Disclaimer: see part 1
Cœur de Lion
By Katie
Chapter 7
Resistance Is Futile
After everything had been settled about Séverine's
death—they'd agreed that they tell everybody she'd
disappeared, probably fled to Switzerland or the States—and
the party they'd planned for this evening, Catherine and Frank
allowed themselves the luxury of spending the rest of the
afternoon together. It would be interrupted by Catherine's
date with Reginald Smith only. Paul and Jean had promised
to get everything settled, once they'd agreed that they had to
do the grieving for Séverine later. Their biggest problem was
not the answer to the question of whether Séverine had been a
spy, for it was sure that she wasn't, but rather as to who
would do the entertainment tonight.
The people coming to the *Cœur de Lion* were
spoiled by Catherine's attempt to make them forget about the
war by having Séverine sing for them. She had been good,
very good, and it was difficult to find decent replacement in
peaceful times, but now it seemed almost impossible. Jean,
however, who couldn't stand seeing Catherine—the true
platonic love of his life—having the blues, had promised to
find a replacement. Catherine didn't know as to how he was
going to find someone in a small town like Sainte Claire, but
something made her believe in him.
"François," she sighed, having closed the door to her
apartment behind her, shutting out all her problems, the
Résistance, the war, everything. Since she was having big
trouble pronouncing his name in English, she'd decided to
call him by the French version of his name.
Standing with the back to the door, she remembered
him of two nights before, when she'd cried herself to sleep in
her room. Frank saw in her eyes that she was so tired of all of
this, that she even blamed herself for Séverine's death. He
knew very well that he couldn't take the responsibility off her
petite shoulders, but at least he could share her burden. And
he could give her the comfort she needed so much. So he
gathered her in a tight embrace.
Catherine returned it immediately with a force he'd
never thought her being capable of. The nails of her fingers
dug into the flesh of his shoulders and she pressed her body
hard against his. Her breath was warm against the skin of his
neck. He buried his nose in her hair, taking in the scent of the
lake and the forest that was still lingering in her soft auburn
waves. The caress of her lips on his neck sent a shiver down
his spine.
"Why, au nom de Dieu, why?" he heard her muffled
voice. He kissed the top of her head and caressed her cheek
with the backs of his fingers. He wasn't going to give her an
answer to something he didn't know either. Instead, he
hugged her even tighter, trying to ease away the shivers of
pain that were shaking her body.
"Non, chouchou. Let's leave the world outside for
now," he murmured between two kisses. "There'll be just you
and me until tonight, d'accord?"
Catherine broke the hug and took a step backwards.
She hadn't cried, maybe her all tears had been shed nights
ago. The ghost of a smile flashed across her face. "After all,
there's always tomorrow."
A surprised laugh escaped Frank. This woman was
simply incredible. "You know that movie?"
"Bien sûr," she said in mock indignation. "*Autant en
Emporte le Vent* is my favorite film. I saw it in Marseilles.
I'd rather I'd seen it in Paris, but the Nazis had already been
occupying the city when it premiered."
They smiled at each other for a second or so before
she continued: "How come you know that film? I mean a
man like you?"
This elicited another laugh from him. Bon Dieu, how
she loved his dimples and the way his dark eyes were
sparkling when he laughed. She could have kissed each of the
tiny wrinkles around them right away. "I went to see it with
my fiancée."
"Oh," Catherine made, not because of jealousy, rather
because of embarrassment. She could have figured that. He
saved her. "She dragged me there by the sleeve. I mean, I
liked the film, it's always amazing to watch a color movie. I
especially liked this *After-all-there's-still-tomorrow*
sentence."
"You didn't like Vivien Leigh?" Catherine had
regained her wits.
"Yes," he said in a drawling way. "But she isn't the
woman of my dreams."
"Oh," Catherine made, rising an eyebrow, pouting her
mouth in a way Scarlett O'Hara would.
"You are the woman of my dreams," he said instead,
stealing a kiss from her lips. The little kiss soon changed into
a new embrace and a long passionate kiss. "Je t'aime,"
Catherine murmured when they parted again to catch their
breath.
"I love you too," Frank answered in his mother
tongue. He was about to steal another kiss from her lips when
she touched her fingers to his lips and pushed him gently
away.
"You wouldn't mind if I took a quick shower, would
you?" she asked.
"Frankly my dear," he replied smiling, "not if I can
join you."
"I don't think so, I'm afraid. I'll need a few minutes for
myself."
"All right, honey," he kissed her on the forehead.
With that, she disappeared into the bathroom.
=/\=
When Catherine hadn't returned from the bathroom
half an hour later, Frank went looking for her. Her date with
Reginald Smith was due in five minutes. She hadn't locked
the bathroom door, so when he pushed it open, he found her
sitting on the edge of the bathtub, barely covered in her
towel. She was staring at no point in particular, rubbing her
left thigh absentmindedly with the towel. Her skin was
already bright red.
He caught her gently by her wrist, and woke her from
her reverie. "Catherine?"
"Wha ... oh, I'm so sorry, François. I must've lost track
of time," she apologized. Then she realized she was sitting
there almost naked, and quickly tried to cover herself with the
towel.
Frank smiled. They'd made love as passionately as if
their lives depended on it, and now she was sitting here in
front of him, trying to cover her beautiful naked body.
"Catherine, it's me, you don't have to be shy with me around."
She smiled. "Frank, my dear, tu as raison. I'm just ...
this is so ... I don't know," she struggled for words. She cast
him a helpless glance.
"I know, chouchou, I know," Frank nodded. "I hate to
say this, but Reginald Smith isn't going to wait for you."
"Are you jealous?" she teased, wrapping the towel
around her body. She didn't like moving around in her
apartment in her birthday suit. This had nothing to do with
Frank's being here, it was just that she didn't like being
caught that vulnerable. Besides, she owned a nightclub, but
that didn't mean she didn't have a sense of modesty,
particularly when living in a small town like Sainte Claire.
Instead of an answer he kissed her mocking smile.
"Come on now." He held out her robe for her. The radio was
standing downstairs in the nightclub, and she couldn't
possibly go there dressed in nothing but a towel.
"I'll be back in a minute. Don't go away!" She
struggled with the sleeves of her bathrobe and never troubled
herself with putting on shoes. Frank listened to her bare feet
padding the wooden stairs, then he closed the door.
Catherine came back only five minutes later. "Frank,
are you there?" she called, studying the note she was holding.
He wasn't going to like this.
His voice answered from the direction of her
bedroom. "No, I left an hour ago!" Catherine smiled and
shook her head. He was a guignol, but she had to admit that
she'd never seen a clown with dimples like his.
She found him lying on her bed, still dressed—well,
she was going to change this soon—with his eyes closed. She
tickled his nose with one edge of the note. With a quick
movement he grabbed it, sat up and read through it. When he
looked at her face he already knew what she was going to tell
him. The determination made her eyes sparkle. If she was
preparing herself for a fight about this, he would disappoint
her. He didn't want to argue with her right now, more so that
he knew it would be pointless anyway.
"You're going to blow the Nazis' communications
equipment, aren't you," he stated matter-of-factly. This took
her off guard, she hadn't expected that reaction from him.
"You will let me go then?" she asked in disbelief.
"How could I not? You know their place, I will be the
person of interest tonight so I can hardly sneak away for an
hour or so," he pointed out. Catherine had sat down on the
edge of the bed and looked at him, her right hand resting on
his chest. The smile she was smiling now made her even
more beautiful.
"You'll just have to promise me something." He
wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her over him
and turned her so she was lying next to him on the bed. This
had elicited a short cry of surprise from her. He bent over her
and looked at her seriously. "I want you to be careful. I don't
want anything to happen to you, I don't want to lose you,
because you're the dearest one I have in this world."
She cupped his face with her hands and pulled his
face towards hers. "I promise, love." Then they kissed each
other with a hunger and passion that everything around them
was forgotten. Just like the night before at the lake everything
that mattered was each other's body. Bit by bit they undressed
each other, discovering their bodies again, exploring with
their hands and lips and tongues.
Frank found that the lesson an old Chinese man had
taught him back in the States was true. With his tongue he
caressed Catherine's palate while dancing with her tongue
until he felt the shivers of orgasm rock her body under his.
According to old Chinese teachings there was some kind of
energy channel connecting the mouth with the sex of a
woman so that if she was kissed the right way a man could
take her over the edge.
Frank watched her lust-drawn face. He loved the way
she opened her mouth to let low moans escape from between
her lips, and the way she half-closed her eyes. He was
combing through the still wet strands of her auburn hair with
one hand. When he felt her body relax, he slowly kissed his
way down her breasts and belly to her navel, where he stayed
longer than she wanted him to. He let his tongue dart into the
indentation of her navel, tickled her with it. Her hands were
in his hair, attempting to guide his head to the most aching
part of her body, but he wouldn't let her. Instead, he held her
by her writhing hips and continued his teasing.
"François, s'il te plaît, I can't ... please," he heard her
beg in a low husky voice. However, he didn't pay any
attention to her begging, but kept exploring her. Eventually,
he followed the line from her navel to the edge of the auburn
curls between her legs. He smiled when he discovered a tiny
freckle just a little beneath her hairline and kissed it gently.
She had a freckle like this beneath her left ear as well, and
she loved being kissed there.
Frank deeply inhaled the mixture of the lavender soap
and her own scent. Without warning her, he let his tongue
wander and explore where she wanted it most. Just like the
day before it took barely any caresses until Catherine was
taken over the edge once more. Frank covered her mouth
with his when she screamed her joy out loud, catching her
lips in another passionate kiss. Catherine could taste herself
in his mouth, a taste like salted grapefruit.
When she opened her eyes again she was still
lightheaded and somewhat dizzy, a mighty torrent was
rushing in her ears. "François, what are you doing to me?"
she asked him, tracing the lines of his smiling face. "Please
don't hold yourself back any longer. I don't want to be the
only one who enjoys this."
"But I am enjoying this, love," he replied and kissed
her. Before he knew what was happening, though, she was
cradling his hips between her legs and had guided him into
her. She smiled briefly as his eyes went wide in surprise at
this. A moan of pleasure escaped her when she felt him
filling her completely again. Frank didn't move, he too
wanted to savor this feeling of oneness of their bodies and
minds. They were looking into each other's eyes, seeing the
deep love reflected in dark brown and deep blue eyes, saw
the shining in their eyes. Catherine couldn't take it longer
then. She put an end to their silence with a deep kiss and a
soft rocking of her hips against her lover's.
As always, it was over much too soon, but on the
other hand there was nothing like the afterglow. The two of
them were lying with their limbs tangled, their bodies
covered in a pearly sheen of perspiration, exchanging kisses
and caresses before they dozed off.
=/\=
Ysakc was on his way from Sickbay to the office of
his commandant. He wondered what Kaar wanted from him
now. Anyway, it was a nice distraction from the monotony of
the past few days. Ever since Kaar had ordered their people
to stand down there had been nothing for him to do as a
doctor. The only exception to this had been Seven of Nine,
but he hadn't been much of a help to the Federations' doctor
because this woman was very special. She once had been a
Borg, a race the Hirogen had not encountered yet. From what
the Doctor had told him, this race was half organic, half
mechanic and they assimilated whatever interesting species
whose path they crossed. According to the doctor's reports,
the Federations had had fierce fights with the Borg, not only
at the place they came from—Earth or Terra they called their
planet—but also here in what they'd named the Delta
Quadrant. Somehow they'd managed to get this woman back
from them and re-assimilate her to become a human once
again.
This had been interesting in regard to what kind of
technology they'd used to accomplish this goal. Ysakc asked
himself how far they would have come in their own research
if they hadn't spent whatever energy and resources were at
their hands on weapons. If they spent more on research, they
probably could reach a standard in their medical possibilities
equal to the Federations'. But who was he to propose
something like this to Kaar?
"Ah, there you are, Ysakc," Kaar greeted him, after
he'd entered his office.
"Kaar." Ysakc nodded curtly at his commandant.
"Has Sarpa told you to turn off the neural interface of
Naomi Wildman?" Kaar asked without further ado.
Ysakc didn't hesitate to tell him that no, he hadn't.
Kaar didn't say anything. Knowing him for most of his life,
Ysakc knew that this didn't mean any good. But he also knew
that it wasn't his fault, and that Kaar's wrath was aimed at
Sarpa. Kaar watched the stars outside for a while, then he
turned back at him and said as if nothing had happend: "Then
I'll tell you. Please turn off Naomi Wildman's neural
interface."
"But how do I get her out of the holodeck? I can't
have her hunted down by Sarpa's men," Ysakc wondered
aloud. He was immediately sorry for this, for it betrayed the
cool façade of the devoted Hunter of what he really thought
about the Hirogen's ways. This slip of tongue could cost him
his life, having made it in presence of his leader. The younger
man froze, barely dared to take a breath. But to his surprise
he found amazement sparkling in his leader's small black
eyes. What was going on? Did he get this right, did Kaar
approve of his opinion, or was he just a good actor, trying to
lull him into a false sense of security?
"Of course not." Kaar's voice sounded genuine. "I
wonder why Sarpa has taken her to the holodecks at all. No,
leave her on the holodeck. I'd like to know how the
Federations--and most of all the girl--react when they notice
that she's somehow different from them."
Ysakc couldn't have been more surprised. This was
exactly what had flashed through his mind only seconds
earlier. How was the girl going to adapt to this? Would the
others deem her insane? Those were questions though, he'd
never dared to ask, he had even hesitated to let them enter his
mind. "Sir, if you'd want me to, I'd gladly re-configure her
neural interface so we get readings of her bodily functions—
brain-waves, frequence of her heartbeat—anything that might
get us information on this."
Kaar nodded. "Do it. Dismissed."
Ysakc held his breath. Was that all? Hesitant, he
turned and made for the door, when suddenly Kaar called him
back. "You certainly have interesting ideas, Ysakc. Promise
me to keep to this track. It's the right one. Go now."
=/\=
They'd fallen into a blissful slumber after their
lovemaking, cuddled closely together in spoon-fashion. As
Catherine woke now, she found that somehow they'd
managed to wriggle the sheets from under the bedspread and
had wrapped it around their tangled bodies. The day had been
hot again, but thanks to the shutters that were always closed,
Catherine's bedroom was comfortably cool all day.
She turned in Frank's embrace and buried her face in
the soft crook of his neck, nuzzling his bronze skin with the
tip of her nose. Frank had shifted his body, too, and adapted
to their new position, but still he pretended to be asleep. He
wasn't a very good actor though, for he drew his fingers in
idle patterns over the skin of her back and shoulders.
"François?" she whispered softly.
"Hm ..." came his grunted reply.
"Please tell me a story."
Although she couldn't see his face, she knew that his
eyes fluttered open immediately at this. He shifted under her,
so she withdrew a few centimeters and propped her head up
so she could see the sparkles in his eyes in the dimly lit room.
The late afternoon sun filtered in through the slats of the
shutters and drew red-golden stripes on their bodies and the
white linen of her blanket. Tiny particles of dust were
dancing in the stripes this beautiful illumination drew into the
air. The crickets living in the oak and maple trees outside
were chirping again, for it wasn't so hot any more. For a
moment, they listened to the people outside, as their heels
clicked on the cobblestone square and the wheels of their
bikes and hand-carts clattered over it. An automobile halted
on the opposite side of the square, and the motor was turned
off.
"I'm not a good storyteller, you know," he tried to get
off the hook.
Catherine quieted him with a tender kiss on his lips. "I
tell you, Monsieur, after you've told me a story. S'il te plaît,"
she added with a pleading look in her eyes.
"How can I resist such a woman," Frank murmured in
English, emphasizing it with a mock sigh.
Catherine grinned. "Resistance is futile!" she
answered with a low laugh and kissed him passionately on
his open mouth. A stifled protest of his found its way into her
mouth and lulled her tongue. When they separated again,
both of them were laughing.
"You tell me a story first, chouchou," Frank said after
he'd caught his breath. His lips felt bright red and as if they
were on fire. That Frenchwoman certainly could kiss. She
looked at him expectantly.
"How come you speak English that well?"
"Once upon a time there was an eighteen-year-old girl
who got to know an English family. The family was in
France on their vacation, and they lived in the house of the
girl's family. They liked the girl very much, so that they
invited her to spend a year with them in their country. The
girl agreed and so she went to live with the family and
learned their language," Catherine told him. "It's almost the
same as your story about learning French."
Frank nodded. "Now it's your turn," the
Frenchwoman insisted. Again, he let out a sigh of mock
annoyance. "What story could I possibly tell you?"
"What about ...," she thought aloud, scrutinizing him
while caressing the smooth skin of his chest. Her fingers
wandered up his neck and jaw, brushed his bruised lips,
followed the outline of his nose and caressed the softness of
his eyebrows until they finally came to rest on the deep blue
lines of the strange tattoo he wore on his left temple. "What
about these lines. Is there any meaning to them?"
"Many people think they represent a bird in an
abstract way," Frank began his story. "They're called
*moko*. Only the Maori warriors are allowed to wear them. I
think they're meant to endow the warriors with strength and
to encourage and protect them."
Catherine stopped caressing him. She'd withdrawn
her fingers from the blue lines of the moko. Even though a
Christian, she respected pagan beliefs as well, and so she
didn't want to incense whatever Gods gave the line their
power. "Who are the Ma ..." She didn't manage to pronounce
the word. She'd never heard this strange name before.
"The Maori," Frank offered. "They are the natives of
New Zealand."
"My, that's far away!" Catherine gasped. She didn't
know exactly where New Zealand was, somewhere near
Australia she guessed—if the little knowledge of geography
she'd acquired at school didn't abandon her. "You've been
there?"
"Oui."
"Oh come on! Tell me!" With this, she kissed the tip
of his nose. Frank was a little bit faster though, and managed
once again to catch her in an open-mouthed kiss.
"That's a long story, I'm not sure you really want to
hear it." He tried to get away with this although he knew that
it was already too late. He knew woman's curiosity, so he had
to admit that he'd already gone too far as to get away with
this cheap excuse. But you never knew, sometimes there was
always tomorrow for the story to be told.
This time, there was no tomorrow. Catherine insisted
on hearing it now. Sighing, he gave in and was about to tell
her his story, when they were interrupted by somebody
banging on their front door. Catherine's elbow gave way and
with a loud annoyed groan she let herself collapse onto the
bed. Why did people always have to interrupt her when it was
most unsuitable?
Frank's hand went searching for his watch on the
nightstand. He held the watch in a way it caught the light of
one of the glowing dust-stripes, so he could check the time.
They were almost late for the beginning of the party.
"Catherine, ma chère, you should go and answer the door.
We'll have to get up now anyway, we've almost overslept."
Again, Catherine sighed and closed her eyes. Why
couldn't people leave them alone, just for once? Oh, that
damn ... She put her hands on her forehead as if to rub her
drowsiness away. Then, with a surprising leap she got out of
the bed, throwing the sheets away so Frank lay exposed to his
knees in the rather chill air of the room. He watched her
struggle with her bathrobe, admired her beautiful strong body
and the golden highlights the dusty sunbeams caught in her
disheveled auburn hair.
"You are so beautiful, do you know that?" he blurted.
Instead of an answer, she just kissed him lightly on the
forehead, said: "Now I do. Get ready, love." With that, she
tied the strings of her robe into a tight knot and disappeared
from her bedroom.
Frank lay back in the bed and closed his eyes. What
had he done to deserve a woman like her?
To be continued ...
Cœur de Lion
By Katie
Chapter 7
Resistance Is Futile
After everything had been settled about Séverine's
death—they'd agreed that they tell everybody she'd
disappeared, probably fled to Switzerland or the States—and
the party they'd planned for this evening, Catherine and Frank
allowed themselves the luxury of spending the rest of the
afternoon together. It would be interrupted by Catherine's
date with Reginald Smith only. Paul and Jean had promised
to get everything settled, once they'd agreed that they had to
do the grieving for Séverine later. Their biggest problem was
not the answer to the question of whether Séverine had been a
spy, for it was sure that she wasn't, but rather as to who
would do the entertainment tonight.
The people coming to the *Cœur de Lion* were
spoiled by Catherine's attempt to make them forget about the
war by having Séverine sing for them. She had been good,
very good, and it was difficult to find decent replacement in
peaceful times, but now it seemed almost impossible. Jean,
however, who couldn't stand seeing Catherine—the true
platonic love of his life—having the blues, had promised to
find a replacement. Catherine didn't know as to how he was
going to find someone in a small town like Sainte Claire, but
something made her believe in him.
"François," she sighed, having closed the door to her
apartment behind her, shutting out all her problems, the
Résistance, the war, everything. Since she was having big
trouble pronouncing his name in English, she'd decided to
call him by the French version of his name.
Standing with the back to the door, she remembered
him of two nights before, when she'd cried herself to sleep in
her room. Frank saw in her eyes that she was so tired of all of
this, that she even blamed herself for Séverine's death. He
knew very well that he couldn't take the responsibility off her
petite shoulders, but at least he could share her burden. And
he could give her the comfort she needed so much. So he
gathered her in a tight embrace.
Catherine returned it immediately with a force he'd
never thought her being capable of. The nails of her fingers
dug into the flesh of his shoulders and she pressed her body
hard against his. Her breath was warm against the skin of his
neck. He buried his nose in her hair, taking in the scent of the
lake and the forest that was still lingering in her soft auburn
waves. The caress of her lips on his neck sent a shiver down
his spine.
"Why, au nom de Dieu, why?" he heard her muffled
voice. He kissed the top of her head and caressed her cheek
with the backs of his fingers. He wasn't going to give her an
answer to something he didn't know either. Instead, he
hugged her even tighter, trying to ease away the shivers of
pain that were shaking her body.
"Non, chouchou. Let's leave the world outside for
now," he murmured between two kisses. "There'll be just you
and me until tonight, d'accord?"
Catherine broke the hug and took a step backwards.
She hadn't cried, maybe her all tears had been shed nights
ago. The ghost of a smile flashed across her face. "After all,
there's always tomorrow."
A surprised laugh escaped Frank. This woman was
simply incredible. "You know that movie?"
"Bien sûr," she said in mock indignation. "*Autant en
Emporte le Vent* is my favorite film. I saw it in Marseilles.
I'd rather I'd seen it in Paris, but the Nazis had already been
occupying the city when it premiered."
They smiled at each other for a second or so before
she continued: "How come you know that film? I mean a
man like you?"
This elicited another laugh from him. Bon Dieu, how
she loved his dimples and the way his dark eyes were
sparkling when he laughed. She could have kissed each of the
tiny wrinkles around them right away. "I went to see it with
my fiancée."
"Oh," Catherine made, not because of jealousy, rather
because of embarrassment. She could have figured that. He
saved her. "She dragged me there by the sleeve. I mean, I
liked the film, it's always amazing to watch a color movie. I
especially liked this *After-all-there's-still-tomorrow*
sentence."
"You didn't like Vivien Leigh?" Catherine had
regained her wits.
"Yes," he said in a drawling way. "But she isn't the
woman of my dreams."
"Oh," Catherine made, rising an eyebrow, pouting her
mouth in a way Scarlett O'Hara would.
"You are the woman of my dreams," he said instead,
stealing a kiss from her lips. The little kiss soon changed into
a new embrace and a long passionate kiss. "Je t'aime,"
Catherine murmured when they parted again to catch their
breath.
"I love you too," Frank answered in his mother
tongue. He was about to steal another kiss from her lips when
she touched her fingers to his lips and pushed him gently
away.
"You wouldn't mind if I took a quick shower, would
you?" she asked.
"Frankly my dear," he replied smiling, "not if I can
join you."
"I don't think so, I'm afraid. I'll need a few minutes for
myself."
"All right, honey," he kissed her on the forehead.
With that, she disappeared into the bathroom.
=/\=
When Catherine hadn't returned from the bathroom
half an hour later, Frank went looking for her. Her date with
Reginald Smith was due in five minutes. She hadn't locked
the bathroom door, so when he pushed it open, he found her
sitting on the edge of the bathtub, barely covered in her
towel. She was staring at no point in particular, rubbing her
left thigh absentmindedly with the towel. Her skin was
already bright red.
He caught her gently by her wrist, and woke her from
her reverie. "Catherine?"
"Wha ... oh, I'm so sorry, François. I must've lost track
of time," she apologized. Then she realized she was sitting
there almost naked, and quickly tried to cover herself with the
towel.
Frank smiled. They'd made love as passionately as if
their lives depended on it, and now she was sitting here in
front of him, trying to cover her beautiful naked body.
"Catherine, it's me, you don't have to be shy with me around."
She smiled. "Frank, my dear, tu as raison. I'm just ...
this is so ... I don't know," she struggled for words. She cast
him a helpless glance.
"I know, chouchou, I know," Frank nodded. "I hate to
say this, but Reginald Smith isn't going to wait for you."
"Are you jealous?" she teased, wrapping the towel
around her body. She didn't like moving around in her
apartment in her birthday suit. This had nothing to do with
Frank's being here, it was just that she didn't like being
caught that vulnerable. Besides, she owned a nightclub, but
that didn't mean she didn't have a sense of modesty,
particularly when living in a small town like Sainte Claire.
Instead of an answer he kissed her mocking smile.
"Come on now." He held out her robe for her. The radio was
standing downstairs in the nightclub, and she couldn't
possibly go there dressed in nothing but a towel.
"I'll be back in a minute. Don't go away!" She
struggled with the sleeves of her bathrobe and never troubled
herself with putting on shoes. Frank listened to her bare feet
padding the wooden stairs, then he closed the door.
Catherine came back only five minutes later. "Frank,
are you there?" she called, studying the note she was holding.
He wasn't going to like this.
His voice answered from the direction of her
bedroom. "No, I left an hour ago!" Catherine smiled and
shook her head. He was a guignol, but she had to admit that
she'd never seen a clown with dimples like his.
She found him lying on her bed, still dressed—well,
she was going to change this soon—with his eyes closed. She
tickled his nose with one edge of the note. With a quick
movement he grabbed it, sat up and read through it. When he
looked at her face he already knew what she was going to tell
him. The determination made her eyes sparkle. If she was
preparing herself for a fight about this, he would disappoint
her. He didn't want to argue with her right now, more so that
he knew it would be pointless anyway.
"You're going to blow the Nazis' communications
equipment, aren't you," he stated matter-of-factly. This took
her off guard, she hadn't expected that reaction from him.
"You will let me go then?" she asked in disbelief.
"How could I not? You know their place, I will be the
person of interest tonight so I can hardly sneak away for an
hour or so," he pointed out. Catherine had sat down on the
edge of the bed and looked at him, her right hand resting on
his chest. The smile she was smiling now made her even
more beautiful.
"You'll just have to promise me something." He
wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her over him
and turned her so she was lying next to him on the bed. This
had elicited a short cry of surprise from her. He bent over her
and looked at her seriously. "I want you to be careful. I don't
want anything to happen to you, I don't want to lose you,
because you're the dearest one I have in this world."
She cupped his face with her hands and pulled his
face towards hers. "I promise, love." Then they kissed each
other with a hunger and passion that everything around them
was forgotten. Just like the night before at the lake everything
that mattered was each other's body. Bit by bit they undressed
each other, discovering their bodies again, exploring with
their hands and lips and tongues.
Frank found that the lesson an old Chinese man had
taught him back in the States was true. With his tongue he
caressed Catherine's palate while dancing with her tongue
until he felt the shivers of orgasm rock her body under his.
According to old Chinese teachings there was some kind of
energy channel connecting the mouth with the sex of a
woman so that if she was kissed the right way a man could
take her over the edge.
Frank watched her lust-drawn face. He loved the way
she opened her mouth to let low moans escape from between
her lips, and the way she half-closed her eyes. He was
combing through the still wet strands of her auburn hair with
one hand. When he felt her body relax, he slowly kissed his
way down her breasts and belly to her navel, where he stayed
longer than she wanted him to. He let his tongue dart into the
indentation of her navel, tickled her with it. Her hands were
in his hair, attempting to guide his head to the most aching
part of her body, but he wouldn't let her. Instead, he held her
by her writhing hips and continued his teasing.
"François, s'il te plaît, I can't ... please," he heard her
beg in a low husky voice. However, he didn't pay any
attention to her begging, but kept exploring her. Eventually,
he followed the line from her navel to the edge of the auburn
curls between her legs. He smiled when he discovered a tiny
freckle just a little beneath her hairline and kissed it gently.
She had a freckle like this beneath her left ear as well, and
she loved being kissed there.
Frank deeply inhaled the mixture of the lavender soap
and her own scent. Without warning her, he let his tongue
wander and explore where she wanted it most. Just like the
day before it took barely any caresses until Catherine was
taken over the edge once more. Frank covered her mouth
with his when she screamed her joy out loud, catching her
lips in another passionate kiss. Catherine could taste herself
in his mouth, a taste like salted grapefruit.
When she opened her eyes again she was still
lightheaded and somewhat dizzy, a mighty torrent was
rushing in her ears. "François, what are you doing to me?"
she asked him, tracing the lines of his smiling face. "Please
don't hold yourself back any longer. I don't want to be the
only one who enjoys this."
"But I am enjoying this, love," he replied and kissed
her. Before he knew what was happening, though, she was
cradling his hips between her legs and had guided him into
her. She smiled briefly as his eyes went wide in surprise at
this. A moan of pleasure escaped her when she felt him
filling her completely again. Frank didn't move, he too
wanted to savor this feeling of oneness of their bodies and
minds. They were looking into each other's eyes, seeing the
deep love reflected in dark brown and deep blue eyes, saw
the shining in their eyes. Catherine couldn't take it longer
then. She put an end to their silence with a deep kiss and a
soft rocking of her hips against her lover's.
As always, it was over much too soon, but on the
other hand there was nothing like the afterglow. The two of
them were lying with their limbs tangled, their bodies
covered in a pearly sheen of perspiration, exchanging kisses
and caresses before they dozed off.
=/\=
Ysakc was on his way from Sickbay to the office of
his commandant. He wondered what Kaar wanted from him
now. Anyway, it was a nice distraction from the monotony of
the past few days. Ever since Kaar had ordered their people
to stand down there had been nothing for him to do as a
doctor. The only exception to this had been Seven of Nine,
but he hadn't been much of a help to the Federations' doctor
because this woman was very special. She once had been a
Borg, a race the Hirogen had not encountered yet. From what
the Doctor had told him, this race was half organic, half
mechanic and they assimilated whatever interesting species
whose path they crossed. According to the doctor's reports,
the Federations had had fierce fights with the Borg, not only
at the place they came from—Earth or Terra they called their
planet—but also here in what they'd named the Delta
Quadrant. Somehow they'd managed to get this woman back
from them and re-assimilate her to become a human once
again.
This had been interesting in regard to what kind of
technology they'd used to accomplish this goal. Ysakc asked
himself how far they would have come in their own research
if they hadn't spent whatever energy and resources were at
their hands on weapons. If they spent more on research, they
probably could reach a standard in their medical possibilities
equal to the Federations'. But who was he to propose
something like this to Kaar?
"Ah, there you are, Ysakc," Kaar greeted him, after
he'd entered his office.
"Kaar." Ysakc nodded curtly at his commandant.
"Has Sarpa told you to turn off the neural interface of
Naomi Wildman?" Kaar asked without further ado.
Ysakc didn't hesitate to tell him that no, he hadn't.
Kaar didn't say anything. Knowing him for most of his life,
Ysakc knew that this didn't mean any good. But he also knew
that it wasn't his fault, and that Kaar's wrath was aimed at
Sarpa. Kaar watched the stars outside for a while, then he
turned back at him and said as if nothing had happend: "Then
I'll tell you. Please turn off Naomi Wildman's neural
interface."
"But how do I get her out of the holodeck? I can't
have her hunted down by Sarpa's men," Ysakc wondered
aloud. He was immediately sorry for this, for it betrayed the
cool façade of the devoted Hunter of what he really thought
about the Hirogen's ways. This slip of tongue could cost him
his life, having made it in presence of his leader. The younger
man froze, barely dared to take a breath. But to his surprise
he found amazement sparkling in his leader's small black
eyes. What was going on? Did he get this right, did Kaar
approve of his opinion, or was he just a good actor, trying to
lull him into a false sense of security?
"Of course not." Kaar's voice sounded genuine. "I
wonder why Sarpa has taken her to the holodecks at all. No,
leave her on the holodeck. I'd like to know how the
Federations--and most of all the girl--react when they notice
that she's somehow different from them."
Ysakc couldn't have been more surprised. This was
exactly what had flashed through his mind only seconds
earlier. How was the girl going to adapt to this? Would the
others deem her insane? Those were questions though, he'd
never dared to ask, he had even hesitated to let them enter his
mind. "Sir, if you'd want me to, I'd gladly re-configure her
neural interface so we get readings of her bodily functions—
brain-waves, frequence of her heartbeat—anything that might
get us information on this."
Kaar nodded. "Do it. Dismissed."
Ysakc held his breath. Was that all? Hesitant, he
turned and made for the door, when suddenly Kaar called him
back. "You certainly have interesting ideas, Ysakc. Promise
me to keep to this track. It's the right one. Go now."
=/\=
They'd fallen into a blissful slumber after their
lovemaking, cuddled closely together in spoon-fashion. As
Catherine woke now, she found that somehow they'd
managed to wriggle the sheets from under the bedspread and
had wrapped it around their tangled bodies. The day had been
hot again, but thanks to the shutters that were always closed,
Catherine's bedroom was comfortably cool all day.
She turned in Frank's embrace and buried her face in
the soft crook of his neck, nuzzling his bronze skin with the
tip of her nose. Frank had shifted his body, too, and adapted
to their new position, but still he pretended to be asleep. He
wasn't a very good actor though, for he drew his fingers in
idle patterns over the skin of her back and shoulders.
"François?" she whispered softly.
"Hm ..." came his grunted reply.
"Please tell me a story."
Although she couldn't see his face, she knew that his
eyes fluttered open immediately at this. He shifted under her,
so she withdrew a few centimeters and propped her head up
so she could see the sparkles in his eyes in the dimly lit room.
The late afternoon sun filtered in through the slats of the
shutters and drew red-golden stripes on their bodies and the
white linen of her blanket. Tiny particles of dust were
dancing in the stripes this beautiful illumination drew into the
air. The crickets living in the oak and maple trees outside
were chirping again, for it wasn't so hot any more. For a
moment, they listened to the people outside, as their heels
clicked on the cobblestone square and the wheels of their
bikes and hand-carts clattered over it. An automobile halted
on the opposite side of the square, and the motor was turned
off.
"I'm not a good storyteller, you know," he tried to get
off the hook.
Catherine quieted him with a tender kiss on his lips. "I
tell you, Monsieur, after you've told me a story. S'il te plaît,"
she added with a pleading look in her eyes.
"How can I resist such a woman," Frank murmured in
English, emphasizing it with a mock sigh.
Catherine grinned. "Resistance is futile!" she
answered with a low laugh and kissed him passionately on
his open mouth. A stifled protest of his found its way into her
mouth and lulled her tongue. When they separated again,
both of them were laughing.
"You tell me a story first, chouchou," Frank said after
he'd caught his breath. His lips felt bright red and as if they
were on fire. That Frenchwoman certainly could kiss. She
looked at him expectantly.
"How come you speak English that well?"
"Once upon a time there was an eighteen-year-old girl
who got to know an English family. The family was in
France on their vacation, and they lived in the house of the
girl's family. They liked the girl very much, so that they
invited her to spend a year with them in their country. The
girl agreed and so she went to live with the family and
learned their language," Catherine told him. "It's almost the
same as your story about learning French."
Frank nodded. "Now it's your turn," the
Frenchwoman insisted. Again, he let out a sigh of mock
annoyance. "What story could I possibly tell you?"
"What about ...," she thought aloud, scrutinizing him
while caressing the smooth skin of his chest. Her fingers
wandered up his neck and jaw, brushed his bruised lips,
followed the outline of his nose and caressed the softness of
his eyebrows until they finally came to rest on the deep blue
lines of the strange tattoo he wore on his left temple. "What
about these lines. Is there any meaning to them?"
"Many people think they represent a bird in an
abstract way," Frank began his story. "They're called
*moko*. Only the Maori warriors are allowed to wear them. I
think they're meant to endow the warriors with strength and
to encourage and protect them."
Catherine stopped caressing him. She'd withdrawn
her fingers from the blue lines of the moko. Even though a
Christian, she respected pagan beliefs as well, and so she
didn't want to incense whatever Gods gave the line their
power. "Who are the Ma ..." She didn't manage to pronounce
the word. She'd never heard this strange name before.
"The Maori," Frank offered. "They are the natives of
New Zealand."
"My, that's far away!" Catherine gasped. She didn't
know exactly where New Zealand was, somewhere near
Australia she guessed—if the little knowledge of geography
she'd acquired at school didn't abandon her. "You've been
there?"
"Oui."
"Oh come on! Tell me!" With this, she kissed the tip
of his nose. Frank was a little bit faster though, and managed
once again to catch her in an open-mouthed kiss.
"That's a long story, I'm not sure you really want to
hear it." He tried to get away with this although he knew that
it was already too late. He knew woman's curiosity, so he had
to admit that he'd already gone too far as to get away with
this cheap excuse. But you never knew, sometimes there was
always tomorrow for the story to be told.
This time, there was no tomorrow. Catherine insisted
on hearing it now. Sighing, he gave in and was about to tell
her his story, when they were interrupted by somebody
banging on their front door. Catherine's elbow gave way and
with a loud annoyed groan she let herself collapse onto the
bed. Why did people always have to interrupt her when it was
most unsuitable?
Frank's hand went searching for his watch on the
nightstand. He held the watch in a way it caught the light of
one of the glowing dust-stripes, so he could check the time.
They were almost late for the beginning of the party.
"Catherine, ma chère, you should go and answer the door.
We'll have to get up now anyway, we've almost overslept."
Again, Catherine sighed and closed her eyes. Why
couldn't people leave them alone, just for once? Oh, that
damn ... She put her hands on her forehead as if to rub her
drowsiness away. Then, with a surprising leap she got out of
the bed, throwing the sheets away so Frank lay exposed to his
knees in the rather chill air of the room. He watched her
struggle with her bathrobe, admired her beautiful strong body
and the golden highlights the dusty sunbeams caught in her
disheveled auburn hair.
"You are so beautiful, do you know that?" he blurted.
Instead of an answer, she just kissed him lightly on the
forehead, said: "Now I do. Get ready, love." With that, she
tied the strings of her robe into a tight knot and disappeared
from her bedroom.
Frank lay back in the bed and closed his eyes. What
had he done to deserve a woman like her?
To be continued ...