I counter in a commanding tone.
"Uh huh."
He quells our petty quarrel by trailing his hand up my cheek. The game renewed, I allow another man's face to enter my mind's eye. The large hand and stubby digits are replaced be the soft caress of slender fingers. The sandalwood scent of his skin is replaced by the spicy soap smell I came to know so well while standing behind him on the bridge. Dark, haunted eyes and equally black hair are replaced with blue eyes and flaxen locks.
I close my eyes, revelling in the touch. He murmurs something in hushed tones, and the music selection suddenly changes. It too is old Earth. A soft melody...the title long forgotten in the fog surrounding my mind, but the voice is so distinct- Ella Fitzgerald. Somehow, I know it is a song that he would pick.
"Care to dance?" he asked, lifting my chin to be even with his. The man standing before me is taller than Chakotay is by a few inches, and his movements are much more fluid. Attentive to my hesitation, he took my arm are in his and lead me into the open area of the living room.
I allowed myself to be pulled so close to him that I can feel his heartbeat and the warm vapor of his breath. I close my eyes, trying to hold the image of him. Slowly, I register the differences: his chest is too wide, he is shorter even in his regulation boots, the timbre of his voice as he whispers in my ears is off as is the inflection of my name. However, those thoughts dissolve as quickly as they arrive.
His hands are suddenly all that matters. I feel them move from the 'comfort zone' on the base of my spine to my side, slowly following the curve if my hips up to my breast. The action is just a whisper of touch, but it is enough to drive my fantasy home.
"Tom," I breathe. I feel the body against me become momentarily rigid. Within a beat or two of the music, we fell into step together again. Seconds later, he kissed the nape of my neck, my earlobe, then, growing bolder, he finally meet my lips. I opened my eyes then, locking onto a soft blue pair even with my own. My heart beats faster involuntarily as I momentarily feel dizzy. I blink in response. When I look up again, I find those glorious blue eyes have turned black. Sighing, I lean up against the body again. I don't have enough wine in my system for this yet.
He kissed me again, and I force myself to respond. I vaguely recall his lips on the soft skin of my throat for a few seconds before I felt him pull away. Relief and apprehension washed over my system at the same time. I was glad he had stopped his ministrations as I had lost the image of Tom in my mind that I had worked so hard to erect. However, I knew that 'the dance' for this evening was over.
Chakotay stepped back a pace or two and gripped my shoulders in his bear paws. His eyes leveled with mine, and, for the first time that night, I saw him and not the vision of Tom.
"Kathryn," he whispered, "why didn't you ever love me?"
As guilt washed over me, I lowered my own sight towards the carpeting. The charade is over...at least for this evening. We both know it.
I knew that he only did this out of obligation and out of a need to receive love from me in the only way I was willing to give it. And I...I did this so that, at least for a few hours each week, I would feel something again. Other than adrenaline rushes following battles the only thing that I felt as of late is a growing blackness within me. The depths of which were beginning to terrify me. Distrubing images replaced the usual bland images within my dreams to form never ending nightmares. Seven years of living life in a world in which I was nearly devoid of all human contact because I wanted to appear strong for the crew had left me an empty vessel.
From the first night, Chakotay's image was blurred during dinner to be replaced by that of Tom Paris. Perhaps it was because I had always felt at ease with him or the way he always seemed to know when I really needed to just be myself and escape into the holodeck. I suppose I could be totally honest and say that I had developed feelings for him early on- feelings that I would never take actions on.
I was easier to keep myself aloof. A strong captain that needs little support is, after all, one that derives more confidence from those that serve under her. On New Earth, Chakotay practically offered himself to me. While I was flattered, I never saw him as more than a friend...a good, close friend that I came to rely on like Tuvok.
When he approached me for dinner all those weeks ago, I didn't intend for things to turn into this ritual. On the contrary, I just wanted a few hour's worth of escape, but the allure of this self-created realm kept me coming back. Now, the two of us were stuck in unending loop of meeting, manipulation of the mind's eye, and confrontation of reality.
I took his face in my hands, and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. "I do love you. It's just not the way you want."
"I'll never stop caring for you the way that I always have."
"I know that."
"But I can never be him, Kathryn."
"I know that too."
And in the stillness of that moment, we began our dance anew. In the morning, he would still be just a friend to me- pretending not to notice when my gaze fell on the object of my affections, inviting me to the holodeck to escape the mounds of work that I foist upon myself, and, most importantly, allowing me moments like this.
A/N: Years ago, a friend of mine asked me to beta a piece that she had written for a J/C contest. The idea was that all of those presented had to have the title The Dance. While I hate Chakotay, I was inspired to write this after watching a series of Xena episodes. Eternal Bonds left that Joxer/Gabrielle scene floating around in my head. Add to that the confrontations between Xena and Ares after the mother/daughter reunion with Livia, and you have the makings for an angst filled story.