DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc and Viacom. The story contents are the creation and property of Djinn and is copyright (c) 2001 by Djinn. This story is Rated PG-13.
Barriers
by Djinn
I saw my Kathryn again today. It's been so long that I almost thought I'd
imagined her. But there she was, every
detail the way I remembered it. The long
hair pulled into a neat bun, the expression confident but lacking the
combination of arrogance and exhaustion she wears now, the eyes still capable
of laughter and love. Yes, this was my
Kathryn.
It was like a gift to hold
her for a moment, even if I had a hypospray to her throat, a phaser pointed at
me. To feel her warmth, her life, I
wanted to keep her close to me forever.
Nothing could destroy the joy
of one last adventure with her. Not Seska. Not the
possibility of destruction. Not even the
reminder of the days that brought our relationship crumbling down. Seeing Seven amid the Borg should have tasted
bitter, should have brought back the memories of the rift that split us
apart. But it didn't. Because that Kathryn wasn't by my side. My Kathryn was.
To watch her struggle with
the implications of her future decision nearly broke my heart. I had to support her; I didn't lie when I
told her she would make a difference in our lives. She would.
She touched us all. Made us
stronger, better. I didn't lie.
I watch the older Kathryn as
she attempts to wheedle what happened out of me. She knows which buttons to push but I'm
resolved. Despite my noble
protestations, I'm not defending the integrity of time. I'm protecting my own memories. Keeping safe my one last adventure with the captain
I love. And my Kathryn could see that I
loved her. Seemed to even like the idea
enough to ask what we would be to each other in the future.
Words are so imprecise. Even the truth can be used to deceive. "There are some barriers we never
crossed." It wasn't a lie. But it was a misdirection. She accepted my words to mean we'd never been
lovers. It wasn't quite what I meant.
I look at the Kathryn of
now. As she coyly suggests another
bottle of cider. So this will be one of
those nights. I suspected it would, that's
why I retrieved the precious bottle.
I've served enough years with her to understand her moods. And her desires.
Some barriers. Easy words to say. I will think of them when I pull her clothes
off, when her mouth claims mine, when we lie intertwined. Our bodies are old friends now; hands and
lips well acquainted with the routes to pleasure.
And many hours later, when it's
time to start our shift, we'll have a companionable if silent breakfast before
reporting to duty. No promises will be
made, no next meeting set. We won't
discuss what just happened. Those are
her rules, her parameters. I accepted
them long ago.
But I wasn't lying to my
Kathryn. Some barriers we will never
cross and I know that now. But with her,
for those few hours, I rediscovered the woman I fell in love with. Saw the time when the possibility existed
that she might love me too. For that
brief time out of time, I once again played with a Kathryn Janeway that didn't
erect barriers. And I was once again a
Chakotay that would have dared to cross them if she had.
She's looking at me in that
speculative way she saves for these moments.
Concern written deep in the lines I see more and more on her face. More than once she's kicked me out of her bed
for saying "I love you." I
have since learned the art of lightness.
I turn to her. My smile is
perfect, my eyes playful. I rise to get
more cider.
And inside, I erect my own
barriers. Walls of dreams and hope that
will keep the memory of my Kathryn alive and safe. Forever vibrant. Forever full of possibilities. Forever mine.
FIN.