Disclaimer: The characters of Star Trek: Voyager do not belong to me, and neither does the plot of The Philadelphia Story. No money is being made off this strange little diddy.
Author's Note: This story came to mind because Kate Mulgrew does an eerie impression of Katie Hepburn.
Dreams Tell No Lies
The dream starts like this:
I am intoxicated. Not drunk, because synthehol doesn't allow for that, but definitely intoxicated. I am wearing a flowing white and silver gown, and half of my hair is clasped up twists on either side of my head. I can feel a cool night breeze on my face and see a full moon in the sky.
I am dancing with a man. I do not think I love this man, but I dance with him anyway, because we are both intoxicated, and it seems like the right thing to do. He is attractive, but not striking, a man you look over initially until he says something extraordinarily witty. Then you smile at him and allow him to dance with you.
I am not wearing any shoes, I realize, and look down to see cool stone beneath my feet. To one side of the stone wall is grass, to the other, a shallow pond. I dance clumsily, almost taking my nameless partner with me on a number of occasions, only to right myself and have him nearly return the favor. We laugh at our missteps, dancing to some music that I do not recognize but hum along to anyway.
Next, I am with another man—a man I know very well, have known for a very long time. He looks at me, a little sad, before wrapping me in his arms. It is then I realize that I am cold, and shivering, and wet. He kisses the top of my head, and I look up at him. It is Chakotay. I hold my lips up to his, begging silently for him to kiss me. But he does not. He kisses my forehead, tells me there are certain rules about this sort of thing, and carries me up to bed.
When I awake, I feel empty. I wish he was beside me. Not my nameless dance partner, but my Chakotay.