New: Sunset (Voy, J/C, G 1/1)
Ragpants
SUNSET
by Ragpants
Summary: A 'sort of' sequel to "A Promise Kept," though this story
make sense standing alone. Kathryn paints on the beach and meets a
man with a dog.
Feedback to Ragp...@aol.com
Disclaimers: Paramount owns Star Trek and these characters. What
I've done with them, however, belongs strictly to me.
The old woman stood on the beach, painting, a solitary figure in the
late afternoon light. She had always been a small woman and the
passage of years had seen her grown tauter and more compact. No
hint of frailty touched her, not in her posture nor in the sure
movement of her hands across the canvas. An ocean breeze riffled
the hem of her dress around her calves and tugged at the wide
brimmed straw hat she wore to protect her face from the sun. Her
hair hung down the center of her back in a long, neat gray braid and
the sleeves of her light cotton sweater had been pushed up to her
elbows in a vain attempt to spare them from her oil paints. She was
painting a seascape, a portrait of the land and sea that lay in front of
her. She paused in painting and tapped the end of the brush against
her teeth. She frowned in concentration. Something wasn't quite
right, though she couldn't put a finger to it. She lifted her chin to
study the scene before her. Something had changed. A man walked
on the beach now, paced by a large, black dog. She studied the man
with a painter's practiced eye. He walked on the wet sand and wore a
blue shirt and cement-colored pants rolled to the knee. He was a tall
man, broad shouldered with white hair thinning at the crown, his
thick body gone slack and bit paunchy with age. He stopped and
lifted a stick from the litter at the tide line. He whistled for the dog
and waved the stick above his head before throwing it into the sea.
The dog bounded joyfully into the water, swimming strongly, his
head bobbing above the waves, until he retrieved the stick and swan
back to shore. The dog did not return the stick to man, but dropped it
on the sand and galloped off the scatter seagulls farther along the
beach. The woman smiled to herself and reached into her paint case
for a rag and began to clean her brushes. She looked up again to see
the man and dog repeat their actions. She shook her head in
amusement and returned to her study of the painting. Too late she
heard the pounding feet of the dog, felt the stick drop at her feet. She
threw her arms up to cover her face against the sand and sea water
the dog shook all over her. The man she had seen earlier with the dog
loped up.
"Sorry," he said mildly, in apology.
She turned and glared at him, a fist planted on each hip. "I swear you
taught him to do that."
He lifted his hands in a small vague gesture of helplessness. "He's
your dog. I can't get him to do anything," he answered with an
amused ingenuousness.
"Did he ruin your painting?" he asked, stepping around her to stand
in front of the easel.
She shook her head. "Tell me what you think," she asked carefully,
neutrally.
"Hmmm." He pursed his lips in concentration, crinkling the fans of
wrinkles at the corner of each eye. He pointed a thick, callused finger
at a patch of painted ocean. "Here," he said decisively, "I think
you've got the lighting wrong."
She peered around his shoulder to study the place his finger hovered
over. Perhaps. Just perhaps......She could do worse than to listen to
his advice. The times she had come closest to failing were those time
she had hadn't heeded him.
She walked behind him to sit down upon a rock. She reached into the
satchel there and removed a coffee thermos. She poured herself a
cup.
"You drink too much of that." He crossed his arms and frowned
faintly in disapproval.
She lifted her brows and sipped at her cup. "If you think that, then
why do you pack it for me in the morning?"
He chuckled softly. "Because I know what you're like when you
haven't had your coffee." He crossed to sit opposite her.
"What did you do today?" she asked conversationally, wrapping her
hands around her cup.
"I walked to the village. It was Farmer's Market today. The first
tomatoes of the season are in and Luisa had a fresh batch of
artichokes. You'll be having both for supper."
The dog had gone missing while they talked. She stood and took
two steps forward before cupping her hands around her mouth and
yelling, "Admiral. Admiral. Get back here!"
Behind her the man burst into guffaws, his hands slapping against
his knees. His laughter had an open, easy sound, the sound of a man
at peace. "I still can't believe you named the dog that," he gasped out
between the bursts of laughter, " though I think I know why you
did." His laughter bubbled up again. "I will never forget the first time
you yelled, 'Admiral, get off my couch!' and six of the Admiralty's
finest leapt to attention." He looked up to meet her eyes. "Kathryn,
you have a wicked sense of humor."
Her eyes held his and she let her smile grow to match the one on her
husband's face. "Considering what *you* did at Necheyev's
retirement party, Chakotay, I'd say that was the pot calling the kettle
black."
The moment hung between them, wreathed with a lifetime of
memories.
"Are you going to paint some more?" he asked.
She turn and examined the sea and sky with a critical eye. "No," she
said slowly, "I've lost the light." She turned back to the man again
and extended her hand. "Walk with me on the beach?"
He lifted his hand to hers. "Always."
FINIS
Jamelia116
>
>The moment hung between them, wreathed with a lifetime of
>memories.
>
>"Are you going to paint some more?" he asked.
>
>She turn and examined the sea and sky with a critical eye. "No," she
>said slowly, "I've lost the light." She turned back to the man again
>and extended her hand. "Walk with me on the beach?"
>
>He lifted his hand to hers. "Always."
>
>
Nice. Very, very nice.
The images throughout the story were as vivid as any that Kathryn could put on
canvas.
Beautiful.
"Jamelia"