fingersnapping | IC Contact

[ like the decision to destroy the caretaker's array. that order would haunt her for the rest of her life, but if given the chance to do it over again, she wouldn't change a thing. forever praising herself and beating herself up in one fell swoop, yet all anyone ever sees is a cool, calm, almost icy exterior with no hints towards the turmoil brewing on the inside beneath those glacial layers. ]

Heartbreak and disappointment.

[ kathryn looks down at that hand. if it moves higher, she's likely to break it. she tells herself that she's preventing him from doing that when she turns her hand over under his so that she can properly curl her fingers around his much larger palm, but maybe even those who choose to be lonely need the comfort of another's touch now and then. ]

[ Under other circumstances his words might have been seen as condescending, and he half expected her to bat his hand away and tell him not to talk down to her. He'd have probably deserved it too. But this time his efforts to sympathise didn't go entirely unrewarded, and he squeezes at her hand reassuringly as she turns it into his own. There was that warmth again, the strange feeling of being wanted (not desired, mind you, but his presence accepted, even sought out) that was so particularly surreal to him.

Betraying that sentiment of warmth and trust was outside the realm of his ability. He stayed for a moment longer, speaking confidences. ]

Perhaps it's for the best. You may find you come out stronger for your experience, both of you. Well--yourself and Chakotay, at least. Whether Kirk has the propensity to learn at all is still a matter for great debate.

Starfleet instructs you in making difficult decisions, in what you might do when you come face to face with such challenges. [ A thoughtful pause. Okay, let him approach that from a different direction. ] You asked me several days ago if I would have preferred Picard's being here to Kirk. The truth is that the three of you approach an impossible situation in different ways, and Picard's is by far the least helpful. Kirk doesn't believe in a no-win situation; he uses his bravado to muddle his way through. Picard relies wholly on the might of the Federation and the many extraordinary talents of his handpicked crew. You - you alone - have to dig your heels in and fight your way through to the end, because there's no safety net waiting for you. You're the only one I would trust among you to find your way out of this, and you will.

There may be sacrifices along the way, but you've made them before. You know what decision you have to make, when neither option is palatable; that ultimate test has been laid at your feet too many times to so much as bat an eyelash at it now.

[ touched, kathryn reaches out to cup his cheek with the hand that isn't gripping his. then she does the unexpected— kisses him. a brief, chaste kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. and one that wasn't prompted by the appearance of mistletoe. there's not a sprig in sight. no, that kiss is all her; a thank you and a reassertion of control all in one.

withdrawing, she stands and heads for the ledge again, peering down at the darkening city streets below. ]

[ There. He did a good thing, said the right thing, and for a moment they're eye to eye and he expects that to be all it is.

And then she kisses him - a gentle, brief kiss - and in the grand scheme of things it isn't the longest or the fieriest or...what was it that they said about the perfect kiss? Weightlessness. It was just a little kiss, but it was bigger than any alternative. It meant everything and nothing at once. If Q was going to break down why she did it, question what it was for (out loud or even just in his head) then first he had to get his brain to start working again.

It had never done this before - simply stopped dead, like something colliding with the ever present immovable object - all the magnificently complex system of gears grinding to an untimely halt.

Wordless, he stares into the empty chair, then at least manages to reassert function enough to look after her, where she's moved to stand beside the ledge. Any second now. Computer? Are you there, computer? Oh, here's the on switch. Electronic horses--there we go. Just give him a moment. ]

[ when he fails to trail after her like she expected he'd do, kathryn glances over her shoulder to find him sitting in the exact spot she left him, as if he's suddenly an android whose programming has run into a bit of trouble when it comes to processing the data surrounding her impromptu, mistletoe-less kiss. she can't help but find amusement in that — and something of the upper hand. forever the strategist, regardless of whether she's engaged in battle, on duty, or not, kathryn files away this knowledge for later. who knows, being able to render q speechless may come in handy one day.

the street lamps start to come on as she returns her attention to the city below. it's larger than her ship, yet somehow feels so much smaller. like a cage or a corner of the brig. she's not a woman who was meant to be contained within the walls of anything, much less this place. she's suited to space for that reason, and doubts she ever would've been happy with the life the scientist she initially aimed to be. she liked her labs, but she would go mad laboratory-bound. being able to travel freely and see the new, unexplored, undocumented mysteries the delta quadrant had to offer is one of the many things she misses about returning to her proper linear existence. here, everything is ancient history, like chapters of a holonovel she never really cared for stuck on repeat. ]

Things ought to return to normal by midnight.

[ He didn't think very many things would return to normal by midnight. Nothing was going to change the fact that she'd slammed a quick kiss down on him for some reason. But okay, here came his mind to catch him up on what was going on, on the fact that her action was a reclamation of her free will, a reminder to herself that not only was she capable of making decisions on her own, it wasn't the act of kissing that had bothered her--she'd said as much, hadn't she? It was how out of her control the act had been. Perhaps this was her way of proving it; proving it was hers alone.

And he had just found himself in the crossfire. She trusted him, that was what it really meant. After all she'd already threatened him - Borg Queen immolating eyes and all - to keep quiet about this conversation--presumably kisses and all.

There. He felt much better now he was a little more up to speed with what was going on. He rose at last, coming over to join her in her overseeing of the city. ]

I should have brought cards. [ He inclines his head. ] When was the last time you danced, Madame Captain?

[ normal was relative, of course. kathryn herself was far from normal. she was extraordinary under the the most mundane of circumstances, and while well aware of it, didn't flaunt it. unless flaunting it got someone to eat out of the palm of her hand, then... but she was quickly figuring out that she didn't even have to try when it came to q. she could likely hold his attention while reciting some of the doctor's poetry. she had to admit — it made her feel pretty powerful, especially since she knew it would be like this whether his powers were fully intact or not.

he was like — what was that he called her on that weekend he doesn't remember? a firecracker? — he was like a moth to the flame. and she was the flame. ]

If I say with Jim Kirk during an old Earth holiday called Halloween, are you going to torment me about it?

[ To be fair, he'd probably have followed Picard around in earnest if only he'd been there, and if Kirk was the only one present, well, he'd follow him around too. But Janeway was here, so she got the full weight of his attention. And yes, there was more to it than that. She really was spellbinding--he wouldn't have selected her otherwise. He hadn't had the chance to spend this much time with her before, able to call on her as he pleased, and the longer he spent in her company the more he found he respected and cared for her; an advantage Picard would never quite have.

She could tell, and he knew that she would use it against him, not that he resented it--not at all! He was Q, after all. Anything less than respect for what he might be capable of wasn't worth his time, and she wouldn't be Kathryn Janeway if she didn't size up every interaction for the advantages it might grant her. ]

Another curse, I suppose?

[ And that was the point. He offered his hand toward her, smiling something warm and secret. ]

In the interest of free will, then.

Not exactly, but you can call it a curse if it's too hard to believe I attended the festivities of my own accord — and in costume, too. Gold isn't my color. [ it isn't a stretch, being that she wasn't there to mingle. october had been a string of one deadly curse after another, and she'd placed herself at that party deliberately to be on hand if anything else happened with that many people consolidated in one area. the costume? blending in. going with one of kirk's uniforms made her feel only slightly less ridiculous.

she eyes that hand for a moment, then takes it. ] Just don't step on my toes.

Edited 2013-12-16 00:43 (UTC)

[ If her moving in means the transport of her wardrobe (it might), he'll no doubt question her about that particular item, but for now he's oblivious. He has this moment, and as she accepts her hand he carefully steps into her, flawlessly appropriating the perfect waltz frame, one hand in hers his other on her shoulder, elbow raised to shoulder height. ]

The Q seek out whatever novelty they can, and ballroom dancing is infinitely more interesting than Vulcan meditation. I might have picked up a few things. Unless you're an Argentinian Tango sort of girl?

[ Because if she was--well, he would be more than happy to oblige. But for now, he leads in a traditional box step, starting slowly enough to allow her get her bearings. ]

No tangos. I was forced into ballet growing up. I make a point not to engage in anything more complicated than that which I learned in command school.

[ dancing! a little known command requirement. you never know when you're going to be heading up a first contact situation or invited to a gala on behalf of the federation. being able to participate in dances reflected well on yourself, as well as the rest of starfleet. not that she wouldn't be able to pick up on and keep up with a tango, having a background in dancing. ~~even though canon mentions this like once and then promptly forgets about it WRITERS /shakes fist~~ which is why it's not just the command training that has her falling into step so easily with the pattern he's laid out, still tense in some ways, but relaxing in others. ]

It's fine. I'd offer - given ample opportunity - to school you in something more exciting, but--no, it's probably not your thing. The waltz. The waltz is the dance for Kathryn Janeway. Elegance and poise, no hair out of place.

[ He's winding her up. Q dances the line somewhere between teasing and compliments, it's hard to know which. He knows she isn't all waltz (as he suggests) nor indeed ballet, for they hardly capture her full spirit, and no wonder she disliked the learning experience. Paso doble, he thinks. That would suit her just fine.

The rhythm is gentle, predictable. Without music, it's a conversational dance, not breathless spinning or an attempt to mangle steps together when neither partner was psychic. That predictability in the face of so much out of their control made it almost safe. If everything else was out of control, there would still be this three beat rhythm. ]

Do you feel any better now?

[ A delicate approach to asking about the kiss. ]

[ she rolls her eyes at his words, falling easily back into step with old, familiar patterns of annoyance. but her expression softens — some, only some — when he asks that question. it's a simple question, one anyone else would likely be able to answer truthfully without hesitation. normally she wouldn't hesitate, but she also wouldn't offer up the truth. "i'm fine," she says. she's always fine. perfectly fine. but fine is far from what she is, but since when did not being fine stop her, hold her back? she hasn't been fine in years. ]

Honest answer or the answer I'd give everyone else? [ from chakotay to kirk to mccoy — "i'm fine." ]

Both are honest in their own way.

[ He knows the answer because he knows her, has slid in through the bulkheads of Voyager often enough in his roaming of infinity, son in tow. His head tilts slightly to one side, and his height absorbs the change in balance the inclination gives the dance. ]

You are fine. Perhaps coping would be a better word, but fine at least keeps people from asking questions, doesn't it?

[ But he knows better, which is why the topic stands at once an offering to discuss how she really feels, and an excuse for her to duck away from the details. ]

[ she takes the offered easy way out, though he likely knows she wouldn't have elaborated regardless of if she admitted to being not fine or not. ]

Then I'm fine. [ coping. fine because it prevents people from asking questions she's not going to answer, anyway. if it were as simple as asking her what was wrong, her CMO and first officer wouldn't be so concerned with her closing herself off. ]

And you, Q? Are you fine?

[ And she gives her answer, and they have their silent accord of his knowing otherwise, and that were it not anything she could cope with, she might feel safe enough in his detachment from her world order, her crew, to place her confidence once more in him.

So he smiles, and returns to his former position, leading her into a pivot turn so that they could avoid dancing their way into the fire. ]

I don't sleep well, and waking up is a thousand times more abhorrent. I occasionally get headaches so bad they make my teeth ache--did you know that could happen? I didn't. I miss knowing, but most of all I miss my son. But...

[ But he hadn't given up the ghost, and the world wasn't such an awful place. Even the curses he'd come to live with, in a manner of speaking, but then nothing transcendentally awful had happened to him yet. ]

I'm fine too. As fine as I could be. And I suspect I owe a great deal of that to you.

[ he misses his son. kathryn stops dancing, but doesn't step back or make any move to remove his hands from her. if there's one thing kathryn honestly believes he has nothing but the best of intentions towards, it's his son. a son that could've been hers, had she agreed; a son that was her godson, because she hadn't. and she empathizes with his plight in that regard, can only imagine what it must be like to be parent separated from your child. being separated from the rest of the crew and her ship is hardly an adequate comparison. ]

And so will he. Fluid existence — isn't that what you were trying to get me to understand? Even if he, as a Q, is able to note the absence, who says that noting and noticeable have to go hand-in-hand? [ she is trying to think outside the box here, which is a bit difficult, considering how much she likes that box. ] I may be a member of an "intellectually challenged" species, but I understand enough to know that... things will be okay, and we're not going to be here forever. Eternity is something I take issue with, and like hell am I — or you — spending it here.

[ she'll come back to him owing her in a moment. ]

Edited (nvm the latin i decided to rewrite the dialogue altogether) 2013-12-16 05:59 (UTC)

[ He recovers quickly from the halted step, watching her eyes as she thinks, as she speaks. It's incredibly touching how hard she's trying, considering how often their conversations have turned toward such topics, her attempts to understand and empathise were why Q - the other Q - had profited from her adjudication of his case. She almost casually took these concepts and wound them around the softest of platitudes, and he found himself smiling gently down toward his collar.

Oh, she was a clever one, yes, but of her traits her cleverness could be repeated. It was the entire package that made her Kathryn Janeway; both the steely surface and the mysteries that lay beneath it. And she did something nobody had ever done for him - not actually ever - she made him feel better.

And what better way to thank her, he supposed, than to mimic her earlier action of gratitude and understanding, and with one hand brushing her hair aside, lean forward to brush a gentle kiss against her temple. ]

[ she wasn't expecting that, and she tenses at the feel of his lips pressed against her skin, but doesn't lurch away or demand he release her. kathryn tolerates the affectionate gesture for what it is, what it represents— only to ruin the moment as mistletoe sprouts from the outer wall of the ledge. apparently, one doesn't need to be under the mistletoe to be affected by it. she takes his face in her hands, raises up as high as she can on her toes, and kisses him again. ]

[ He isn't oblivious to the tension, which is why the kiss ought to be a surprise. Ought to be, except that he finds himself as overcome as she is at the appearance of the malevolent parasite.

Almost at once his embrace becomes something more possessive, obliging their considerable difference in height by stooping to meet her, almost tilting her back across the balcony in the process; but where there had been a dazzling drop before, now they were down in the fairgrounds below, the gentle turning of the carousel beneath them. Mistletoe, ivy and holly, fringed frost white, crawled to life about their feet, climbing about the golden hooves of the brightly colored carousel horse upon which Q now effortlessly lifts her, never once breaking the persistent, demanding kiss.

He forgets he needs to breathe--why bother? For perhaps the first time in weeks he feels eternity winging out beneath him again, oblivious to the exertions his excess of powers takes on him, filled as if by magic with a joy and satisfaction he hasn't felt since the moment he'd first held his son in his arms. ]

[ she doesn't, taking in much needed breaths around kisses, far more skilled in the art/act of kissing than a q who doesn't maintain a constant, bipedal form. the floor beneath her is spinning, her feet no longer on the pebbled roof, but she barely notices. he lifts her up into the horse's fiberglass saddle and one of her hands shoots out to grasp the metal pole that keeps it suspended in the hair between the carousel's ceiling and floor. she's fisting the fabric of his shirt in the other, intent on holding him in place.

this, she won't take much issue with when it's over. it was in her nature to examine every foreseeable possibility, to look down every road while determining the smoothest course. of course she knew it was very likely she'd end up in q's arms before the day was over, that she'd be kissing him senseless just like she had chakotay and kirk before him. kissing, like she said, wasn't the problem. it was the people she found herself kissing and the lack of conscious control. but this time, she moved one step ahead of the curse with the kiss she'd given out willingly. ]

[ Oh yes, easy peasy. Just brush themselves off and get back to what they were doing - headache not withstanding - but for now the mistletoe's power consumes them both.

Q learns quickly. He may not be very experienced with kissing (though it's certainly not a completely novel experience), but experience comes quickly to surmount what his mimicry has picked up, and he seizes the tiny breathing spaces where they become available. Mostly he takes his cues (Qs) from her. One arm stays, an anchor around Janeway's back to keep her from falling off the back of the carousel horse. The other moved back to her hair, fingers shedding the band that secured her plait carelessly only to plunge deep into the auburn strands.

He isn't entirely beyond himself. There was no fogginess, no single minded erasure of who he was, it was more a feeling of necessity, rendered instantly into a set of physical directives that it only made sense to obey. He was still Q. The change of environment had been one thing, but there was also something else, a passionate intensity that came close to being competitiveness that thoroughly overwhelmed him. He was Q, and if he was going to be compared to Chakotay and Kirk then he was damn well going to come out on top.

Or. Well. That was the idea. Briefly, his teeth nipped at her lower lip, still swollen from her earlier exertions, before seeking out a tongue-twisting exploration of every inch of her mouth, relishing the sensation of the silk soft enamel of her teeth, of catching her breath into his own lungs with each exhalation. Oh, he'd probably sulk later when he realised just how much he'd enjoyed that particular accomplishment (humans were weird). ]

Edited 2013-12-17 01:10 (UTC)

[ quick learner indeed, and depending on how generous she's feeling later, she may just compliment him on that. impressive for someone who isn't supposed to be human — from an objective standpoint, of course. and from a scientific point of view, she'll find that lack of fogginess fascinating, if not envious. should he choose to share that detail with her, she'll take it as an indication that the city's hold on people isn't the hopeless case they thought it was.

but her mind is presently incapable of thinking scientifically, a rare occurrence for someone as goal-oriented as the captain. she's far too occupied with what he's doing to her, rewarding him with a soft mewl of pleasure when he bites down on that already swollen lip. she lets go of the pole so that she can wind both arms around his neck and press herself up against him, relying on him to keep her steady in the saddle.

for once, she isn't fighting for control. she isn't pulling the proverbial rug out from under his feet and taking hold of the reigns while demanding he follow. ]

[ The shift in weight means he has to step into the horse, bracing his weight against the fiberglass body as counterbalance, because the alternative - taking his hand out of her hair and holding onto the pole for dear life - is frankly unfathomable. It helps that she's small, lightweight, and their new center of gravity isn't exceptionally difficult to nail down--lets him concentrate on other things, like the endearing sounds that she's making and the silk delicate strands of hair turned steel strong as he knots them through his fingers.

No splendid second of the kiss goes uncounted. With each that passes, the sprigs of mistletoe seem to wither, as though their persistence seeps every sap of magical strength from them, and as he finds himself approaching the tipping point of self control, Q becomes determined to draw one last gasp or whimper from her, so that he might commit it to memory.

In the space of just one breath he drops her - but only a few inches - catches her weight again and presses in again to seize the last precious moments, deliberately committing the taste of her mouth to memory, and then--ah, here it was!

The immovable object began to give way, and Q rallied, exerting his full force against it. For better or for worse, self control was seized back, although his withdrawal was not nearly as abrupt as its return. He gathered her upright first, withdrawing his hand from her hair, and brushed his thumb across her lips tenderly as he pulled away, giving her a moment to find her balance while sparing her the ignominy of having his slobber all over her; that would never do.

Over her shoulder, the last sprig of mistletoe still held on, persistent, but one withering look sent it back to hell where it belonged. ]

[ he succeeds in doing just that, something breathy and wonderful escaping from between her lips. she holds on to his shoulders as he moves her, still caught up in the atmosphere of it all — she refuses to call it magic — snapping back to reality to moment her boots touch the ground, as if the click of her heels against the steel bottom of the carousel is a loud gong. it takes her a moment to become fully aware of her surroundings, of her company. last she checked, she was dancing with q on the roof, not down in the city below, standing between q and a fiberglass horse.

her posture resumes its former rigid stance when he touches his thumb to her lips, resisting the urge to wipe her mouth off properly on the back of her hand. it would likely cause both injury and insult, and if and when (sooner, later, etc.) kathryn decides to inflict pain upon q, it won't be this way. it isn't disgust that fills her so much as frustration, annoyance, and exhaustion. kathryn's notorious for running herself ragged, but this day in particular has taken a lot out of her emotionally. ]

Well, [ she didn't realize how breathless she was until she attempted speech ] that was certainly something. So much for putting ourselves above the issue.

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action - the dialogue is gorgeousss

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