DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns anything relating to Star Trek. I am merely borrowing some of the characters to have a little harmless fun. Please don't come after me. I don't like litigating unless I'm getting paid for it.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I decided to try a new writing format to get me back into the swing of things. This a short, first-person piece with virtually no plot to speak of. In addition, it is not beta-read. If that doesn't scare you off, please feel free to read this humble offering.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

I Know You
By JAZwriter13


Part 1

I have found it disconcerting to dream. The Doctor told me that as my body's human components reasserted dominance, I would experience them. I hoped I would bypass such chaotic episodes regardless of the Doctor's proclamation. Hope. An emotion I learned from you. You foster it, plant it like the most caring farmer. Water it with smiles, well-worded compliments, gentle touches. Not just with me—with all your crew. When I am subject to your attention, I grow, as does my hope. The few times I have awakened from dreams I have felt agitated and confused. Worse, although I have an eidetic memory, I have found it difficult to accurately remember the details of dreams. Instead, I remember the textures, the feelings associated with them. And I am unsure how to reconcile myself with their significance. I have found it disconcerting to dream.

I feel eyes on me, and I know it is you. Here I stand against a wall at the Psarki palace wondering how to conform last night's dream, as well as the dreams I have experienced each night for the last two weeks, with my reality. I have no choice but to return your gaze, even as I attempt to disguise my unease, my uncertainty. I nod toward you, an action of acknowledgment and respect. You are my Captain, and I am yours to do with as you wish. Barring you do not order me to commit an action that is illogical, of course. Yet, even when I disagree, I want only to please you. To function, I require you to recognize my existence. I feel eyes on me, and I know it is you.

A hunger fills my soul. Refocusing on you, I am surprised to find you, such a captivating woman, studying me. I am caught by your intriguing gaze, able to do little more than stare back as I remember one of my nocturnal forays. I had found myself watching you as you slept. Mesmerized, I'd admired your Celtic cheekbones softening its rigid stance, closed eyelids shielding stormy blue eyes, and blanketed outline concealing a body I worship. Realizing I had been blatantly detailing your attributes, running my eyes over your body as if they were my hands caressing every inch, I had shifted my eyes back to your comely countenance, recognizing a faintly amused look flitting across your elegant face. You were awake and had seen my perusal. Embarrassed, I'd quickly excused myself and strode out of your quarters. I awoke still stirred by your presence, by an appetite not satiated. A hunger fills by soul.

Looking at you now, I feel your pull once again. Although across the hall, I understand the words you mouth—Just a little longer. I feel myself smile, an action I am unaccustomed to but which happens more and more while in your presence. And I am heartened by your attempt to comfort me. You know how much I abhor these functions, how uncomfortable I am during these social situations, how I attend for one reason, and one reason only—for you. Feeling bolstered, I straighten my posture. You smile, then turn back toward the chancellor to answer his question. Looking at you now, I feel your pull once again.

I have wondered whether you dream of me. You have taken over my dreams, visiting me each night as often as I visit you throughout each day. I utilize any pretext to place myself in your presence—an Astrometrics report, an accidental crossing of paths in the corridors, even scheduling my nutritional supplement intake while you partake of your evening meal in the mess hall: I find ways to be close to you. I have even crawled through Jeffries tubes with the excuse that I was sent to aid you with repairs. I find myself anxious to be in your presence, yet I cannot deny myself such opportunities. I have wondered whether you dream of me.

When I turned to face your compelling figure, my eyes widened in surprise as you closed the distance between us. Yesterday I dreamt I stood in front of a mirror splashing my face with water in an attempt to dissipate the redness from my cheeks. I felt absolute mortification for what had just occurred. One moment I had been thinking about Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres' sexual relationship, and the next moment I was mentally stripping you. How did I know what had supposedly occurred earlier in a dream that I did not have? It felt as if memories not of my making had been planted into my mind. Yet, I remember wondering, What is wrong with me? After dabbing my damp cheeks with a towel, I reached into my purse—a little bag made of an animal skin or synthetic material—to retrieve my lipstick but froze as I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. Why was I looking for a small stick of waxy lip coloring enclosed in a cylindrical case to augment my appearance, anyway? Looking up, my eyes latched onto you—such a beautiful woman, and I was amazed at the desire I saw. Frozen, I watched a warm smile light up your lovely visage and felt fingers tighten in a sensual squeeze. And even now I am enflamed by how intense the next moment felt in that wonderful dream. When I turned to face your compelling figure, my eyes widened in surprise as you closed the distance between us.

Then all I knew was the taste of lips that made me ravenous. As my mind scrabbled for purchase, I felt your hand slide behind my head while the other cupped my cheek. In direct contrast to the support those marvelous hands provided, the kiss sent me careening out of control at the mercy of an emotional freefall. What started softly and reverently became passionate and demanding. Tongues reached out and stroked in concert as we embraced for long moments. I steadied myself on revered hips as I yielded to the overwhelming, yet entirely welcomed emotions. As the kiss wound down, I chased your fleeing lips with several hungry kisses, unwilling to allow the moment to end. Opening my eyes, I accepted the heated gaze directed my way, still feeling those two glorious hands cupping my head tenderly.

"Thank you."

I, confused and uncertain, asked, "Do you know me?"

Smiling, you, my kissing bandit, replied, "I do." As your face inched closer, I heard you breathe, "Seven." Just before our lips rejoined, the door opened. Stopping, you smiled apologetically and backed away. A blink and you were gone. For a moment, I wondered if I had just imagined the entire event. But one look into the mirror confirmed my flushed face, slightly swollen lips, and bright, dilated eyes. Steadying myself, I took several deep breaths to calm my thudding heart. I could still taste you. I wanted more. And in my dream, as I recalled what had just transpired, I wondered who you were, even though I was editing such thoughts with silent shouts of You are my Captain! How fascinating to believe I had forgotten so important a detail while dreaming. How interesting that I had asked whether you knew who I was. I had sensed my question was aimed at confirming whether you held knowledge beyond that of my name, a more visceral knowing, an understanding and an acceptance of all that I am. And I felt you did know, did understand, and did accept me completely.

Questions crowded my mind, vying for attention. Why did you kiss me? Will I see you again? Why did you thank me? Did you know that kiss would be so earth-shattering , to use one of Tom Paris's colloquialisms? That last thought made me pause. I'd never considered kissing a woman. But now that I had experienced it, I had to admit it had been acceptable. More than acceptable. Or, as Tom Paris might have proclaimed if he were present to witness such an occurrence, damn fine.

In my dream, I exited the room, following your steps as I scanned the area, already knowing you had left. I also anticipated I'd be seeing you again. And when I did, I felt certain I would get my answers. Yet, when my regeneration cycle ended, you were not present, and I could not ask my questions.

My heart rate quickens as you reach my side. I begin to tremble as the dreams tumble before my eyes, somersaulting through my belly on a reckless course. I fear I will be unable to control my desire to touch you, yet I must. We are at a public function, and I would never intentionally lessen your status in the eyes of others. I recall your soft sighs and lusty moans from my dreams, and I yearn to recreate them while we are awake. I do not believe you would welcome such advances, though. You are my mentor, my superior, my Captain, unattainable and infinitely beloved. My heart rate quickens as you reach my side.

You grasp my hand and change my life. Gently tugging, you lead me away from the ballroom, not deigning to look back once. Silently, you continue to guide me toward the beam out point as I feel time expand one moment, allowing me to revel in our physical connection, then contract, leaving me to wonder how it is that we now stand in your quarters. It is much like my dreams where I feel I have missed parts, and a vague feeling of disquiet envelops me. The next moment such confusion is swept away as you step closer to me, so close I can feel your energy flowing over me. It takes a moment to understand what has occurred, what is still occurring. Your lips are making love to mine, and I melt into you. Too soon the kiss is over, and I cry out in anguish. Instead of rejection, though, I see a promise in your eyes. You grasp my hand and change my life.

I awake to find you watching me. Your eyes possessively touch every part of me, and I am certain you know me truly. What a revelation to feel love in your touch. How wonderful to recognize the same glimmer in your gaze that I have seen so many times before yet could not translate. How illuminating to understand, finally, how deeply you love me, how genuinely you treasure me, how well you know me. In wonder, I ask how you knew of my feelings. As you move toward me you whisper, "I know you." As I close my eyes to feel your kiss, I hear, Regeneration cycle incomplete. I awake to find you watching me.


Part 2

I stare into your eyes, and my breath catches. I step down from the dais slowly, trying to organize my thoughts and sublimate my needs. Your eyes hold an unusual glow, and your lips are parted slightly to allow air to pass unhindered. Taking stock in your physiological functions, I am astounded to note that you seem aroused. As I approach you, your breath quickens. I search your azure eyes, finding desire, need, and, after a few tense moments of silence, acceptance. You stare into my eyes, and your breath catches.

We stand silently, communicating. Since the Psarki negotiations, I have dreamt of you during each regeneration cycle. There was a time when I did not dream, years ago. I was new to humanity. My imagination was not developed. My mind worked on calculations and efficient ways to aid the ship's journey home. As my humanity reasserted itself, as you encouraged me to develop artistic pursuits and ways to express myself, I found my imagination stirred. By you. About you. Always revolving around you. In my early dreams, I would be seated or standing across from you. Invariably we were part of a group, and I watched you. Sometimes you would acknowledge my presence with a nod. Other times—nothing. Yet, I knew you were aware of my presence in each scenario. Just as you are now. We stand silently, communicating.

You whisper my name reverently. Over time, my dreams turned toward my desire to learn more about you. In some of them, I sought to understand your deepest, most closely-guarded secrets. They took the form of old, dusty tomes hanging on thick cords from the ceiling of your family home. I cast my eyes about the room, musty and stale, before attempting to read from the pages. I felt your hand on my arm and turned toward you. Somberly you took my hand and led me away from the room. Staring at me, you gently released your hold and turned away. The message was clear. You were not ready to divulge your secrets to me. Now I look into your eyes, and I see you are ready. I whisper your name reverently.

I melt into your caress, feeling your hand on my cheek. We have come so far, you and I. Whereas I constantly fought your direction when I was added to your crew so long ago, I eventually found myself craving it. I do not know exactly when my sentiments changed—odd since normally I am able to recount each event exactly. Not when it concerns my feelings for you, however. They seemed to evolve without any active decision on my part. In fact, to my chagrin, I had no opportunity to define how I wished our relationship to evolve. Swept along the maelstrom that is you, I was afraid and excited by our interactions. I craved a closeness I could not imagine and did not understand, but I knew it was essential for my existence. I step into your space as I lower my head toward you. You melt into my caress, feeling my hand on your cheek.

I search your eyes again, seeking permission. After awhile, my dreams of our interactions became more intimate. Your duality intruded upon my views, played out in these dreams where you acted one way while attempting to let me know you felt a different way. I was confused by these dreams. In one, you held my hand, squeezing it to communicate your affection, yet simultaneously speaking inconsequential, meaningless words. You hid your emotions through speeches of duty while hugging me tightly. I did not understand why such subterfuge was necessary. That knowledge came later as I witnessed the heavy burden placed upon your shoulders, borne of duty, the chain of command, and your own sentiments. Over time, you allowed me to become closer to you through shared activities and spirited debates. And that was when my dreams became reality. During our interactions you focused solely on me. I basked in the attention. Ship's business became secondary, and I knew I had your undivided attention. We became more affectionate, able to read the emotions held within our gazes. Yet I longed for more. Reading your emotion, my veins begin to burn with anticipation. You search my eyes again, seeking permission.

You complete the journey to my lips. For so long I have imagined this moment. Certainly long before the Psarki negotiations. That night, I was close to revealing my feelings. Perhaps it was your caring way of making sure I was sufficient while waiting for the festivities to end. Perhaps it was the way you stared into my eyes as you crossed the hall to my side when it was finally time to depart. Perhaps it was the thick silence, ripe with unexpressed need, as we walked to the beam out point. I have recreated those moments often—such as the dream where, instead of a softly spoken farewell within the confines of the cargo bay, you had led me to your quarters. I must have sensed your desire to keep me by your side. Or, perhaps, you sensed mine. However we arrived at this moment, I am grateful, so grateful, to have the opportunity to feel your lips on mine. I revel in your taste, the soft, slow movement of your mouth against mine, and your hand caressing my cheek, even as mine moves behind your neck. The kiss ends, and we take stock of our feelings, of the momentous change we have allowed, of the desire to become closer. Unwilling to analyze the moment any further I take action. I complete the journey to your lips.

Our souls intertwine as our bodies meld together. In the last several months my dreams have reflected my most erotic imaginings. I admit, my imagination was sorely lacking. I have realized that dreams rarely note the details of a given moment. Although I dreamt of feeling your lips on mine, your arms wrapped around my neck, your body touching mine, although I thought I knew what such a moment would feel like—in truth, I knew nothing. For here we are now, and I am bombarded with information that such dreams lacked. Your lips are firm and moist as they slide against mine. Your breath hot, tasting of passion and coffee. Your tongue, forceful, strong, lush. Your hair brushes my cheek, causing a tickling sensation that further enflames me. Your hands tenderly caress my cheeks, my chin, my neck, my shoulders. I feel your arms envelop me completely, pulling me to you. You control our kiss, holding nothing back. I feel your ardor as your restraint vanishes. Your tongue thrusts purposefully, and I throb in time. I perceive how long you have wanted this type of interaction, how long you have wanted me. I give myself over to you joyfully. I cannot get enough of you, of these feelings, and even though I recognize that I am losing myself in your kisses, I trust you completely. I allow my hands to map your back, enraptured by every inch that is you. Our souls intertwine as our bodies meld together.

"I love you." Mesmerized by the smoky cadence of your voice, it takes me precious moments to comprehend your words. You love me. Me. I feel tears well up as I breathe your essence in. I can still taste you. Your arms are sure around me. I tremble as your words travel through me, instilling me with an energy I have never experienced. As if you have rewritten my nanoprobes, I feel electrical currents shoot through my veins, strengthening me, bolstering me, creating my new reality. How did we come to this point? How did you decide to reveal your feelings? How did I become the center of your universe? How did we two lonely individuals become one complete unit? I cannot imagine an existence without you. After all, my imagination is lacking. Thankfully my grasp of this situation and of my feelings for you is straightforward. And so I respond honestly. "I love you."

I used to dream of you, of being near you. I did not understand how limited these nighttime imaginings were. I did not comprehend how rich our interactions would become, how affecting our contact would become, how familiar our communication would become. I did not realize how silky your skin would feel, how luxurious your hair would feel, how steady your embrace would feel. I could not grasp how devoted your touch would be, how focused your love would be, how tender your gaze would be. I could not know how such pale dreams, all I had for so long, could be supplanted so forcefully by a reality that stirs me to moments of great joy. As we rest, wrapped in each other's loving hold, I acknowledge that nothing could have prepared me for what we have shared. Our long-held secret longings finally laid bare, we are of one mind, one heart. For hours we share our desires, in word and in deed. You even confess your most cherished secret: you used to dream of me, of being near me.

Dreams become reality. It is possible that as we indulged in our dreams, feeding them with honest desire, our wishes inadvertently translated during our interactions. Yearning to be together, yet unsure of how to proceed, our dreams created hope. We articulated our need through time spent together, even as we craved more time, more connections than what was afforded through Velocity matches, da Vinci holoprograms, shared meals, and philosophical discussions. We dreamt of revealing our hearts, disregarding our fears, and binding ourselves to a future shared completely. You have always been a great leader, willing to take chances when most would cower in fear. You saw my adoration, and you took action to express your own. You taught me yet another lesson in humanity—to not give up on one's most closely-held dreams. Each day I awake with you in my arms, and I am grateful for this most important lesson. I once asked you in my dreams how you knew of my feelings. You had responded that you knew me. I see in your eyes that this is one truth that I understood long before you expressed your love. And so the boundary between reality and imagination, dreams and truth, is indistinct. I have satisfactory proof in this matter, facts that cement my belief that anything is possible. One need only review this drone's life to ascertain the veracity of my conviction. Dreams become reality.

The End

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