On A Snowy Evening

by Tricia Donovan ©1999

This story is the result of a challenge to write a Janeway/Kashyk Christmas story. It is two stories in one. If you feel full of good cheer and Christmas sentiment, read only this page. If you like your fiction darker, or if you are merely filled with curiosity, then click on the picture link at the end of the story.

DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns Kashyk and all the usual suspects. This story is mine. Please do not post anywhere else without my express permission.

RATING: [PG-13]

THE title is taken from Robert Frost's poem, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. The poem also supplies the quotations towards the end.

On a Snowy Evening

A Tale of Christmas

"WE have a similar festival", he said, looking, not at her, but out of the window. He did not offer any further information.

Kathryn thought with amusement that the Devore interpretation of goodwill to all was probably somewhat different from the generally accepted viewpoint. But, after all, how many of her crew knew the true origins of Christmas? Kathryn, the scientist, the rationalist, surprisingly did. She had been raised in a Traditionalist community, and while she and her family had not shared their beliefs, many of their neighbours followed the Old Ways. Besides, she supposed, party time was party time, wherever you happened to be from.

It had been, not so much a formal decision by the senior staff to celebrate Federation holidays, as something that grew of itself. As much as the uniforms they wore, these festivities were a reminder of who they were. On a more pragmatic level, they also acted as a safety valve when the pressures grew too great. Kathryn, relaxing in the comparative spaciousness of her quarters, often thought with concern of crewmen and ensigns living two to a room. As much as possible, duty shifts were arranged so that each person had at least a few hours alone, but if the senior officers, in the luxury of their individual quarters, sometimes felt as if they were never off-duty, how difficult must it be for the other ranks?

Each month was marked by its own holiday; although most were minor affairs, there were three great celebrations. Prixen, the Talaxian Commemoration of Family, had become very much Voyager's own festival. Kathryn thought of it as first step towards Talaxia's membership of the Federation. It gave her a comforting feeling of duties to be carried out. Almost equally popular on the ship were the Bajoran Gratitude Festival and Christmas.

Kathryn sighed inwardly. It would do everyone good to relax and have fun. She could certainly do with something to lift her spirits. She had to admit, the business with Kashyk was not turning out as she had anticipated.

No one had been more surprised than she when he had materialized in Voyager's transporter room, having kept his promise to her. No one, unless .... She had a strange intuition that it had been something of a surprise to Kashyk himself. As if his plan had gone awry and here he was making the best of a bad job.

Was it this suspicion of deceit that held her back? Was it was because he was, to all intents and purposes, now a member of her crew, and Kathryn Janeway had strict rules about fraternization? Or was it because he was no longer someone who would be gone tomorrow, safely stored in the memory where she could do what she liked with him, and nothing would be asked of her?

She wanted him, there was no doubt about that. And he wanted her. Or had wanted her. That first night after he had rejoined Voyager, he had made it clear that their kiss in the shuttlebay had been only the beginning. She had asked him to join her in her quarters, fully expecting that he would not leave until the morning.

But once they were alone together, the candles burning steady in the still air, music, their music playing softly in the background, the wine he had replicated cold and sharp on her tongue, she had known she could not go through with this.

"I'm tired, Kashyk," she said simply.

"Kathryn ..."

"No!" She looked into the dark eyes that promised much, yet gave away nothing.

"Of course," he said, removing his hand from hers. He stood then and wished her goodnight. She did not go with him to the door.

Since then there had been nothing. He had behaved with absolute correctness towards her. At first she thought that he was letting her choose the time and the moment, and felt grateful for that. Now she asked herself if it was simply that he no longer cared.

At night, in the solitude of her quarters, she would imagine him with someone else. Some pretty little ensign who had bought her room-mate's absence with replicator credits and the promise of 'all the details' tomorrow. Or maybe a room-mate persuaded to stay and join the fun. It would have been a simple matter to find out his location, and who was with him, but that was not Kathryn's way. Provided it did not affect the smooth-running of her ship, or compromise Voyager's security, what her crew did in their own time was their business. They had little enough privacy as it was.

He spent many of his off-duty hours on the holodeck. Ah, well, he would not be the first, nor the last, to find solace and release in that way. She could have accessed his holodeck programs, but since he had proved his loyalty to Voyager, she had no reason to do so. No reason, anyway, that her principles would allow.

As far as she could see, he had formed only two relationships since coming on board.

The first was not so much a relationship as a permanent state of war. She did not believe it was good for crew morale, or that of the individual concerned, to allow anyone to remain idle. She could hardly have Kashyk join the Bridge crew, nor could she have him crawling through the Jeffries tubes looking for plasma leaks. He was a most able scientist, and his knowledge of this part of space was invaluable. There was really only one place for him: Astrometrics.

At times, in the weeks that followed, she was to regret this decision. Seven of Nine became a constant visitor to her Ready Room, full of complaints about the impossibility of working with Kashyk. Kathryn could well imagine how his manner would have irritated Seven. In fact she thought that he probably enjoyed annoying her. Putting two arrogant people together was bound to lead to conflict. Although, she thought, it was not entirely true to say that Seven was arrogant. She knew her own abilities, and had not yet acquired the human habit of false modesty.

The other close bond Kashyk had formed was with Harry Kim. Surprising on the face of it, the friendship, if such it was, grew from their shared love of music. Kashyk had become an enthusiastic member of Voyager's music group. He had soon mastered the piano and violin, and had introduced the rest of the group to Devore music, and his favourite instrument, which was something like a harpsichord.

He had been with Harry and Tom tonight in the mess hall. B'Elanna and Chakotay had joined them, as had Neelix, in between serving. When Kathryn had come in, it had been natural for her to sit at their table. The conversation turned to Christmas. Tom Paris was being mysterious about some project he had in hand. Knowing Tom it would be worth waiting for. He was impervious to teasing, and B'Elanna admitted that even she had no idea what he was up to. The mood softened; the talk was of Christmas past, of Christmas yet to come, of hopes and dreams and fears. Of home. Kashyk sat quietly, listening.

As the evening grew late, one by one they slipped away until only Kathryn and Kashyk were left. Neelix had been the last to leave, his cheerful goodnight scarcely breaking the silence in which they sat.

"Tell me more about Christmas."

She had a ridiculous impulse to say "I will not comply." But after all, it was a reasonable request. She told him of the various Terran traditions associated with the feast, but was careful not to speak too much of her own remembered Christmases. As she was speaking, he moved to the window.

"We have a similar festival."

She said nothing, and after a few moments he said, "Well, goodnight, then."

"Goodnight." Then, as he reached the door, "Kashyk."

"Captain?"

The use of her rank did not escape her. "Nothing. Sleep well."

"You too."

She saw even less of him than usual in the next week or so. The music group was spending every spare moment practising for their Christmas concert. Tuvok mentioned that Mr Kashyk was exceeding his allotted holodeck time. Junior staff grew restless, and carefully-hoarded replicator credits were cheerfully squandered. As the holiday approached, Kathryn grew ever more depressed.

On Christmas Eve the crew of Voyager assembled in the mess hall, transformed by Neelix and his helpers into a bower of red-ribboned greenery. Kathryn was in her accustomed place in the middle of the front row.

Kashyk sat at his instrument, his long fingers coaxing subtle melodies from its keys. On his face was a look of quiet joy. Kathryn had never seen him like this, so content, so ... complete. The accretion of years of duplicity and bloodshed had fallen away, to reveal the perfect being underneath.

Familiar Christmas airs echoed through the room. Kathryn made an effort to discount their familiarity and listen to them through his ears. It was impossible. There were too many memories bound up in this music for it to be strange and alien. These were the songs of Home.

As the programme came to an end, Harry Kim came forward, smiling at the applause. He held up his hand for silence. "Captain, fellow-crew-members, we would now like to play for you a piece not shown in your programme, an original composition by our newest recruit." Here he indicated Kashyk. "It is entitled Spirals of Infinity."

The musicians waited until the audience was quiet, and then began, so softly at first that the silence scarcely trembled. Kathryn could not have said afterwards how the music sounded. She was aware of each instrument echoing the others, of intricate harmonies and complex melodies. But all she could remember of this were colours shimmering in the air.

She could not say how long the piece lasted. But when the final note had died away, it was as if the music were continuing on some frequency inaudible to human ears.

The hall was held in that profound silence that is an audience's greatest tribute. Then the applause began, deafening, enthusiastic applause: cheering, stamping, whistling. Someone began chanting: "Ka-shyk! Ka-shyk! Ka-shyk!" and they all took it up.

He stood before them, smiling, nodding, self-possessed. He did not look at her.

Afterwards she made her way to where he was standing at the centre of a large and lively group. She knew her congratulations sounded forced and too formal. "Well," she said, smiling at everyone, "Enjoy the rest of the evening." She did the rounds of the room, a smile here, a word of greeting there. She had absolute command over this ship and everyone on it, yet at gatherings like this it was always brought home to her that, save for one or two individuals, her presence was not really required.

She remembered gratefully that there were some reports that needed her attention. The thought of her Ready Room drew her as the hearth of home might a wanderer. Oh, for order and the daily routine! As the door of the mess hall slid shut behind her she sighed with relief.

She was soon immersed in work, but as a gesture to the season she had not changed back into her uniform, and the cup beside her held a Vulcan spiced punch, and not her usual coffee.

When the door chime sounded, so completely had she returned to the workday world, that she assumed it was some routine matter requiring her attention. She did not expect to see Kashyk.

"I'm afraid I did not thank you properly for your wonderful contribution to the evening." Was that really what she had meant to say? As if she were chairing a meeting.

"Yes you did. I was watching your face."

"Were you?"

"I wanted to give you this." He held out a slim packet wrapped in delicate tissue and tied with gold twine. As she made no move to take it he said "It is customary to give gifts?"

"Oh, yes, it's just that ... I haven't ... Well, I didn't get ..."

"Please," he said, holding it out again.

This time she took it. Carefully she unwrapped it, laying the tissue paper on her desk. She found she was holding the sheet music of Spirals of Infinity. Underneath the title was written, in a strong, flowing hand, 'For Kathryn'.

She could not speak. Did not dare look at him.

"Kathryn? I should like to show you something, if you would come with me."

She nodded. He led her out of the room and to the turbo-lift.

"Computer, initiate program Kashyk-Beta-One."

Kathryn found herself standing in a moonlit snow-covered meadow. Kashyk produced a thick fur robe and she huddled into it. It began to snow: large, slow flakes. On an impulse she stuck out her tongue and caught one of them. It was cold and flat-tasting, as she remembered from the snows of childhood.

To the left there were woods, and as they watched, a fox stepped delicately out of the trees and across the snow, leaving narrow black marks in its whiteness. It stopped, one paw raised, head to one side. Its eyes in the moonlight were green lamps. Somewhere over the fields a dog barked, a brittle, hollow sound in the cold air. The fox was away then, bounding for the safety of the woodland.

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep," she quoted, almost to herself.

Kashyk took her arm and motioned her forward. Across the field she saw a cottage. Lights showed in a window, and pallid smoke rose from the chimney. A pathway had been cleared, the snow piled up on either side. They walked along it together, arm in arm, and still they did not speak. Kathryn looked at him. His profile was very clear. He seemed at home in the cold, monochrome landscape. She shivered slightly and he held her arm more tightly.

Ahead was a small wooden gate set in the hedge that enclosed the field; it creaked as Kashyk pushed it open. The path continued, flagged now, between two rectangles of snow that covered empty flowerbeds. In front of them, the door stood open, and light spilled out, rich and welcoming.

Kashyk ushered her into a warm, quiet room.

Kathryn looked around her, marvelling at his artistry. The room was low-ceilinged; Kashyk had to stoop slightly as he walked under the great central beam that ran the whole length of the room. The whitewashed walls were rosy in the glow of lamplight and firelight. There were pictures on the wall and bookcases crammed with books, and more books piled on the table. The furniture was comfortable and shabby. This was a lived-in room, a room full of love and peace. A sanctuary.

Before the hearth a dog and cat lay in perfect accord. The cat did not move, but the dog, an Irish setter, raised its head and thumped its tail several times in greeting before going back to sleep.

To one side of the fireplace there was a basket holding split logs, to the other, an enormous Christmas tree, decorated with shining glass balls and garlands.

The room smelt of resin, and applewood, and spices, and freshly-baked cakes.

"Kathryn, what is it? Is it 'promises to keep'?"

"You know the poem?" she asked in amazement.

"Your database is comprehensive, and I must familiarize myself with your culture if I am to live among your people."

The image of lusty romps with willing ensigns vanished to be replaced by the image of him alone in his quarters, with nothing but the cultural database to keep him company.

"Kathryn," he went on. "This place is outside time and space. Whatever happens here, doesn't have to be real unless you want it to be. It doesn't have to continue unless you want it to continue."

She looked at him and was about to speak, then realized that she did not know what to say.

"Nothing has to happen here at all. If you say the word I shall go."

"No. No. I don't want you to go."

She reached for him, but instead of responding, he held her away from him, and then, still holding her, moved her a few steps to her left. She looked at him in confusion, and then followed his upward gaze. Hanging from the beam just above them, was an enormous bunch of mistletoe.