Sunrise
by Melissa B, Jennifer Ferris, and Laura W.
Disclaimer: All characters herein belong to Paramount. We're nicer to them, but we'll give them back anyway. After the story.
Author's Note (Laura W): I wrote the opening section of "Sunrise" several years ago, with no real thoughts about how I wanted it to end. As time passed I felt less and less connection with the story, and so had no qualms about giving it away to JetC12 to finish. I never imagined the story Jen and Melissa would come up with could be so lovely and touching. Huge thanks to them both for taking my clunky opening and turning it into something beautiful.
Author's Note (Melissa B): Jen and I were hard pressed to match the lovely lightness of Laura's opening. We wrote our bits and rewrote so often I don't know what belongs to who anymore...but we offer it up for your reading enjoyment. Thanks to Laura for trusting us with it.
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"Kathryn?"
She struggled up through layers of sleep, unwillingly.
"Are you awake?"
It was easier back on the ship; a voice in her ear urging her to wake up meant a crisis was brewing somewhere, and so she'd better snap to it. But here, where crisis usually meant nothing more serious than a lack of fresh fruit for breakfast, it was harder to force herself to full wakefulness.
"Wake up, Kathryn..." The voice itself didn't help, either, soft, hesitant, a little earnest, but not enough to startle her awake. He'd have better luck, she mused, if he were a bit more forceful. Stamp his booted feet, or maybe walk to the bed and shake her shoulder. But that voice -- low and intense, whisper-soft. So quiet she could almost pretend she hadn't heard, and go back to sleep.
"Kathryn..."
With a sigh she opened her eyes. Blinked once, twice, a frown crossing Her features. "What the hell time is it?" She strained her eyes until she could see him silhouetted in the faint light from the half-open door.
"An hour before sunrise." He shifted from foot to foot and the floor creaked beneath him, an eerie sound in the darkness. "It's stopped raining."
"It has?" She raised herself on her elbows and peered out the window. A light mist clung to the ground and she could see last night's rain still glistening on the bushes and leaves, but no new rain fell. She closed her eyes and heard, for the first time in days, the stirrings of birds in the treetops instead of the pounding of rain on the roof. "So quiet," she whispered, unwilling to disturb the pre-dawn hush.
"I know -- that's what woke me up. The silence."
She turned back to him and wondered if he could see her smile in the dimness. "So you thought it was only fair to wake me, too?"
His smile was unmistakable. "Something like that."
"How very thoughtful of you."
"Actually," he said, leaning casually against the partition, "I'm going to watch the sunrise. Would you like to come?"
She threw off the blanket and slipped to her feet. "Give me five minutes to get dressed."
He nodded once and withdrew from her alcove.
Without turning on a light she pulled on trousers and boots, shouldered into a relatively dry sweatshirt. She reached for a brush but decided against taking the time to tidy her hair. Better to just pull it into a ponytail and be done with it, since there were precious few moments left before the sun would rise over the eastern horizon. She grabbed a waterproof jacket as an afterthought -- likely Chakotay would lead her on a short hike through the woods, and there was bound to be some dampness still dripping from the trees.
When she emerged from her alcove she found him perched on the edge of the table, arms folded across his chest, waiting for her. He appraised her from head to foot; she saw his eyes linger on the ponytail, a small frown crossing his face. She noted for the hundredth time how easy it was to read him here, wondered if his emotions were clear to her because she had become more adept at deciphering his expressions, or because he felt less need to hide his feelings.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Ready."
He reached behind him and handed her his blanket, taken from his bed and folded neatly. "To sit on," he explained.
"It'll get wet."
"It'll dry."
Again he reached back, this time shrugging himself into his knapsack while she stuffed the blanket into her own.
She nodded toward his bulging knapsack. "What's that?"
"Breakfast."
She smiled to herself, suspecting hunger had roused him from his bed as much as the sudden silence of the first morning in a week without rain. Often she had heard him in the middle of the night, prowling from his alcove to the kitchen in search of food; often the smell of something wonderful being prepared had lured her from her bed as well, led her to him and to the sharing of a late-night snack.
His knapsack comfortably secured, he turned and headed out of the shelter, his footsteps light and even. She followed, closing the door softly behind her.
The air was still heavy and damp with many days' rain, but overhead she could see stars among the last thin wisps of clouds. A pretty day in the making, she thought, like a warm spring day on Earth. The sky to the east was brightening by the moment, obscuring the stars even as she watched.
"How far are we going?" she asked. "The sun -- "
"Not far. We have a little time." He held a branch aside for her so that she wouldn't be showered with raindrops. "I know the perfect place."
"I'm sure you do," she said dryly, shaking her head with amusement, even affection, when his steps turned into the deepest part of the forest.
So predictable, she thought. Sometimes he was so predictable that she Could anticipate his words, his reactions, his every movement. Occasionally he could take her by surprise -- by stealing a shuttlecraft or presenting her with a handmade gift or telling her an old legend. But often his actions followed a pattern, one composed of equal parts courage and loyalty, integrity and respect. And lately she'd discovered more -- quirky humor, joy in the simplicity of their life on the planet, quiet awe at the beauty of their surroundings. Serenity, gentleness, warmth --
She was so absorbed in thinking of him in the abstract that she was not prepared to contend with his physical reality. She slammed into his back and stumbled on the mossy underbrush, still slippery with rain.
"What is it?"
"Shhhhh. Look." He reached back and touched her arm, grasped her fingers and pulled her forward beside him. At first she could not see whatever it was he pointed at, but then her eyes seized on the slight movement in front of them.
There were two of them, ash-colored creatures with long necks and spindly legs, grazing in the clearing less than three meters away. Their movement was uncannily familiar to her, and brought back memories of camping trips with her family.
"They look like deer," she whispered. The larger one turned doe-eyes toward them, its sharp ears twitching forward at the sound of her voice. Kathryn caught her breath, not wanting to frighten the creatures away. Soon the animal blinked and shook its head a little in a very human gesture, and went back to its grazing. Kathryn suppressed a giggle.
Chakotay squeezed her fingers lightly and she turned to him, catching his smile. He pointed with his chin and she followed his gaze. "The little one's going to foal soon," he murmured.
Indeed, the smaller creature moved heavily through the underbrush and over the rocks and fallen logs. The larger one, her mate, Kathryn realized, looked back at her from time to time, waiting for her to catch up to him. Kathryn knew she was impressing human values and behaviors on the creatures, but she nevertheless found the animals' concern for each other touching.
Chakotay gently pulled her forward. "Maybe we can get a little closer."
They moved through the underbrush until the creatures became nervous. The smaller one lifted her head to sniff the air, inhaled once and bolted into the forest, her mate following close behind.
Chakotay sighed and straightened. "Our scent must be very unfamiliar to them," he said, a little regretfully.
"Maybe we'll see them again."
"Maybe. We'll have to watch for them."
He shifted the knapsack on his back and looked up at the sky. "Not long now. Come on." He gave her hand another small squeeze and started off into the forest again. Held her hand in his for a long time, until the trees grew too close together for them to walk side by side.
. . .
"Are you all right?"
"What?" Kathryn's head jerked up to meet the startled eyes of her First Officer, and then back down to their clasped hands. She stared at their joined fingers for several seconds before letting go, unable to believe she'd reached out for him in the first place. And marveling for the first time in years how well they fit together. Her heart was pounding and she looked away quickly, wishing he wouldn't ask again. Especially since she had no answers for the obvious questions.
"Are you all right?" he repeated. Good old predictable Chakotay, she thought, knowing she was being unfair. If you were walking through the woods looking for edible vegetation with your superior officer and they reached out and grabbed your hand, you'd be pretty damn surprised too, Kathryn, she chided herself. You can't blame him for wondering.
"I--" She opened her mouth, prepared to utter any of a hundred possible excuses, and then closed it again. She turned her head sideways, watching the water drip off the trees, and then up, feeling the morning sun's warmth on her face. This place was heavy with memories it did not hold. It was nearly identical in terrain, in climate, in vegetation to the planet she did not allow herself to think of very often. New Earth.
It was only a strange twist of fate that they had beamed down, here, just after sunrise, when the earth was heavy with the previous day's rainfall. Only a strange twist of fate that she had split the group into sections and that the rest of their unit, Delly Goldschmidt and Tom Cartwright, had wandered off into another part of the woods, leaving their Captain and Commander to walk alone.
No.
Somewhere in the middle of her memory, the Captain had walked away too.
It had been Kathryn that had reached out for Chakotay's hand, and Kathryn was someone neither had seen in a very long time. She looked back at Chakotay, waiting patiently next to her, curiosity and mild concern mingling in his gaze.
"I wonder if there are any deer here," she said quietly.
It only took seconds for the grin to light his face in shared recollection. "There aren't any apples for you to feed them this time."
"Those were my apples, Chakotay. I had every right to share them with whoever I wanted."
"Whomever, Kathryn," he laughed. "You could have shared one with me."
"I shared everything else," she said, and they both froze.
The words were already spoken. They couldn't be banished as quickly as the actions, the memories had been.
. . .
"I'm so glad you woke me up," she said softly.
"You didn't look very glad when you first opened your eyes." She could feel his grin as much as hear it, even though he sat just behind her. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing the way it curved his cheeks, before turning her head slightly to see.
"I was up late."
"I told you the coffee would get to you sooner or later."
"Wasn't the coffee. I had some disturbing dreams."
His eyes darkened a little, knowingly. "They're fine, Kathryn."
"I know." Her chest rose and fell, heavily, once. "But I can't shut off two years of worrying about them. Not yet. Not completely."
She looked away, and jumped slightly when his hands curved around her shoulders gently. Chakotay sat, motionless, waiting for her to react, expecting that she would pull away. Almost imperceptibly, she moved closer to him, and he slipped behind her, pulling her back to settle against his chest. Her head fell back against his neck, and her hair tickled at his nose. He brought one hand up to move it away and she caught it, held it to her.
Rose and gold streaked across the sky.
. . .
"I'm sorry," she finally said. At his questioning eyebrow, she continued, "I'm sorry--for forgetting."
"You didn't forget, Kathryn," his voice was very quiet. "You set it aside."
"Chakotay, I--"
He held up a hand. "It's not a criticism. I can't fault you for being who you are, on the ship." This time it was Chakotay who looked away. "I just wish there had been room for the sunrises, too. Regret shadowed his profile as he stared off into the trees. "They were beautiful."
Kathryn swallowed, words fighting to release themselves, choking each other against her throat. She would have caught the actual meaning of his words even if she hadn't known him as well as she did, even if she was incapable of reading his every expression, his every gesture. He had always been the open one in the pair.
Pair.
How long had it been since she had thought of them that way? Leaders of a team, certainly, heads of a family. But there were always others around, always voices to be heard besides their own. It had been a long time since she had allowed the realization to surface. The realization that they were matched, in many ways. Kathryn and Chakotay. Captain and Commander. Friends, and long ago...
A pair.
"They were beautiful," she heard herself agreeing. Slowly, Chakotay turned back towards her, and she held her breath, waiting for his response.
Disappointment slid into her stomach as he just nodded, looking down at her, his expression masked. She didn't know what she expected him to do--she had spent two years rebuffing any attempt he made to get close to her, letting him in for weeks at a time and then pushing him away again. There had been a time when she thought their friendship would not survive their difference of opinion over the Borg. There were still moments when she thought their separate thoughts about Seven would always drive a wedge between them. Did she expect him to open himself again, just because she had gotten wrapped up in a memory she had forbidden either of them to talk about?
Here, in the dawning of this planet's day, it seemed easy enough to return to those feelings. It would be simple, really, to take his hand again, to talk about the rest of that day. And the weeks that had followed.. To let him talk about them, more importantly. To welcome Kathryn and Chakotay back into both of their lives.
Kathryn had been left behind, long ago.
. . .
The sun was halfway up the sky when she woke. Chakotay was still behind her, his hands clasped loosely around her waist. He was leaning against the tree that had sheltered them. They'd both fallen back to sleep, lulled by the beauty that surrounded them here.
She marveled at how lucky they were. To be stranded, alone, on a lonely planet in the Delta Quadrant...it could have been desolate and wrenching. But it wasn't. It was beautiful. Kathryn stirred slightly, snuggling back into Chakotay's arms. Letting herself relax, though it went against her very nature. They'd been here for over two months. He had asked nothing of her, except to share her days. She couldn't seem to let go of her tensions, her worries. Her captaincy. It didn't exist any more.
But she couldn't let go. Couldn't manage, quite, to live in the now.
Chakotay had that gift. To embrace his life: to accept what is. Kathryn wasn't as good at it. His gift to her, this very morning...she'd asked him about it, while they sat, watching the sun. "How did you know I wouldn't be angry?"
"At waking you up? I didn't."
"But you did it anyway."
"I wanted to share this with you," he said simply.
"Do you know how long it's been since I just...enjoyed a sunrise? Just because it was. No agenda, no demands, no responsibilities."
"I can guess," Chakotay murmured into her hair. "Even now. Even here. You don't...let go," he said carefully.
She twisted, to look up into his face. Then slid back into his embrace, cradled against his chest, both of them watching the sun as it rose, gently, above the line of trees. His words, cautiously chosen, still sounded accusing to her. "I can't change who I am."
"No." She could feel him shake his head. "And you shouldn't. I would never want that. I just..." Again the denial, and the hesitation.
She squeezed his hands, folded loosely over her. "I've never had time. There has always been an agenda."
"Self-created." A wry smile in his voice.
"Perhaps." She leaned back against him, enjoying the solid warmth he offered. "There's always been something I needed to do. The next thing, and the next. I'm not good at...just letting be."
"Ah, Kathryn..." she could feel him smiling. "Maybe there's something I can teach you after all."
"Maybe." He could hear her smile, too. "Then do it."
"What?"
"Teach me." Her 'red alert' voice. If she were standing, her hands would be on her hips. Captain mode.
His laughter broke out. "Gods...this woman! Yes, ma'am. Right away, ma'am." He lifted her shoulders, turned her to face him. "Lesson number one."
Indulgent, Kathryn waited. Chakotay sighed. "All right. Close your eyes."
"What?" she lifted an eyebrow dubiously.
"Trust me," he said.
"Okay," she nodded, and closed her eyes obediently. He reached out, brushing his fingers over her cheekbones, her eyelids. "Now." He settled himself more comfortably against the tree, lifting her slightly with him, settling her once again to rest with her back against his chest. "You're not cheating, are you?"
"I never cheat."
"I know." A gentle undercurrent warmed his voice. "Are you comfortable?"
"So far." She rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder.
"Good." His voice was low and she felt it, rather than heard it. "Keep your eyes closed."
"Um hmm."
"Feel the sun on your face." He brushed her hair back with his fingers. Concentrating as she was on senses other the visual, his touch was sensual and disturbing. "Let it bathe your skin. It's a gift, if you decide to accept it."
One level of her mind watched them both, analyzing. Was he speaking of the sun, or of more? Stop it, she told herself. He's showing you something. He's sharing something. Accept it.
"Think of it," he whispered. "Every sunrise is a new beginning. A chance to start again, once each day. A gift from a star, millions of miles from here. For you to accept."
Kathryn stirred, rolling her head against his shoulder, eyes still closed.
"Take a deep breath. Again. Don't pay attention to me, don't pay attention to anything. Don't pay. Just breathe. Feel the sun on your face, the air in your lungs, the scent on the breeze."
Impressions assaulted her, as she eased herself, trying to listen, trying not to analyze. It was against her nature.
"No, it's not," he answered the thought she had not spoken. "It's not unscientific. It's not useless. It is. This is." He squeezed her hand briefly, then brought it down to the leaves, urged her to pick one up.
"Breathe," he urged her. "Absorb what is."
"I..."
He held up one hand, asking her to wait. "Let me finish. I'm not being profound here. I'm not urging you to overcome anything. I just ask you to...learn to see. To...be, Kathryn."
They sat quietly, absorbing the early rays of the sun, both of them with faces turned upward, she resting in his arms. Finally Chakotay shifted. "Kathryn. Shh, don't speak," he said, whispering. "Turn slowly. Look." There, nestled against the trees less than two meters away, stood the doe-like creature and her mate.
The four of them, humans and four-legged mammals of this planet, regarded each other gently, testing, surveying each other. Chakotay's arms tightened around Kathryn, but he did not speak.
Finally, obeying some impulse the humans didn't recognize, the little mammalian creatures shook themselves, trotting away without a backward glance. "Oh," Kathryn breathed.
"Hmm?"
"They didn't object, this time," she smiled. "They weren't afraid. I wish I..."
"What?"
"Nothing." Sighing, she stretched and stood up. "Nothing."
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