Title: Permanence
Author: Vesper (Regina)
Rating: K+
Category: ST: ENT
Keywords: R/S
Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Paramount.
Archival: If you wish to archive, please link to my website.
Summary: Sand castles.
Hoshi is tanning, under the sun of a planet much like earth. This is her territory, her space, her day in the sun. Her breath is slow, measured, the pace of sleep, but I know she's only drifting. I'm not ashamed to admit I'm watching her. Sexy, sweet, spitfire Hoshi in a moment of peace. How can I not?
A shout catches my attention and I turn my head from watching her. Across the beach, I can see Porthos chasing Trip. I can hear Trip coaxing the beagle onward, tempting him with promises of cheese. T'Pol walks sedately along the shoreline, conversing with the Captain. I can't see Travis, but better he than I to ride the waves.
It is a rare moment of indulgence for most. Here I sit, knees to my chest, arms resting on them, hands dangling, watching the only woman I still try to figure out.
She rolls over onto her stomach, making a sound that steals my breath. She stretches and opens her eyes, focusing on me. She smiles, a dainty curve of her lips.
"Malcolm," she asks, "why dress for the ocean if you're not going to enjoy it?"
"I am enjoying it."
"Watching it hardly qualifies as enjoying it," she says and I have to smile at her teasing tone.
"Maybe so, but I wasn't watching it."
She shifts to her side, facing me, propping her head on her hand, elbow digging into the white sand. Her hair flows over her hand, caressing the ground.
"You ever build sand castles, Malcolm?"
The abrupt change of subject does not escape my notice. I don't answer immediately, but this is a woman who does not give up easily.
She waits patiently, as I sift through sand, picking up a loose handful and letting it fall. It flows much like water, you know.
"No," I say, voice low.
"Why not?"
This quiet gaze she holds me with is more than I can stand, and I stare out at the breaking waves. Enemy familiar. I understand, too well, my fear of water, have confronted and accepted it, but the quickening of my heart and the tightness of my chest belies that understanding.
I could lie to her, pass off the question, but I know her. She asked because she wants to know. She wants to know.
"Too impermanent, Hoshi," I answer and I surprise myself with how easily the truth comes out. "I could never abide creating something that would wash away."
"This from a man who designs weapons in his spare time." She sits up, and scoots closer to me, until we sit side by side, thigh by thigh. She radiates heat and I can feel it seeping into my skin. She smiles just enough to let me know she's joking.
She leans against my arm, pushing me off balance a little. She says, "Isn't it strange, Malcolm, to think that we are parsecs away from earth, and yet here we are, on a beach, on another world, spinning in space."
"Gone a little poetic on me, haven't you, Hoshi?"
She shoots me a mild glare and I smile at her.
She says, "It's unexpected and intricate--"
I mumble, "Just like you and I."
She whispers, "Perhaps..." and her voice trails away, lost in the sound of the waves. She turns her gaze to the water. I hold my breath, seeing a shiver of something cross her face.
She looks at me again, whatever it was gone now. She says, her voice steady, "Perhaps, Malcolm, but no one ever said dichotomy was harmful. This, what we have, is more than that, isn't it?"
When I don't answer, she reaches down, intertwining her fingers with mine. She holds our hands up, saying, "It's this--inseparable, tight and strong."
"Nothing lasts forever, Hoshi."
"Is that what you're afraid of?"
She knows me too well. I avoid her eyes, looking down at our hands.
She says, "I never built sand castles, either, Malcolm. I love you, despite your pessimism, stubbornness, and pride, because, God knows, I share the same traits." She squeezes my hand and repeats, "I love you."
She lets go of my hand to touch my cheek. I lean forward and rest my forehead on hers.
"For heaven's sake, why, Hoshi?"
She smiles.
"Because we fit."
She pulls my head down and crushes her lips against my mouth. No matter how many times we've kissed, each one is distinct from the last. She claims me, takes and gives. Too soon, she pulls away.
She says, "We may be made of sand, Malcolm, but there's nothing to fear from being washed away."
I ignore the tightness in my chest, and kiss her again, lay her back against the sand. I can still hear the crashing of the waves, over-powered by my pounding heart. Nothing to fear.
Nothing at all.
End.