Dawn in the Delta

by

sHaYcH

Disclaimer: Star Trek: Voyager and all names, history and etc are copyright to Paramount Pictures. I'm just borrowing them, and I'll put them back when I'm done.

Warning: This little story is about women who fall in love with women.

Please send your comments to: shaych3@yahoo.com

I woke up this morning early and looked down from my lofty bunk to see the sunlight break over her face. The golden rays caressed the skin I longed to cup gently, slipping like butter over the soft curves until her hair was flametouched. Birdsong melded with comtraffic, creating an almost perfect soundtrack to my vision. Her chest rose and fell evenly. Clearly, she was deep in Morpheus' embrace, cradled like a child in the arms of the master of sleep. Somewhere in another part of reality, Tom Paris snored loudly in the helmsman's chair, asleep at his post.

I shift in my bunk and look back at her, studying the face that haunts my dreams. Strands of dark hair stick out in all directions, spikey and scraggled, and I long to smooth them into place. Little rumbly snores creep out, vibrating the blanket that is pulled up tight under her chin. Hands, balled into fists, are curled under face and pillow and her legs are tucked up against her body. She is a tight sleeper.

I wonder if she shared her bunk, would she be so wrapped in herself, or would she relax into the arms of her beloved? I would give much to know. I would give more to be the one to hold her.

She shakes of a sudden, cries out, whimpering. I cannot restrain myself from comforting. I slip off of my bunk, creeping like a common thief the three or so steps it takes to go from my bunk to hers, where I lay down beside her and stroke her face. Deep lines mar the softness of her mouth, eyes and forehead. She writhes in my arms, fighting demons in her sleep that she cannot conquer by day. Softly, I sing; soothing nonsense that Samantha Wildman had taught me when I was the only crewmember immune to a fever her daughter, Naomi, had contracted. It helps. She calms, the demons recede, leaving my beloved with only tiny scars of their battle engraved on her face.

Instantly, she is in my arms, clinging, crying, needing. I cradle her against me. I am here, her rock, her strength, and her shield; everything she requires. Holding her, crooning softly, and soothing her, I replenish what she'd lost. I give her everything I can, digging up more when she needs it. Her guilt makes strong night warriors, tearing into her soul with claws of self-hatred and teeth of shame.

She sleeps still, unaware of my role in her need. When she has calmed, I leave her, agony that it is, because I have stolen enough of her tenderness. I stand, intending to return to my bunk, but am distracted by dust motes dancing in the sunlight that streams in through the shuttle window.

A voice calls out, "Come back. I still need you." It is soft, pleading and warm. I am discovered, but not rejected.

I look... her eyes, darkly hazel in the dawnlight, crinkle with lines from the smile she wears.

Her arms are released from their blanket prison and she is holding them out to me, opening her blankets to me.

"Come back, stay. Hold me. Please?"

I fall...

and fall...

and land in her arms, caught safely, held as I hold, no longer in secret.

Our eyes touch. Forest and sky blend. Lips follow, pulses race. It is enough. It is too much.

"I --" I start to say, but she silences me with another kiss.

"Sleep, we will speak tomorrow."

fin

10/23/99