Work Text:
Slamming his glass on the table, the last of the wine glides down his throat as he lays his head against the cool surface. The moment he was off duty, he had skipped dinner - shit on a single is what he once heard Paris refer to the concoction Neelix makes - and gone straight for the booze. Within the span of thirty minutes, he had the rest of the wine Kathryn had brought over for dinner and three mini bottles of different flavored rums which were left by his predecessor.
Glancing up at the only bottle of alcohol left, he rolls his eyes at the twist of guilt in his belly. Kathryn - the Captain - had given it to him as a gift of goodwill and comradery. And now, at that precise moment, he wants nothing more than to consume all of it in one sitting, to drown in something other than misery.
After everything that has happened, would it be the worst thing that happens?
He instantly answers that with a solid no and stands to grab the bottle, the glass instantly warming against his palm. Uncorking the top, he makes his way to the sofa and settles onto it before taking a swig. He is sure that there are several people just trying to erase the day's events with one numbing habit or another. They were close, so close, the thrill of seeing loved ones blossoming in the pit of their desperate bellies, yet it was so cruelly taken from them, not just once, but multiple times within the span of just a few hours.
Since then, he has noticed a significant shift in the crew’s morale. He had first tried to be optimistic that their message would be passed on despite the distortion of time, yet as he continues to ruminate on it, he finds his small bubble of hope shrinking with each passing hour. He had thought about going to the holodeck to punch his frustration on an insignificant opponent, however he ended up just coming back to his quarters.
Kicking up his feet, he takes another sip from the bottle and tips his head back, the slight burn of the alcohol helping to numb his mind.
It is there, within the span of nothingness he is eager to reach, does he remember the dinner he shared with Kathryn. They were flirty with each other, which was fun and quite harmless by itself, yet it was the conversation they had after that still surprises him. He knows damn well that they crossed a boundary, but looking back, he finds that he doesn’t care.
We are alone out here in the Delta Quadrant, the events of the day reminding us now more than ever.
He is attracted to her and he knows that she is attracted to him. While he doesn’t feel beholden to the Starfleet rule book, he can appreciate that she does. That is why he had let her go.
It is important for them to build a relationship with each other, to forge a bond that is both trustworthy and united, however he is not ignorant of the fact that isolating oneself can be more harmful than good. Loneliness can be a cruel bitch and the danger she possesses can heighten when one tries to ignore her.
Lifting his chin, he takes another sip. Before he has a chance to stop himself, he taps his badge. “Computer, location of Captain Janeway?”
“Captain Janeway is located in her quarters.”
Surprised at hearing this, he stands and makes his way to his dining table. Last he heard, she was holed up in her ready room, most likely immersing herself under mountains of reports. She must have left after I did. At the time, he considered going into her ready room to check in on her, yet he talked himself out of it. She was squirmy when they were in the privacy of his quarters, he can only imagine how evasive she would be in a more public place.
Yet, now she is in her quarters.
Corking the bottle, the determination to check on her drives him to put one foot in front of the other.
Fuck!
Stepping out of his quarters, he is surprised to see that the corridor is quite busy. Glancing at the time on a small interface monitor, he realizes that the gamma shift is on their way to their duty post to relieve beta shift. Deciding that it would be a good idea to wait until the corridor is clear, he meanders his way around the deck, stopping every-so-often to talk to a few people who require his attention. If they saw the bottle of alcohol in his hands, they didn’t ask him about it, not when they know that he is off duty.
Once the last few gamma shift crew members run to their station, he circles his way back towards Kathryn’s quarters to find the corridor completely empty. Glancing all around, he presses the chime. When a minute barely passes, he presses the chime again. Telling himself that he will try one more time, he looks one way and then the other before ringing the chime.
Perhaps she would rather be alone.
Resigned, he turns back in the direction of his own quarters.
– Swish –
Excitement ripples through him as he swirls back to her quarters, yet it is quickly swept away when he comes face-to-face with that impenetrable scowl. He has only been on the receiving end of that look a few times, it having the power to reduce him to bumbling words, however those few times, in his honest opinion, were enough for him to learn how to steer clear of it. Obviously not tonight. Trying to remember why he had decided to come to her quarters to begin with, he squeezes the neck of the bottle and thrusts it towards her. “I was wondering how... how” his mouth instantly clamps shut when he notices how she is dressed.
Fuuuck…
She is actually standing in front of him dressed in nothing but a robe, its shiny, silky material sticking to her wet body.
She is fucking gorgeous.
His eyes sweep along the soft curves of her form, drinking in the sight of her as if he were a thirsty man. It is there, in the harsh light of the corridor, he finds himself mesmerized by a small bead of water drawing a slow path down her neck and into the crevice wrapped beneath the robe.
Feeling her hand wrap around his arm, within a lazy blink, he is devoured into the darkness of her quarters, the door giving them the privacy he knows she appreciates. “What the fuck are you thinking?!”
Blinking several times, he looks up to see that her scowl has grown angrier since the moment she opened the door. Instead of giving her an explanation that is well articulated, he dumbly offers her the bottle.
Snatching the bottle away with the roll of her eyes, she slams it on the table before rounding back to him. “I ask again, Commander, what the fuck were you thinking?”
“Today was a shit day.”
She crosses her arms against her chest. “Every day is a shit day.” Her words are dry, devoid of any and all emotions.
“I just wanted to check on you.”
“Well as you can see, Commander, I am fine.” The strict use of his rank feels like she poured cold water over his head. “Now, please lea–”
“No one is fine right now,” he blurts out. “We are all hurting.”
“And what do you want me to do about it?”
He relaxes his tense shoulders and takes a deep breath. “You don’t have to do anything about it. I just… I just wanted to check on you.”
“So you’ve said.” Her voice is the epitome of her barely contained fury, yet it's her eyes, which are so expressive, that tells him all that she is feeling. He sees anger in there, yes, but he also sees a darkness that stains her normally bright optimistic eyes.
“You are in pain.”
“Well what the fuck do you expect?” She throws her hands into the air. “What do you want me to say? That I'm angry at our latest failed attempt to get back us home? That I'm disgusted with myself for trapping us here?” Self-hatred and contempt sears through her eyes so fast that he fears that if she were telekinetic, she would have thrown him clear across the ship. “Then yes to all of the above, but my question to you, Commander, is why do you care? I can smell the alcohol on your breath. If that is what you desire to get your mind off of another failure of mine, then go commiserate in the holodeck at that French bar. But don't barge into my quarters late at night and presume to tell me how I feel. I know exactly how I feel without you here to remind me.” Turning back towards her bedroom, she kicks him out with a swift “dismissed” before disappearing beyond the wall.
Completely dumbstruck by an animosity he had never heard come out of her, he stares at the dark vortex leading into her bedroom. A small chill runs down his spine. While he has been on both the receiving and giving end of a dress-down, he can’t help but to feel that she was only trying to convince him of her failures, to shed light on her faults. He can’t leave her now, not when she has most likely reached and surpassed her proverbial tipping point.
Taking a step forward, he abruptly stops and questions whether he should continue to bother her. In the end, he asks himself what would Tuvok do if he were in his position. While the Vulcan is a stickler to Starfleet protocol, including when to leave when he is dismissed, he finds it hard to believe that he would leave his friend at a time when she needs to be reminded of how important she truly is to the ship and crew.
Plucking up the courage, he quietly steps to the opening of her bedroom and peeks in. The sight of her against the stream of brightly colored stars rushing past nearly breaks him. She is lying in a fetal position facing away from him, her body violently jerking as she tries to hold in her silent sobs.
“You are not alone when it comes to bringing this ship home safely.” Her rigid body tenses. “I know you don't want anyone to see you like this, but, as your friend, please allow me to comfort you.”
“No, I'll be fine.” Despite her crying a moment prior, her voice is strong, almost demanding.
Taking a timid step in, he allows himself to speak from his heart. “I told you earlier that I came here to check on you, but, in reality, I find comfort whenever I am with you.” He wants to tell her that he needs her to help him feel grounded, yet he holds back. He doesn't want to scare her or to push her away. Instead, he counts the beat of his heart pulsing against his throat. He promises himself that once he gets to one hundred, he will leave her quarters.
At beat thirty-seven, she glances over her shoulder and gives him a slight nod.
Shuffling further into the room, he toes off his boots and sits on the edge of her bed. He gives her some time to change her mind, however, when he is met with silence, he takes that as her permission. Gently laying down, he moves his body so that he is contoured to her curves. At first his hands stay rigidly by his side, yet, when he feels her shivering, he wraps his arm around her waist. Instantly, he can feel the tightness in his chest absolving them, the day’s disappointments melting off of his shoulders. No amount of alcohol in the universe could make me feel like this . “I know you will find this hard to believe, but I will be here for you, Kathryn.” He gives her a light peck on the small stretch of skin behind her ear.
He can feel her whole body tense. “Please, don't make promises that we both know you can't keep.”
No doubt being on the receiving end of broken promises and deceit, he makes his promise again. “I will be here for you.”
And through the grace of the universe, he finally feels her muscles begin to relax. “I sent my message to Starfleet stating where we were and that we were safe for the time being.” Her voice drips with disdain, no doubt the soaring cost of being the highest ranking officer in an unknown quadrant of space outweighing the need to reach out to those she loves.
“I gave a short message to a stranger by the name of Mark Johnson telling him that his fiancé is safe.” Hearing her lungs hitch in surprise, he quietly adds, “I knew you didn't have enough space in your message to reach him, and as I had told you before, I have no family to write home to.”
He can hear her breath trembling, yet she refuses to look at him. “Thank you.”
He leaves it at that. Originally, he wasn’t going to tell her. He didn’t want her thinking that he pitied her, which he doesn’t, instead he knew she would never be able to get a message to Mark Johnson. He did what he thought was the right thing to do.
Taking a deep breath, he allows all of the stress from their day to leave both his mind and body. Eventually, he hears the soft lilt of her breathing roll into a relaxed pattern. Safe in the knowledge that she is asleep, his lazily closes his eyes.
His dreams are shallow; several glimpses of images all merging together creating a timeline that does not make sense to him. It’s his stomach grumbling that finally pulls him from his light slumber. He curses himself for skipping a meal. Adjusting himself in a more comfortable position, he is at first confused as to who he has his arm wrapped around, yet, as his senses begin to waken, he remembers all that had happened the previous evening.
Disappointment, anger, rum, wine, concern, whiskey, more concern, Kathryn, her scowl, more concern, her self-hatred, her crying, him joining her in bed, his promise, the messages that will most likely never see the light of day.
A lot had happened in the span of an hour, more than what he had anticipated when he left the bridge.
Rolling his shoulders back, a few of his joints crack back into alignment. Perhaps sensing his movement, Kathryn tightens her grip over his arm. Smiling into her hair, his fingers stretch out to silently tell her that he is still there, however he instantly stops when the tip of his thumb grazes her soft skin. Pure exhilaration tumbles through his belly at the idea of memorizing the feel of her skin under the tips of his fingers.
I should leave, he grudgingly tells himself. Any headway their relationship made the previous night would lose all momentum if she woke up to him touching her without her permission. Shifting his palm down towards a safer spot, he makes a move to pull away from her, yet her hand remains firm on his arm.
Wondering how best to move forward, he eventually decides to try and wake her. He hates to do it, especially if her sleep has been minimal at best, but he doesn’t see any other way. “Kathryn.” He does his best to keep both his body and whisper as gentle as possible. “Kathryn.”
“Mmmhmm…” her mumble is soft.
“I must leave.”
She takes a deep breath and flips her body around so that they are facing each other. “But I don't want to wake up,” she sleepily murmurs, her eyes still closed, her face free from the worries that plagues her during the day. Both of her hands press against his chest, most likely looking for a lapel or a soft shirt to pull him towards her, however her fingers instantly retract when they touch the cool metal of his communicator.
Not wanting to worry her, he lightly kisses her forehead. “You can go back to sleep. I can see myself out.” Untangling himself from her warm body, he sits on the edge and puts his boots on.
“You can stay." Her voice is small, frightened of the repercussions of her decisions.
He would honestly like nothing more than to stay with her; to tangle himself around the soft curves of her body, to taste her skin; yet he can’t, not when he would know that she would be imagining him as someone else. Afterwards, she would hate him and neither of them can afford that. Taking in a deep, calming breath, he shakes his head. “I don't want to rush into this to only be a poor substitute for the man you truly desire at this moment.”
Standing up, he glances over his shoulder to see that her eyes have closed. If she is pretending to be asleep or not, he takes it as his cue to leave. “Goodnight, Kathryn.” Slipping out of her quarters, he makes a beeline for his own quarters, thankful that no one was in the corridor to witness him walking out of her quarters with wrinkled clothes and messy hair.
Going inside and straight to the bathroom, he decides that a cold shower and an hour's worth of meditation would be just what he needs before going on duty.