So it's been a while since I've uploaded... anything. This was originally posted on a Geocities page back in 2005 and for some reason I never posted it here (which I'm kinda surprised by, but not really because I have about 75 Voyager drabbles that need to be uploaded). I've done a few tweaks, fiddled with a few sentences. I had to, some went on for ages.
Rating: G
Mentions: Resolutions, Coda, Night, Latent Image, Counterpoint, Bride of Chaotica! and yeah… think that's it.
Pairing(s): Blink and you miss J/C, J/Kashyk.
It started off as something simple, a small reminder of her humanity lost when she regained her title. She needed to feel the cold water on her skin, scouring away a death glare that seemed permanently painted onto her unwilling, victimised face. She didn't want the sonic shower to take over a job as simple as washing her face. Intellectually, she knew the sonic shower would take off all the make-up without trouble, but the self-torturing aspect of her personality made her re-evaluate the decision to take the easy way out. Excursions to idyllic, virus ridden planets were not what she expected to make her think like that. She hadn't expected anything to make her re-evaluate her method of make-up removal.
There was no need for make up on their planet. There was no one to impress, unless you counted the monkey, no one to hide from. She was naked on the planet. Chakotay had seen her without the mask, could remember her as the lone Eve in their immense Garden of Eden. That scared her. She didn't want him to have that knowledge of her, of how she'd sing to herself whilst she washed her hair, or how she'd turn cartwheels on bright sunny days. What she needed was his respect, not to be his forbidden fruit. So, each day she would carefully apply the mask that showed she was off limits: the Captain, not Kathryn.
She wanted to be Kathryn though.
She wanted to cartwheel in a green field, to grin like a maniac when she figured out the answer to a difficult question, to be lulled to sleep by the breathing of another. That had been her comfort when she shared a room in the Academy, and the only way she slept soundly in Mark's arms. She missed that comfort when she was tossed unceremoniously into the Delta Quadrant.
But she kept the war paint, ready for each battle against the harsh reality of her existence. The physical battles against the Kazon and the Vidiians felt easy in comparison to her metaphysical battles. The alien being who wanted her in his matrix added to her dilemma. Do you keep going, blindly following a pre-ordained path, or do you explore the path and find your own route?
She kept to the path, but every so often a lush green landscape, or a stately rose, would catch her eye. They'd tempt her with their forbidden pleasures. Sometimes she'd give in to temptation, but when that happened, she'd build higher, impenetrable walls, and paint on a more fearsome mask to hide the woman wanting peace.
The Captain façade started controlling other aspects of Kathryn's life. The Captain cut her hair. The Captain got angry at Kathryn's hair, always in the way, taking up precious Captain time. Kathryn's hair had no chance. The Captain took a pair of scissors, and in a fit of rage, destroyed the Eve of New Earth. Kathryn calmed herself, but it was too late for her hair. It now lay ragged around her shoulders.
Kathryn saved a long lock before calling Chakotay for help. The Captain didn't like the idea of calling the First Officer, showing weakness, but Kathryn needed her best friend.
"What happened?"
"I wanted a change."
"So you asked a Klingon to attack your hair with a blunt bat'leth?"
"I knew I shouldn't have called you…"
"Kathryn, I'm sorry."
(Pause)
"Do you want me to tidy up the back?"
"Yes please. Chakotay?"
"Yes?"
"Thanks, for coming over."
She was naked again in the Void. Why paint on a happy face when she felt like clawing it off in desperation? She had stranded everyone in the Delta Quadrant, lost crew members, broken at least two dozen different regulations, and on top of all that, lost about six inches of hair. If Voyager hadn't come across the Malon and the aliens indigenous to the Void, she was sure she'd have died of dehydration and depression.
But there were glimmers, glittering moments of freedom before another visage was donned. Danger came along; a devilish, Devore stranger, with dark eyes and darker ideals. A luminous Kathryn emerged from that shadowy cocoon, needing to be caught by this sinful creature, if only for a moment. Gone was the Eve of New Earth, but in her place was a plum covered Bathsheba, one with a chance of fun, however brief, with her David.
It was harder to take off the make-up that time. Kathryn kept seeing shadows of Bathsheba, and hated herself. That mask had been delightful at times, but Kathryn longed for her Eve to be gathered up in the arms of Adam.
The glowing butterfly morphed into the Spider Queen, mysterious, secretive and deliciously campy. The whole caper stood brightly in stark relief to the drudgery surrounding her, but being monotone didn't help her mood. Darkness had infused the crew of her battle-worn ship - the constant deaths, a holographic doctor with depression. Worse, she still had half an inch of make-up on her face, and the most constricting dress ever created was laying on the bathroom floor. The Captain disapproved of the mess. A dress taking up floor space? She should pick it up before it made her fall, and call the Doctor to her side. No-one could see her weak.
Kathryn told her to shove it.
Looking away from her reflection, sighing despondently, she started washing her face.
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