Someday (When I Stop Loving You)

missmil:

Summary: Post-Endgame. She doesn’t know how to stop running. 

Part one of the ‘Last Goodbyes’ series.

— 

He’s been staring at her most of the evening. She can feel his eyes on her as she fidgets, trying to excuse herself politely from the Senator she’s been entertaining most of the past hour, and make her way to the exit.

It’s late, and she’s probably had a little bit too much to drink. It’s been threatening to rain all evening, and now she’s realising she probably picked the wrong shoes to wear.

People are starting to leave, gathering coats and jackets from the cloakroom and she thinks it’s probably the perfect time to make her escape. The rest of the crew, the ones that don’t look like they’re going to be going anytime soon, are growing louder over by the dancefloor.

She suspects strongly that Tom Paris has a lot to do with it.

The Senator huffs with indignation as she cuts him off, feigning exhaustion from their long journey – of seventy thousand light years – and throwing a casual remark about arduous briefings. It’s an easy way out; one that the Senator takes with good graces and waves her off.

She’s moved before he’s had the chance to say farewell.

But, she can still feel the eyes of her former First Officer following her as she all but runs to the cloakroom.

The group of people bustling about by the door is larger than she expected, and her heart is pounding ridiculously fast with the knowledge that Chakotay is not likely going to let her leave like this.

Squaring her shoulder, she decides to risk it, knowing that it’s a short walk to the transporter station and although its late into the fall, she’s hoping the weather will stay on her side just that bit longer. So, she turns, leaving her coat tucked away in the cloakroom and hurries toward the door.

Only she isn’t quite quick enough, and in the precious seconds she took to make up her mind about her coat, he has come to stand behind her. She takes a moment to notice he is a little out of breath as she smacks into him, apologising quickly, rudely, before barrelling past him.

“Kathryn,” he calls, reaching out with an arm to grab her. He misses, and she keeps going – as fast as her delicate heels will allow.

She doesn’t care who is watching, the knowledge that half of her former crew are likely now more interested in their two commanding officers than fighting to get coats out of a room only fuels her desire to leave.

She ducks under some balloons and inclines her head, ready to brace the cold, bitter wind as she pushes the heavy door open. Her hair, once in an elegant up-do, begins loosen, delicate strands falling in a messy waterfall over her bare shoulders.

“Kathryn,” he calls again, growing nearer. He crosses the balloon-covered entry way with surprising ease, reaching forward and catching her elbow before she has the chance to escape through the wide doors.

She stands silently, frozen as his hand encloses tightly on her outstretched arm. Auburn strands are framing her pale face, the hair rustling about as the breeze bits through the open door. The slight blush from her earlier activities on the dancefloor has begun to fade.

“Wait,” he says, tilting his head to try to meet her eye. With one word, she can feel his frustration. He’s been trying to get to her for most of the past hour and for the most part she has thankfully been kept busy and out of his reach.

“No,” she says, angrily and shakes his hand from her arm. He lets her go easily, knowing it would do no good to try to hold her. They don’t need to make another scene out here.

She surges forward, stepping through the door and out into the dark night.

The moonlight stretches out on the sidewalk, illuminating the pavement in thin strips of pale light. The air hits her lungs with frightening force, and she takes a deep involuntary breath that makes her wince with pain.

It’s colder than she realised.

It’s stupid, to come out with no coat this late into the fall. She’s lived in the region long enough to know this, but at no point was she thinking tonight with any rational part of her brain.

The ground is damp, indicating the earlier rain that she knew was coming has not long ceased. Her heels click loudly on the pavement as she begins to run down the path to the transporter station. The frigid cold burns her lungs, the air rustling the skirt of her deep blue gown and she’s concentrating so hard on running that she doesn’t notice him immediately following her.

She has to slow for a moment, reaching down and gathering the skirt to haul it above her calves so she can move more freely. She can hear his steps quicken behind her now, his voice getting more urgent the more he calls her name again and again.

But she isn’t stopping. She won’t – can’t – stop and face him now.

She knows what’s bothering him, the sixth sense she has developed over the years when it came to him as been quietly nagging her all night. The voice has been growing louder in her head, all but yelling at her when he moved that little bit too close into her personal space on the dancefloor and the world began to drown out.

She’s not even sure why he’s chasing her. Not when he is with someone else now. Someone who is probably still standing at the edge of the dancefloor wondering where her date has gone.

The thumping of her beating heart against her chest echoes the rhythm of her footfalls on the uneven surface. Water splashes up in droplets attaching themselves to the heavy material of her gown.

“Kathryn!” he calls for a final time as he reaches her again. His hand is warm on her arm as he grabs her, halting her movement and using the momentum to spin her around to face him.

He’s breathing hard and so is she, their breath coming out in puffs. She’s staring at him, fighting with herself because she doesn’t know whether to scream, cry or run. But he is holding her too tightly again and this time he isn’t going to let her go so easily.

Not now that they are alone and away from prying eyes.

His other hand comes up to swipe at his forehead and it takes her a moment to realise that despite the cold, he’s sweating. The scent of his aftershave is strong in her mind, and the memory of earlier assaults her again.

She squeezes her eyes shut, flexing the muscles in her upper arm to test the strength of his grip. But the memory of their final dance is strong and the feel of his arms under her petite hands is fresh in head because she’d both been dreading and longing for that moment all evening.

Her whole body had frozen when he’d taken her in his arms; the last time that he’d held her had been nearly five years before when she lay dying on an alien world and she’d never let herself forget it. He’d whispered something in her ear, distracting her for a spilt second so she failed to notice how close to her he really was.

And, when she’d turned her head ever so slightly, the loose tendrils of her hair had caught on his stubbled cheek and if she thinks hard enough, she can almost remember the way he breathed the syllables of her name.

His fingers flex on her upper arm, cutting into sensitive flesh and drawing her attention back to the man in front of her.

“Kathryn, just stop running,” he growls. She almost laughs because if they were still on Voyager there is no way he’d ever dare to have spoken to her like this.

She swallows thickly, emotion welling up inside the tight bubble forming in her chest.

The wind is blowing now, gaining speed and momentum as it howls around them. Her hand, the one still holding the slightly damp hem of her gown, lets it go and the material flutters back down to the ground. Her nails, manicured and elegant for the evening, scrape lightly against the expensive fabric with apprehension as his eyes continue to bore into her.

He is so close now, just like before, and she thinks if she leans in a bit and closes her eyes that he just might fill the gap and kiss her again. Like he did in what feels like just moments before on a crowded dancefloor.

Only this time there isn’t a hundred and forty reasons to make them stop with a blonde girlfriend watching from afar and she’s teetering on the edge of wanting to know what will happen when the really can’t stop.

Because they are absolutely exhausting all possible reasons except for one.

“I can’t,” she breathes finally. “I can’t stop running.”

Her hair is almost free now, the wind whipping the strands across her frozen cheeks. It’s been so long since he’s looked at her this way, and she can almost read the burning desire to run his hands over her in the serious expression on his agonised face.

She’s hurting them both, only he hurt her first and she isn’t going to stop running from her feelings now because he’s changed his mind about a young woman who is far too new to human emotion to be caught up in all of this.

He is still breathing hard and she thinks it’s probably because of her, their proximity and the way she is staring at his mouth rather than the short sprint. She spares a glance, breaking away from his lips and looks to her left, down the pathway to the bright lights of the transporter station. It’s not too far away if only she can shake his grip and run on.

“You’re freezing,” he states suddenly. It’s probably an obvious attempt at ignoring her blunt answer from before and distracting them both from bouts of anger and frustration but she takes it anyway.

“I guess I am,” she whispers in return and its only then that she realises how much precious time they’ve wasted out in the air because her lips are so cold they can barely move.

He draws in a deep breath and fights with himself, eventually releasing the death-grip he has on her upper arm to remove his own dinner jacket. He moves stiffly, tentatively and she knows it’s because he is bracing himself for the possibility of her taking this moment to flee.

Only she doesn’t, and he flicks his jacket over her with grace whilst she’s too distracted dragging her tongue over her mouth the gain some sort of feeling back into them. Suddenly she’s completely enveloped in him. His warmth, his scent and something else entirely that makes her want to stop running away and stay right here, with him for the rest of her life.

He smiles, slightly, nervously at her and she thinks it really doesn’t suit him when the frown on his forehead is so deep. There’s a moment of electrified silence, save for the wind, and she releases a shaky breath she doesn’t even know she’s been holding.

“At least let me walk with you to the transport station,” he says eventually and in such a way that leaves no room for argument. Before she can respond, his hand has grabbed her own and she’s mesmerised, staring at the point his bronzed skin meets her own pallor.

They walk impossibly slow, and it’s like he is dragging this out to the point where she will cave, kiss him soundly and he will never, ever let her go.

Only they reach the edge of the station within a few minutes, and she never utters the words she’s imagined herself saying in her head for seven long years. Words that one day she’s imagined saying to him the second they were safe again in Earth’s beautiful orbit and they’d be free.

But fate has a way of being cruel and those moments never came to pass.

Instead, she’s spent the majority of her recent Earth-bound days arguing with the Admiralty and watching him freely love another. Another who’s face has been so clearly burned into her mind in the last minutes as she tried desperately to escape the room that had become so suffocating after his lips at met hers.

She thinks she probably damn well would have made it if she hadn’t had to stay and do her final duties as the Captain of Voyager.  

They stop just short of the door, the bright lights from inside the building illuminating the planes of his face. He drops her hand, reaching around instead to rest a hand on her delicate waist. There’s insistent pressure from his fingertips, urging her to step forward and into him.

Only she won’t, and she knows he won’t push her further than this. But, oh, how she wishes he would. Because it would make her choice so much easier if only he’d make it for her.

The light glints off his muscled forearms, and she takes a moment to wonder when exactly he’d rolled up the sleeves of his stark-white shirt.

She hopes one of them would just start to ramble incoherently, words leaving mouths at maximum speed if only to try and blank out the dreadful thoughts that she knows are penetrating both of their minds.

Because after seven years, this is finally goodbye.

She draws herself up, stepping away from him and watching with agony as his hand falls from her waist and rests painfully still at his side. Like he is holding himself with great effort and she knows because she is feeling the same inside.

“Do you really expect me to say goodbye to you, Kathryn?”

He speaks finally, and her hopes at slipping away without another word vanish. Because she knows that there are only three words he needs to say and she’ll stop running forever.

She can read the nervousness in his features, only increasing now that he’s finally asked the question she’s been trying to avoid all evening. She feels his eyes trace her face, watching in silent anticipation as her eyes slip closed and delicate lashes brush the tops of her cheeks.

Swallowing, she knows that she can’t give him an answer. He has to make this choice for himself and she’s tired of standing in his way of finding happiness. She pulls back and away from him, further now, and turns on her heel to step through the door and continue up to the transport pad.

His dinner jacket still warms her shoulders but she knows he won’t want it back. It’s his final gift to her and in the years to come she knows it will hang somewhere in the back of a closet because she’ll never allow herself to get rid of it. Or, to get it out, breathe in him and relive these memories.

The transporter technician offers her a late-night greeting, and Chakotay has chosen to stay outside but she thinks it’s probably the best choice either of them has made all evening. His eyes are still watching her even through the thick glass of the door.

She can’t meet his heated gaze through the glass, fast becoming cloudy as the rain begins to hammer down and she asks the technician to send her to the family cabin at Lake George. She thinks the technician tells her something about a recent storm there, and she knows without a doubt that she definitely picked the wrong shoes to wear tonight.

Taking a breath, she shimmers away.

Outside, he takes only a moment to lurch forward as she disappears, crashing through the doors and yelling at the transport technician to send him after her. He always thought that someday he’d stop loving her, only now he realises in the freezing rain, watching her disappear to spend the night alone in an ancient lake house that he can never, ever let her go.

She just needs to stop running.

— 

a/n: Some of you asked for a prequel to ‘A Lonely Night’. This is for you!