The Wrong Person
As she dressed for the ship's Christmas party, Captain Kathryn Janeway asked
herself why she'd always had such a knack for falling in love with the wrong
people.
When she had been in high school, her choice had been a star athlete, brilliant,
handsome, and completely self-absorbed. She still shuddered at the abasement
she'd put herself through to win his bare attention. When she'd finally summoned
the nerve to tell him that she was entering the Academy, will-he-or-nil-he, he'd
stormed from her in a fit of temper that had appalled, horrified, saddened her
-- and when she'd had the time to reflect on it, made her grateful to be free of
him.
At the Academy, her desire had focused on an older man, an officer, one of her
own teachers. //Gods,// she thought, tugging a brush through her hair,
exasperated with herself. //Am I keeping his name from *myself* now? Admiral.
Owen.// Tom Paris would have been appalled if he knew the intensity with which
Kathryn Janeway had once lusted after his father. Not that he was ever likely to
find out; in point of fact, she didn't think his father had ever found out,
either. At the time Kathryn had known the admiral, he had already been married
for some years, a fact that kept her lips firmly sealed but did nothing to deter
her vivid dreams.
Brushing completed, Kathryn twisted her hair up into a soft, loose bun, the
motions familiar despite having gone unpracticed for a few years. The formal
style not only suited her, but would also be completely appropriate for the
events of the evening. The pins slid into place with absent skill.
After that frustrating time at the Academy, she had gone to her first posting
more than ripe for a real lover. So she fell, hard, for Elena Morovna, slightly
her senior in the Mercury's Sciences department and everything Kathryn wanted to
be: tall, shapely, and vivacious. Elena swept Kathryn off her feet (figuratively
and sometimes literally), into an affair marked by the kind of passion Voyager's
captain had never shared with anyone before or since. A touch of the beautiful
brunette's fingers, a heated glance from those deep-brown eyes, and Janeway had
been helpless with desire.
Others in the crew tried to warn her, but she did not listen, did not *want* to
listen. And so Kathryn was perhaps the only person on board who was surprised
when she made an unexpected visit to Elena's cabin one day, thinking to leave a
small love-token -- and walked in on her dazzling lover, supposedly on duty,
actually naked, in bed, and engaged in passionate sixty-nine with a buxom
brunette from Engineering.
After Kathryn made what recovery a very young woman can from such humiliation,
she decided that she'd had enough. She threw herself into her career, with a
zeal and energy that (added to her natural gifts) eventually won her, not only
the respect of her more-experienced crewmates, but also that rarest and most
surprising of all accolades: recommendation to Command School.
Captain Janeway's slender fingers hesitated over her small selection of eye
makeup. Normally, she preferred a natural look, and so applied her few cosmetics
with a delicate hand. Still, this *was* a party, and considering who was likely
to be in attendance....well, excess would be neither appropriate nor appreciated,
but a bit of color might suit. A touch of soft green, accented by an
equally-muted gold, she decided.
One might think that, surrounded by career-minded classmates and self-sworn
against love, Command Candidate Janeway would lead a celibate life. One would be
mistaken. In the company of those who, like her, wanted no commitments beyond
career, she was free to indulge the full range of her sexuality: earthy, sensual,
and passionate. She had more lovers in one six-month span than before and since
combined: male and female, human and otherwise; all in her bed for the simple
pleasure of being there. She told herself she enjoyed it immensely.
Then Kathryn caught herself yearning for the one Vulcan in the group: dignified,
discreet, and the only one in all her circle who had never expressed the
slightest interest in sleeping with her. As she longed for that quiet regard,
she realized she had been living a lie. Sexual acrobatics might be (hell, *were*)
pleasurable, but they were not enough for Kathryn Janeway. She craved the love
of the heart quite as much as she craved the love of the body.
Kathryn spent the next few months trying to win T'Mar's esteem, but that never
worked out, either. She suspected that her efforts had been sabotaged by her
earlier profligacy.
The captain regarded her face in the mirror, was pleased to see how skillfully
she had enhanced her natural beauty. There was no disguising the signs of middle
age, the lines and creases that experience had drawn (though lightly, as yet)
into her face, but in this enlightened era no one would hold the fact of her age
against her. Especially not anyone as rational as....she laid the makeup brushes
down and went to her wardrobe.
Kathryn had pretty much kept to herself on her first shipboard posting after
that -- or tried to, anyway. If she and Captain Rodriguez had never been trapped
in that cave-in together, she probably would never have admitted, even to
herself, how attractive, charismatic, engaging she found him. But, cliché as it
seemed even at the time, proximity (or perceived proximity) to death has a way
of eroding barriers and releasing inhibitions. And she was not the only one
who'd felt secret love and desire....
The affair lasted a few months afterward, longer than she had expected --
cruelly, long enough to thoroughly reacquaint her heart and her body with the
feel of passion. But she had known from the outset how it must end, and so when
he came to her to tell her that his ethics and their futures demanded that they
separate, she had agreed, quietly and composedly. What weeping she did came long
after Eduin Rodriguez left her cabin.
Kathryn gathered the long chemise up in her hands and carefully drew it down
past her hair before sliding her arms beneath the straps. The silky white
garment dropped down over her body, fitting sleekly over her breasts, flowing
gracefully over her flat belly, rounded hips and slender legs. Snowy lace kissed
her ankles.
Then Mark had returned to her life. Good old Mark. Good old safe, dependable,
friend-from-the-old-neighborhood Mark. Good old Mark who had patiently loved her
all these years, waiting for the moment when she would notice his devotion.
Kathryn had had enough both of grand love affairs and of raw lust. It was nice
to be with someone she could relax with, someone she could trust. A quiet,
low-maintenance companion like Mark was an ideal partner for a busy, driven
command officer: someone who could keep the home fires burning while she was
away, take care of the dogs and the house and the mail and be a warm pair of
arms and a cozy bed to return to. And she could trust him; after all, he loved
her so.
They drifted into an engagement before she realized the one crucial flaw in
their pairing: *she* didn't love *him*. Oh, she liked him well enough; he was so
easy-going he was almost impossible to dislike. But that very quality made him
incapable of igniting her passion; she liked her partners with more fire and
drive than he'd ever dreamed of possessing.
Before she could do anything about that little problem, though, Voyager had been
swept into the Delta Quadrant.
Kathryn drew her attire for the evening from the closet, and regarded it
thoughtfully. In cut and trim, the gown would have suited a Jane Austen heroine:
high-waisted and short-sleeved, with a deep round neckline that would expose a
fair amount of skin without actually baring anything that couldn't be shown in
polite company. Lace bordered neckline, cuff, and hem, the last word in elegance
for the era the dress was supposed to represent.
Only the color would have kept this dress from appearing in illustrations of "Pride
and Prejudice": it was a deep emerald green, quite unsuited to the young,
virginal heroines Austen favored. Well, Kathryn was neither young nor virginal,
and she'd often been told that emerald made her eyes sparkle. All things
considered, she thought tonight would be a good night to test that theory.
Though in truth, she would be much happier if the dress made someone *else's*
eyes sparkle...
Carefully, she unseamed the back seam of the dress and lifted it over her head.
Like the chemise, it slipped gracefully over her curves.
For a time, guilt had kept her loyal to Mark, coupled with the certainty that he
would be loyal to *her*. Not that there had been no temptations.
Given her penchant for wanting the wrong person, Kathryn was a bit amazed she'd
never fallen in love with Chakotay. A wanted criminal, the man she'd been sent
to arrest, *and* her second-in-command -- you just couldn't *get* any wronger
than that. And Chakotay was not without his charms, to be sure: a handsome man
with a winning smile, an off-center sense of humor, and an obvious capacity for
passion. Add to that the easy rapport that characterized their interactions
almost from the beginning, and Kathryn was truly amazed that she had never felt
the urge to take their relationship beyond friendship. But somehow the necessary
spark had never been struck.
Perhaps because she had been too busy watching B'Elanna Torres. Now *there* was
a package: passion and ferocity and unaware beauty all in one lithe form. One
lithe, very *young* form. One lithe, very young form that from the beginning was
clearly interested in being wrapped around the even-younger form of one Harry
Kim. Which, of course, made her quite the wrong choice for Kathryn as well. (Not
that the knowledge helped. It never did.)
In the wake of B'Elanna's marriage to Harry, Kathryn gave Tom Paris a passing
thought. He was quite handsome and more than a bit daring -- the only man on
Voyager who'd ever had the chutzpah to actually hit on the captain. But her
attraction was never more than superficial, as the young pilot was too much the
rake, too eager to demonstrate his prowess by cutting a wide swath through the
ship's female complement. Probably just as well, as it would have been entirely
too uncanny for Kathryn to form a relationship with the son of the man who had
obsessed her all through her Academy years.
Besides, she had already seen the looks her first officer was casting at Tom
Paris. She wondered if Chakotay himself was quite aware of them, but suspected
he was not. Tom Paris, the ladies' man...between this and Seska, Chakotay's luck
in love appeared to be much like her own, poor man.
Sliding her small feet into a pair of low-heeled satin slippers, Janeway turned
to her full-length mirror. A vision from the past greeted her: an elegant lady
clad in garments fitted enough to display her figure, yet loose enough to flow
and sweep.
She looked pretty good, if she had to say so herself. (Though she rather hoped
someone else would be willing to say it for her!) Collecting the finishing
touches, a lacy kerchief and a small silk fan, she turned toward her cabin door
and swept out into the hallway.
Then there had been Kes. Dear, beautiful Kes...Kathryn had braved Nikani caves
and Nikani mysticism to rescue that curious young explorer from a certain death,
and never counted the cost. But holding the younger woman in her arms, even in
dire circumstances, had only fueled Kathryn's desire to hold her again.
When Kes broke up with Neelix, Kathryn had actually thought it might be possible
to pursue her attraction to the lovely Ocampa. Then she'd spoken to Kes...only
to see the blue eyes widen, the pretty face turn apologetic. It seemed that Kes,
like Tom Paris, was one of that minority who was attracted only to one gender --
in Kes's case, male.
Embarrassed, Janeway had retreated. Not long after that, Chakotay approached the
captain, offering a curious pact: he and she could play the roles of a courting
couple, so that neither would have to deal with would-be suitors. "Mutual
protection," Chakotay called it. After her latest debacle, Kathryn was more than
ready to accept his offer. (She did wonder briefly if he'd had the same
experience with Tom that she'd had with Kes, but nothing changed in the way he
looked at Paris, so she suspected he was simply trying to avoid temptation.)
The agreement worked well enough. Chakotay was an attractive escort, a charming
companion, and a good friend. If Kathryn felt no more passion for him than she'd
ever felt for Mark, well, at least he didn't expect her to.
Exchanging desultory greetings with various officers as she glided through the
hallways and rode a lift to the proper floor, the captain felt her heartbeat
quicken as she approached the site of tonight's revels.
She had thought that, bruised by Kes's gentle rebuff and shielded by her
pleasant partnership with Chakotay, her heart would be safe from any further
inappropriate involvements.
Then Seven of Nine joined Voyager's "collective."
Thereby proving the gods (if gods there were, which Janeway personally still
doubted despite her experience with the Nikani) had no pity on wayward starship
captains. Apparently it wasn't enough that Seven of Nine was drop-dead gorgeous,
with a striking face and a figure that would have put a strip queen to shame.
Oh, no. It wasn't enough that she had the kind of deep, throaty voice that
holoporn actresses could only aspire to. Oh, no. It wasn't even enough that she
was brilliant. In addition to all of that, she was proud, imperious, and more
strong-willed than any man or woman Kathryn Janeway had ever known.
And she had the emotional awareness of a small child.
Kathryn had fought the inevitable as long as she could. //Seven of Nine looks at
me as a mother-figure,// the captain had told herself, then //Seven needs me to
be her friend.// Finally, when the lonely comfort of Kathryn's own hands proved
utterly insufficient after certain vivid, tormenting dreams, //Seven isn't *ready*
for a lover yet, dammit!// Knowing, even as she admonished herself, that those
dazzlingly blue eyes and sensuously full lips would appear behind her closed
eyelids the moment she tried to resume sleep, as surely as the touch of those
strong, slender hands would seem to caress her drowsing body.
But in these last months, Seven had begun to develop a better understanding of
herself and others -- begun, in short, to grow up. Her relationship with the
captain had become, if not a relationship of equals (that being impossible for a
captain and anyone for whom she assumed responsibility), then more a
relationship of two adults.
Kathryn had still been hesitant.
Then she learned that the Doctor (of all people!) was tutoring Seven in the art
of social interaction. Specifically, on the rules of dating. //If she's ready to
learn about dating, then she's ready to learn about...well, maybe more than
dating,// the would-be suitor thought hopefully.
But if that were to be so, the caption would have to make her own chance. To her
bemusement, the Doctor had selected his own list of suitable dating prospects
for his beautiful protégéé -- all male. //What century does he think this is
again?// the captain asked herself rhetorically, but concluded that the Doctor's
casual assumption of Seven's heterosexuality probably had as much to do with
wishful thinking as anything else. She'd noticed the way the hologram regarded
the lovely Borg.
What the Doctor wanted and what Seven wanted could very well be two different
things. For that matter, what Kathryn wanted and what Seven wanted could be two
different things, too. (The memory of Kes's apologetic expression surfaced
briefly, only to be forced firmly down.) But win or lose, pain or joy, Kathryn
meant to find out tonight. //I've waited a long time to ask the question, Seven.//
Her heart pounded harder, but she would let none of her anxiety show in her
face. Skirts swaying elegantly about her legs, the captain entered the holodeck,
and another time.
She passed through a small anteroom first, where holographic cloaks and coats
hung to look as if the party's guests had actually traveled through inclement
weather. Then she stepped into the brightly-lit ballroom of an old English
country manse. //Beautiful.// Crystal chandeliers glittered in the light of
dozen of candles, including those which adorned a tall Christmas tree that
nearly brushed the room's high ceiling. The fragrant smell of burning hardwood
issued from a large fireplace, mingling with savory aromas from all the
traditional dishes that covered the groaning buffet tables.
Many of the crew were already on hand, splashes of bright color against creamy
walls and wood-toned floors. Like Kathryn, most had selected garb that suited
the era: the women in bright, high-waisted gowns, the men in tight, fitted
breeches, high-collared white shirts, and satiny waistcoats. Despite her nerves,
Janeway made a moue of appreciation as Ken Dalby sauntered past in a
particularly well-tailored example of male costume. Dalby, noticing, bowed and
grinned before returning to his pursuit of a red-gowned Mariah Henley.
Was *she* here? Janeway no sooner asked the question of herself than answered it,
as she sighted Seven standing before one of the high, wreath-adorned windows.
The beautiful ex-Borg, clad in a long blue dress that fitted tightly (a shade *too*
tightly; Janeway recognized the EMH's tailoring style again) over her full
breasts and draped gracefully over the rest of her lush curves, appeared to be
in earnest conference with the Doctor. //Damn. Well, I've waited this long; a
few more minutes won't kill me. Besides,// -- in all fairness -- //I should talk
to Chakotay first, and let him know he's about to lose his "relationship
protection."// The last thing either she or Chakotay needed was a string of
well-wishers commiserating with him over her "infidelity" in pursuing Seven.
Kathryn scanned the room for her first officer, but he was nowhere in sight. She
just managed not to tap her foot as she waited, one eye on Seven and the other
on the door as she automatically exchanged holiday greetings with various
members of the crew.
After what seemed far too long, but was probably no more than minutes, Chakotay
stumbled (stumbled?) in, looking distracted. After a few moments, his eyes
settled on her, and she walked quickly toward him.
He met her in the middle of the room. "Kathryn --" he said, an urgent sound to
his voice.
"Chakotay --" she began, only a heartbeat behind.
"We need to talk," they said in the same moment, then stopped and stared. She
wondered if the trepidation in her own eyes mirrored that in his.
Suddenly his expression cleared, as if in comprehension. "Maybe we don't," he
suggested slyly, a hint of mirth on his lips.
//Maybe we --? Oh. *Oh!*// The revelation came quickly and completely, and she
chuckled, as much in genuine amusement as in relief. //What a coincidence!//
"No, I guess we don't. So do we need to have an argument, or can we just have an
amicable 'break-up'?" she teased.
"I'd like us to stay friends," he joked back, and she felt the warmth of their
long, albeit thoroughly platonic, relationship in the words.
"I hope we always will," she answered, more seriously, leaning up to place a
sisterly kiss on his cheek. "Good luck with him, Chakotay."
He squeezed her hand, his smile filled with fond appreciation. "Thanks. Good
luck with her, Kathryn."
"Thanks." She turned away from him then, toward where Seven had been standing
with the Doctor -- to see that the younger woman now stood alone, looking
pensive. Then brilliant blue eyes lit on the captain and, to Kathryn's surprise,
seriousness vanished as the full lips curved upward into a radiant smile. //Oh
God oh God oh God...// Kathryn walked quickly toward that shining beauty, barely
daring to let herself hope.
"Seven," she said, almost stumbling over the syllables. "We need -- I need to
talk to you."
The ex-drone regarded Kathryn for a moment, still smiling. "Talking is
inefficient," she answered, with her customarily precise diction. "I prefer
direct action."
Before the captain could think of another word to say, Seven of Nine wrapped
long arms around her and gathered her in, ardently (if awkwardly) planting a
searing kiss on her commanding officer's half-parted lips.
Oh God, Seven had no sense of occasion, did not realize that the captain didn't,
couldn't, engage in this kind of activity before her crew no matter how welcome
it was or how long she had wanted it --
But instead of objecting, Kathryn Janeway leaned into the other woman and
deepened the kiss. She felt the surge of Seven's heart against her breast, and
her own heart sang as they stood there locked into their joyful embrace.
She had found the right person.
Oh God, at last.
--The Beginning--