Those Damn Hands

by Suz

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Disclaimer - all characters belong to Paramount, but the body parts belong to the actors:)




It started with his hands. Oh there were other factors involved of course, but she hadn't really acknowledged the attraction between them until he used his hands.

Those damn hands.

He'd touched her a few times before, certainly, but it had never been intimate. Friendly, supportive, reassuring - just as a good First Officer should be. But not intimate. Never intimate.

Until that evening.

She'd been working harder than usual to clear away the debris. Truth be told, she knew she'd been working harder than she should have because she couldn't continue her research.

So she'd thrown herself into the work eagerly. It had been their only (or so she thought) possible way of finding a cure, and now it was gone. Her frustration had needed to be worked off.

Later that evening her shoulder and neck muscles had started aching. Her own fault, she knew, and she'd have to deal with it. It wasn't his fault that she wasn't used to that kind of work. To her surprise he offered to help, and used his hands.

Those damn hands.

He'd gently lifted her hair to one side, and she was sure that he stroked it. She wished she could have seen the expression on his face.

Then he'd started massaging her neck. He'd been telling the truth when he'd told her that he'd had a lot of practise. He knew exactly what he was doing. He knew all the little pressure points to help her muscles relax.

She'd closed her eyes and moaned slightly. She knew she'd said something but she honestly couldn't remember what it was. Probably something embarrassing.

Then somehow...everything had changed. He was no longer helping his Captain and friend. He knew it, she knew it, but most of all those hands knew it.

Those damn hands.

They froze in place and her eyes had snapped open. Heart pounding, she had stood and faced him slowly. She still hadn't known if she was going to kiss him or run away. She'd chosen the latter, although she preferred to think of it as a 'tactical retreat from a potentially explosive situation'.

Of course she couldn't have left it there, could she? As she had lay in her bed she could hear him working quietly on the other side of the screen, the slight scraping noise being the only thing she could focus on.

Unable to sleep she had found herself sitting opposite him before she realised what she was doing. The words had come haltingly out of her mouth because until she spoke she'd had no idea what she was going to say.

His responce had been beautiful, if not entirely unexpected. His story. How many nights had he lain awake thinking of her? Was that how he'd always intended to tell her - in a story? Or did he never intend to tell her but then felt compelled to when they were trapped together? There were a multitude of questions that she would never fully answer.

What could she have possibly said in answer to that moving tale? Nothing, she'd known that. Instead she'd done the only thing she could have. She'd lifted up her hand slightly to meet his, and their fingers had intwined. Unable to keep looking at his eyes, she'd thoroughly examined his hands. They were darker than hers, reflecting his heritage and his preference for the outdoors. Soft, capable, strong, gentle. She'd run her finger over his knuckles memorizing the slight bumps and small wrinkles. She noticed he had a scar just above his index finger. She'd asked him about it before they'd left the planet and he'd told her that it had been the result of one of his missions to 'liberate' some Maquis friends, and he kept the scar to help him remember.

After she'd finished her examination, he did the same to her hands. He'd barely touched them, gently running his fingertips all over her hands. She remembered that she'd shivered at the sensation. He'd been engrossed in her palms, feeling the lines embedded there with the end of his finger.

She'd totally ruined the moment when she started laughing.

They'd gone to sleep then, their hands still connected, unable to break the contact.

Voyager had contacted them the next morning.



And now here she was again, back where she started. She entered her quarters, then let her shoulders droop. Feeling the tears build up she sniffed slightly and headed towards the window.

As she stared out the viewport her door had beeped. She beckoned him in, knowing who it would be.

Nothing was said, but he approached and stood behind her silently.

They had lost so much. Would they ever be able to regain it?

He moved forward then, and wrapped his arms around her resting his hands on her waist.

Those hands.

Those damn hands.