Nothing

mia-cooper:

getoutofmyjaneway:

Procrastination lead to inspiration lead to angst. Let me know what you think, any and all feedback is loved and appreciated!

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It was unceremonious, to say the least. There was no fireworks, no swell of emotions.

She was a scientist, she understood it was just a biological function, a chemical release. Nothing more. It was, however, still a little disappointing. 

The first time, she went in with good intentions. He had sealed himself in his quarters for two months. No one saw him much. Devastated at the loss of his wife. ‘Mourning’ they would say. She was no counselor god they needed a counselor, but two months was too much.

She needed him back.

She went to his quarters with a whole speech planned. However, when she inputted her override code and his doors opened, she lost all words. He stood looking out into space. He was wearing only his undershirt and uniform pants. She collected herself, opening her mouth to speak, but no words came. He turned to face her, his eyes were tired, you could see he hadn’t been sleeping well. He had shaved recently, but she could clearly see it had been a few days.

He walked toward her slowly, face unmoving. Her muscles tensing for the rage she knew he contained as his hand moved to her shoulder.

To her surprise, his hand began to wander. It all happened so fast, her jacket was done away with, turtleneck removed with the sharp ping of her pips hitting the floor. Next his shirt. His pants. Hers. It all happened so fast.  Breaths quickened, mouths met in a frenzy. 

She needed him back.

He laid her down on his bed and entered her slowly. Unceremoniously. They rocked slowly together, soft moans mixing together until it came to a peak as he came with a grunt and they fell asleep.

When she awoke, he was gone. He had finally returned to duty. She returned to the bridge, and they still never spoke.

The next time, he came to her.

He had been crying. She pretended not to notice as she undressed herself.

After he came, he spoke to her for the first time since Seven Annika she died, uttering a quiet, “Thank you,” before repaying her the favor with that lovely mouth of his.

She knew there was something between them at some point in the past, but here, with her fingers threaded through his hair, she felt nothing but sweet release. 

And that is what it became for the next however many years.

They never spoke of it. Nothing changed between them on duty. Not even Paris noticed, though he was decently preoccupied with his daughter. Neither mentioned it in their logs, Starfleet none the wiser during their debriefings and reassignments. With the return home of Voyager, these “meetings” stopped for a while, but after a year or so, he turned up again, and they fell back into old habits.

And she felt nothing.

And he felt nothing.

Occasionally one would get involved with someone find someone. The other would find out through mutual friends and general gossip. It never surprised either when the other would continue to show up.

And they felt nothing.

And then one day he died.

And her life stopped.

But she swears, she felt nothing.

Oh wow. This is murder on the feels and I love it.