The BLTS Archive - Piercing The Darkness Fourth in the Nemesis series by Suzanne Finn (yatokahc@aol.com) --- Disclaimer: You know the drill... Paramount owns everything except my mind and what little there is up there that escapes out my fingers! Note-Text falling between asterisks (*) indicate thoughts. Feel free to pass this along to anyone else you think may enjoy it... but please keep all the preamble attached! --- This story is the fourth in a series. The first three stories were epilogues to Voyager episodes: Passions Of the Soul (Nemesis) This Present Darkness (Revulsion) Convolution (The Raven) Convolution tripped on the line between canon and NOT!, which I really try to avoid when writing epilogues. But hey... there's a first time for everything! I struggled with breaking from canon completely in this story, and finally opted to... sort of. There is no THERE scene (ahem... it's a PG-13 story). However, I don't see the Kathryn Janeway we see for one hour every week doing most of what is in this epilogue! Hey... oh mighty Queens of Smut! Want to write the natural extension to this story? Hmmmmm? There is a THERE scene waiting to be written! --- The title of this story was stolen from the book by Frank Peretti... sequel to This Present Darkness. --- Night came quickly. Moonless. Cold. She shivered slightly as a chill wind penetrated the timber barrier of the refuge. The fire had dwindled, the dying embers providing the only light, the only warmth. She slowly lifted her right hand from where it rested in the crook of his right arm and gently placed it over his exposed ear. "Computer..." she whispered. "Add three logs to the fire." "Please specify..." "Oak." she quietly spat, tensing as the monotone female voice seemingly blared throughout the small enclosure. Her eyes dropped. He did not stir. "One-half meter in length. One-quarter meter in diameter." *Damn computer.* She slowly let out her breath, allowed herself to relax as the computer complied. Once again, the room was filled only with the sounds of the night and the faint crackling of a fire reborn. Tranquil. Soothing. Still. Within minutes, warmth spread throughout the chamber. Gently, she lifted her hand and returned it to its previous haven in the crook of his arm. He stirred slightly, pulling his left hand into his chest, his right up to rest heavily atop her thighs, palm down, fingers curled slightly. She froze at his touch, her gaze locked on his hand. Breath hung at the back of her throat. An indescribable warmth spread through her. Slowly, she closed her eyes. *My god, Kathryn.* She admonished herself. *Innocent and inadvertent. He's asleep.* She snorted quietly. Innocent and inadvertent. He had merely taken her by surprise. He touched her so seldom; as an unspoken rule, she did permit it. She exhaled heavily, regaining her balance, then opened her eyes, deliberately lowering her gaze. She smiled. She'd never seen him like this. His expression was as open and unguarded as she'd ever bore witness to. It was amazing how sleep revealed a man. How much of that man did he allow her to see? How much of the man behind the intensity, behind the quiet, behind the mask, did she really know? For the first time since he'd fallen asleep, she allowed her gaze to linger, allowed herself to study him. Her eyes traced his profile... his slightly tousled hair, most likely the result of his hand raking through the short dark crop as he sat restless and thinking in this refuge... his long, slightly crooked nose, a tale to be told about each bend, to be sure... his full, sculpted lips. Her eyes stopped short. Her smile deepened as she tilted her head slightly to one side. He slept with his mouth open, his lips parted imperceptibly. So innocent. So endearing. --- Tensely, he lifted his face to the sky, smelled the air. Rain, not far off. The boiling thunderheads appeared an ominous portent, the air thick with unquiet. He glanced apprehensively around him, his gaze penetrating the preternatural darkness burying the land, attempting recognition, attempting to identify his surroundings. It was a place unknown to him. He knew as much. He turned his face into the claws of the wind, shivered involuntarily. It was a chill wind, carrying the impression of a bitter ill, carrying the underlying stench of something more... violence... death. His eyes narrowed, studied the shadow of the landscape before him, as the first raindrops struck his forehead. He needed to locate shelter. He swallowed hard, knowing the attempt was, in all probability, futile. There was little time. Rain, not far off. Instinct pressed him northward, into the wind. He didn't think to wonder why. As his first step impacted the earth, the full clouts of the storm hit him. --- The fingers of his right hand twitched, then stilled. Her brow furrowed slightly at the movement. Her right hand slid lightly up his arm to his shoulder. She leaned forward and considered him for several moments, studying, searching. There was no evidence of invidious dreams; his expression remained untroubled, serene... his body relaxed and unmoving. Satisfied that he was not in distress, she relaxed her posture, leaned her head against the rough bark of the trunk behind her, and allowed her eyes to close. --- The wind scourged the rain southward, he and his surroundings drenched with a ferocity he had never experienced. The wind battered him; it rent the land, hurling what it could clench at his exposed form. He raised his arms to protect his face from flying debris. Soaked, gasping from the torrent, he drove onward, into the dark fury assaulting him. The rain hampered him, fighting his progress from all directions... stinging bare flesh, obscuring already limited vision, encouraging saturated earth to suck at his feet, replacing precious oxygen... threatening to drown him. Without warning, the ground gave way beneath him, a vicious skid sent him pitching down an unseen slope, his face full of mud. His lungs emptied, burned for breath. Instinctively, his fingers clawed at, his feet dug in to, sludge, in an effort to brake himself. The attempt was futile, the muck too fluid. --- His body jumped. Her eyes flew open, startled. The fingers of his right hand clawed at the fabric of her pants, clenched the black cloth fiercely, his knuckles turning white. Beads of sweat formed on his furrowed brow, his upper lip. Something between a groan and a cry caught at the back of his throat. *What the...* She willed her breath to slow, the labor of her heart to ease. A nightmare... it was a nightmare. A guttural sound escaped his lips as he rolled slightly away from her, pressed his forehead into the fist gripping her uniform. He was having a nightmare. Her left hand lifted to his hair, stroked it. "Chakotay." she whispered, her right hand clasping his shoulder. --- His stomach lurched at the sudden sensation of momentary weightlessness. He plummeted into nothingness. With a viscous thud, he landed in a pool of something slick, thick, dark... blood. He quickly pushed himself upright and stood. He lifted his hands, examined the substance, as the rain blasted holes in the crimson covering. The water thinned what remained, allowed it to flow... repair the holes created. He closed his eyes, swallowed hard... deliberately... forcing the bile rising in his throat to reverse course. "Chakotay." Vague. Carried upon the rage of the wind. His eyes flew open as his head snapped to his left. His eyes narrowed as he peered into the dark torrent. Nothing. His brow furrowed. Had he imagined the word? Was the fury of the storm deceiving him? Was the wind playing him? It was impossible to distinguish sound and form amidst the tempest. A flash of white exploded around him, revealing an old man barely two meters to his left... beaten, bloodied, wrists bound by Cardassian restraints, arms outstretched... pleading. *Father.* Preternatural darkness engulfed him again, ripping his father from his sight. The air was thick, still charged from both the lightening and the vision. He stepped hesitantly in the direction of the old man. "Father?" His mind reeled. This wasn't right. His father was dead. Again, white exploded around him. Just as quickly darkness regained its hold. However, light reigned long enough to imprint the image of his father... on his knees, head bowed, hands pressed against the earth, half-supporting his wretched weight... in pain. "Father!" he shouted against the wind. He hesitated, stood unmoving. This wasn't right. His chest heaved as he took another step toward the old man. Again, exploding brilliance. Darkness. Three Kradin warriors flanked his father, weapons drawn. "No! Damn you, bastards!" He hurled forward, stumbled. As he attempted to regain his balance, something fastened around his right calf. His gaze dropped. Searing whiteness. Darkness. His blood went cold. Impressions of lifeless flesh fused with cold metal, rising from the crimson pool in which he stood. Impressions of many staring out from the icy blueness of one. Metal prongs extended from the upper side of the hand clenching his calf. *Resistance is futile.* It wrenched his balance from him. He again found himself falling into sticky warmth. Immediately, he scrambled backward on hands and feet, attempting to escape the shadow rising before him, the thick fluid hampering his progress. --- "Chakotay." Louder this time. Firm. Fitful movement was his only response, the frown he wore deepening, a moan catching in his throat. She slid her right hand upward, cradling his left cheek and chin. She pushed against his torso with her arm, forcing him to roll back toward her. Gently, she turned his face toward her. "There is nothing to fear." --- "There is nothing to fear." Low. Throaty. He froze, recognition of the disembodied voice immediate; the voice clear and distinct amidst the cacophony. His heart went to his throat. She was in danger. His gaze searched the darkness, cursing the near completeness of it. "Kathryn?" --- He stilled momentarily, but his body remained rigid, his face troubled, frightened, confused. She could feel his heart pounding, where her arm rested against his chest. "It's all right. I am here with you." She lifted her right hand, clasped his right fist. "Everything is all right." --- "I am here, with you." His head snapped to the shadow before him. *Kathryn?* But it was Borg. This wasn't right. "Do you trust me?" His gaze lowered, grew distant. This wasn't right. He'd seen pale flesh fused with... "What?" She'd spoken. It was her voice. But... "Do you trust me?" "Yes." *Spirits... yes.* Why did she need to know that? Why now? What was happening? His father... the Kradin... the Borg... Kathryn. Why did she need to know that? His brow furrowed. This wasn't right. As he lifted his gaze, the shadow advanced. He swallowed hard, his muscles tensed. Where was she? He had to find her... get her to safety. It drew closer, then stopped. A hand emerged from the darkness raging about him, palm up, fingers extended. Small... delicate... strong... familiar. He instinctively lifted his own, reached for her. --- As quickly as it had besieged him, it passed. The transformation was extraordinary... immediate. He exhaled heavily. With the release, his muscles relaxed, his brow smoothed, his fists unclenched. As his hand liberated the fabric it had imprisoned, it shifted and turned, entangled hers. She did not pull away, finding comfort in his touch. He again settled into a deep sleep... heartbeat slowed, breathing even and shallow, his fingers intertwined with hers. Slowly, he pressed their hands to his heart. --- The scent gently pulled her from sleep, roused her. Rain... the scent carried on the breeze rustling past her. The sounds of rainfall were undetectable, but the smell was unmistakable. Upon opening her eyes, she discovered morning had broken. The chamber was dimly lit; a mixture of gray light, filtering through the trees that formed the walls, and warm light, cast by the fire. Her brow furrowed in mild surprise. She had not intended to sleep so long. *How long?* The warm lethargy permeating her mind and body belied the light around her. She did not feel as if she had rested for more than an hour or two. But then, she did not know this place, the rhythms of the planet. Darkness and light were inconsequential in the passage of time. Time. She considered verifying the time with the computer, but decided against it, unwilling to risk waking him. Sighing, she lowered her gaze. He was gone. Her eyes shot up, scanned the chamber. Save herself, the room was empty. She silently cursed her inability to keep watch over him... to stay awake. She swiftly rose to her feet, wondering what had driven him from the enclosure. What had happened? Why he had left... without telling her? Quickly, she circled the fire, and headed toward the path leading outside. A cold, steady rain welcomed her as she emerged from the thicket. He was not immediately visible. She turned to her left and moved along the perimeter of the copse, worked her way to where the trees met the bramble-covered valley. Despite the rain obscuring her vision, something caught her attention. *There.* He was there, standing upon the crest of the hill to her right, approximately one-hundred meters distant. She skirted the edge of the immense bramble patch, coming to rest directly below him. Her clothes soaked, her hair damp and heavy against her face and neck, she climbed the hill to him, mindful of the slick grass beneath her feet. The steady drumming of the rain drowned out the sounds of her approach; there was no indication he was aware of her presence. At the crest of the hill, she stopped... considered him. He stood, his feet planted shoulder width apart, his arms crossed. His clothing clung to his body. His rain-dark hair was matted to his head. He was trembling imperceptibly... perhaps from the cold... perhaps not. He appeared unaware of such things. His concentration was focused elsewhere... somewhere distant... somewhere inside himself. She stepped closer. "Chakotay." He blinked deliberately, drawing his awareness outward. Slowly, he turned his face to hers. His eyes traced her rain-soaked hair, the drops on her lashes, her nose, her lips. Lazily, his gaze returned to her eyes. A smile met his lips. She looked like a drowned rat. He doubted he looked much better. "Computer..." "Don't." she interrupted, smiling in return. He raised an eyebrow. She shrugged. "I like the rain." He took a step toward her, lifted a hand to an errant lock of hair matted to her cheek, tucked it behind her ear. "You wear it well." *Too well.* He quickly recalled his hand and turned his face to the rain-blurred landscape beyond the hill upon which they stood, hiding the sudden warmth coloring his face. "It's getting colder. This will turn to snow before long." She lifted her face to the sky, blinking against the rain. "How long have we been here?" "Not quite four hours." *Four hours.* She shifted her gaze to him. "You didn't sleep long." He turned to her, stepped imperceptibly closer. "The rain woke me." His voice lowered. "Nothing more." She nodded, smiled gently, grateful for his recognition of her concern, grateful for his reassurance, grateful that if his sleep were to be interrupted, it had been interrupted by something other than the invidious wrenchings plaguing him. Suddenly, a shiver raced down her spine. He was right... it was getting colder. So was she. She debated allowing him to delete the rain, then decided against it. He needed to be here. He needed this place as it was. They weren't finished yet. *Let it be.* "We should get back to the sanctuary..." She proffered a hand. "... before you have to explain to the Doctor how you managed to get me sick." He flashed her a devastating smile, accepted her hand. --- "Computer... two towels, two blankets." "Please specify..." *Damn computer.* She raised her voice firm... demanding... annoyed. "Towels... cotton, one meter by two meters, white. Blankets... cotton flannel, size... standard issue, brown." The requested items materialized at her feet. She picked up the towels, then turned to locate him. He was rekindling the fire with wood gathered just off the path leading through the wall of the refuge. His back was to her. She considered him for several moments... the impossible breadth of his shoulders... his well-toned arms and legs revealed through clothing cleaved to him like a second skin... the strength of his hands. She swallowed hard. Disconcerting... the sight of him... what it stirred within her. Abruptly, he stood, turned to her. She crossed the short distance between them, proffering a towel. Her fingers softly brushed his hand as he reached out to take it from her. For what seemed an eternity, neither of them released the towel, allowing the contact to linger; so innocent, so intimate. "Thank you." His voice was husky, low. He accepted the towel, turned slightly away, and began drying his hair. He shook his head, irritated with himself... irritated that he'd ventured into the rain. It was inevitable that she would follow. He knew that. Now they were cold... wet... and tired. Without a doubt, they would be in sickbay within twenty-four hours. *Great.* Leaving the towel draped over his head, he unbuttoned his shirt, peeled it from his arms, allowed it to fall in a heap on the ground, behind him. Her breath caught in the back of her throat at the sight of him, warm firelight dancing across his flesh. Her mind went blank, her mouth dry. She snapped back to herself, turned away. Abruptly, she busied herself with the task of drying herself as best she could, all the while not allowing her eyes to travel in the direction of her first officer. The underlying tension between them was shifting. A need reborn... embers smoldering in the darkness. The need had always there, but, as of late, so much had buried it... hidden it from them. The tension was definitely shifting. She needed to regain her balance. She snorted quietly... his current state was not helping. She looked down at her own state... and laughed. *The hell with it.* Sighing, she divested herself of jacket and turtleneck. The tank remained. When she had convinced herself that she could do no more to improve her condition, she dropped the towel to the ground and turned to the fire. He was busy spreading a blanket on the ground before the fire. She stepped to its edge. "May I?" He looked up at her, smiled, and nodded. He watched as she perched herself on the edge of the blanket, removed her boots and socks, then crawled to the side of the blanket nearest the fire. She pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them fiercely, hands rubbing her upper arms. She didn't like cold. No... that wasn't right. She didn't like being cold. One of her many revelations on New Earth. One of many things learned and never forgotten. Quietly, he retrieved the remaining blanket abandoned two meters distant. He moved to the edge of the blanket upon which she sat, studied her as he removed his own footwear. He was amazed that she was here... with him... still. The entire evening, the entire night, left him reeling. What had it cost her, this night? What had it cost him? Far less than what he had reaped. He withdrew the blanket he'd tucked under his arm, unfolded it. He knelt behind her, draping the blanket over her shoulders. As she drew it about her, he gently pulled her damp hair from the confinement of the blanket, then rested his hands on her shoulders... she did not pull away. Slowly his hands began to move, fingers tenderly kneading the muscles in her neck, her shoulders... stimulating, encouraging heat. She closed her eyes, lowering her head so that her forehead was resting on her knees... savoring the gentle strength of his hands, the heat emanating from his body. "Chakotay..." Her voice sounded muffled even to herself. Lifting her head, she leaned back into his chest. "Aren't you cold?" "Not too." "Liar." She could feel his stomach muscles tighten slightly... an almost imperceptible laugh. "Computer..." "You don't need to do that." She spoke slowly, warmly. She lifted her chin, looked up at him, head pressed against his chest. "We can share." His hands stilled. Met with his silence, she smiled, lowered her gaze to the fire. *Trust.* They'd spent so much time over the past several weeks grappling with the word, the concept, the impact... the level of trust they had in one another. The foundation of their relationship, both professional and personal, had been shaken by the doubt that festered. Painstakingly, they'd worked at strengthening that foundation... proving, reinforcing, reassuring. And yet... here they were... faced with an issue of trust again. He didn't trust himself. He recognized the gift immediately. She'd offered a declaration of trust. And though grateful for the gift, he could not accept it... not under this guise... not under the circumstances demanding her presence here tonight. The gift conveyed compassion. But, it would be too easy to convince himself it meant more. He couldn't trust himself... not at the moment... not under these circumstances. The need was too great. "I'm fine." he managed, when the shock of her invitation wore off, when the battle between heart and mind subsided. Quietly, he moved to her side, settled, legs crossed, elbows resting on his knees. They sat without speaking, for several long moments, only the crackle of the fire marking the passage of time. He shifted, abruptly. "Thank you." Her eyes rested on his profile. "For what?" "For coming here tonight. For insisting. For listening. For staying." His voice was low, warm. "I could do no less." He lowered his head, smiled, lifted his face to hers. "No... you couldn't." He inhaled deeply, then slowly let out his breath. "I had another dream tonight." She held his gaze... steady... even... waited for him to continue. "This one was unlike the others. You were there." He moistened his lips. His brow furrowed as his eyes grew distant, recalling faint images of what had passed scant hours before. "Initially, it progressed the way it always has... but... somehow... the pattern was broken." He smiled gently as his vision focused on her. "Your father?" "Did not die." "And the Borg?" He shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. The invasion of alien memories had been thwarted. Like the first time he'd seen her, he was arrested by the blueness of her eyes... the warm blueness of reality, so unlike the icy blueness of his nightmares. Brown embraced blue... blue that reflected hope, peace, and healing. "A promising sign." She smiled warmly. Slowly, he lifted a hand to her face, gently cradled her cheek. "The human touch is capable of wondrous things." She pressed her cheek into his palm, promise lighting her eyes. --- The End