Star Trek Voyager: Here I Stand

Here I Stand, Part 7

Part 7

                “So this is it.”

                “This is it.” Chakotay couldn’t take his eyes off Kathryn’s pale hands caressing The Falcon’s every curve and plane. A glimpse of her slim wrist as she brushed her fingertips across the hood made him shiver.

                She rounded the car slowly, taking in every detail with whispered delight, until she stood next to him again. “It’s exquisite, Commander.”

                To hide his reddening face,  he reached over and manually rolled the top down. “It’s a bit…overdramatic.”

                Kathryn smiled up at him. “Maybe.”

                “Kayma calls it ‘The Midlife Crisis Mobile.’” Out of the corner of his eye he saw her bite her lip to keep from laughing at him. He frowned. “I know it’s a little out character for me.”

                She drew back in surprise. “I don’t think it is.”

                “You don’t?”

                “No. Not at all.” She waved a hand at him. “You are very much the product of two cultures, Chakotay. You’re equally at home here in the woods, kilometers from your nearest neighbor, or at the helm of a starship with state-of-the-art technology in your hands.” She patted The Falcon’s hood. “This machine represents both. It bridges the gap between your profession and your private life. It’s solid and reliable, like you.” She reached over and fingered the sleeve of his civilian jacket. “It’s also high-tech and stylish, but at fifty years old, stylish in a classic way.”

                He rocked back on his heels. “Forty-nine,” he corrected.

                “What?”

                He shrugged. “B’Elanna keeps reminding me that it was ‘born’ the same year I was. So it’s not yet fifty.” He fished the starter from his jacket pocket. “It’s only forty-nine.”

                She raised a hand and touched his cheek. Her eyes roamed over his face, bringing his every nerve ending to sudden and sparkling life. “It’s in very good shape for its advanced age.”

                He held his breath. “Thank you,” he said, his throat tight.

                She stroked his jaw with her fingertips. “I want to ask you a question.”

                “Anything,” he whispered, covering the hand on his cheek with his own.  He’d forgotten the way her fingers, so small and fine, always disappeared under his.

                She leaned so close to him he could feel her breath on his neck. “Can I drive?”

                He closed his eyes and tilted his face down to hers. “No,” he replied.

                She snatched her hand away. “But I just said--”

                He laughed at her outraged expression and opened the passenger door. “I know what you just said, and you still can’t drive my car. You can barely keep your eyes open, and I’d like to arrive in Monterey in one piece.” He waved to the car’s interior. “We’re going to have to hurry to get there before the transport station closes. I suggest you put away your indignation and climb inside.” He took off his jacket and handed it to her. “You’ll want this. It gets chilly with the top down.”