January 5, 2004
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns all things Trek. Anything I write within their domain is merely an act of fannish love and should be viewed in the positive light that such love will net Paramount more money, not less. Because this story is for entertainment purposes only.
Author's Note
Kay Hooper’s After Caroline is a mystery novel in which I read a well-written section based on the line "One discovered such things about a lover." It moved me to play. But, as is usually the case, this didn’t turn out anything like what I had in mind. The ending especially was never intended. I thought this would be merely a light-hearted examination of all the little quirks that make Kathryn Janeway unique. Instead, there’s only really one basic 'quirk' and it’s not even a quirk so much as a habit with its own peculiarities . . .
One Discovers Such Things
The first thing Kathryn Janeway does when she rises from her bed is pad to the replicator in her bare feet for what she calls her morning coffee--coffee, hot and black. It is so characteristically human that the replicators are programmed to recognize that ‘coffee black’ means coffee without sugar or cream or anything else. One never gets coffee colored black upon requesting this.
Janeway takes the first sip of her coffee before turning away from the replicator. She must sip it because ‘coffee hot’ means coffee at a temperature hotter than any other food or beverage is commonly served. Coffee hot means coffee scalding, just below the boiling point. Sometimes Kathryn steps to the view port in the bulkhead to look out at the stars--and the view is usually but not always stars, stars at warp, because our mission and our lives are ones of constant motion--while she enjoys a few more sips or simply inhales the fragrant steam rising from her cup. But before her coffee has cooled appreciably, she’s always called up the logs from the previous night to see if there is anything important she wants to be aware of immediately. Anything urgent and she would have been awakened and apprised. Sometimes she downloads the reports onto a padd and stands over her desk or at the view port to scan for notable incidents; at other times, she sits immediately at her desk and skims the information directly off her computer console. Once the preliminary scan is accomplished, however, she is always sitting at her desk, reading in detail and sipping methodically. One discovers such things about a lover.
She likes to ‘wake up slowly,’ she says, though I know her to be completely alert and focused from the moment she turns her eyes to the reports. Waking up slowly merely means leisurely sipping coffee without dressing or grooming first. Somehow, she always finishes the logs and her first coffee at the same time. She drains her cup and places it on the desk with an air of finality and a slight smacking sound: she has finished her first task of the day and her day has begun.
She replicates a second coffee hot and black, and sips it tentatively as she returns to her bedroom, where she efficiently makes the bed with sharp corners that she calls Academy corners. I ask her what she would like for breakfast. I have completed my grooming while she has been ‘waking up,’ giving her a few quite minutes to herself. Sometimes, she answers immediately, if she plans to eat merely to sustain herself through a busy day and placate me. If she is not in such a hurry, she pauses to indulge her well-controlled tendency for flirtatious affection. She might blow me a kiss and wink as she passes, or brush against me, touch my face, even kiss me in some unlikely spot. Sometimes she merely stops her preparations completely and meets my eyes with a smoldering look before openly appraising my body. I know by now without her having to say a word that such a look means her answer is that she’d like to have me for breakfast. If she’s in an especially good mood, she sometimes sidles over to me, seductively touching her own body and gives me a passionate kiss or fondles my bottom. She smells intensely like Kathryn, like our bed, before her shower, and her mouth tastes hot and dark and like coffee. It no longer baffles or irritates me if she does not immediately respond to my question. I simply go to her desk, which has become mine too, and read the reports for myself. I know she will answer my question soon enough and that her lack of immediate answer means she is thinking about it and that we will likely ‘sit down to breakfast’ together, which I can tell from the way she intones it has something of the ritual added to the simple act of eating. One discovers such things about a lover.
Her coffee cools next to the sink as she showers. The cooler temperature means she can take what she ironically calls healthy drinks at built-in moments in her grooming routine. The first after she’s dried herself, the next when she’s donned her trousers and the bottom layers of her uniform, the third when she’s finished drying her hair, the next after she’s applied all of her simple cosmetics except her lip color. She may call out to me at some point during this routine what she’s decided to eat. Her voice always has that full quality it takes on just after a healthy drink of coffee. She then applies her lipstick, carries her cup into the bedroom, where she sits on the bed and dons her boots, takes another healthy drink as she gets her pips from the table by the bed, and neatly attaches them to her collar with one hand. She leaves her cup on the table, retrieves her jacket and puts it on as she returns to the ensuite where she invariably stands before the mirror and smartly adjusts her uniform and flips her hair out of her collar before giving her reflection a second-long inspection. She is the captain now, draped in the uniform and the rank, as she emerges. One discovers such things about a lover.
She retrieves her coffee and comes into the main room. If she has told me her choice, I am always just removing our breakfast from the replicator as she enters. Otherwise, she goes to the replicator and programs our meal. I turn with my hands full or look up from the reports to see my captain for the first time that morning and often through my head runs a rarely used Starfleet consideration: Captain on deck. Sometimes, to tease her, I say it aloud and she grins, shakes her head, swats at me if she is close enough. “Captain on you,” she once said and promptly plopped down on me, somewhat awkwardly since my chair was turned into the desk and its arms got in the way. I laughed as I steadied her.
We eat. Sometimes she brings her toast, muffin, or danish over to me and sits on the desk while she hurriedly eats. These are the mornings when she chose something random and fortifying without any thought because her mind is already on the bridge. I can recognize those mornings and I have my breakfast at the desk with me, eating as I read, or more often, simply drinking something nutritional. On those more leisurely days, we sit at right angles at the table. Kathryn always has half of her second coffee remaining and she drinks it greedily as if it is the first she has tasted and the last she’ll taste for a long time. We mention interesting things from the reports we have read or our plans for the day. At times we talk about shore leaves we’ve just had or what certain of our crew mates have been up to. We touch often, a hand brushing its counterpart, two feet nestled cozily together or legs entwined. Kathryn frequently rests her hand on my arm or hand, briefly or lazily, gently or squeezing, as she talks. Once her coffee is gone, Kathryn drinks with her breakfast whatever healthy beverage I have replicated for her, usually juice with a nutritional supplement I never tell her about. My Kathryn often forgets lunch because events demand her attention. If we have rare extra time, she replicates another coffee--this time a café au lait or a blend with some nutty rich flavor ground with the beans--and we bask in quiet time together. If she spends the morning working in her ready room, she will fill her silver tea service with coffee hot and black and drink numerous cups of the stuff until mid-morning or even early afternoon. From then on, her coffees will be treats, sweet and light or flavored, breaks from her busy and often trying day, rewards for difficult situations resolved, except at lunch, if she has lunch. One discovers such things about a lover.
When it is time to go to our posts, Kathryn invariably presses herself against me and hugs me tightly. Sometimes she teases and attempts to arouse me before we must part--she is a self-characterized ‘naughty woman.’ At other times, she kisses me sweetly and softly or caresses my face, touches my hair, stares at me as if memorizing me. But always there is the gentle yet intense full-body hug. She is a Starfleet captain and she has in actuality been Starfleet all her life. The Starfleet life is one that consistently teaches its devotees that life is never a ‘sure thing,’ more so than any other. Life in space has risks enough; space life in an organization consecrated to protecting others before self and exploring the unknown is infinitely more precarious. And she is a captain and a captain stranded thousands of light years from support or assistance in the form of other Starfleet ships, or even certain friends. She knows not only that at any time danger, disaster, and death may come but that she will be the one to make the call: to order the ship in to aid a ship in distress, to send an away team into danger. She knows not only that she could lose me today but that she will be the one to give the order that might send me to my death. She is always aware of this, and so, before we part in the morning to take on our roles as captain and officer, she takes one precious moment of simply being Kathryn and holds me to her, loves me with all of her being for that one instant of time, silently says goodbye knowing it could be the last goodbye. One discovers such things about a lover.
It seems remarkable, when I have moments of reflection to think about it, that we can ever let each other go. But this is who we are, this is where we are, and we have responsibilities. Even more so does Kathryn. She is the captain and she is so devoted to her obligation that she is her duty. When she fell in love with me and at last decided to act on it, she knew she could do so only within the confines of her position. And position is too mild a word. We both know this. This is what love is in our situation. It is a decidedly ‘risky business,’ but neither of us can change how we feel and, thankfully, Kathryn allowed herself to love wholeheartedly--one discovers such things --and now, I know it is true for both of us, that we would not give up our love to make life easier even if we could. This is who we are, this is how we feel; our lives are constantly endangered, our love makes us even more vulnerable, but we accept the danger and potential for heartbreak, because that, too, is who we are. One discovers such things about a lover and about one’s self.
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