Disclaimer: All good things belong to Paramount

Summary:

Just a fever induced vignette following the events of "Counterpoint"

Rating: T

Variations

by Gine

The theme for the day had been Mahler.

Watching her now in the low lights of the candles, no longer the playful captain, was another counterpoint.

Tschaikowsky was not an option this evening, too light, maybe even too happy.

Tonight they needed different music.

Something melancholic, something strong.

Something that would put their feet on the floor again.

Eventually she decided, as she did most of the time.

Still he was surprised at her choice.

Russian Folksongs.

No text, music only.

Melodies deep and clear like the dark wine they shared.

Maybe this was no surprise at all.

He knew her.

A look in her eyes was enough to understand.

The theme of this evening didn't need words.

They wined and dined in the heavy silence of an unexplainable sadness, both mesmerized by the mere fact, what feelings the music stirred.

His eyes glinted dangerously in the darkness, while his hand brushed hers for the hundreds time today. Like he needed insurance that she was still here, that she was still his.

At another time he would have smiled at his thoughts.

But not tonight.

His doubts had been unfounded.

He knew that now.

Her obvious grief belonged not to the man who had left the ship hours ago.

The depth of her feelings, while only expressed in silent touches, spoke of her heart-rooted desperation.

She had admitted a need to Kashyk.

In a game of wits she had made herself vulnerable.

She thought she could do it.

And she had won.

But the price had been high.

Because he reminded her of everything she had and couldn't have on this journey.

When he had returned to the bridge after Kashyk had left, Chakotay had seen the cracks in the mirror.

The mask had been in place, but the soul had been leaking like lava from a volcano on the brink of explosion.

She had waited for him, had known he would come right after duty.

The table had been set.

And she had served the delicate food with her heart-blood.

The longing in her eyes was unmistakeable, and for minutes they just watched each other's faces.

Eventually she stood and went for her bedroom.

In the frame of the door she stopped for a moment, resting her outstretched arm against it.

"I'm tired, Chakotay."

She didn't look at him. Her voice sounded defeated.

Was this her surrender?

He watched her go.

The music continued, and the candles burned low now.

He was still here.

In the middle of the night.

In her quarters.

And she?

Was she already sleeping?

He stood slowly and made his way to her bedroom.

The scene before him seemed surreal and dreamlike.

Her pale body nude, surrounded by white silk and starlight.

Her face framed by the copper halo of her free falling hair.

The air seemed to turn liquid.

Rich and dark, like Russian chocolate.

The sudden uncoil of emotion left him no choice.

Beyond desire and passion, he felt raw need.

He needed her.

Just as she needed him.

His clothing discarded without conscious thought.

And when he came to her, she opened her arms and legs willingly.

He stilled for a second at her sight.

So open, so free and yet so vulnerable.

Her body lay on the sheets like she was crucified.

A terrible twist of fate had made their love a crux that they had both carried.

But it would end here.

In the final embrace.

The first time was frantic, painful almost.

But they both welcomed the sting.

They felt alive.

Later that night they woke, their bodies entwined.

And he changed the music.

Sounds of summer rain and far away thunder, morning birds and desert winds.

The theme of new day:

Kathryn and Chakotay

Fin