Chapter 9

Author's note: Sorry all. School. Life. You get it.

Her breath slowed. Her heartbeat quickened. She could feel the blood draining from her face and yet she knew her cheeks were reddening.

His hands tightened on each of her arms. He was holding her in place and looking right into her eyes. She tried to look away, to break the trance, but his gaze paralyzed her.

"I am so glad you are here with me," he whispered, "for the first time in my life, I feel genuinely and truly happy." He bent his neck to move his lips closer to hers. For a moment, Janeway didn't know if she would be able to break away. What startled her more was that she almost wished not to do so.

It dawned on her that perhaps this was just an elaborate dream. And as was her experience with dreams of the sort this was quickly becoming, she would be awakened by a minor ship emergency before any serious harm was done to her dignity or her libido. And if this was the case, what was the harm in giving into the compulsion she felt to close the gap between their bodies?

His eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips. She didn't dare breathe. The setting sun glinted off a small fob watch that waited patiently on the veranda where she had placed it.

"Doctor," she managed, "we have dinner obligations."

"Dinner?" he shook his head, "they can wait. They won't miss us."

She remembered her ready room. And her crew, lost and without their captain. She remembered Chakotay's predatory pawing. She remembered the golden particles of light encompassing her body. She remembered the grate of the Doctor's ship, the TARDIS as he called it, under her steady boots. She remembered his wild hair and soulful eyes looking at her with amazement. The same eyes looking into hers now, searching for the cause of her hesitation. Finally, she remembered the watch.

She shut her eyes and willed herself to wake. Hoping to open her eyes to see only the steely grey of her ceiling on Voyager and not the tableau of Cairo.

"What's wrong, darling," John asked, "Kat, my dear, are you ill?" He moved his hands to her face and cupped her cheeks.

She opened her eyes to his searching her face, seeing the transfixing lust ebb to worry.

"I'm fine," she assured him, "I am just tired from the voyage." Mustering her strength, she pulled away from his hands and turned back to the city of Cairo. Twinkling fires were burning from the hearths as families settled in for the evening meal.

"Of course," he shook his head to mask his disappointment, "as you must be. Shall I tell the Professor that we will not be able to attend this evening's meal?"

She considered her response. Should she not attend, she would be in partial relinquishment of her duties as his protector. After all, seeing to the security of the gangly man before her was perhaps her only hope to return to her ship. She has to go. However, should she be asked any questions regarding the area of study about which she supposedly was an expert, their efforts of remaining unremarkable and undetectable would surely be comprised. She could not go. One thing was certain in her mind: it was vital that he attend. She could not be sure of the reason for this strong conviction, only that it delayed the eventuality of time spent alone. Based on the racing of her heart and the gin swimming around her mind, it seemed like a reasonable plan.

"If it is of any consequence," his words broke her recursive reasoning, "I should like to stay with you whatever you prefer."

She turned to look to him. His eyes were soft.

"I'm fine," she assured, "nothing that a cup of coffee won't fix."

"Coffee," he smiled, "you damned Yanks and your bloody bean water."

Janeway returned his smile. It was like a private joke between the pair. At least that what she thought it seemed like to him. He arched his eyebrow and she saw a flash of the darkening lust fill his face. She could only guess as the memory implanted into his mind. She blushed and turned her face back to the skyline. With new-found energy, he rushed to the empty kitchen. A percolator sat on the counter and he busied himself with the fresh grounds acquired from the market by one of the houseboys.

Janeway reached for the closed watch and used the last few rays of sun to examine the complex circular designed on the cover. As she traced the pattern with her long nail, the watch seemed to hum. She raised the watch to her nose and made out just a hint of the smell of stars.

"Terribly sorry, dear," she jumped at his shout from inside the open kitchen, "I'm afraid we don't yet have cream."

"That is quite alright," she slipped the watch into a pouch sown into the side of her trousers, "I prefer-"

"-It black," he finished her thought as he returned from the room with a single cup of coffee in a delicate porcelain cup, "how could I forget?"

How on Earth could he know that? She looked as the wiggle in his eyebrow. His angular face was certainly expressive.

He brushed a long strand of dark hair from his face and sat the cup on the veranda where the watch has sat just minutes before. As she reached for the cup, he grabbed her wrist. His grip was not tight, but urgent. He pulled her close to him and she felt the beat of his heart against her own. It was difficult for her to breathe again. Her chest felt tight and her feet were heavy.

Janeway was proficient in enough forms of hand-to-hand combat that she would be able to extricate herself from the embrace. But she didn't. Instead, she just looked into his eyes. Tension was evident in his furrowed brow. His eyes darkened and burned with desire. It was as if he was restraining himself.

She knew she shouldn't. She knew she oughtn't. She knew she couldn't. But it has been so long. So long since a man looked at her the way he did. So long since she wanted to be looked at by the same man.

She could feel a heartbeat quicken, though she did not know if it was hers or his. She was not a stranger to romantic advances and adventures. Chakotay's unsubtle pursuits were only the latest in a string of partners towards whom she felt little more than ambivalence. But this was different. This was new. This was forbidden. And when she allowed her eyes to meet his, she no longer cared where she was, and when she was, and who she was. All that mattered was the overwhelming need, fanned by each breath and each heartbeat, to submit. And so, she gave in to the need she felt and closed her eyes.

This is unprofessional, a voice chastised, this is dangerous, another voice chimed in, this is highly inappropriate and against regulations, the third voice added. But when she felt the softness of his lips push against her own, and the warmth of his tongue press into the small gap leading into her mouth, a louder voice silenced the chorus. You deserve to be happy.