PART SIXTEEN: AS TIME GOES BY
Two weeks later.
Kathryn watched as Icheb and Ethan mingled with the crowd at the Academy open day for senior students. Icheb, always painfully correct yet strangely shy, and Ethan, the quintessential loner who had to learn, like taking baby steps, to become comfortable in a crowd again. Ethan, bless his heart, was trying very hard to be natural, but his hair was such a distinctive feature that it was impossible not to be noticed. She could see how he endured their stares - good-naturedly, she hoped - as well as their unabashed curiosity, not only in him as Ethan Bellamy, but as the companion of Admiral Janeway. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and her heart spread with warmth. She was proud to be seen with him, proud to be his companion, just plain proud of him.
She had learned as much from him as he had from her, and during the last months, since his restoration, she had allowed him to read her ship's logs and some private logs.
"You remind me of Odysseus, Janeway."
She had grown sad when he said that.
"Many times in the beginning, during the debriefings and court-martial, I felt like him, like I wanted to wash up on a distant shore and just lie there at the water's edge. I wanted the water to lift me and carry me away again where I didn't have to move, to think..."
"I understand that a man can reach a point where his journey becomes futile, where the destination no longer matters because such a man has lost faith. What kept you going, Kathryn?"
"My duty, I suppose," she had replied, reflectively. "Being responsible for a decision I made in the first place, of stranding my crew in the Delta Quadrant..." A long silence had ensued in which Ethan waited, waited for her to speak. "Regretting that action, having to learn to believe that it was the right thing I had done. Mostly, I suppose, believing in my decisions. I made a promise, Ethan, that I would bring them home."
"It wore you down, but I can see it never robbed you of your humanity. I am amazed at what you have achieved. So much, so many adventures, so many times you fought tooth and nail for the crew's survival. Reaching…breaking point…"
"Well, it's over and I don't think I miss it."
"Oh, yes, you do. After seven years of intense exploration, doing double shifts and triple shifts and facing danger around every corner, you come home with suddenly nothing to do. You find yourself in a vacuum of silence, thinking that you will grow mad. Now you do nothing except sit behind a desk and send me flowers. The Legend of Voyager leading a simple life."
"Ethan! I'm happier now than I have been in a while, thanks to you. Don't spoil it. You want to read about the female Q?"
"Ah, Picard's pain-in-the-neck Omnipotent had a mate?"
"Hmmm..."
"And she found herself cuckolded because Q fell for you."
"Ethan, dear..."
"Yes, Kathryn, dear?"
"Men are cuckolded, not women."
"My point exactly."
She had fallen neatly into the trap Ethan had set for her, without him ever mentioning Chakotay's name. Kathryn remembered how unhappy Chakotay had felt at the time and how Q ridiculed him. Those days…her fortunes were so inextricably tied with Chakotay's.
Ethan had relished reading Voyager's adventures when he wasn't writing or playing the cello or walking the dogs.
"This will make for a good story..." he had said one day.
"What?"
"Here, your experiences with the Vidiians. Very advanced medical technology. B'Elanna Torres becoming two completely separate persons - fully Klingon and fully human. Think of the terrible struggle for identity! I'd call the story Face Value."
"You're thinking of a new story? Already?"
"Well, Janeway, just reading about your absolutely astounding adventures... I was hoping they would inspire something."
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"Yes. There I was, thinking you'd go with me to the holosuites at Headquarters so we could play Velocity..."
"Soon, Janeway. Don't tempt me from my hiding place."
"And no using me as a sounding board for your latest story idea?"
"Not…yet…"
Yes, it had been good being with Ethan. He was still as acerbic as ever, but with her it was always softened by his tenderness. She wanted him no other way. These days, her heart fluttered whenever she thought of him.
Ethan had been overwhelmed by Icheb's request that he represent the young cadet.
Now Ethan and Icheb were together, like father and son.
Icheb was indeed like a son to her and her heart had burst with pride when she and Ethan had viewed his papers as well as listened to men like Admiral Paris singing his praises. Already so far ahead in the academic field, Icheb's science award was well deserved.
Ethan looked…fatherly, she decided. Fatherly and proud. Rourke would have been eighteen now and if he had chosen to enter the Academy, would have conducted himself with the same pride she saw Icheb displaying towards Ethan. They had become close since Ethan's radical transformation from Borg to human.
The night of the anniversary ball and dinner, when she had seen Icheb leave their table, Ethan had looked surprised to the point of distress. Late that evening at her home, he had told her how he had felt 'damned proud' to be honoured in such a way.
"There's a strange pull..." he had mused.
"Icheb's nanoprobes are in your body, Ethan," she had replied sagely, to which he was quick to retort.
"Indeed, Admiral. As you very well know, some of my blood was transfused into young Icheb. I believe you used the term commensalism…"
"You don't seem terribly put out by it. You are both benefiting, Bellamy. Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you want to say 'thank you…'"
"Did I mention that I like Icheb, with or without nanoprobes and sharing of blood?"
It had been good talking again. He had been sitting on her bed; she had been drowsy with fatigue and the excitement of the evening, one that had threatened to end in disaster. They had literally kissed and made up, for she had been terrified of losing another friend, of losing what they had. Ethan, she guessed, had felt the same and his remorse had been real.
She had been walking on a cloud since the night they kissed at her home in Indiana. Ethan had groaned his pleasure in their touches that seemed to last forever. Hungry mouths and hands that roamed over hungry bodies, unable to assuage their passion, kept urging for more. She had tasted him, the sense of drowning so strong that he must have felt the same. They had clung to one another in a stormy sea. He was her anchor and she was his. Her fingers had caressed his silver hair as he kept her imprisoned - joyous prison! - in his arms. Soft gasps and moans followed by the unbelievably gentle caress of his lips against hers, against her hair, her eyes, her cheeks, her neck, then finally, claiming her mouth again. She had wanted to die from the pleasure of those heated touches. When she had wanted more, to touch him where his arousal had pressed against her, Ethan stopped her, his hand gently covering hers.
His eyes had been ablaze with passion, yet they were tempered by an unknown force, a spring deep inside him that demanded caution, or consideration, or concern... She had marveled that he could exercise such control.
"I need for us to have time, Kathryn," he had said in a low, hoarse voice. "Let me have time, okay?"
In retrospect, she had been glad that they decided not to consummate what was still so new, so unexplored. She could understand Ethan's reticence, even her own, for the shift in her affections from Chakotay to Ethan was still evolving. She still valued her friendship with Chakotay, still needed that contact between them. Was friendship something that would be sacrificed because she didn't love Chakotay anymore? She was still filled with ambivalent feelings, and although she knew where she wanted to go with Ethan, she didn't want to lose Chakotay as a friend.
"I'd like for us to be absolutely sure too," she had said, voicing his thoughts, sensing that a commitment such as he was envisaging was a lifelong one, one without the baggage of past relationships clouding their union.
She thought how she had been in love with Chakotay for so long, and look where it had ended: on a heap of ash. She thought that loving Chakotay forever was going to be the cross she would bear for the rest of her life.
It wasn't a chance she wanted to take again, and Ethan, bless him, felt the same. She had a sneaking suspicion that he thought she still had residual feelings for Chakotay and he had been right. A friendship was a precious thing and she didn't want to lose that with Chakotay.
During the past two weeks, she and Ethan had explored their new dimension, and when they had gone back to Beaver's Lodge, Ethan had immediately sought his cello, cloaked himself around it like a long lost love and stirringly played Haydn and Boccherini for her until he was spent.
The weekend of the anniversary ball, they had decided to remain at Indiana and had collected the dogs the following morning from the Ayala boys, a move that had the younger boy Peter, almost in tears. But the dogs had been excited as they spotted Ethan and refused to be separated from their new master.
On the Sunday afternoon, she had decided to visit her mother's grave.
Kathryn smiled tenderly as she remembered that day at the cemetery. In the distance they could see a lone figure standing at the graves of her parents.
"Who is that there?" Ethan had asked.
But Kathryn had recognised her immediately, drawn to the hauntingly familiar outline, the hair golden bronze like her own. The woman's eyes, Kathryn knew, were liquid brown, like their mother's…
"Phoebe…"
Her heart had raced as she slowly, cautiously approached her sister while Ethan had remained in the background with the dogs. Phoebe had appeared quite forlorn and when she had looked up, her eyes were heavy with unshed tears. The small bouquet of white flowers she had clutched in her hands was gripped tighter, so tightly that the blooms crushed and broke from their stems, drifting soundlessly to the rich turf.
Oh, God… Don't let her keep hating me…
A long silence had ensued. Phoebe had looked down once, and Kathryn imagined she was staring at the inscription on the gravestone. Then she gazed with her teary, sad, sad eyes at Kathryn and her lips had trembled, as if she were going to burst into tears.
"Mom wouldn't have wanted me to hate you…" Phoebe had said, her voice hollow, pained. There were dark circles under her eyes. She had looked tired, too thin, hungry…
"And Phoebe?" Kathryn asked after a heavy pause, holding her breath. "What does Phoebe want?".
"I…have been without rest the last year. I kept seeing your eyes that day I lashed out at you, how they shattered. Later, I thought it wasn't your eyes that broke into pieces, but your heart."
"I am sorry, Phoebe, that you have suffered too. I didn't know…"
It felt as if fear had begun crawling all over her skin again as she waited for her sister to respond.
"I was the one who didn't understand. I still don't understand much, but please…I don't hate you. I can't. I - "
"What is it, Phoebe?"
"I have no family. I need…you…"
"You have me, Phoebe. You've always had me…"
Kathryn looked down suddenly, unable to bear the pain in her sister's eyes. The petals that had drifted to the ground blurred as her eyes burned with unshed tears. How was it that she had never noticed that they were strewn in the formation of a cross? A tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped at it with the back of her hand.
"You don't know how it was, Kathryn. She - " There was a catch in Phoebe's voice, a sob. "It's hard living in your shadow… Later I pretended there wasn't a shadow, but I was fooling myself. The shadow followed me everywhere I went, every time I saw Mother. She didn't see me, you know? Mother wanted you… I was just an artist living like a bohemian…"
Kathryn had felt a tightness in her chest, the darkness closing in again. She recalled the day Phoebe had destroyed her, remembering how she couldn't emerge from the shadows. Those demons rushed back at her, taunting her with tentacles that touched her face with malicious intention. Then she had turned slowly to look for Ethan. The moment her eyes had found him, her breathing had settled again. His presence had been reassuring. She faced her sister once more, the strength returning to her.
"I would have given anything, Phoebe, anything, if you had only smiled at me when I came home, if you had welcomed me the way I saw other sisters hug. I know I should have kept in contact with you, never let you out of my sight. I too, should have known…"
Harsh words had been said that day when they beamed down from Voyager. Words that had eaten into Phoebe's conscience, it seemed. They were alike, in that sense. Words said in haste, hurtful words never meant to be spoken, then to repent in the aftermath of that painful exchange. They were sisters, of the same blood. She should have known that Phoebe struggled too. She should have gone after Phoebe. But then, those first months… Her world had been dark. She had been recovering…
"My behaviour towards you…it was unpardonable, Kathryn. I don't know how you can forgive me. I have lived with the thought that you never will… Mother...I have tried to make my peace, but it eludes me..."
Kathryn thought how Ethan had said the same thing to her.
"Your behaviour was understandable. I would dearly love for us to be sisters again, Phoebe. I have missed you… You are right. Mom wouldn't have wanted us to be enemies, to hate one another."
"I’ve missed you too. Every day. But I was too proud, too afraid to make contact again. The last year… I have been miserable and lonely. Forgive me, Kathryn. Those words… They were the ramblings of a jealous, deranged sister."
"No. They were the words that spoke of a world of hurt, of a grieving sister. What is there to forgive? If I cannot gift you with that blessing, then I am nothing."
Phoebe had fallen into her arms; dry-eyed, they had hugged, briefly, fiercely. When they had broken apart, Kathryn had taken Phoebe's hand and she had seen how the light had returned to her sister's eyes. She herself felt lighter.
"Come, there is someone I'd like you to meet."
And so Phoebe had met Ethan and the moment they shook hands, Phoebe declared, "I saw you…"
To which Ethan's mouth curved mockingly when he replied, "Must have been my hair."
"No, you were most interested in one of my paintings…the exhibition…Paris…four years ago…"
"Ah, Paris. Bellamy was coaxed out of hiding by the work of a gifted artist."
"I am? I did?"
Phoebe glowed, her face alive at last, as Kathryn remembered her in the days of their youth. She remembered how she had been the one envious of her sister's gift, how she burned to paint like Phoebe, how Phoebe had won every award for fine art since her sixth year… Now, Phoebe believed she had no gift.
"You'd better believe it," Ethan had replied. "I viewed a painting you did of your mother and sister... Very...telling..."
"It was the only one I didn't sell."
Phoebe had looked at her, shadows flitting in her eyes again as she remembered something painful. But soon the shadows were gone and joy replaced her grief. In that moment Kathryn that it was possible that Gretchen Janeway was looking down on her two daughters, at last friends again.
"I tried to buy it," Ethan had said, "but you wouldn't let anyone touch it."
A smile transformed Phoebe's pale features.
"Kathryn, your friend is sensational."
"I know, Phoebe. I know…"
"The painting is yours, Kathryn."
Kathryn had taken the painting and positioned it above the hearth in the lounge of the old farmhouse. They had spent a few hours together, precious hours in which they bonded again as sisters. However, Phoebe was still reluctant to talk much of the years Kathryn had been away, but she had been open enough to declare how she had missed the connection between them, that there were things they could do together again. Kathryn was hopeful that they could talk. She had been given an open invitation to visit Phoebe in Paris, and Phoebe had promised to visit them at Beaver's Lodge.
Phoebe had left on the Sunday night for Paris. Kathryn had slept peacefully for the first time in months.
*
Kathryn was brought back to the present when she heard Ethan and Icheb approaching, their conversation reaching her as if from a great distance. She smiled as she took in their pleased looks, happy for both of them that they'd become so close. Icheb had sensed that he would bond with Ethan, and Kathryn wondered absently if this was destiny playing a part in Ethan's healing. Icheb's own parents were far away, no longer interested in their son whom they'd used as a time bomb, and had wanted to use him as such again, against the Borg. Every fibre in Kathryn's being had cried out in outrage against such disgrace and violation of their son's rights. Ethan had been just as outraged when he heard Icheb's story.
"I think now is as good a time as any, young man," Ethan replied to something Icheb said as they stopped in front of her.
"Right now?"
"Well, you asked and you know Admiral Janeway. You started this, you finish it."
"I…guess, I did," Icheb replied, looking embarrassed and strangely proud.
"So…what is it you two want to ask me?" Kathryn asked.
"No, not me," Ethan said quickly, pointing to Icheb. "He has a question."
"And I assume you know what it is?"
"Kathryn..."
"Okay, Icheb, what is your question?"
Icheb looked flustered. Was he blushing? When he had asked her to represent him at the open day, he had been direct, unwavering. Was he catching up with being human? Ethan jabbed Icheb in the ribs. The young man hiccoughed.
"Commander Bellamy has given his approval. Now I await yours, Admiral Janeway."
"Eh?"
"I would very much like to adopt you as my parents, Admiral Janeway and Commander Bellamy. See, I have none here in the Alpha Quadrant… Indeed, I have none. Since James has adopted Lieutenant Gilmore as his mother and calls her such, the thought of having someone... Well, I thought I would - "
"Icheb!"
"Admiral?"
"Yes. Okay?"
Could the handsome young man look even more attractive in his confusion and joy? He gave a relieved laugh and touched her arm.
"Okay."
***************
May 2380
Spring was in the air and Oregon was springing to life. Everywhere around them were signs of birth and rebirth - flowers appeared to peep out from their crown of leaves to confirm that it was time to show their full bloom. If she closed her eyes and cocked her head just a little, she could hear the beavers splashing about in the stream nearby. Above Elgar's Adagio charmingly enticed from the strings, the woodland larks joined in harmonious counterpoint, giving the movement greater, deeper spirit. Even the trees appeared pert, greener, shaking their branches so stealthily one had to look hard to detect their movement, yet one knew that they swayed to the cadence of the music.
Mostly, Kathryn realised, it was the smell of grass, rain soaked grass bruised by the hooves of deer that wandered occasionally on the property, that instilled in her peace.
She thought of Wordsworth's Tintern Abbey, feeling like the poet who came back after so many years to seek out the place most revered by him, the place that most imbued him with beauty, reminded him most of peacefulness, of rest, of his childhood, of good memories.
Somehow, Beaver's Lodge had become that for her, and not only because it was Ethan's home. She had woken up from a deep, dark, tormented dream to sense the beauty of this place, the first light in her gloomy existence.
They were now the proud parents of two grown dogs they called Conor and Keira, as well as one Starfleet cadet – Icheb – who had decided that the last name of Janeway-Bellamy sounded very distinguished. While they hadn’t formally validated their relationship, Icheb swore that it would only be a matter of time until he and his parents formed a closer union. Kathryn loved Icheb and if anything, Ethan loved him even more. Ethan had been a father before and the capacity for loving Icheb as his own son was as intense and great as it would have been had Rourke and Piers still been alive.
Ethan was playing, bent in deep concentration over his cello. Today it was Elgar and the bow slid effortlessly over the strings, eliciting the mellow, silky tones that always moved her, more so than a violin. There was so much character in the sound of Elgar that filled the air and absorbed her senses. Ethan never looked up, even when her footsteps sounded on the wooden floorboard as she entered the deck through the French doors to sit in her chair in the opposite corner. She was reading Songs of a Wayfarer again, and now, after he had told her his story of Mel and the boys, of his assimilation, of their fate, of Mel's lack of understanding of and interest in his art, the novel took on a new meaning. Every paragraph laid new emphasis on the key character's quest for understanding, to have the deepest emotion within him understood. The novel was Ethan's story, she guessed, and with it came the realisation that it would achieve greater dimension if the reader knew the man.
To Ethan, the man and the artist were inseparable, and to understand the artist, she had to know the man. It afforded her an insight into Henry F. Marchand that was rare, a deep privilege, an honour which so far, he still had accorded only to her. She smiled tenderly as he let the bow caress the Adagio - the third, balmy movement - so effortlessly. If anyone else was going to know about Henry F. Marchand, it was Phoebe. She had sensed something more to Ethan Bellamy than just a former Starfleet officer who had told her that her Mother and Daughter painting was more insightful than she had intended.
"Kathryn, I've read Henry F. Marchland's work. I could swear he's Ethan Bellamy..."
"Perhaps you should ask him," she had told her sister.
"His insight is...painful, if you know what I mean. And no one knows where Henry Marchand is. I've tried..."
Many had tried. Ethan's publishers remained silent about his identity. Now, several months after their reconciliation, Phoebe had hit the mark.
"I'm just going to pretend he is. There's no other way," she told Kathryn.
"Phoebe, he doesn't want anyone to know..."
A light of understanding had gone up in Phoebe's eyes.
"I'm honoured to know him, Kathryn," Phoebe had stated quietly. "You have my confidence..."
Now with spring in the air, Ethan had been restless, finding calm only in his music and the continuation of his novel. He was over the critical period when, in previous years, he feared his mutation into a Borg drone. She sensed his unease, and through her comfort, her presence, her quiet reassurance, he had overcome his restlessness. Despite the EMH's guarantee that his recovery was permanent, Ethan had dreaded spring. But he was over it now. Together, they treasured their most special moments in evenings when they lay together on his bed, or hers, just holding hands, but often exchanging feather-light kisses. Ethan never spoke; his joy about his recovery, the relief that he wouldn't change into something else were shared mostly through his music. One morning she had woken up - it was 0500 - and heard him play on the deck. She hadd pulled on her robe, stepped into her soft slippers and lounged against the jamb of the French door, watching him. The light had just touched the horizon, swelling from deep indigo and gradually painting the great canvas of the sky deep blue.
He had been playing Variations on a theme by Paganini, the upbeat sound, the playful mood which at times characterised the piece were more an indication of his state of mind than anything else. More than ever, she had realised how Mélisande could have felt left out.
Kathryn sighed. In the last months, Ethan had refused to share with her anything of his progress with The Raging Moon.
"I'm doing a major rewrite..." was all he had told her.
"What?" She had been shocked, unable to grasp why he would do that.
"You heard me, Janeway. I do drafts, then I do drafts until I'm satisfied something works."
"But h-how could you change something already so good?" she had stammered.
"Janeway," Ethan began, "do you know how many scenes I took out of A Thousand Voices? And Warrior Mine? You don't? Let me tell you. A Thousand Voices had fifteen scenes and two chapters taken out, and not because the publishers demanded it. I did. It's the creative process, sweetheart. It takes a hell of a lot of courage to take out something you thought should have been left in. What you've seen and shared with The Raging Moon was only the first draft, which I, the writer, might completely rewrite as I deem fit or appropriate to the situation."
"In other words," she had countered, finding her equilibrium after his shock announcement, "you're waiting for something to happen?"
"In a manner of speaking. The Raging Moon is waiting for scenes to write themselves."
"Never heard of such bunkum," she had told him, only to be graced by a sardonic stare, a lift of his ubiquitous whisky snifter and a nod.
"Same characters?" she had persisted after a short pause.
"Yes. Different destinies..."
And with that she had to be content. While she had been privy to the characters he created for the story, their lives and loves, their destinies had always remained a mystery to her. Yet, changing their destinies, changing in fact, the story, shattered her for a few moments, leaving her to stew in her own acute disappointment.
She had to realise that she wasn't the one writing the story.
"I'll let you read the story when it's complete, Kathryn," he said in an attempt to appease her. "In manuscript form."
"Before publication?" she had asked stupidly.
"Before publication," had been his cryptic response.
She had snorted angrily and then had gone to her room to paint, the result of her fuming splashed in confusion all over the canvas. Ethan had come in hours later and looked at the painting.
"You're mad at me."
She had been sitting on the bed staring at the muddle that was her creation, wishing the angry swipes of colour would just go away by themselves.
"Not anymore," had been her dour reply.
”By the sound of your voice, you need to give your canvas a few extra strokes."
He hadn't anticipated that she'd throw the small mug she had been holding, and it flew like a projectile through the air before it hit him against the shoulder. He had given a mock cry.
"Yes, definitely a few more strokes. You missed a spot here...and here..."
The next moment she had flown off the bed and lunged at him. Ethan had just laughed as he picked her effortlessly off the floor, calmly walked back to the bed and thrown her down on it. Green, green eyes had gazed hotly into hers, the moment lingering until he breathed at last, his voice almost sounding hollow.
"I still see your warrior there in your painting, Kathryn..."
"Maybe I'm mad at him too," she had responded unkindly.
He had gotten up abruptly and left her room. She only saw him the next morning, at breakfast, where he had been sitting at the table, drinking whisky. Not saying a word, he pointed to the place opposite him. He had fixed her breakfast. She had known that afterwards, just as she had known that silently, they would gather their climbing gear and head for Mount Coniston, elevation two thousand metres, with its rugged steep cliffs, crevices, and narrow ridges.
And so they had made it to the top of the mountain, where they found a small flat surface to sit down. When her breathing had settled at last, the burning sensation of exertion finally relieved, she had looked at him. Ethan had been staring over the grand vista that was Curry County - beautiful, rugged, elemental.
"I'm sorry about last night," she had said quietly, not looking at him.
"Yeah, I'm sorry too, Kathryn."
Only then he had turned, his eyes meeting hers in a tender gaze, a smile relieving his stern features.
***********
She was only aware that Ethan had stopped playing when a shadow fell across her.
"I never played Elgar better, Kathryn," he said quietly, yet his eyes were smiling. "Your presence calms the demons in me."
"You're in a good mood today, Ethan."
"And you're going to spoil it by saying you have to go back to Headquarters and do the Admiral thing you have to do there."
Kathryn rose from her chair and hugged him, her arms closing tightly around him as she rested her head against his chest. His heartbeat was rhythmic, blessedly real and normal compared to those weeks a little more than a year ago when he had been a different being. She loved the sense of normality, of peace that radiated from Ethan, but he was right. She had to leave, and not just to Headquarters.
"I'm leaving for Kedron II and I told you that last week," she said, her voice smothered against his soft cashmere sweater. She pressed against him, smiling at the way he stiffened in response.
"You couldn't take me with you?" he asked gruffly.
When she lifted her head, she saw how his eyes smouldered. Her breathing sharpened, became a little uneven, catching on a tiny sob. Her senses were reeling, and she had trouble remaining focused. Ethan had to stay home.
"Admirals fly alone, didn't you know? I take only Mike Ayala with me - "
"Lucky man."
"I can't kiss him like I kiss you, honey," she told him as she pressed closer, waiting for his lips to descend on hers in a long, sweet, lingering caress that left her gasping. Soon, she knew, she was going to change the parameters of their relationship. A few times they had come dangerously close to making love, when either Ethan or she had had to pull themselves back to reality, to their commitment. But Chakotay was receding and receding fast. She was on a good footing with him and Annika, and their little baby Kathryn was thriving. She didn't want to wait anymore even through she could understand Ethan's reservations. Now she was leaving for Headquarters within hours and then embarking on a two week mission to Kedron II. She wanted desperately to be intimate with him, so desperately.
Soon...
Now...
"I guess not," Ethan muttered close to her face, "but I'll miss you."
Kathryn closed her eyes as she swayed against him, feeling like she was drowning. Her hips ground into his, responded to his own need.
"Ethan..."
"Hmmm?"
"Goddammit, Ethan, I'll miss you too. I wish..."
He held her away from him, the loss of connection so sudden and so acutely painful that she gave a tiny cry of consternation. But Ethan's eyes that bore like a burning shaft through her, looked full of hope, of anticipation. He was waiting for her...
"What do you wish, sweet Kathryn?" he asked softly.
"That we didn't have to wait..."
"You don't know how long I've waited... God, Kathryn, you are my very breath!"
Ethan pulled her hard to him, burying her face against him. He gave a deep groan as he ran his fingers through her hair. She thought she heard a sob.
"I need you, like this..." she breathed as she melted into him.
"You don't know what you're asking," he said gruffly.
She pressed her hips closer, felt his arousal, drowned for endless moments in a sea of swirling passion. She only felt herself floating for interminable seconds before she realised, as he lay her down on her bed, that he had lifted her and carried her to her bedroom. He towered above her, his hands at her sides as he braced himself for what she knew she wanted, for an imminent attack, for sweet assimilation!
Outside her bedroom, the dogs whined frantically, then there was silence. Her heart pounded madly.
"I want this..." she breathed hotly against his cheek.
Hands pushed and tugged, tore and scratched at clothing that wouldn't separate swiftly enough from their bodies. Their breath mingled, and with aching greed she reached up and kissed him again. Then he grabbed her hands and held them captive this time, above her head, while he rubbed himself against her, his hardness so potent that she arched against him, giving a cry of wanton need. He stilled only a moment before slowly, rhythmically he mimicked joining with her body, the movement punctuated by his words, passionate, crude, provocative.
"You want this, Janeway, knowing that you're leaving in a few hours and then you'll be gone for weeks. I'm going to make love to you then stew and simmer and feed on the memory. What do you think I am? One for the road? Someone to squeeze you like this...and this - "
She glared at him in her crazed passion. "Ethan, for God's sake. Shut up and f- "
After which, time stood still as he hungrily swallowed her expletive, and his mouth merged with hers in a scorching promise of what was to come.
He tore at the remnants of her clothing; she ripped at his in a frenzied affirmation of liberty, the release of pent-up passion held back too long. She wondered dazedly why she had waited so long and wanted him inside her instantly, swiftly, marking her as his forever. Yet Ethan carried her, stopping them from rushing headlong and heedless over the edge of reason. Somewhere her mind registered that they were wanton and focused at the same time. But reason and all thought fled as they shed the last vestiges of clothing and when she lay completely naked, he stared for several long, heated seconds.
In great wonder, he traced the outline of her breasts with trembling fingers, his eyes following the movement of his hands which had begun their familiar charting of her body, this time with passion, strange intensity, and not the impersonal touch of healing. Was he the bow and she the instrument delivering heaven's music to him?
It was like that.
Ethan gave a strangled cry. Then he buried his face in her bosom and she thought she heard a sob escape him as he lay against her. Only when she moved her hips did he recover, raising his head and in his eyes there was the gleam of victory, but also of equality, of freedom, of...respect.
No reason existed anymore as skins touched, taut skin which was moist too, meshing with hers. His crotch scoured her hips and she cried out from the sudden, new, exciting wave of ecstasy that flooded her, causing her to become painfully breathless. Her fingers laced his silky white hair, now grown long, pulling him closer and closer, urging the connection to last forever, or to fuse his body roughly, intensely, with hers. It was not enough that he captured her nipple in his mouth and imprisoned her hands as he slid his body along her until he lay, sucking at her, her legs splayed to allow him purchase, that he settle between them like a new fire that had begun to burn from a kiss started months ago in the lounge of her Indiana farmhouse. That fire was now raging, hungry tongues licking all over her sensitised, moist flesh. Parched lips gasped for more, ear lobes tickled in the airy sensation of lightning touches, the hollow in her neck which strangely, passionately, became a centre where Ethan simply connected and ignited more flames. Once her hand strayed between them, down towards her burning core and it was wet, dripping, her fingers laced with her juices.
"Love me," she whispered brokenly as she felt the tears springing into her eyes, unable, unwilling to stop them, letting them run down her cheeks into her neck as mild comfort for the intense blazing that had taken over.
And Ethan had only touched her body with his lips. Now, he slid further down, exploring the planes of her body, reaching her navel, finding endless pleasure in flicking his tongue inside the little hollow. It tickled her, sent her mind reeling. When he lifted his head, the loss of connection was again so acute that she cried out in pain.
"Don't go..."
"I hungered for you, Kathryn," came his equally hoarse, broken words as he clamped his hands against her thighs and spread her legs further. She welcomed the invasion, the blatant splaying of her thighs as he gripped them. The slight breeze his face created so close to her most sensitive core was all she need to raise her hips to him, to feel his tongue there... She craved instant release for the pleasure and pain mingled and which became excruciating. Already, she had established a rhythm as she moved to have his mouth lick her greedy flesh, burning to be released.
Another soft cry escaped. She tossed her head, her eyes closing in the heady, intense pleasure as the never-ending crackling flames snaked through her body. She was burning up, up, as she heard him groan, for his tongue had covered her softness, the folds that long ago had readied themselves for his touch. Flicking first, pushing the folds aside, moisture that had begun and now spread, dripping onto him, onto the sheets. Then his mouth captured her swollen fullness, her nub which she knew stood pert as it was swallowed into his depths, caught and then teased into painful, tormenting pleasure.
It was unbearable; she had never known unbearable to the point of losing all focus, all sense of reality, all consciousness as her lower body exploded into Ethan's mouth. She had felt it coming and had been unable to hold back, to control it and so, her mind became a whirling miasma of liquid fire, pulling her body high off the bed as it yielded its bounty to him. Once, she thought she heard the thin howling of wind through the branches of the firs. Had she thought that? Only when she swallowed painfully, did she realise it was her screams that filled the quiet air.
When her body collapsed on the bed, Ethan slid up her slick skin. Before she had time to register his reddened, moist mouth, her smell on him, before he captured her mouth, before she could think, before all human control could be regained which never wanted to be lost, before time itself, it seemed, Ethan's body filled hers.
It was so swift, so suddenly, so silently, so like a thief, that the moment Ethan's mouth made contact with her and she belatedly registered her own moistness in her nostrils, was the same moment his shaft slid into her sheath, filling her with his heavy heat.
He broke contact for a brief moment to look at her with eyes ablaze.
"Witch...."
Was all he breathed as he began moving rhythmically, her legs pulled up, only to clamp him to her while all the time his eyes never lefts hers. She gasped as he buried his shaft in her to the hilt, pulling out effortlessly to the tip only to thrust hard against her. His grunts exploded from deep in his throat and her fingers had slid away from his matted hair, unable to find grip, finding his shoulders, or cupping his face with desperate hands as they rocked in concert.
She felt herself lifted again to a plain where unicorns roamed, blessed plain of the rarest dwellers where only Kathryn and Ethan could dwell amongst them. When the moment was upon them and they hurtled over the cliffs or became the thunderous white waves that crashed against the rocks, she heard Ethan's strangled cries, strangled at first, then forceful as he released himself, gave himself over to the power of their passion, riding helplessly in the eye of the thunderous storm.
Their bodies glistened as they collapsed in the aftermath of their journey. Still joined to her, she felt his shudders, wild at first, then gentle until they finally stopped. Ethan lay over her, spent, his head to the side, yet one hand cupped her breast, and remained there for an eternity.
Later, as if he became aware that his weight bore down on her, he shifted, but only so that he could look at her. There was a great tenderness, a great vulnerability about him that she knew she would treasure forever. Her eyes closed as his hand crept gently to her centre where it touched her core, causing her to quiver. She smiled, caught her hand in his and brought it to her mouth, kissing the back of it reverently.
"I'm going to have to cut short my diplomatic mission to Kedron II," she told him, unable to keep her hand from caressing his face, his mouth, the mouth that had touched every part of her body and charted it for himself.
"Oh. And why is that?"
"Now that I know what I can come home to."
Ethan raised himself on his elbow and gazed at her. With his free hand, he pushed a strand of her hair away from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. Her heart was racing again, she realised with great wonderment. A throbbing had begun again in her centre, warm and wanting him to claim her again. She stroked his shaft which moments before had pounded heatedly into her and the feeling was so good, so alluring that she slid down and held him in her mouth, working her away around him, playing with her tongue, teasing, sucking gently. She heard him laugh as he shifted to lie on his back.
Endless minutes she held him, experiencing brilliant flashes as Ethan's body complied to her ministrations. When they were both spent, he pulled her over him. She kissed him deeply, reverently. When she broke off the kiss, once again dazed by the electric contact, her hand laced in his hair, he smiled, his fingers caressing her cheek.
"Now you know what you can come home to," he said gruffly, and Kathryn thought for a second how enigmatic he sounded.
*
It was dark and a cool breeze fanned his body as he slowly edged into wakefulness. He was lying in Kathryn's bed; after glancing quickly to the side, he saw she wasn't there. He lay back, sighing deeply, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He heard the dogs outside the door, but decided to ignore them for the moment as he enjoyed his new memories.
His body felt used, he realised with some wonder. Used and good. Kathryn must have left already for Headquarters, thinking not to wake him. He didn't mind. What had happened between them was a fitting goodbye, for now. The house was quiet, except for the melodious sounds of a lark, the scuffling of the dogs.
Quiet?
He rose quickly, pulled on his torn boxers and padded to the lounge. Music was playing softly, music Kathryn had selected before she left. Ethan smiled as he listened for a few seconds, deeply affected by the significance of the symphonic sounds.
Mahler's First Symphony.
***************
I
heard a thousand voices speak;
I
spoke for thousands more.
damned
to eternal fire
my
mind was singed forever
by
those whose lives were lost.
For
mine was the rest of the restless,
mine
were the dreams
when
they came rushing to accuse.
somewhere
in the twisting mires of my mind,
somewhere
in the mists and shadows of my heart -
I
heard a voice,
sensed
a touch.
that
voice belonged to you
that
touch was yours.
I
knew then that my heart
would
heal
because
of
you.
*
He loved Kathryn Janeway.
He'd loved her when he found her lying half dead on his property. He'd loved her when she opened her eyes and said "I saw you..." He'd loved her when she slammed the bathroom door in his face or when she lay helpless in her embarrassment as he washed her. He loved her in every moment that she lay asleep or when she was awake, looking at him with eyes that shifted with the moon.
He'd loved her that morning she stood before him with her eyes shattered after her Dorvan visit, and he had wanted to murder the man who put the heartache there.
Once, many years ago, he had read a poem, written by a man, and he had thought: what man could be so sentimental and so in love that the ends of the earth, or the depths of the oceans or tying a lasso around the moon and presenting it to his beloved could be the things he'd do for her? What man could be so in love that he would build a temple for her? What man could love a woman so much that he would be willing to die for her?
Yet men, driven to madness by the women they loved, would do that.
Kathryn had walked into his life.
No, she didn't walk into his life. She had stumbled like a broken doll on an icy afternoon, her shoes lost, her feet full of scrapes; she had lain on the ground, devoid of any hope. He had picked her up and refused to let her die when she asked him.
He had seen her at her trial, fighting for her crew, her ideals, her decisions that Starfleet thought were questionable, fighting for the Maquis, for the five remaining crew of the Equinox, one of whom she had almost killed, fighting for everyone but for herself. And he had thought that he had never seen or known of any person, man or woman, who had taken on Starfleet with such courage, fierceness, and loyalty in the face of such trauma and personal loss.
From that moment on, she stole into his thoughts and his life, invading his breathing to become a part of it. He had taken flight to Beaver's Lodge, hoping that he could leave her behind, hoping that Mark Johnson was wrong, hoping that he would never have to think of her again.
But Kathryn remained with him.
What was music and literature if it wasn't life through the creation of art? What was art if it didn't express the torment, the joy, the pain, the suffering, the very essence of those intangibles which to others seemed infinite? And what would literature and music and art of the great men and women in history who created them be if they didn't speak of love everlasting...of love inspired...of love doomed...of love reclaimed?
Kathryn Janeway loved. She had given her heart to men before and lost what she had given. Knowing her so intimately, he had sensed from the beginning how her heart had become that which she had feared to lose, for in losing her heart, she would lose herself; in losing those whom she loved, she would never repair what had been broken. Her father, whom she loved, died before her very eyes. So had her fiancé, Justin Tighe. She had loved, perhaps, Mark Johnson, and she had lost him too, at a time in her life when loyalty and the very thought of home had become the only things which had kept her committed and dedicated and disciplined to take her marooned crew home. When she lost Mark, she lost a safety net, as she had once told him, Ethan, in a moment of great intimacy and confession when they had both mourned their losses.
Not long after, he had told her of his sons, of his wife, the beautiful Mélisande, of the Bellerophon, of his friendship with his captain, of becoming Borg with his mind and heart and soul; they had spoken freely of what had been.
Kathryn had spoken of her mother, of her pain at losing Phoebe whom she found again and the joy of those moments of togetherness, of family. She had spoken of Chakotay, and though his own heart had torn from the heat of his jealousy, he had listened to her speak of their friendship. It was a rare union, one in which her Angry Warrior had supported her, stood by her side. One in which she had come to love Chakotay, for didn't great mysteries exist where friendship, a great comradeship, inevitably led to love? And how did that love come like a thief in the night, like a dream in which the dreamer stood surprised?
Love,
in a subtle dream disguised,
Hath both my heart and me surprised...
Yes, Kathryn had told him about Chakotay, about her love for a great man. And while he had felt that this man had behaved in a less than heroic fashion when Kathryn needed him the most, Kathryn's eyes had shone with pride, with fierce loyalty for Chakotay.
"We are friends now..." she had said.
And he, Ethan Bellamy, had wondered how true Kathryn's words had been then.
In his heart, the doubt gnawed like an ugly, foul-smelling sloth. He had told Kathryn that they should wait. He wanted to believe her, like he believed that he would never turn into a drone again, but the softness of her face as she recounted something she and Chakotay had experienced together on Voyager, made belief hard.
Kathryn, Voyager and Chakotay.
Kathryn and Voyager inevitably had to include Chakotay. They were indivisible. But Voyager and the Delta Quadrant were no more. Kathryn was home, and home brought with it its own brand of pain, of trauma and terrible memories.
He could not begrudge Kathryn what she had with Chakotay on Voyager; he could not begrudge her her continued friendship with the man. He could understand now why someone like Chakotay couldn't let Kathryn go. He had seen the look on Chakotay's face the night of the anniversary ball. He not only looked still in love with Kathryn, despite his marriage to Annika Hansen, Chakotay was also jealous of Kathryn's involvement with another man. Now he felt the terror of sharing Kathryn with another man, of knowing and experiencing one part of her while another man owned her memories, a corner of her heart, shared a history.
Ethan sighed. He hated that kind of living intrigue where men fought over a woman. He thought Kathryn too refined, too intellectually above such human shortcomings as wilful deception to be drawn into it. Kathryn had sensed his own loathing and Chakotay's distrust, and she would have found a golden, intuitive way to deal with both men, had he himself not pulled Kathryn into his arms to dance with her. She had been proud to be accompanied by him; she felt secure, confident, super animated when she mingled with her crew.
And he loved her for it.
Even when he had been at his most boorish and hurt her intensely, he loved her. Even if she never forgave him for what he had said in moments of great fear that he'd lose her, he would love her. She had melted into his arms and he had been stunned at her generosity, dazed beyond his own understanding that he could hold her not like the sick person who needed him, but as a woman, fiery, full of sexy allure, full of mystique, a woman who intoxicated him, made him crazy with need for her.
What was it she had wanted to tell him before he, out of his own sense of jealousy, so rudely interrupted her? That she was over Chakotay? That she was ready to move on? That, God help him, her love for Chakotay had died? He had chosen to disbelieve her, to quell her admission out of fear that she would, after all, tell him she wanted to go and break up Chakotay's marriage and live with a man who had a wife and child.
He hadn't wanted to lose Kathryn and so he too, like men before him, took the fight to the murky back streets to decide the vulgar outcome like the weasel he was.
That night in the lounge of her Indiana home was the turning point. Kathryn had been open, direct, honest. How could he not love her with every single breath that she took to say those words? How could he not love her like his own breath?
"I don't want to pretend," she had said.
And that had set the tone of their relationship. They had kissed, furiously, desperately at times, at others so tenderly that he had wanted to weep.
His life was over if Kathryn couldn't remain a part of it.
Hours ago, they had made love.
He had never, ever, felt such peace that had descended upon him as he lay with her in the aftermath of their lovemaking. Never. He was lost, and in seeking himself and finding where he was dwelling, he discovered that their bodies, through the painful, tender, aching joining, had become one.
He loved Kathryn Janeway.
How then, could he explain the strange feeling of foreboding that seemed to settle in the region of his heart? A feeling that he was going to lose her.
*********
"There, you're cleared for touch, Commander Bellamy," Doctor Paris said as she snapped the tricorder close.
"Thank you, Doctor. Thankfully these check-ups are only annual. I must admit I felt some unease this season. And Doctor, please, it's Ethan."
Elizabeth Paris smiled, looking relieved.
"Well, thank you! It's only a precaution, as you know, Ethan. But I'm relieved to announce you're fit as a fiddle."
Ethan smiled as she patted his shoulder, much like a mother would her son. A warmth spread through him. He was no longer so tense among people. Admiral and Doctor Paris had become firm friends, more like family, Ethan realised. Kathryn... Kathryn's image came unbidden. It was all because of her that he was healed.
"It has been hard, Doctor. Kathryn once told me that she too had been assimilated while on Voyager. I always thought no one could understand. The initial fear...it is very intense. She understood it."
"Kathryn is a compassionate and sympathetic person. There's nothing she wouldn't do for anyone who needed her. Er...Ethan, if you're not returning to your home immediately, you're welcome to dine with us tonight. Kathryn is still away on her diplomatic mission. I can assure you I make good conversation and promise not to talk shop."
"Doctor, can I accept your offer once Kathryn has returned from Kedron II? She'll be returning soon in three days' time. Her aide has sent me a communication... You're frowning, Doctor? Is anything the matter?"
"You miss her, don't you?"
"Well, Mike Ayala, her aide, informed me they would be delayed."
"Ethan..."
He smiled at the doctor's enquiring glance, the way her eyes narrowed, her persistence. His association with Kathryn was very private. With Elizabeth Paris, he didn't have to pretend. If Mark or Wanda had asked the question, he would have had a quick, witty reply ready for them and a rebuttal of the statement. What did it matter what they conjectured? Kathryn's former crew already suspected they were lovers which, ten days ago, would have made him laugh in their faces. Now, things had changed. Kathryn was as bound to him as he was to her. He didn't mind if Doctor Paris knew that.
"Of course, Doctor. I miss Kathryn. My life has changed because of her. I miss her very much."
Like my own breath...
Would
I die were it not for you, sweet captain
for
surely do you ride on every journey to my heart
and
depart momentarily,
to
tease me with your return
delaying
it until I can no longer bear the pain
Stay
with me, my love
Live
with me and in me
Be
my present, be my future
be
everything, everything,
but
mostly...
just be...
Elizabeth touched his shoulder and again Ethan felt the warmth spread through him.
"Ethan, Kathryn deserves happiness and we can see she's happy now and all because of you. Why do you think I coerced Owen to let Kathryn remain on your property? I knew you'd be the best thing that happened to her."
"Now I know I'm still in Starfleet!" he exclaimed at the doctor's admission.
"I'll have you know, Ethan, that Kathryn's happiness means the world to us."
He nodded, and smoothed his jacket before preparing to leave.
"Well, if I'm not injured through some calamitous occurrence, I'll see you in a year's time."
"Good. Don't come back 'til then!"
When he finally stood outside the medical complex, he felt the sun on his skin, blessed, blessed healthy skin.
Oh, Kathryn...hurry home to me...
**********
Mike Ayala studied Admiral Janeway. Her talks with the first minister of the two continents of Kedron had gone well, considering she had walked into the middle of a civil war, with two oily looking brothers, each heading a faction. Admiral Janeway told him they reminded her of Earth's two great silent movie comedians in a battle for comic supremacy.
"And who would have won if your comedians were still fighting, Admiral?" he had asked, highly amused by this Admiral Janeway, still as feisty and hard-hitting as ever, but with a new lightness to her bearing.
"Buster Keaton. He was highly creative and would have busted Charlie."
"Charlie?"
"Chaplin. You know the one - "
"No, I don't, Admiral. But thank you anyway…"
Admiral Janeway had given him a jaundiced look and snorted. Old Earth stuff wasn't his thing. Tom Paris would have known for sure.
The role players had finally, after many sessions, come to an understanding and commitment to unite and elect the planet's new leaders.
Admiral Janeway had been hard as nails as she negotiated, compromised, suggested, counselled and finally reaped the results of her endeavour to secure peace. She reminded him very much of their days on Voyager when sometimes, diplomacy didn't help and she had to punch her way through talks.
In dress uniform, Admiral Janeway appeared stunning, a worthy representative of the Federation. She was a beautiful woman and throughout the talks, whenever he had to be in session with her privately, or arrange an afternoon in which she could visit the cultural districts, he had been aware of her beauty, been aware how much of the Voyager captain was still in her.
But the good admiral, he noticed, was in a hurry to leave. Not many people worked as closely with Admiral Janeway as it was his honour to do, and he knew her well enough now to understand some of her moods. Naturally he knew why she was in such a hurry, even if she never breathed a word, and even if she remained as always painfully courteous to their hosts.
Once he had laughed in Chakotay's face when the warrior told him about the man Ethan Bellamy. He had thought Chakotay jealous and resentful of Admiral Janeway's new friend. Chakotay had had his chances and Admiral Janeway deserved happiness. He had met Ethan, seen him in Borg mode, on the point of assimilating Janeway, but his inner goodness had prevailed. There were so many undertones and tones of richness in the relationship between Admiral Janeway and Commander Bellamy, that Chakotay looked pale in comparison.
From the first day that they boarded their transport, he noticed something different about Admiral Janeway, as if peace exuded from her. It was in her face, her eyes, her bearing. She had been smiling broadly when she had met him, and her lightened mood had continued through the journey as well as during the past two weeks. Only when she was in consultation with the Comic Brothers of Kedron II, was she the old imperious Captain of Voyager come to settle the matter with her wits.
Now Admiral Janeway sat opposite him in a small piazza in the First City.
"We're already a day late, Mike. I'd like to get home."
"It's only one day, Admiral." he queried. "We travelled for - "
"It's different now."
"I can see that, Admiral," he replied with great fervour.
"Some things have a way of calling us home..."
"Or some people, Admiral?"
"Yes," she said on a light sigh. "Some people. Anything else you want to know about me, Ayala?"
"When are you getting married?"
And he knew in that moment that it was the wrong question to ask. Admiral Janeway's eyes clouded and there was a droop to her mouth. It was a question that reflected the desires of those former Voyager crew with whom he still remained in contact. Did Admiral Janeway not want to marry Commander Bellamy? They were parents now. He knew that they had formally adopted Icheb as their son, something that had met with everyone's approval.
Except Chakotay.
"Icheb is their son now and has taken the name Janeway-Bellamy," he had told a surprised Chakotay, when asked about the new development in the life of Admiral Janeway.
"She's not in love with Bellamy, Ayala. I can see that."
He thought Chakotay must have been wearing blinkers if he couldn't see that Admiral Janeway was no longer in love with him. That had been the verdict of everyone who watched Kathryn Janeway and Commander Bellamy the night of the anniversary ball.
"And that means they don't have to adopt Icheb? They did so at Icheb's request, didn't you know? They were very happy to do so. They love their son, I can tell you that. What's it to you, anyway? You've got your wife and you've got your baby. Leave her alone."
"We have a very long history together," Chakotay had retorted. "One never forgets that."
He wanted to deck Chakotay right there. The man had suddenly developed a colossal ego. Whatever the nature of the relationship between Admiral Janeway and Commander Bellamy, it had nothing to do with anyone, least of all Chakotay.
Now Admiral Janeway looked at him, Ayala, her eyes full of shadows. He felt like kicking himself.
"Admiral, I - I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to ask."
"It's nothing," she said. "But I can tell you I do miss Commander Bellamy."
"Well, Admiral, I have some news for you. We can leave a day earlier after all, and I have a message from Commander Bellamy for you."
"I thought I asked him not to communicate with me while I'm on a diplomatic mission."
"Ah, but, Admiral, you didn't say that he couldn't communicate with me."
It made his heart leap with joy when the light returned to her eyes.
"So...what did he say?"
"That you remember what you can come home to..."
*********
Kathryn heard the dogs barking frantically as she approached the back door of the lodge. On her approach to Beaver's Lodge, she had wondered for a moment if she was at the right place. It appeared a little different, and she couldn't lay her finger on what it was. Did he do renovations? What? The upper level didn't look right…
The dogs jumped at her, wildly enthusiastic as they fought for her favour. She smiled to herself. Conor and Keira had been outside her bedroom door howling their heads off when she and Ethan had made love, but by the time she left, they had reached a semblance of calm They had taken up the positions outside her door again, waiting for Ethan to wake up.
It had been stupendous, earth-shaking, a revelation, realising how much she felt for Ethan. Her life was now inextricably linked to his, if only he'd believe it. He had fallen into a deep slumber afterwards and she had thought how tense he too had been, how much he had bottled up. She had taken one last, loving look, kissed him gently on his cheek before she left her room. Peace had descended on her and she had walked, still naked, to his office where she selected some music.
The strains had filled the air then, softly as not to disturb her exciting, virile new lover. No more the disturbing images as she listened to Mahler while she had dressed quickly. When she was ready to leave, she had kissed Ethan again. Her eyes had gone soft as he murmured her name in his sleep.
The ten days on Kedron II had been scintillating as she dealt with the planet's two leaders, but she had missed Ethan like her very breath. She couldn't wait to come home.
Now she almost fell over as the dogs jumped up against her. She gave a relieved laugh as she bent to cuddle them before she shooed them off and walked through the kitchen, coming to a stop in the open doorway between the kitchen and the lounge. Ethan sat on the couch, his arm over the back rest.
He gave a good impression of a man was waiting for her, lines of strain on his face an indication of the tension he tried to subdue. Her heart wanted to burst. She had missed him terribly and had only been punishing herself by not communicating with him while she was away on Kedron II. He was now part of her waking and sleeping moments, and the memory of their lovemaking kept her dreaming of him.
But poor Ethan looked suddenly uncertain and she bled for a second. Two weeks ago, she had been in his arms and they had made love with so much fierceness and tenderness at the same time that thinking about it every moment she allowed herself that memory, curled her insides deliciously.
"So, you're here at last," he complained as he got up and moved forward at the same time she had thrown down her hold-all and rushed to him.
She was pulled roughly off her feet and hugged forcefully. She buried her face in his neck and they remained that way for several long seconds, his arms around her firm, reassuring, comforting, home...
When he finally put her down and she looked into his beloved face, her fingers caressing his cheek, brushing lightly over his lips, she said in a smothered voice, "Oh, Ethan, I missed you so..."
His head bent down to hers and when his lips touched hers, she knew what control he must have exercised, for he lifted her in his arms, the dogs scrambling and barking behind them, then as if she weighed nothing at all, he walked with her to her bedroom. He paused once, without putting her down and told the dogs, "No peeping toms, you stay outside."
Kathryn only heard the dogs' pathetic whining outside the door as Ethan dropped her none too gently down on her bed, then stripped naked within seconds, his shaft gloriously erect before he declared, "Now I will show you how much I missed you, Janeway..."
And all the time they made love with the heady urgency of melting into one another, of having been too long apart, the dogs kept up their whining outside her door.
*
Kathryn rested her head against the edge of the wood tub. Giving a sigh of pure pleasure, she squeezed the sponge above her face so that the warm water ran over her skin. Steam rose up above her, but the moment was taken up by the feel of the water droplets, like little pearls rolling velvety smooth, bobbing uncertainly first before breaking unhappily into the mass of water again. One arm was slung over the edge as she lay with her eyes closed as she savoured the pleasure of reclining in the tub. She thought how Ethan had surprised her with it.
"I've got something you might like, honey," Ethan said as they had woken from the aftermath of their lovemaking.
"Whatever it is, I'll take it," she had murmured against his skin, her tongue grazing a nipple. "I should write a poem about your nipples..." she continued as she flicked her tongue over its tautness.
"Whatever it is, I'm sure you'll like it. And let go of my nipples, Kathryn, honey," he had groaned as he shifted to brace himself on an elbow, looking into her eyes.
She had smiled up at him, her fingers spontaneously lacing into his hair in a tender caress. Ethan's answering smile had been enigmatic. There was something, something that had to be a surprise. The last surprise had been two adorable puppies, now grown dogs, licking her awake on the morning of her birthday. Now there had been an air of uncertainty which added to the mystery surrounding whatever it was she was going to like.
"Ethan, honey, you know I appreciate any gift from you with a grateful heart. I loved your recital at the master class Professor Von Bulow organised for his senior students. Yes, that was wonderful - "
"Kathryn, shut up and pay attention..."
"Oh, Ethan, how can I when you're stroking me like that?"
Half an hour later, she had walked barefoot, blindfolded, guided by Ethan's hand at her elbow with the dogs following them excitedly, up the stairs to his room.
"We're in your bedroom, Ethan. Tell me you've gotten a waterbed, or something."
"Or something," he whispered close to her ear as he guided her to the wall.
Wall? It felt cold to the touch, more like glass. Palms flat against the glass, she explored the pane like a mime.
"There used to be a wooden wall here, Ethan. What have you done to your house? I was wondering what was so different about Beaver's Lodge. Like you've sold it to new owners and they - "
"Does the woman ever shut up?"
As an answer, both dogs barked once.
Kathryn didn't know what to expect; she had no clue at all.
Silently she felt the glass move, like a sliding door, like the French door of the lounge. She felt the cool air nip her senses, lift her hair, caressing her skin.
"We're on the deck? But you have only one deck…"
Then Ethan untied the blindfold.
She had stood still for perhaps a full ten seconds. It could have been longer. She didn't realise how long she stood just staring in front of her. They were standing on the threshold of what had been the entire length of the bedroom which covered the top level of the lodge. The wooden wall was replaced by glass and sliding doors opening on to the new deck. Kathryn didn't know what assailed her senses more in those moments: the vista of trees with the blue ocean glimmering in the distance, the odd cloud puffs that drifted aimlessly across the firmament, or the oval-shaped hot tub, of a wood so rich she could smell its texture and sense its age. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
Her thoughts became a chaotic jumble then, of old images and new images mingling, of her life on Voyager, on New Earth, at Indiana, her farm, here at Beaver's Lodge, and the two men who ruled her emotions. One, her past and the other, her future. The images became alive and created a humming sound. She pictured herself again on New Earth, with Chakotay presenting her with a tub he had built for her. "Because you like to soak in a tub, Kathryn," had been his explanation. Chakotay who wanted to do so many things for her, wanted to protect her and who, in retrospect, tried to do too much, as if she were entirely and emotionally dependant on him for the survival of her sanity.
Now Ethan. Totally, unexpectedly, wondrously, he had given her something that made her heart leap with joy. He must have spent the two weeks she had been away remodelling the upper level for her and she had been overwhelmed by all the possibilities of her hot tub. She trembled in the onslaught of the meaning of his gift.
Ethan had been standing just behind her. When she turned to face him, his eyes were no longer inscrutable like they always were, but tender, vulnerable, and she realised with an ache deep inside her, that he feared she would reject what he had done for her. Unable to speak, her throat thick with emotion, she had fallen against him and burst into tears.
A hand brushed across her cheek and her eyes flew open.
"Finished?" Ethan asked. "We have to get ready for the Met."
"Just a few more minutes."
"What were you thinking a few frames ago, sweet Kathryn?" Ethan asked as he sat on the edge of the tub and studied her.
"About the day you surprised me with this wondrous gift."
"Good. For a moment there, I thought I saw shadows flitting under those beauteous eyelids and they agitated you."
She closed her eyes again in utter enjoyment. Trust Ethan to catch an atonal note in a melodious sonata.
"Kathryn, honey, you're already looking like a dried - "
Her eyes flew wide open.
"Not a word, buster. Ethan! Hey! What are you doing?? Ethan!!!"
Ethan was in the water with her, boots and all.
They never made it to the Metropolitan Opera House to see Voyager's EMH perform Rigoletto.
****
END PART SIXTEEN
PART SEVENTEEN: LOVE, IN A SUBTLE DREAM DISGUISED
Author's Note:
1. The lines "love, in a subtle dream..." quoted in this chapter, from the poem "The Dreame" by Ben Jonson. [Some of you may remember Marianne Dashwood singing this in "Sense and Sensibility"]
2. The final scene inspired by SusanC, one I had added after she spoke to me about hot tubs in the Northwest.
3. "I heard a thousand voices speak" originally written for TNG Picard/Crusher, when Picard became "Locutus".