The BLTS Archive - Affinity
by Nightwitch (togermangirl@yahoo.com)

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Published: 01-13-07

Updated: 01-13-07

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Flattered. That's what he had said. 'Flattered', of all things. How
could it possibly be a compliment to him that she would give this man,
this alternative version of himself another chance? Thomas hadn't been
her friend, he hadn't worked with her every day and spent time with
her after hours, he hadn't been there for her after Ian's death, or
talked to her for many hours a week. He barely even knew her as she
was now. Flattered! Like hell he was.

And yet, he was gone now. Will had seen it coming, of course he had to
leave. He had known it from the beginning, because it was that side of
himself he hated so much that had been so prevalent in Thomas, that
restless, unreliable, ambitious side, always striving for more, always
expecting life to be better somewhere else. It was a disturbing
realization, like watching yourself from the outside and despising
what you saw. They were two different people, and yet they were not.
They had the same past, to some extent, and yet all these years in
between had made a difference. They were not clones, more like
brothers, and yet they were not. He didn't know what they were.

It just confused him that this was what Deanna wanted. He remembered
her words so well, 'not while we're serving on the same ship', all
that talk about how it would be too complicated, and in the end, if
someone did get hurt, they would still have to work with one another,
how love alone wasn't enough. And it was okay, really, wasn't it?

Wasn't it? It was uncomplicated, there were no obligations other than
those of the loyalty commonly expected in friendship, no romance, no
sex, just talking and listening, and banter, and poker nights. . . and
one
of them could walk out anytime they wanted to. It was safe.

But here was Thomas –granted, he'd had a hard time- Thomas Riker, who
had just shown up out of the blue, and she had no doubts, she just
went for it. It simply seemed unfair, he hadn't earned it. On top of
it all, he had thrown it away, and Will had known he would, it had
felt like he was watching his own actions all over again, in slow
motion. And who was left now? What was the point, really?

'Come in, Will' she called, her voice muffled through the door.

He jumped, realizing that he had been standing outside her quarters
for way too long without doing anything. She had done this before,
calling him inside before he had actually pressed the button that
indicated someone was at the door for her, but after all these years,
it still surprised him every time. She wouldn't do that sort of thing
with strangers. It did have the potential to scare them.

He entered and took a look around the tidy room. No Deanna.

'What were you waiting for?' a familiar voice asked from behind the
sitting area.

He took a few steps towards it and was able to spot her crouched on
the floor behind the sofa, scooping up some porcelain shards with a
small shovel near the wall.

'Nothing. What happened? That's your good china vase, isn't it?'

'It was. I knocked it over on accident.' She got up from the floor and
walked over to the dematerializer to get rid of the garbage, still not
looking at him.

He didn't ask any more questions, or comment on the fact that the
table the vase used to stand on was many meters away from the point
where it had broken. 'Are you all right?'

'Yes.' She met his concerned gaze with a smile on her lips,
approaching him slowly. 'Don't worry.'

'You sure?'

'Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?'

She looked quite normal, he had to admit that. Her hair and make-up
were flawless, her posture upright, her expression composed. However,
she was good at pretense, it was partly her job. Sometimes, he wished
he had some of that empathic sense as well, to be able to see through
that façade. He wondered if it was anything like that gut feeling he
had that this was indeed a feigned calmness, only with more certainty.
'Thomas.'

She raised her eyebrows and tried to shrug the question off with a
smirk. 'Why do men always think they're the center of the universe?'

On any other day, he would have come up with a witty reply, but he
wouldn't just let her get away like that, not this time. 'Look,
Deanna, I'm sorry. . . about everything that's happened.'

'Don't apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for.' Her voice sounded
a bit edgy for a moment, but she was quick to straighten it out. 'You
aren't him.'

Of course she didn't want to talk to him about it. Why would she? It
would only cause more awkwardness. 'No, I'm not.' Because I'm here, he
added in his thoughts, but he didn't say it. Sometimes, though rarely,
he wished she were a full telepath.

She crossed her arms in front of her stomach. She did that a lot, he
noticed. 'Look, this isn't a perfect time.'

'You want me to leave?'

She hesitated for a moment, just gazing at him with that
indiscernible, slightly vulnerable look of hers. 'Yes.'

He couldn't help feeling hurt by that one word. Sure, she was sad, she
probably needed some time for herself. . . but he couldn't get over
how
much she was shutting him out. It angered him like nothing else. 'All
right.'

She crouched down again to scoop up the rest of the remains of the
broken vase with an irritating matter of course. He turned around to
leave.

'Will. . . it's not you. . . ' she muttered quietly, so quietly in
fact that he
wasn't sure whether it had actually been a product of his own
imagination.

But it was enough. He didn't leave, but went round the sofa, crouching
down next to her. 'Here, I'll just give you a hand with that.'

'You don't have to. . . .be careful.'

Her warning was in vain. The third shard he picked up cut his index
finger, making him gasp. Why did he have to be so damn clumsy?

'Here, let me see.' She took his hand carefully and looked at the
wound. It was just a small scratch, not very deep and barely bleeding.

'You'll live. But you better go see a nurse.'

He smirked. 'Deanna, if I were to walk into sickbay because of every
tiny scratch, I'd be spending half my time there.'

'Too proud, are we, Commander? They can fix this in no time.'

'Nah. There's no need.'

She rolled her eyes in a way that was very unlike her. 'Fine, let me
put liquid wound cover on it, at least.'

Before he could protest, she had already walked over to the
replicator, demanded five millilitres of liquizine, and ordered him to
sit down on the sofa. He did as he was told, but not without some
amusement. Deanna could be bossy when she wanted to be.

She sat down next to him, vetting the wound with great care. He
studied her face, when he knew she was too focused on her task to pay
attention to it. She was beautiful, no doubt about it, even with her
dark brown curls covering half her face as she was looking down at his
finger.

It was at times like these, when he was close to her, physically
close, just the two of them, that it was hard to retain that
inevitable barrier. The wall they had erected a long time ago was in
permanent danger of crumbling, he could feel it, but he didn't want to
fight it anymore, didn't want to have to hold back all the time. Was
it even worth this torment? He missed her, he wanted her, wanted to
touch her, feel her, be with her completely. . .

Her hand was becoming unsteady - she had applied too much of the
liquid cover, some of it was running down the side of his finger. She
replicated a cloth and wiped around the wound, removing some of the
excess fluid. It dried quickly on his skin.

'There.' She finally looked up.

'Thanks.'

He was still studying her face intently, but she didn't avert her gaze
this time. Only the corners of her mouth, which had been curled up
into a smile, dropped a bit. 'I think you. . . ' Her voice sounded
awkward,
as if it didn't belong to her. '. . . .you should go now.'

He didn't move. Her black eyes were like two dark pools. What lay
behind them was unfathomable. 'I should.'

'You should.'

'I know.'

'I'll see you tomorrow. . . on the bridge. . . beta shift. . . '

'Yeah.'

He moved closer to her face with his head, inching forward ever so
slowly. Her dark red lipstick stood out against her pale face,
shimmering, emphasizing the perfect shape of her mouth. The warm
moisture of her breath brushed against his skin. He could feel his own
heart beating up to his throat. What the hell was he doing? He
stopped. For a moment, all was still, frozen in time. But then, out of
the blue, she eradicated the last bit of distance between them,
pressing her lips onto his. The warm sensation startled him. This so
wasn't like her. She kissed him fiercely, passionately, without the
slightest bit of hesitance. After a moment, he began to respond,
parting his lips ever so slightly, letting his tongue do the rest,
just not thinking. Feeling, feeling at last.

It was hurried, fabric brushing against fabric, skin against skin,
teeth clashing, hands moving hastily all over each other's bodies,
grasping, caressing. The mere feeling of her hand on his back sent
shivers down his spine. She lay back on the sofa, pulling him down
with her, while he covered her neck in kisses. His fingers got tangled
in her curls, as he held onto her more tightly than ever before.

She flinched when his other hand found the zipper at the back of her
overall. He withdrew it, quickly, stopping what he was doing. And what
the hell were they doing? This was wrong, so wrong, he didn't want to
take advantage of her. She was heartbroken over Thomas, they would
regret this. . . and yet his head was spinning, spinning with her
perfume, spinning with sex. 'Deanna' he gasped, 'do you know. . . what
you're doing? I'm Will-'

She silenced him with a long kiss, pulling his head down again.

'Shut up, Will. I know who you are.'

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The End