pas de deux
 

The restlessness descends on her like a virus, pervading her mind and memory and the blood that pounds unreasonably hard through her veins. She couldn't sit still, even if she tried, and she doesn't feel like trying. Instead, she rises, and walks, keeping pace as she passes through the corridors that intervened between her and her destination with the relentless rhythm of her own pulse, faster than it should be and so loud she expects the people she passes to notice.

Finally she steps into the dark, curling chill that lurks inside the holodeck. There she breaks into a run. She runs until her breath tears at her chest and she stumbles and falls, screaming for surcease into the holographic night.

Gradually, as she lies on damp grass black in moonlight, her breathing slows and evens. Her heartbeat slows, leaving behind only a sick feeling in her stomach and the same razor-sharp emptiness. A voice penetrates the self-induced fog surrounding her.

"Kathryn."

The word slices a little deeper into her soul. Without willing it, she curls into herself foetally and whimpers. A sob is jerked out by the touch of a hand on her shoulder, and she tries to pull away. She's been followed.

"Kathryn."

The grass is slick and smooth-sharp against her cheek. She doesn't want to look up, and leave the illusion that for now she can exist with only the touch of water and smell of earth and green to fill her mind and senses. She doesn't want to remember that the name belongs to her. The name can belong to someone else. Someone stronger, who can face the distance, and the deaths, without buckling beneath the strain.

"Kathryn." This time the voice is softer, tender, as lips coloured like temptation caress each sound and syllable. She presses deeper into the grass, feeling the soft earth giving way beneath her. She cannot look up and see the familiar constellations that she wonders if she's ever looked upon before.

"Kathryn." Now barely a whisper. The voice is understanding. It knows this mood and the source of it, the pain and aching frustration, grief, sorrow it fails to express.

She pulls away and scrambles to her feet, runs, runs so hard and fast just maybe she'll be able to leave the pain and emptiness behind. She doesn't need to look or hear to know the body of the voice is following, keeping pace with athletic, patient strides she's too old to match.

Finally, she's caught, with arms around her waist entangling in the hurt. "Kathryn." Gently now, to get her attention.

She screams, and turns, and wants to pound the body so lovingly near. She could never deserve this. She tries to strike and fails, as she knew she would, for her hands are caught before the contact. She knew, and so could strike, for she could never willingly hurt this woman. But it's too much for her beauty to be here, hard lines and soft curves mingling with a mind like supernovae. It's too much for her to see, and too much for her to touch as she wraps her arms around the narrow waist and kisses her hard.

She pulls her close, presses into her body, wishes she could slide into her and lose her pain in the merging. She cannot. Unreasoning the thought forms that the barriers of clothing between them prevent it, and so she frantically tugs at the sleek brown mesh that covers her. She feels a slight smile against her lips as understanding is acknowledged and the boon tacitly granted.

Fabric shreds beneath her questing hands, and parts to bare smooth flesh to her touch. She touches, tastes, and nips too hard, desperate to find a connection to the reality otherwise lacking. She does not succeed, nor does her lover respond as she might to gentler attentions.

Instead, she pushes her back and pins her to the grass, caressing her with a fierce and devoted passion. Like a balm that burns as much as it heals, she wrings from the body beneath her intense and exhausting response. It isn't pleasure. It isn't pain. But it is what she needs right now.

Finally, they stop, and again the pounding of her heart slows to an even pace. Now, however, the raw emptiness has been exorcised for another day, and she can be calm.

"Kathryn?" The voice rumbles through the chest against which she is pressed, inquiringly, hesitantly.

In answer, she only kisses her, now with a sweeter, gentler, loving passion.