Marika

by: Dacia

VOY J/7 PG

WARNING: Contains mild spoilers for 'Survival Instinct' yadda yadda yadda... lesbian themes and/or content... I'm rather liberal about rating systems so I'd put this at 'PG', but for all you puritans (ps- why are you reading this if you are a puritan?) maybe this story should be 'R'. At any rate, there's nothing terribly graphic in here, and I'm not responsible for anything your own imagination conjures up. *s*

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: Kudos galore to my lovely beta reader, the ineffable Piper. Anything good in here is probably due to her merciless (oops, I mean 'tireless') efforts. Any mistakes are mine, 'cause I'm too stubborn to take good advice when it's offered :)

DISCLAIMER: For the record: I'm not making any money off of this... don't sue. As well, I don't own these lovely ladies, and I never will. In fact, I don't really own anything in this story... most/all of it belongs to Paramount. All I did was rearrange a few words into a mildly creative order that I guarantee you will never ever see in a Trek script *sigh*.

ps- this is a 'hanky optional' story, depending on what kind of person you are. If you cry during long distance telephone commercials when some guy says 'Hi Mom, I missed you', you might want some tissues handy. *s*

I cried at her funeral.

We all did.

The loss of someone who had fought so hard for, and won her individuality, only to have it taken away… it was something we all felt keenly.

But that wasn't why I cried.

I did admire Marika Wilkarah greatly; her spirit, her individuality, but more importantly, I cried because I loved her.

Such an unlikely pair were we, I as a scientist could never have predicted us, but the fact remains that I loved her.

I remember when we first met. Of course, I was aware of her presence on the ship beforehand. Another former Borg. I won't lie, the thought did not rest easy with me. I had enough trouble letting my daughter trail after Seven, especially after she'd started quoting Borg species' designations. And so my heart froze in my chest when I first saw this scarred, dark-haired woman crouched down beside my daughter in the Hydroponics' Bay. But my apprehension melted the instant our eyes met. I saw in her sad, gentle gaze that she would never hurt my child or me. I saw as well, that she was wounded by my momentary doubt.

I never doubted her again.

I sent Naomi off to her tutor. Then, to my surprise, I invited Marika to breakfast, I didn't presume to call her by her last name. Although she seemed somewhat uncomfortable, she accepted.

I don't remember what we ate, or if the messhall was busy or not, it doesn't matter.

There was an initial awkwardness while we searched for a topic to discuss.

"So what were you and Naomi so engrossed in, in the Hydroponics Bay?"

A faint blush dusted across her olive skin… I'd embarrassed her, but her reaction made me all the more curious, she seemed so implacable from afar.

She hesitated a moment before answering, "Kadis-kot."

Another surge of blood filled her features. "She asked me if I knew how to play."

I gave a small grin of understanding, the child's game was a favourite obsession of my daughter's, as well as becoming Captain's Assistant.

I leaned in closer, and let a teasing lilt enter my voice, "And do you?"

She'd regained enough of her composure to respond in kind, "I was Starfleet's highest ranking player." She stated with a mock grin of pride.

Then her voice dropped to a whisper of awe, tinged with longing, "That's quite the kid you've got there."

Her guileless statement opened the door to a topic I loved, as does any mother, and our conversation spilled over into other areas without any further hindrance.

We talked for almost an hour, before I had to leave for my duty shift. Even then, it was a reluctant parting, and we were both sidetracked several times by our conversation before we made the break.

When I did leave, the awkwardness returned. It was typified by downward glances, and shuffling feet, I had to resist the urge to chew my lip, as we suddenly realized that we were still two strangers, and so we made no plans to meet again. Yet, over the next week, one or both of us unconsciously steered our relationship, as we kept seeing each other in corridors where we'd never crossed before and in the messhall from across the room. I even came upon her in Astrometrics, during one of the rare times when Seven was regenerating. I think she'd chosen the time purposely, her rift with Seven was well known around the ship, I don't think she wanted to cause either of them any more pain.

I'd come to Astrometrics to run an analysis on an M-Class planet that we were due to pass by in several weeks. The long range scans would be sketchy, but it was never too soon to start examining a planet for possible shoreleave.

Entering the doors, my eyes were immediately drawn to the smooth lines of Marika's back, encased in blue, Bajoran silk. She hadn't noticed me yet, instead her attention was focussed on the viewscreen, the largest on board Voyager. On it, a representation of Bajor turned, like a globe of times-gone-by, yet so lifelike, it almost breathed.

I hesitated, unsure if I should intrude, but something impelled me to go forward. When I reached her side, I was surprised to find the glistening tracks of tears fresh upon her cheeks.

I made ready my apologies for interrupting, but she forestalled me by speaking first.

"I haven't seen Bajor in 17 years. Not since I ran away to the Academy."

"Marika…"

"Please," She said. "Call me 'Karah'. I love my name, and I haven't heard it in so long." Her voice was strained to the point of breaking.

"Karah…" I amended, and was rewarded by the gratitude that shone in her dark eyes.

We held the gaze for longer than necessary. I felt flustered, I'd forgotten what I'd meant to say. Pivoting, I gestured widely at the viewscreen. "It's beautiful."

She nodded, still looking at me, yet seemingly unperturbed by the energy I sensed crackling between us. Under the heat of her gaze, an impulse welled up inside of me, and erupted unchecked, "Would you like to have dinner?" I asked, without looking at her. I wasn't strong enough to endure seeing rejection shadow her features. But I needn't have worried, she gave me another nod, and a low, resonant "yes", that reverberated through me, before slipping through the doors, a secret smile upon her face.

I asked Neelix to watch Naomi for the night, and I met Karah for dinner. She was dressed in an embroidered, red, Bajoran tunic, which gave her a healthy glow. I was transfixed by her sublime beauty. Once again, we were pulled into a seamless conversation, where there was an unspoken agreement to keep the topics light.

"Have you ever heard of the Galaiti of Decos Prime?"

"No."

"Well, in a nutshell, they're a fairly diminutive race." She raised her hand only the height of the table for emphasis. "And they enter a kind of sleep mode every 36 hours, where they can't be woken up without inflicting severe physiological trauma for at least 9 hours."

I nodded my head, wondering where she was heading with this.

She winked at me, sensing my bemusement, "They also have a fascinating exoskeleton with magnetic properties…" She paused, letting that fact sink in, "Anyway, the Excalibur was on a diplomatic mission heading to Betazed, when we ran into a monster of ion storm. Suffice to say, the ship was knocked out cold, communications, sensors, propulsion were all off-line. Engineering was cut off from the rest of the ship. Now, the maddening thing was, all we needed to do to get warp drive back on, was demagnetize a small internal section of the warp core…"

"You didn't!" I had gained an inkling of where this story was heading.

She gave me a devilish grin and continued. "One of the Galaiti ambassadors had been caught in Engineering during the ion storm when he'd entered his sleep mode… do you know what a chimney-sweep is?" She raised an eyebrow, daring me to ask 'what happened next?'

"That's awful!" I said laughing in disbelief.

"He never even knew what happened. But he did wonder why he was so... 'energized' when he finally woke up, by that time the ship had limped into port though." I gave her a weak swipe with the back of my hand as I continued laughing, while she chuckled unrepentantly.

After that, we exchanged stories back and forth, our voices growing progressively hushed. Gradually, as the night wore on, and the messhall emptied out, and the lights were lowered, and the stars twinkled in the wide black expanse revealed by the windows, we found ourselves talking less, until we settled into a comfortable silence. I took the opportunity to explore her rich, brown eyes, so unlike my own pale ones.

Then, she smiled, it was a radiant, irresistible force; a smile to light the darkest heart. I couldn't help but return it - and in that moment I knew I was lost, so I panicked. The smile fell, followed, to my shame, by hers. I made hasty 'goodnights', and refused to address any of the strange feelings inside me.

As I fled down the ship's halls, near incoherent thoughts flitted through my mind: 'What would my husband think? What would Naomi think? Was I betraying them both by caring so quickly and deeply for this woman?' I'd never acknowledged any secret attractions in the past, and I'd never expected to turn over a new stone in the Delta Quadrant and find my heart under it. I am a mother now, my child comes first before any of my own desires.

Yet a treacherous tendril of longing wound its way through my soul, and tried to strangle my objections. It whispered of passion and beauty and love. It whispered on, even once I reached my quarters.

I changed into my nightgown, but found that sleep eluded me. Then, the door chime rang, and I debated answering With fateful steps, I opened the door… and there she stood, nervous - I don't know how I knew that, she seemed the picture of serenity.

She was still wearing that delicately embroidered, red, Bajoran tunic I'd admired at dinner.

I pivoted back from the entrance, and she stepped in; and though she was nervous, she was determined. I've since discovered that Bajoran women can be the most stubborn creatures in the universe.

She wasted no breath, "I have very little time," she said. Her voice was firm, but her eyes were vulnerable as she looked up at me for acknowledgment. I gave a quick, painful nod.

She held my gaze and spoke softly, deliberately, with words that could shatter worlds, "I don't know what this is between us… but I know you feel it too."

I froze, those same thoughts as before darting through my mind: 'What would my husband think? What would Naomi think?' But then my worries were swept away, like silvery spiderwebs, when she touched the back of my hand.

Her fingertips slid across my wrist. Her eyes never left mine as her touch swept up my arm, fire on water. Her hand lit on my collarbone, and came to rest, like a fluttering dove in the hollow at my throat. Her gaze turned tentative, and I knew she was out of her element, we both were. It seemed only fair for me to close the distance between us, when she had already risked so much.

We came together in a press of wine and honey, as I touched her lips with mine. I swallowed her whimper, from unbearably soft lips, and then I pulled back, overwhelmed by sensations long dormant.

She searched my eyes, dark on light, and what she found there must have pleased her. She gave another rare gift of her brilliant smile, and I returned it with my own softer one; this time she kissed me, with a gentle passion that still possessed the power to immolate.

We moved in a whisper of silk on skin, taste and touch. The intoxicating scent of sandalwood saturated my senses as I buried my face in her rich, dark hair. I'd never allowed myself to enjoy another woman before.

Her embroidered tunic floated to the floor as time slowed, and only she filled my vision. We were unpracticed, but gentle, understanding and patience overcame our inexperience. Once, she laughed, short and bitter, when I told her she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, and her hand moved to cover the silvery implant in her thigh. But I'd spoken the truth, and I soothed her pain with the healing fire of my hands and mouth; perhaps, in the end, she believed me… I hope she believed me.

As for myself, she drew out a passion I did not know I possessed. She exclaimed at the softness of my skin and the gentle rounding of my stomach that had stayed with me when Naomi was born. She dispelled any embarrassment, and made me realize that I was beautiful as well.

Afterwards, as we lay intertwined in an endless circle of arms and legs, we spoke of home, of our families and husbands. It brought us comfort. She told me of how she'd come to leave Bajor and join Starfleet. I told her about being stationed on different ships and planets, including the moons of Ktar, where I'd fallen in love with my husband by the Singing Ocean of Ortan.

We laughed, and tasted each other's tears, until our time ran out. For a month, we were happy. We met openly, sharing our joy without shame. Initially I was worried about Naomi, but she accepted Karah readily, always eager for a new friend and Karah was good with her; it reminded me that Naomi has never known her father.

Then one day, I received a priority alert from Sickbay, and rushed there to find Karah lying on a bio-bed, breathing shallowly. She'd been in pain for days, but had attempted to cover for my sake. I stayed with her from then on, and to my relief, she never tried to send me away. I watched as she slipped away, fighting death at every turn. Though she was in great pain, she never gave up. She'd fought hard to regain her individuality, her life, she wouldn't relinquish such a prize easily.

When she did breathe her last, she blessed me with a final, sweet smile, and I held her hand until the last vestiges of warmth left it.

By her request, she did not receive a Starfleet funeral, nor an elaborate Bajoran one. Instead, the Captain diverted to a small, M-Class planet nearby. It had pale blue-green skies, and tall swaying trees that murmured on the wind. We buried her in silence on top of a hill overlooking a broad, verdant valley, and I cried…

And now when I think of her, I recall a phrase she used to have, a mantra, "My thoughts are my own." It was a revelation, a benediction, a fiercely proud whisper; but as for me, when I walk down the grey halls of Voyager, and peer through the transparent aluminum windows, out on eternity, I smile, and my thoughts are of her.

The End

Please take a moment to:

She enjoys most of the major food groups, including Criticism and Praise, however Flames and Hate Mail give her indigestion.

There's no place like home.