Fandom: Star Trek The Next Generation
Characters: Geordi LaForge / OFC
Prompt: #012 - Orange
Word Count: 1009
Rating: G
Summary: After the ball, two people take a walk on a bridge. Chapter three of the Color Series: Color my World . This chapter takes place sometime before Home, but after the previous chapter, Yellow.
Notes: Written for the Livejournal FanFic 100. Star Trek: The Next Generation and Geordi LaForge are owned by Paramount. I'm just playing in their sandbox. This was written for the LiveJournal Fanfic 100 challenge. I chose a world I'm reasonably familiar with, and a character I've never explored. May continue to be Geordi/OFC (Kat) - may not. This is un-beta'd.

Orange

It is a somewhat disappointing fact that San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge is actually orange. Specifically, the color is "international orange." I know this because one of my first local news reports for FNN was for the annual repainting of the bridge. I remember standing at the base of one of the towers with the wind whipping my hair. Tonight, though, I am not expounding upon the color, or complaining about the wind.

"I've always wanted to do this – walk across the bridge at night," Geordi tells me, as we buzz through the pedestrian walkway and begin walking toward Marin. "We talked about it all the time at the Academy, but we never managed to do it."

The subject had some up during the ball. It was one of the lulls while the band – a live band – took a break, and the Enterprise officers had been reminiscing about their Academy days. The reporter part of my brain observed that, for all they may be galactic heroes now, these officers had fairly typical college experiences. Good to know they're mortal, I guess. But now I was trying not to shiver – my red dress got the expected, even hoped for, reaction from my companion, but strapless ball gowns don't keep away the chill – as I answer, "It's easy to put things off, take them for granted, when you see them all the time. I mean, I live in this city, but I hardly ever play tourist."

My attempt at keeping the shiver out of my voice must have failed, because Geordi stops walking and stares at me. Well, not stares. But I can tell he's not seeing my dress right now, but something else. "You're cold," he states.

"I didn't bring a jacket," I explain. "It's warm in the flitter, and I knew we'd be dancing." I pause then add, a little shyly. "I enjoyed dancing with you. I liked meeting your friends."

He doesn't answer right away because he's unfastening the jacket of his dress uniform and shrugging it off. "Wear this, Kat," he says, and helps me into it, holding it so I can slide my arms into the sleeves. "Better." It's not a question. I know he's seen heat patterns on my skin, or some such.

"Thank you," I say. We continue our walk toward the middle of the bridge, side by side, our hands brushing, almost connecting then moving apart. I can feel the slight upward slope of the arch, as we pass the first tower, and the wind is stronger.

He stops at a point equidistant between the two towers. I wonder if the Visor let him measure the distance, but I don't ask. "We're here," he says.

"So we are," I say, and then I add, "Moon's out."

"What does it look like to you?" he asks quietly.

I look at him, startled by the question. "Moonlight? Or Moonlight on the water?"

"Either. Both."

"Mmm." I am quiet, composing my description, and the nearness of him is distracting. I can feel his warmth. "Most people describe moonlight in cool colors. Silver and white," I begin. "But to me it's always felt like soft warmth. Not silver, but the finest, palest gold, spun out like floss. And when it strikes the water, there's almost – almost – a sheen to the waves, but it's so dark that they're really just shapes. Indistinct." I stop there. And then I say: "Tell me what it looks like to you."

And he does. "It's more like textures and temperatures," he says. "Solids are dense, and deep, the ocean has movement, but it's warmer, not a lot, but a hint, where the light strikes it, and the intensity lessens. Moonlight is thin. Sunlight…sunlight's all heat. Moonlight's an echo of that heat." He pauses, and in that pause I slip my hand into his. His fingers lace themselves with mine, as he laughs softly, and apologizes, "It loses a lot in translation."

"Try something different," I say. "Tell me how it tastes." It's a game we played as kids. Using a sense we both had to better communicate different ways of seeing.

"Kat!" He laughs, but his hand stays twined with mine. "You first."

I close my eyes, breathe in. "Salty, wet, something sweet, just a hint of sweetness. A dash of something floral, but it comes and goes so fast." I open my eyes, and find his gaze directed at me again. "Your turn."

He doesn't speak. He ducks his head, and hesitates, and I look out at the dark expanse of ocean, black and alive, and faintly lit when the moon strikes the waves. I speak his name, and his head comes up, and while I can't read an expression, I can tell that he's come to a decision. His other hand comes up to caress my face, and I lean into it, into his warmth, and the strength of his fingers. He does speak, then, just one word, "Kat…" and I squeeze his hand.

"Yes," I say.

It seems to be the permission he needs, for he bends his head just a little, and his lips find mine. We've kissed before, but it's been casual. This kiss holds meaning, and goes deeper. I lean into it, kissing him back, and then our tongues are dancing, much as our bodies had in the ballroom, earlier.

The need to breathe separates us, and I step into his arms. We stand there in the wind, on the orange-painted bridge, bathed in moonlight for a long moment. When the silence is broken, it's Geordi who speaks. "I'm on leave for the next three days."

"I'm sort of…suspended…" I admit. "Which means I'm free."

There's an unspoken agreement that he's coming home with me tonight. And I'm fine with that. Mostly. He kisses me again, and breathes my name against my neck.

I laugh softly. "Geordi," I say. "Let's go someplace warmer."

I don't remember the walk back to my flitter. I don't remember the ride home. "Thank God for autopilot" becomes my new mantra.