VOY: Otterskin 10/10 (J/C) [R] Talking Stick/Circle
Macedon
This is the last segment. Please don't write to me to ask for missing
parts, I won't be around to answer for about 3 weeks or so. Send
requests to Peg at Peg...@aol.com. Yes, it really IS 5am, and yes, I
really DID just get finished...and I have to drive all day tomorrow!
See how dedicated I am to you guys? Hope you enjoy....
[Disclaimers in Part 1. After the other
two parts, this one is pretty tame.]
OTTERSKIN
Little Otter & Peg Robinson, c1996
X.
After leaving Kathryn's quarters, I went down to the holodeck and
danced.
It'd been years since I'd run that holodeck program. I'd nearly
forgotten that I had it, but either B'Elanna or Seska or Kurt had
brought it to Voyager from Crazy Horse. I was still amazed how much
of my personal belongings they had managed to salvage in that last
scrape and scramble. My pipe, my bundle, my medicine wheel and the
talking stick. Some of my clothes, my Dine pot, and even the old-
fashioned pocketwatch which had been in my family for hundreds of
years. Seska had brought that. For all our later differences, I
suspect I had her to thank for remembering little things, like the
watch, and my box of holodeck programs.
But I'd never expected to use this one out here.
Once, I'd been a good enough dancer to compete at the pow-wows,
had taken half a dozen seconds and two firsts when I was younger and
competing: boy's traditional, boy's fancy dance. But since I'd gone
into the fleet, I hadn't deigned to dance in full regalia...too
'primitive-looking' all gussied up in that quilled and beaded and
belled murder of birds: headdress, bustle, vest, moccasins....
But now, I danced. Not in the regalia--I hadn't brought that--
but I danced. Too much energy. I had to spend it. Dancing had
always been the way I'd blown off steam.
If my father could have seen me, he'd have laughed--not entirely
kindly, but not without some pride. I tried to remember the steps,
flubbed some but was surprised how much I did remember. Sweep right,
sweep left...stamp, stamp, glide-stamp.... There were no bells to
ring and my footsteps made dull thuds on the holodeck's floor.
I danced until it was late and I'd blown all the wild, crazy
energy left over from dinner and safe-sex-on-the-couch with Kathryn.
Finally, I went to bed. I had to get up in the morning, oversee final
preparations for lift-off on the morning after. Early morning. The
Talaxian caravan we were to tag on to wanted to leave at what was
three in the morning, ship-time. That was mid-morning by their ship-
time. We'd have to re-synchronize our ship's clock to match the rest
of the caravan.
The next day, I admit I was counting hours, minutes, seconds
until the end of shift.
Oh, I did my job, make no mistake, I just kept glancing at the
chrono. I had energy to burn and probably drove the crewmembers under
me to distraction, trying to keep up to my pace. Only Tuvok didn't
complain, though he did ask me how many cups of coffee I had drunk
that morning. None, in fact. I just felt on top of the world.
I did not see much of Janeway. She had her duties to perform and
I had mine and there wasn't much overlap. I saw her in the morning
but there were too many people around for me to do more than grin and
wink. She blushed, recovered and gave Tom his instructions before
sending him over to plot our exit course with the Talaxians. We also
met to eat lunch in her readyroom, but we had so much business to
discuss there really was no time for anything more, and to be honest,
it was probably just as well. We each needed a bit of space, I think.
Not seeing her that day was as much deliberate as chance. The newborn
thing between us was small and damp and tender yet, and it was just
too difficult to weigh my words and gestures to be sure I said or did
nothing which might be misconstrued as pushing my place in public or,
conversely, *not* giving her the reassurances she needed. I wasn't
sure yet what she expected, and I realized belatedly, there were still
things we had failed to cover the night before. Would she mind if I
touched her with affection while on duty, or should I keep my hands
strictly to myself? I didn't want to smoother her, or rush her, and
since I wasn't sure yet what to do, I used the insanity of pre-lift-
off as an excuse to stay out of her way.
But at the end of lunch as I rose to leave, she did stand up and
come part-way around her desk. She looked uncertain, like she needed
something from me, so I held out my arms and she came into them. We
just held one another a moment. I touched her hair carefully so I
wouldn't muss it, kissed her on the cheek and then let her go. "Can I
see you after we get off-duty tonight?" I asked. "I understand if
you're busy, but--"
She interrupted, "Yes; I'd like that."
I grinned--I couldn't help it--and reached out to brush her chin
with my thumb. "I should be done by nineteen-hundred."
"I may be an hour after that, at least."
"That's okay."
"We do need to get some sleep before lift off."
"I know. I just...want to see you."
After that, the day was just a blur. I was aware that the crew
was giving me second looks, so I knew that the news of "the date" had
spread. When I took a break to get some dinner in the cafeteria, I
ran into Magda. The look she gave me was pure deviltry and she paused
at my shoulder long enough to whisper, "Ah--bon! I see you found an
extra pair of socks," and then she sailed right on by.
Fortunately, I wasn't holding anything or I'd have dropped it in
sheer shock. I ducked out of line and went after her, grabbed her by
an arm. "*What* did she say?" I didn't have to specify the 'she';
only one she could have told Magda about the sock.
Magda smiled at me. "No private details, do not fear. The sock
was an accident. It gave us a good laugh, which she needed." She
lowered her chin then and studied me a moment: her 'teacher-with-a-
questionable-student' look. "She needs something from you. I think
she is...drifting, yes. She needs something to anchor her; beginnings
are not easy, and her risk is great. I know," she added, holding up a
hand, "yours also. But with relationships, you are as a fish in his
bowl; she, not so much. Pamper her if you wish to keep her, Minou.
She is worth keeping, I think."
When Magda drops the French, it's a warning to take her seriously
so I nodded, solemn. "She is. And I will," I promised.
And that was when I got the idea.
She called me from her cabin when she was finished for the day.
I'd been in my own cabin, using the time to practice. When I got the
call, I grabbed the sacks in the corner and hurried next door. She
was already dressed for the evening in her "slop-abouts" as she calls
them. Her hair was down and she had slippers on her feet. She looked
exhausted. I almost didn't have the heart to drag her back out but
this was important. Magda was right. I needed to give her something,
some piece of me that was hers alone.
When it comes to sex, Western Terran women and men don't stand on
a level playing field. Even 500 years after Freud's Victorian age,
the repercussions of that repressive era still occasionally rear their
heads among some European and North American populations--and my New
England lady belongs to one of them. She's no spinster with her shirt
buttoned up to her neck and 'hands-off' ice in her eyes, but it's part
of her culture and heritage. Not mine. There's an old pow-wow joke
that a papoose is a consolation prize for a gamble taken on a blanket.
Sex is part of life, something to be smiled at with all the other odd
things that human biology drives us to, playing havoc with our images
of ourselves as dignified, rational creatures. We've learned to laugh
at much in life. Indian humor. Kathryn tries; she really does. But
it's not her culture in the same way. She's not easy with sex, and
cultural differences simply exacerbate the different vulnerabilities
that already exist between men and women. She'd given me something
intimate last night. So had I to her but the vestiges of a millennia-
old imbalance between the sexes and my own Indian heritage made my
risk feel like less of one. I needed to even the score, for her sake.
This was what Magda's words at dinner had made me remember and
so, even though she looked dog-tired, I said, "Put on some shoes. I
want to show you something." Before she could protest, I added, "It
won't take long, and you don't have to do anything but sit on the
sidelines and watch, I promise."
He sighed, heavily, put-upon, but complied. I led her by the
hand down to the holodeck and she let me. We passed some crewmembers
who glanced after us curiously--me with my oversized bags and the
captain in a big loose old sweater with her hair down. Outside the
door, I let her go. "Now, you need to give me ten minutes first.
When the privacy light goes from red to green, you can enter."
She had started to smile. Her natural curiosity was overcoming
her exhaustion. "All right," she said, crossed her arms and leaned up
against the wall. "But hurry up. I don't like to wait." I went in.
Putting on the regalia is better done with another's help, just
to straighten everything, if for no other reason. Beaded loincloth,
bright beribboned shirt, fur-trimmed and quilled vest and moccasins,
ropes of silver bells for ankles and legs: I donned them all. This
was replicated finery. My hand-made original was packed in a box back
in the CDMZ. I'd spent about a week's worth of rations calling this
up out of the computer that afternoon. Finally, I took up the great
feathered bustle and the war-bonnet.
"Mirror," I called to the empty room. One appeared and I studied
my reflection. It would do. Moving out into the room's center, I
said, "Computer, run program: Chakotay--fancy."
Around me appeared the hard sand dancing circle with a crowd of
watchers on the outter ring and the drum arbor inside. The colors had
long ago made their rounds. Conversation buzzed while the drummers
kept up their background beat; an announcer was preparing to call out
the next competitor. Me. My father had taken the shots for this
program when I was sixteen, at a pow-wow we'd stopped at in Oklahoma
after that awful trip slogging through the South American rainforest.
He'd known then that I was leaving for Starfleet. I think he'd taken
me to that pow-wow in a last-ditch effort to convince me to stay with
the tribe. It'd had the opposite effect.
Except for the dancing. I'd enjoyed the dancing--not because it
had made me feel Indian, but because it had made me feel free.
Yet that was the last time I had danced for anyone. Now I had
put back on the regalia and was prepared to offer this part of myself
--my *Indian* self--to Kathryn.
"Computer, freeze program and disengage the privacy lock."
Around me, the figures froze; the drumming stopped. A soft chime
announced that the lock was off. I heard the door open. I couldn't
see her; there were people from the crowd between us. In the silence,
her footsteps tapped out her approach. "Computer, resume program."
Conversation and laughter returned, and the steady beat from the
circle center. "Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer called, "get
something to drink and have a seat. For the next round...."
I turned so that my back would be to her.
"....from our brothers and sisters out on the Federation boarder,
welcome Peshewa Chakotay of the Elk Band of Dorvan V!"
The drum pulse increased. I began, stooping and opening my arms,
spinning around in a slow circle, the stamp of my belled feet jingling
time to the drum and the high warble of song from the arbor. I moved
around the circle, felt the bustle slapping against by buttocks and
bare thighs, the ribbons fluttering about my body. Now skipping high,
now stooping low, I lost myself to the dance. This was for her. A
Great Lakes fancy dance for my New England lady.
It ended finally. I called the program to freeze and panting--I
was not sixteen any more--I glanced around the circle for her.
She stepped out from the watchers, came forward to circle me and
see it all. Her face was...rapt. Tentatively she reached out, as if
afraid she was not allowed to touch. "Go ahead," I said. Her fingers
stroked the spotted eagle feathers of the bonnet and the wolf tails
hanging to either side of my face, the quilling of the vest, the
beads, the fur. "What pelts are these?"
I touched each. "Beaver, hare, wolf and this--this is otterskin.
It wasn't on the original." She ran a finger over the smooth sleek
fur, raised her eyes to mine, a question in them. "When I was a boy,"
I explained, "dancing was the only Indian thing I liked to do. This
was my regalia. When I went into Starfleet, I put it away in a box
and I haven't even looked at it since. I recreated it from memory and
a little help from the computer--except for this." Glancing down, I
touched the otterskin that edged my vest and loincloth. "Adding it
seemed...appropriate." I looked back up at her. She was searching my
face, trying to understand. I cupped her cheek with my hand. "I
wanted to dance for you. I haven't danced for anyone in almost thirty
years, but I wanted to dance for you." Her eyes grew misty and she
turned her face into my hand, kissed my palm.
We shared what was left of that evening and night until we had to
rise for lift-off. I'd removed my regalia before going back to her
cabin. I wasn't about to parade through the ship halls in quills and
bells and feathers. Any crew who didn't fall over in a dead faint
would have laughed their asses off. In her cabin, she undressed me
and let me undress her. Then she led me in to her bed. This time our
loving was quiet and slow--like a dance, a different kind of fancy
dance, one that took two to honor Gicimanitto. The dance of life, the
breath of life. When she came, arching her back above me, her cry was
a prayer.
I knew then, with the profound certainty of visions, that this
was *right*. This was what we should be, where we should be.
The alarm went off too damn soon. We'd slept maybe four hours.
I grunted, felt her stir beside me, roll away and snarl something at
the computer. The alarm shut off. We laid there a few more minutes.
Then she said, "You want to shower first or shall I?"
"How long does it take you?"
"I'm not doing my hair so five minutes."
"You go first then."
The bed rocked as she rose. I rolled over to go back to sleep.
It seemed I'd barely shut my eyes before she was shaking me awake to
take my turn. I noticed my sock on the table after I'd dressed. I'd
get it later. We left together; no one else was around. Paris and
B'Elanna had been up all night, preparing. Kes had been up saying
good-bye to the cloned doctor.
We came onto the bridge together. For just a moment, I wondered
if anyone there could *tell*. But that was absurd. I followed her
down to our center seats. "Status?" she called out. Voices answered
in rapid succession. At the helm, Paris had that tight, focused look
he wears when he's excited. Despite the fact Voyager could land, that
wasn't her normal function so take-off from planetside was tricky--
tricky enough to give a good pilot like Paris something to enjoy. I
was glad it was him. I'm a decent pilot but I'm not in his class.
Never will be. The kid may drive me crazy sometimes, but I'm well
aware of his gifts.
I realized abruptly that I felt more at ease in my chair now than
I had in the entire two years before. I settled back and just enjoyed
the busy-ness.
About ten minutes before we were due to lift off, the bridge
doors opened and Anyas stepped out onto the upper tier. He was in
uniform, but in his hand, he had his veiled headdress. I understand
he'd spent his last night back with his family. He hadn't asked for
it, but Kathryn had offered and he'd accepted. She'd also offered to
let him stay behind on Abbyzh-dira, if he wanted. He was no slave of
ours but was a free man to make his own choices. We'd welcome him on
Voyager, but he didn't have to come with us. Kes was cured.
Kathryn said he hadn't even let her finish the offer before he
was refusing--and trying not to look offended. Apparently, he'd
learned enough about us and our Federation culture to understand that
her offer was intended compassionately, not to insult him. But he had
said he meant to go with us all the way to the alpha quadrant.
Now, a bit of the shine of being a First Accepted was starting to
rub off and I wondered if he was reconsidering. His face was stark as
he stared straight ahead at the viewscreen which showed the landing
field outside and the market beyond. It was finally hitting bottom
for him that he was leaving, quite possibly for the rest of his life.
However adventurous of spirit he might be, that's not an easy thing to
do. He was no young man running from his home and heritage--like I
had. His heritage, his culture, was sending him into the unknown,
but he was still leaving his home, his family, his friends.
Beside me, Janeway had turned, too. I could see she realized as
well as I did how hard this must be for him. "You can stay on the
bridge, doctor, if you like."
He tore his eyes away and looked at her. "Thank you," he said.
His voice sounded choked. I wondered if he even realized she'd given
him his proper title, not called him by name. Tuvok had told her
yesterday afternoon that in his judgement, Anyas should be permitted
to keep the uniform and given his commission. His informal education
was not yet finished, but if he'd gotten Tuvok's approval after just
three days, he must be one hell of a snag for Voyager.
Now, he came down to the center of the bridge and stood beside
and a little behind Janeway's chair. His eyes had returned to the
screen and he twisted the veil in his long dark hands. On the landing
field, a crowd had gathered to watch our departure. Some waved, like
family in shuttleport windows. Janeway had turned to look at him.
She said nothing, just looked. After a moment, he dropped his eyes to
hers, nodded slightly, as if to say, "My decision stands."
All around us, countdown to lift-off was going on. When the time
came and Paris turned to the captain for the go-ahead, Janeway turned
again to Anyas. "Would you like to give the word, doctor?"
It startled him and for a moment, I could almost see him trying
to decide what order to give. Then he cleared his throat. "Inferior
maneuvering thrusters, Mr. Paris. One-quarter power."
Paris spun the chair around and his fingers danced over the conn.
"Inferior thrusters, one-quarter power."
The ship rumbled, slowly began to rise. The watchers on the
ground waved harder. One little boy in front was jumping up and down.
The doctor's clone.
"Inferior thrusters to one-half power, Mr. Paris," Anyas said.
"And bring anterior maneuvering thrusters online at your discretion."
"Inferior thrusters one-half power. Bringing on anterior...now."
In truth, Paris was modifying like mad, assuming all the orders Anyas
should have been giving and wasn't. I hid my grin behind my hand,
glad Anyas was a doctor, not a pilot.
The ship's nose rose slightly and we sailed up and forward,
headed for the glory of the veils, the freedom of space and the
waiting Talaxian convoy. Anyas closed his eyes as we passed through
the veils but there was no unnatural glow around him this time. He
just looked sad, and a little lost. Then he opened them and looked
down on his world from space for the last time. As I rose to go join
Paris at the conn for the trip back through the maze, I found myself
wondering if it's better to know it's your last sight of home, or not
to know?
Three days into our trip with the Talaxian convoy, we had the
first meeting of the storytelling circle since that fireside gathering
on the hill above the market of Abbyzh-dira. I was ready to go back,
looking forward to it in fact--if with a little trepidation. I half-
expected Kathryn and I would be razzed.
I was still keeping and sleeping in my own quarters. Anything
else seemed a little precipitous, though I admit I had looked at the
bulkhead between my quarters and hers to see how easy it would be to
cut a door. But that could wait. We wouldn't be fooling anyone if we
said the door was "to facilitate easy communication between the
captain and her first officer." It *would*, of course, but everyone
knew exactly what kind of communication!
The word was out. Not that we had planned to keep it hidden, or
had thought it would be possible to do so, but it was a bit unnerving
to be aware the whole ship knew and was talking of little else. Of
course, no one had said anything directly to either of us since my
brief chat with Magda in the cafeteria, but they knew. So Kathryn and
I had decided to enter the circle that night together--our first true
public appearance as a couple, and tacit permission to the crew that
they no longer had to pretend not to know.
We also had a little something up our command sleeves.
I asked Chaim and Cherel to take on the duty of preparing the
room for me. The impact of our joint arrival would be lost if we were
the first ones there. Then, precisely at nineteen hundred, Kathryn
and I left my quarters for the circle gathering.
I was perfectly aware that my asking Chaim to set up for me would
get the word around that I was coming back under my own steam without
prodding from Kes or anyone else. But I have to say I really didn't
expect *that* many people to show up. I think they knew, in the way a
good crew learns to sense things, that this night wouldn't be one to
miss for a variety of reasons.
We paused together outside the door. I could hear the murmur
inside but for just this moment, the hallway itself was empty. I
leaned over to peck her on the lips and then offer my arm. She slid
her hand into the crook of my elbow and we stepped through the doors
together.
The place was packed. It wasn't one circle, or two, but *four*
concentric circles with a conspicuous place left open on the inner
ring. The lights had already been lowered, so when we stepped in and
stopped--surprised--light from the hall must have haloed us like a
spotlight. There was silence. Over a hundred faces had turned our
way. Some of these people should have been *asleep* was the first
thing I thought to myself. The circle parted to let us through--like
a queen and king on their way to the throne. It was...uncanny.
I seated Janeway but remained standing, the stick in my hand. It
was all I had brought. I'd left the pipe in my quarters, not yet
ready to bring that back. Too many sour memories and anyway, that
symbol belonged to my people. This was a different tribe with symbols
of its own, totems of its own. They were packed in that little bag on
Kathryn's lap.
I looked around at all the people, hunting for one face in
particular, found it: a sad face trying to seem jolly.
"I've been giving some thought to this meeting tonight," I began.
"We're celebrating another birth of sorts. Tonight we won't have a
naming, but we will welcome a new member into 'Les Voyageurs.' Anyas
ke'Fvezhdan, would you please rise and come forward?"
It took him by surprise, but Anyas is nothing if not a ham. He
hopped up from his place beside Magda and strutted forward, dressed
with his old inimical style: loud and in little. For once, it didn't
bother me. I understood that he needed to cling to his identity as
Kithtri tonight--maybe now more than ever. He was not, I noticed,
wearing the earring. Good. It had been Magda's job to get it off of
him somehow, then slip it to us. I had seen it passed from hand to
hand around the circle while I spoke, finally reaching the captain
behind me.
Now she rose, too, and I gave her the talking stick as she
gestured to Tuvok who came to stand at her other side. The first
thing she drew out was a blue and black uniform, which she handed to
Tuvok. With due ceremonial Vulcan solemnity, he offered it to Anyas.
Of course Anyas had one already, but he was perfectly cognizant of the
symbolism. He took it with reverence.
Turning a field-commission pip bar in her hand, the captain
spoke: "Mr. Tuvok's assessment, as both Second officer of this ship
and a former professor of Starfleet Academy, is that you have shown
sufficient--no, *more* than sufficient--capacity to qualify for the
Starfleet uniform. You're not off the hook," she added with a grin.
"You report to him at oh-seven hundred tomorrow morning to continue
your training. But given the joint assessment of my Second Officer as
your instructor, and of my First Officer, I am officially granting
this field commission of lieutenant junior-grade to Doctor Anyas
ke'Fvezhdan, effective immediately."
Anyas had come to attention as she leaned forward to pin the pip
bar...somewhere. She had to settle for the shoulder of his skimpy
vest. His smile was electric and with a smart little click of heels
he started to turn. I clamped my hand on his shoulder. "We're not
through with you yet," I said.
Kathryn handed me the talking stick and, leaning forward, I
pinched the communicator off the vest and held it up. "When I was
down on Egypt, the natives who captured us took our comm badges. They
didn't understand fully what they were, but they recognized them as
our symbol, our totem. Among many tribal peoples, the essence of a
tribe is believed to rest in the totem. This *is*, indeed, our totem
--but maybe not the best one. It's the totem of Starfleet, and this
ship is no longer entirely a Starfleet vessel. It's become *more*
than that, not less: fleet, maquis, and deltan as well with Neelix,
Kes, and Anyas. We need a totem that's *ours*, that represents not
just who we've been in the past, but who we're becoming...as a tribe
together. We *are* a tribe, after all."
Kathryn passed me the earring, I held it up so the chain links
flashed in the low light. "With her usual teacher's insight, and her
love for bad French puns, Magda gave us a new totem: Les Voyageurs.
We've become the goose clan, folks."
That brought startled laughter, as I'd intended.
"Canadian geese are smart creatures, you know. Every year, they
make an unerring migratory trip. And they make it in a V." Tucking
my stick under my arm, I flipped Anyas' comm badge upside-down next to
the earring. "Look familiar? We've become Les Voyageurs, not just
USS Voyager." I handed Anyas back his comm badge. "We're headed
home, either a home we accidentally were taken away from, or a home
we've chosen to adopt--sight unseen. And," I added with a wink at
Kathryn, "we're sure to make it because you all managed to get stuck
out here with an Indian, and Indians are *always* coming home."
That took a moment before some of them got it--mostly maquis with
enough exposure to Indians--then there were chuckles. The rest would
have to have it explained to them later. Indian humor.
"And," I went on, "as the symbol of his adoption into the tribe
of Les Voyageurs, I here before the people present to our newest
member a symbol of our totem." And I handed Anyas his earring. I
noticed he was now crying as well as smiling. The Kithtri have no
qualms about emotional display. Overwhelmed and surprisingly nervous,
he fumbled with the earring and Kathryn had to help him remove the
string of amber beads to put back in Les Voyageurs. Then he went to
sit down. As he passed around the inner circle's edge, I saw hands go
out just to touch him as he passed, like a blessing.
We were done. Tuvok returned to his seat and Janeway sat down as
well. I held up the talking stick. "Next?"
Kes rose. Neelix had the baby. One of her hands was concealed
behind her back--that and her grin made me wary, but I gave over the
stick, started to sit myself. "Not so fast," she said, bringing out
the hand behind her back. "I believe this is yours."
It was an otterskin bag.
She *had* been there, the little imp!
I could see, from the faces around the circle, that there was
already knowledge of what it meant. Kes' work, or maybe Kathryn's,
but when I turned my head to look at Kathryn, her face showed as much
surprise as mine must. I realized she wouldn't have shared the
details of my vision without my permission. Kes was a different
matter. The manitto had called her and no doubt she had her own
instructions from them.
Anyas--now recovered--began to beat time on a little hand drum
produced magically from somewhere. It wasn't an Indian rhythm. It
didn't need to be; he wasn't an Indian. He was making his own mitig
wakik. A man of medicine beating the medicine drum after the rhythms
of his own people.
I stared at the bag.
"Take it," she said.
"I don't know--"
Chaim stood up, gesturing broadly in full Jewish emphatic-mood.
"Take it, old man!"
"You don't know what--"
"Yes, in fact, we do."
Tuvok. I turned to glare. He blinked calmly. "The computer was
most informative," he added.
Damn them! Or bless them. I wasn't sure which I wanted to call
down more. But slowly, I reached my hand out.
Kes layed the bag across my palm.
***
Later that night long after the circle had broken up and we had
each gone our way--Kathryn and I departing together--I was back in my
own cabin, lying flat on my back in bed, staring up into the dark.
Chessie was curled up asleep between my ankles. Or I thought he was.
I was reviewing the evening, trying to order it in my own mind; I
turned my head to look off towards the otterskin bag where I'd set it
atop my dresser. Suddenly, the cat heaved himself up and I felt paws
walk up my body towards my face. He pushed his nose against mine.
*You're not asleep,* he said.
"No."
*Considering the hour you've been slipping in lately, sleep isn't
something you've had a lot of.*
"Guess not."
A long pause while he settled down smack on my chest. Then he
asked, *Why are you in this bed?*
I raised my head. "Because it's mine?"
*It's not the bed you WANT to be in.*
"How the hell do you know what bed I want to be in?"
He didn't even bother to reply to that one, just began washing
one paw.
"I can't just go climb in her bed," I pointed out.
*Why not? You want to be there. She wants you to be there.
What's the problem, DaddyO?*
"It's just not.... It's not right. We don't have that much of a
commitment yet."
*So. Ya got balls enough to screw her, but not balls enough to
sleep with her.*
"Watch it."
*I have been, for almost a week. You want a commitment. She
wants a commitment. But you both think the OTHER doesn't want a
commitment, so here you lie, big man...all scared to death of a little
four-letter word. Do I have to spell it for you? Starts with an L.*
He rose up again and went back to curl between my ankles, leaving me
breathless--and not from his weight.
*Was* I scared? Things had turned so sour with Seska. Was I
ready to risk it again?
Stupid question. Of course I was. I'd never have made a move if
I wasn't ready to risk it--and risk it all. Whatever games I'd been
playing with myself, the plain fact was I loved her and I wanted her.
Permanently.
It was one of those rare moments of crystal clear realization,
the kind of certainty about a thing that prophets and seers must feel.
I threw off the sheet. It landed square atop of the cat, who
gave a startled snort, but I was already out of bed and moving.
"Lights." The lights flashed on. I started to grab the clothes I'd
worn to the circle, then didn't. With that same certainty, I went to
my closet and got out a uniform, put it on. I was doing this not just
as Chakotay, but as the first officer. Then I put on my rank bar, my
comm badge and my medicine bag. Chessie watched wordlessly for a
change. I paused just before exiting to glance at him. Slowly, he
faded out, leaving only his smile to linger a moment. Then he was
gone.
I stepped into the hall and, squaring my shoulders, walked the
ten steps to Kathryn's door, rang the buzzer.
There was a long pause. When she finally opened the door, her
robe was wrapped over pink silk, her hair down, face sleepy. Seeing
my uniform, she frowned, confused. "Did something happen, commander?"
I dropped to one knee and looked up at her, reached for her hand
and held it in mine.
"Kathryn Janeway--marry me!"
*** FINIS ***
That's all, folks. <bigevilgrin>
Now, as Laura Bowen would say, "Feed our egos," and maybe we'll tell
you the *rest* of the story.
Mysty
Are you guys trying to kill us all in suspense???? :) Hurry up and write
the sequel!!!
Claire
peg...@aol.com
Hi, all.
I can't tell you how much I'm enjoying and appreciating all the whoos and
hurrahs from you guys, both on the group and by e-mails. I'm saving them
up, and intend to ship 'em all to Joe as soon as he gets back. He's a
softy, and will almost certainly be at least as tickled as me. <G> I
figure it should start his year off on one heck of a positive note. Thank
you so much for reading the series, for *liking* it, and for going so far
out of your ways to tell us so. It matters, and we really do appreciate
it.
Now, as for the next link: yes, *of course* there will be one, barring
death, doom or disaster. Granted, it's early to be sure this will turn
out the way I expect, but right now I'm several pages into the intro, and
it's looking good. With luck Joe and I may have it ready for you as early
as mid-February, though I'm a bit reluctant to state that as a positive
date. Joe swore in early September that we'd have "Otterskin:" done
within six weeks easy, and laughed at my mild dismay... and look where we
ended up--December before we posted, and it's only just now done. So
don't hold me to that as a solemn promise.
Now, you can help me out. I need elephant jokes--preferably by e-mail. I
don't want to clog the group up with off-topic posts, and I'd as soon be
sneaky and go over them behind the scenes. But I do need the suckers.
Lots and lots of elephant jokes. Clean, dirty, long, short--you name it.
If you have a good pachyderm punchline, send it to me: please. No
gaurantees I'll be able to use them, but right now it looks like I'll need
at least a couple of them, and I'd like a nice selection--and I don't
remember enough to feel like I've got a good pool of candidates for this
thing.
Thank you all again for all your response, and please feel free to send
more: crits, kudos, you name it. Thank you, thank you, thank
you!!!!!!!!!!! And as I understand it, I'm free to thank you for Joe for
the time being... so thanks from him too, until such time as he returns
and can thank you himself.
Peg
lee
Feed their ego, they said, and they might give us more. ok. letssee.
everyone else doing a pretty good job...got what we need? yep,
chapstick so the lips don't dry out from the hot air, knee pads for
obvious groveling (we'd better be worthy! we'd better be worthy!),
bribes and other enticements, reporters at the door, President on the
phone...ok, we're set.
Peg & Joe,
It was great! No, FANTASTIC! Wonderful, stupendous, incredible,
outa-this-world (literally!) Best read ever! Put it up for a Hugo! No,
not good enough...a Pulitzer (dang, did I spell that right??). STILL not
good enough...Nobel prize for literature, that'll do it. Hmm, they do
give a Nobel for literature, don't they? Ah, well, even if not, we'll
put in for the Nobel in physics. Anyone who can design a floruescent(?)
Main Coon with an attitude that'll pop up outta thin air...I'm sure
Chessie could explain Shroedinger's Cat to us (sorry folks, some things
my spell checker ain't gonna catch). Anyway, where was I...
Better yet, let's get you writing the series. I can see it
now...Golden Globes, Peoples' Choice, Emmys, Tonys, Grammys(?), Oscars
and even Felixes if ya want them. We'll free Janeway, Chakotay and the
rest from the stifling chains of their Paramount personality prison. It
will be...beautious! *dramatic sigh*
Yep...ya done good (on the WHOLE Talking Stick series!!!!!!!!!)
Please ma'am and sir, may I have some more???
Seriously <g>, thank you VERY much for several great stories.
Please. Tell us more.
peg...@aol.com
>Feed their ego, they said, and they might give us more. ok. letssee.
>everyone else doing a pretty good job...got what we need? yep,
>chapstick so the lips don't dry out from the hot air, knee pads for
>obvious groveling (we'd better be worthy! we'd better be worthy!),
>bribes and other enticements, reporters at the door, President on the
>phone...ok, we're set.
YIKES!!!!!!!!!
There I was still bemusedly grinning and trying to figure out how I was
going to respond to you email encouragement, besides grinning like Chessie
with a bowl of cream, and here comes another round.
I've been sent tons of fine response: short and sweet, long and
thoughtfuland everything in between. But this....
This appeals to the theatrical heart of me. My dear, you do razzamatazz
like a pro! Yowsa!!!!!!! What can I say--I love a parade. Razzle-dazzle
me! <BBBBG> Honest, I'll respond to your original hoopla and ballyhoo
soon, and *boy* do I like the encore. Glad you've liked the series.
And to *all* of you who are enjoying Chessie--just so you know, I'm a bit
in love with the critter, too. If I ever figure out how to get him in
real life, I'll let you all know.
Peg. (gloating and fondling the
praise messages,and making a mess of her computer screen.....)