The BLTS Archive - The Captain's Chair
Third in The Captain's Chair series
by Deede (jaylee_g@yahoo.com; deedej@pacbell.net)

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Disclaimer: No profit, no canned goods, no beans that grow into a
beanstalk were made or traded during the production of this fic. :-)

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I used to dream of the Captain's chair, as cliché or boorish as that
may sound. The chair, for me, was a symbol: the focal point of
ambition, hard work, and yes. . .  power, success, and status - a
means showing my father that I, too, could accomplish great things.
When I was younger it had been my center, as I eagerly ate up any
profession of loyalty and drive the Academy didn't have to work too
hard to instill within me. I knew what I wanted, I knew what I had to
do to get it, and like any other determined person - flushed with both
youth and an irrational sense of immortality, I wasn't going to let
anything stand in my way.

It's funny how fate works, what time teaches us, and what lessons
destiny holds within her exhilarating grasp. I can still see the
Captain's chair before me, tall and proud, warm and inviting - a
glorious beacon to a vagabond such as myself. But somewhere along the
way, during times that I can't quite pinpoint or state with utter
certainty when they took place down to the second - the chair was
joined by other dreams, fantasies and wishes: some of them small, some
of them large, all of them infinitely precious.

I wonder what Deanna would say if she saw me now, lost to my reverie
minutes before our wedding? No doubt she would smile, understanding in
a way that only she can. She is utterly beautiful when she smiles.
Actually, she is utterly beautiful regardless of temperament: either
angry with her big, dark eyes flashing brilliantly; or lost to the
throws of passion, writhing beneath me, her face flushed with an
ethereal glow of boundless desire – but when she smiles she is
luminescent. Her whole face lights up, and the happiness just swirls
around her – infectious, pleasing, warm, and comforting; a balm to the
weary and jaded.

If she were here, by my side, would she be amused to know that my
thoughts aren't in the moment?

In an abstract way they are, for ultimately, no matter how out there
they may seem from one point to another, all thoughts during deep
reflection lead to where I am, who I am, and how it all relates to
her. The first time we met I was awed by her ability to put me in a
trance: to get me to slow down, think, look at things from an
objective perspective and contemplate my life and my surroundings in a
way I had never really taken the time to do before. She had this
natural ability, even then, to play Devil's Advocate, to question
previously set in stone ideals, and get anyone who got drawn into her
exotic beauty and eerily wise persona to truly consider all aspects of
life and paint a more well rounded portrait.

And now, as I wait to pledge the rest of my life by her side, I find
myself wanting this feeling to last forever, with me nervous, yet
hopeful, dazed yet exhilarated and more truly alive than I can ever
remember experiencing while simultaneously knowing that I am exactly
where I want to be.

It has been a hell of a journey to reach this point.

Four years ago we left the Briar Patch, tired yet invigorated, wizened
yet giddy: the youthful radiation from that small patch of space
having nothing short of a profound effect on all of us. I suppose
others could point to that time and mark it as the instant either
Deanna or I 'woke up' and realized that the dance we had been swirling
in all those years ago, continuously circling around one another but
never quite making contact, had come to a wonderful climax. The truth
was that the Briar Patch was simply an excuse, an exonerate to
culminate something that had been building for ages - the awakening
that came more from time, insight, knowledge, and want then it did
from metaphysical radiation.

Our relationship had never been uncomplicated, but I recently
discovered that there was simplicity even in complication. The bottom
line had been that I wanted her: I wanted to be with her, enjoy her,
wanted her to love me. . .  and I had wanted all of that for a very
long time. I have no doubt that Deanna would teasingly huff at that
assessment, stating knowingly that there was never really a bottom
line, and there had to be more to my abject need than that, for 'want'
was made up of many different facets. But somewhere along the lines,
she had joined in that vision of the Captain's chair; perched lovingly
on its armrest as she smiled at me in that enigmatic, Deanna type way,
and I was happy, ecstatic, that she was there. That was all that
mattered.

We had both worked hard to reach that point, for the two of us to be
ready to accept what 'imzadi' really meant for us, and for me to get
over the fact that there had been a time when I had hurt her so
desperately.

It had been Deanna who had suggested that we keep things professional
between us after we realized we were to serve together on the
Enterprise after two years of being apart. It was also Deanna who
suggested that we might be friends, and as painful as it is to admit,
she had been right to initiate those stunning twists of fate on both
counts. I had not been ready for her then, had not been ready for the
life lessons and experiences she had to teach me, just as I had not
been ready when I had left her behind on Betazed all those years ago
with the faint promise of more. And in her own way Deanna had
understood that better than I had. She would tease and soothe me,
challenge and frustrate me, force me to take off blinders I felt
comfortable having, and call me on any action she deemed arrogant or
pompous, all the while shaking her head in her bemused way, daring me
to better myself.

I remember one instance in particular, early on during our service to
the Enterprise, she watched quietly as I helped play host to a small
group of Starfleet Admirals we were shuttling around. One of them had
asked me when they were going to see me as Captain to my own vessel
and I had replied with my trademark at the time. . .  "As soon as
you'll have me. There is nothing I want more than to be captain."

The Admirals had laughed at that, patting me on the back, doting over
me while professing that I'd achieve my ambition soon enough, and
Deanna had been silent the whole time, eyeing me curiously, and with a
raised eyebrow - the only one in the room unmoved by my response. It
wasn't until everyone had retired for the evening, and Deanna and I
were walking together down the corridor that I called her on her
reaction.

"Okay, Deanna, out with it. What is going on in that pretty little
head of yours?" I had teased, knowing her well enough to practically
see the wheels turning in her mind.

And she looked at me then, blinking only once, causing me to fidget
under the uncomfortable weight of her stare before finally asking. . .
"Why do you want to be Captain, Will? Really?"

At the time I had been shocked by that, because I had been so sure of
myself, so sure of what I wanted, that it stunned me that she could
question my determination.  "Of course I know why I want it. I want it
because it is my goal, what I've trained for. I believe in Starfleet,
I like command. I live for exploring new worlds, and seeking out new
life and new civilizations. Captain is the perfect position for me."

She smiled then, not in joy, but in amusement, as if she had expected
that answer and could have probably quoted it to me verbatim before I
had stated it.

"That is a very good answer for an officer to give, Will. Very text
book of you. Did you put that on a test once at the Academy? I'm sure
you got high marks," she responded wryly, crossing her arms over her
chest in challenge. It wasn't the words so much that bothered me, it
was the tone she used to say them, for she didn't say it mockingly,
but factually, as if she believed what she was saying to be true. And
what had been more irksome still was that she had been right, I had
answered that on a test once.

"Do me a favor?" she continued while I was still too shocked to
respond, and could do little more than nod. "Write down your reasons
for wanting to be Captain in your personal log. Don't leave anything
out, list everything and anything you feel about achieving your goal,
no matter how silly or trivial it may seem. And go back to that list
every once in awhile, add to it, revise it, take things out that no
longer apply. . .  see where it takes you," and with that she smiled
again, more warmly this time, and continued on her way to her
quarters, leaving me behind, too stunned over the whole exchange to
follow.

It wasn't until I had been offered my first command that I had
understood what she had been trying to tell me. . .  I wasn't ready
yet, and the reason I wasn't ready was because I wasn't as sure of
myself as I continually portrayed. I still had a lot to learn, even if
I didn't want to admit it. Needless to say I took her advice, and I
kept steadfast track of all thoughts pertaining to my career.
Sometimes it shocked me to go back and look at that list in its early
stages, it forced me to confront how much I did, in fact, change over
time, and how much my beliefs had grown and expanded.

But Deanna had known, somehow, someway. There are times when I am
certain she knows me better than I know myself, and it was later that
I was finally able to admit to her that another reason I had been
unready to accept the Captain's chair was that I had been unwilling to
leave her behind. Even back then, even when we hid our feelings for
each other under the safe guise of friendship. But I think she knew
that too. We excelled at reading between the lines, Deanna, and I. For
years it was all we could do, professing our love not with words, and
not with actions, but with innuendoes, unwavering support, and
occasional, penetrating glances.

Deanna was not entirely infallible. She didn't always have the
answers, a fact that I occasionally and teasingly confront her with,
every now and then when I'm feeling brave. Sometimes it's nearly
impossible to get her to open up, to admit to her own feelings the way
that others confide in her. The two of us weren't so different when it
comes down to it. We both have our unique quirks and insecurities. I
like to think that while I had been learning from her, she had been
taking lessons from me - we had taken the best of ourselves from each
other.

When she had come to me about taking the Bridge Officers test to
pursue more command type experiences than her counselor's position
usually allotted; it hadn't really surprised me. As I had been
growing, expanding in knowledge and experience; so had she. So there
were many sides to things in life, and motivations usually stemmed
from reasoning, but there was a hint of ambition in all of us, this
drive to better ourselves, to cover many nuances of life through the
windows of opportunity and she felt that as well as I did. . .  as
well as anybody did.

I never admitted to her that it bothered me that my previous
promiscuous lifestyle didn't bother her, or if it did she didn't show
it - not that I purposely set out to make her jealous with any of my
liaisons while we had been friends. The truth of the matter was that I
had my own means of learning and growing, and one aspect of that is
pleasure in its many forms. It wasn't about lust, or conquest - having
sex, for me, had little to do with a notch in the bed post, or a
number in a 'little black book', it was about, exploring, giving,
taking, reaching an incomprehensible peek and feeling, if not for just
a moment, really alive. It was this sudden rush of exhilaration, like
flying through space or viewing Earth from the window of a starship. I
had always been grateful to the woman that had shared this experience
with me, but I had never loved any of them, not really. I had only
been in love once in my lifetime.

I had tried to explain this to Deanna once, years ago, leaving out any
details that might disturb the status quo of our relationship at the
time and she had flashed a saucy grin, taking me off guard by leaning
forward and placing her palm flat on my chest over my heart.

"When you're with these women, Will, what do you feel. . .  in here?"
she asked, lightly thumping my chest with her hand.

"Nothing. You're missing the point," I had told her frankly, meeting
her eyes.

She snorted then, shaking her head, obviously amused, much to my
escalating frustration.

"No, I get it. I'm not a nun. I understand what pleasure is, but I
look at things from a different point of view. From my perspective the
purist form of pleasure comes when it combines the needs of the body
with the needs of the heart and the mind," she said with a smile.
"Only then can you experience true fulfillment. But you have to be
ready for it; you have to want it. It can't be forced, or learned. . .
it has to be trusted."

And trust, as I had learned the hard way throughout my life, was
easier said than done. To give one's heart over to another entirely
was the ultimate show of trust, of faith: the culmination to nearly a
lifetime of sharing experiences, of being there during happy times and
sad, of showing encouragement when it was needed and lending a hand
that might not have been asked for originally, but appreciated
nonetheless.

I had always been in love with Deanna Troi - no matter how repressed
that fact may have been at certain points throughout our relationship,
but what surprised me was when I had come to realized that I trusted
her in a way I hadn't previously deemed remotely possible. Somewhere
during the course of our growth she had touched this part of me that
opened the floodgates to a wealth of emotions, feelings, and motions
in a way that I couldn't imagine a life without her... I didn't want
to.

And making love with her was about the body, the heart, and the mind -
the truest from of pleasure freely given.

The bond we share sometimes frightens me, but it's what Deanna would
call 'a good kind of scared - the kind that keeps you on your toes,
and keeps life interesting.' It's eerie to be read by someone so
clearly, to have them understand you without trying, but it's also
wonderful. . .  wonderful and pretty damn miraculous.

So here I stand, my whole future before me, that Captain's chair
closer than ever before and finally. . .  I am ready for it. Not as a
single entity, but with a partner - as a pair. It took me years of
being alone to come to the basic understanding that I didn't have to
be, and that all goals were infinitely sweeter when I have Deanna
there to share them with me.

And together we were about to embark on yet another journey: with more
to be learned, and more to be gained, new knowledge to collect, and
more obstacles to face, but this we have each other and I wouldn't
have it any other way.

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The End!