Disclaimer: All characters belong to Paramount, the order of the words belongs to us.
Rated NC-17
Thank you Mary S. and Brianna for the thorough beta read, and the crash course in writing Believable Beagles.
The bridge of the Enterprise was quiet, almost unnaturally so. Captain Jonathan Archer's eyes were fixed on the forward viewscreen. Trip Tucker stood at his side.
"Dammit!" Tucker's expletive was abrupt. "We can't just sit here and watch. That's a Starfleet ship out there."
Archer's eyes didn't waver from the screen. "We think it is, Trip. It's not like any Starfleet ship I've ever seen."
On the viewscreen, a small shuttlecraft wavered. The edges were blurring, looking, thought Archer, like every nightmare he'd ever had about the new transporter technology. The numbering on the side was clearly visible, but so far, T'Pol had been unable to come up with any record of it from the ship's database. The shuttle was obviously in trouble. Sensors showed the same wild readings that the viewscreen did, almost as if it was fading in and out of existence.
"Tractor beam." Tucker leaped over to the controls. "If we keep it constant, try to anticipate their course, we might be able to snag 'em."
"Do it," Archer agreed.
For long moments the tractor beam simply dissipated around the shuttle.
"I got her, Cap'n." Tucker's jubilant shout rang around the small bridge. "Now all I gotta do is reel her in like that ol' granddaddy catfish in Echo Lake."
The bridge crew watched in silence, as the unknown shuttle was tractored slowly toward Enterprise. Tucker refined the tractor beam, compensating as best he could for the fluctuations. The closer the small ship got to Enterprise, the more it appeared to stabilize. Archer could clearly see its clean lines, and strange design. It was a Starfleet shuttle, that much was clear, but its design was peculiar.
"Any life signs?"
"One, Captain." T'Pol's tones were as calm as ever. "Human."
"I've got her!" said Trip. "The craft's in the shuttle bay."
Mayweather turned from the helm to face him. "Did you ever get that catfish?"
"Nope," Tucker grinned. "Got away from me every time."
Archer levered himself out of his chair. "Well, let's see what fish you've hooked this time. Trip, you're with me."
Up close, the shuttle was even more impressive. Archer could see hull plating quite unlike anything covering the Enterprise. The drop nose of the little ship reminded him of the old Concorde airliners, once considered so radical in the late twentieth century. But then the security detail moved slightly and he forgot all about studying the hull.
A woman stood there, a slightly built but definitely human woman, wearing a red and black uniform. Her russet-red hair crackled around her face, and in spite of the security team with phasers pointed her way, she appeared amused. She reminded him of the haughty women he used to see sometimes around San Francisco when he was at Starfleet command. There, her superior demeanor would have been an irresistible challenge, someone to bring down to more earthy, basic levels. He was surprised by his sudden urge to touch her, run his fingers down her shoulder to her breast.
But once he came into her line of sight, her face changed, wiped clean of all expression. She walked forward, up to him. Absently he noted that the top of her head reached the bottom of his chin, and that she wore four pips.
"I'm hoping you're not who I think you are." Her voice was smooth. A North American accent, cultured. It fit his earlier assessment of her. "Because if you are, things have gone very wrong."
He gestured to security to lower their weapons. Although he still didn't know who this woman was, he had a gut feeling she wasn't a threat. And the uniform she wore, with four pips and a communicator pin, definitely looked Starfleet, or an imitation of it.
"Captain Jonathan Archer at your service, Ma'am. You are on board the starship Enterprise, from Earth."
"I was afraid that I was." Her mouth twisted wryly. "I'm Captain Kathryn Janeway. And..." she held up a hand, "I know, you haven't heard of me. That's because Voy... my ship won't be commissioned for another three hundred or so years."
At his side, Tucker shifted awkwardly. "Three hundred years?" He made eye contact with Archer. "That last time-traveling alien claimed to be from a lot further in the future than that. With all due respect, Ma'am...how do we know you're who you say you are?"
She was silent for long moments. "You don't," she said. "I can't prove it to you without breaking the temporal prime directive. For starters, tell me what year this is?"
"2152"
"So you launched for the first time about a year ago?"
"If you'll excuse me, Ma'am, that ain't exactly a secret."
Janeway smiled again. "A catch twenty-two, Commander. I can't prove to you that I'm from the future, as doing so would break my regulations. But you won't believe me until I prove it." She walked up to him. Although she was small, Tucker seemed to wilt under her gaze. "Your captain believes me."
Tucker's eyebrow lifted questioningly, but Archer nodded and gestured to the door. "After you, Ma'am."
***
He didn't stop to analyze his motive, but instead of taking Janeway to the ready room, Archer led her to the dining room.
"Can I offer you something, Captain?"
"Coffee? It crossed my mind that if you've only been out here for a few months, you might still have some real coffee."
He called for coffee and gestured her to a seat. Enterprise had already had her share of strange situations, but for the moment he was at a loss. He didn't know how she had gotten here - indeed, her own words indicated it had been a mistake. But that was sure as hell some mistake. Resting his hands on the side of the chair, he studied her while a crewman served the coffee.
For someone out of her element--three hundred years before her time, if she was to be believed--she seemed surprisingly relaxed. She buried her nose in the coffee mug, inhaling deeply, before gulping the liquid.
"Coffee has never tasted so good. " Her half-grin caught him unawares, and he found himself smiling back in response. Fox-red hair swung over her face as she bent to inhale the steam again. His hand was half-raised to push it back before he caught himself. He opted instead for the formal.
"We don't have a temporal prime directive, Captain, as I'm sure you know. I'll respect your laws, but I would like to know what you can tell me about your arrival, including where and when you are supposed to be. We've already had some experience with time-travelers." Janeway nodded, but still didn't look too comfortable with what she was hearing. Archer wanted to ask her whether it didn't jibe with what she knew of his era, but suspected that she'd refuse to answer the question, so he tried a different tactic. "If you got here by accident, that might mean someone else has been manipulating your timeline, or yours and ours both."
Reluctantly she nodded, quirking half a smile at him. "I was using an untested temporal device to make a small time jump in my own century. The device wasn't developed by the Federat...by Earth scientists, so we don't know all the ins and outs of how it works. It's not likely that the device was tampered with before I obtained it because nobody knew that I intended to use it. I suspect I made a miscalculation, and the best thing I could do would be to leave as quickly as possible, before I corrupt my own timeline."
"What makes you think you won't have a similar problem with your device, and end up even further back in the past?" As she lifted her mug to take another sip of coffee, Archer leaned across the table, holding her gaze. "If you try to make another time jump without being sure of your equipment, you'll be risking my timeline too. I don't think I should let you do that. Now, I realize that our science isn't as sophisticated as yours, but maybe we could help you."
Janeway's brows furrowed. "Captain, I really don't..."
"Jon." Again, he smiled at her, noting her instinctive response followed by a more calculated inclination of her head in acceptance of the proffered intimacy. But she seemed in no hurry to extend the same courtesy to him. "I have a Vulcan science officer who has a lot more experience with these things than most of the engineers on my crew. Would you be willing to meet her?"
"A Vulcan?"
"Why don't I give you a tour and take you to meet her." He stood, extending a hand. "This must be something right out of living history for you, right? Besides, I need to go feed my dog."
A broad smile transformed Janeway's face. "Of course. Your space-faring beagle. Porthos, isn't it?"
He nodded. "He's in my quarters. Want to meet him?"
The captain from the 24th century practically leaped to her feet. "Real coffee and a dog. I had better not stay too long, or I might not want to leave this timeline."
When they reached his quarters, Porthos glared balefully and whined about his master's lateness, but as soon as their guest dropped to her knees and began to pet him, he quickly became playful, licking her face in between bouts of rolling on his back and chasing her hand. Archer watched with what he was afraid was a stupid grin on his face. A woman who liked to get on the floor and roll around with a dog usually had a wild side, and this one had a throaty laugh and bright blue eyes to go along with the red hair, as well as a figure that even the uniform couldn't hide. And then Porthos broke away from her, and jumped up on him, paws on his shins, wide doggy grin on his face.
Janeway sat up, her hair disarranged. "He wants you to play too."
He didn't stop to wonder about the incongruity of the situation. Here he was, romping with his dog, and a starship captain from three hundred years into the future. What he should be doing was talking earnestly with her, learning what he could about what was to come for Enterprise--after all, he didn't have to conform to a prime directive that hadn't been thought of yet--and, more importantly, should be helping her return to her own time. Instead, he dropped to his knees and let Porthos push him over onto his back and squirm all over his chest. Janeway joined in, ruffling the beagle's coat and pulling his ears.
And then her hand slipped, and landed on his groin. It was an accident; there was no doubt about that. And he hadn't realized, until her hand brushed him, exactly how aroused he had become. The light touch of her hand through his uniform brought sharply into focus how hard he was, rigid and aching for a woman he had just met.
She froze, and he cursed his reaction, closing his eyes momentarily in shame at how juvenile he must appear to her. Their eyes met, clung for a moment, but she didn't immediately withdraw her hand.
"Sorry," he mumbled. "I guess I'm a little excited."
She smiled that crooked smile that he was already identifying as uniquely hers. "Don't apologize. It's a natural reaction. Unexpected, but natural." She moved her hand, returning it to Porthos' short hair. Her hair swung over her face, hiding, he suspected, a flush of embarrassment.
He couldn't help himself, he had to ask, even if it was going to get him a slapped face, or a tightly controlled response about the prime directive. "Aren't captains in your time allowed relationships? Why was that unexpected? You're an attractive woman..."
The glimmer of softness in her face suprised him when she look at him fully. "Thank you. That's something that I honestly don't know about anymore. And to answer your questions, yes, captains have sex lives too, but..."
"But you don't," he guessed.
"I think I've said enough." Gracefully, she rose to her feet, pulling him up with a strong grasp when he extended a hand. They stood for a moment, then he took the initiative, stepping back a pace, putting distance between them. Porthos whined softly at his feet and he turned to get his bowl, measuring his food.
"You wanted coffee." Quickly he spoke into the communicator, seeing out of the corner of his eye how fascinated she appeared to be by the device. "T'Pol, my science officer, will meet us in the briefing room. She is bringing more coffee."
"Then let's not keep her waiting." With a final tug on Porthos' ears, Janeway preceded him out of his quarters.
T'Pol was already waiting for them, the coffee steaming on the table in front of her. T'Pol's expression was one of mild belligerence - as pissed as it was possible for a Vulcan to be, thought Archer.
"Captain, acting as your handmaid is not in the normal line of duties for a science officer," she began abruptly, without waiting for introductions. "Next time I suggest that you call upon the services of Ensign Sato, who..."
Archer cut her off. She was right of course, but hell, this was a small ship. Everyone had to pull their weight, and it hadn't been too big a request. "Captain Janeway, meet my science officer, Sub-Commander T'Pol."
T'Pol arched an eyebrow. "Captain," she acknowledged.
Janeway was openly studying her. "The pleasure is mine. My security officer is a Vulcan; I consider him a close friend."
"Indeed." T'Pol didn't look particularly pleased at the revelation. "So I can surmise that the Vulcan-Earth alliance continues into the 24th century."
Archer gestured at the seats around the table. "Have a seat. T'Pol, will you be mother?"
"I beg your pardon?" The Vulcan's gaze was as frosty as he had ever seen it.
"It's an old Earth expression. I am suggesting that you pour the coffee." He realized his mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth. No doubt T'Pol would also consider that a demeaning duty for a science officer.
Janeway forestalled his apology. "Let me." She poured two cups, hesitating over the third. "Sub-Commander, do you wish for a cup?"
"No, thank you." T'Pol seemed slightly mollified by Janeway's gesture. "The smell is unpleasant."
Archer cut straight to the heart of the matter. "T'Pol, Captain Janeway has a temporal device that appears to have deposited her in the wrong time. I'm wondering if you would be able to take a look at it..."
"No." Janeway was firm. "That would be the worst possible violation of the prime directive. What would be acceptable would be for you to let me have the use of an engineering station, and your assistance in specific issues. I cannot hand over a future device to you."
T'Pol's face, normally as expressive as a blank sheet of paper, closed down even further at the thought of acting as anyone's assistant. "Captain, I am in the middle of some delicate recalibrations of the aft scanners. There is no one I consider able to continue my work."
"That's an order, Sub-Commander." Archer was firm. "We need to return the captain to her time as soon as possible."
"Very well. Captain Janeway, if you wish to retrieve your device and meet me in Engineering, I will endeavor to assist you."
"Thank you." Janeway rose to her feet, watching as the stiff-backed Vulcan left the room. "She reminds me of someone I know."
"Another Vulcan?" Archer was watching her hair again, and the set of her jaw as she turned to him.
"Hardly. No. A...human. They even dress alike."
She turned to go, but Archer caught her arm. "Have dinner with me tonight. I doubt you will learn anything this afternoon that will allow you to leave. And I am sure you would prefer to keep your interaction with my crew to a minimum." He thought the last excuse was an inspired piece of reasoning, one that would surely allow him to dine with her alone in his quarters. Well, alone with Porthos.
"I would be delighted, Jon." Her voice was husky and, to his ears, seemed lower than previously. "Maybe T'Pol and your engineer would care to join us, seeing as how I have already met them?"
"I'll see to it." He watched the curve of her backside and the swing of her hips under the black pants as she left the room.
He spent the afternoon on the bridge, wondering what Janeway and T'Pol were finding to talk about, and whether they were making any progress with the malfunctioning device. Trip gave him a big shit-eating grin when he passed on Janeway's suggestion that he and T'Pol join them for dinner.
"Sure you don't want to be alone with her, Cap'n? You're not going to find as good looking a woman as that again in a hurry. And certainly not one who equals you in rank. T'Pol and I can eat in the messhall."
Jon didn't dignify that with a response although he wondered briefly about sending Trip and T'Pol off to do something urgent. Plasma relays maybe. Instead, he paged T'Pol and asked her if they were making progress.
"We are not, Captain." Surely that wasn't a trace of irritation in the Vulcan's flat tones? "Captain Janeway refuses to let me examine the device directly. I have allocated her an engineering station, and Crewman Jarvis is assisting her as she requires."
"Keep at it, T'Pol. I wouldn't mind knowing anything you can glean about the temporal device. And you can keep niggling away at Janeway over dinner tonight. She would like you and Trip to join us."
He wasn't imagining it, there was a definite hesitation before she replied, "As you wish, Captain."
***
In fact, dinner was a success. Janeway arrived at his quarters, the ends of her hair curling damply on her shoulders. Obviously T'Pol had found enough manners to show her to the guest quarters, but not to mention where the captain's dining room was.
"I'm sorry I haven't changed." With a flick, she indicated her uniform, which looked slightly rumpled. "I didn't bring a change of clothes with me, and although the replicator in my craft could provide a new uniform, I'm reluctant to waste resources until I know I can safely return to my time. And, I'd forgotten your replicator technology was so basic."
"We think it's state-of-the-art." Archer grinned, resisting the impulse to question her about future technology. "But I'll see if Hoshi can provide you with something to wear for tomorrow. She's about your size." He used the clothes as an excuse to blatantly study her body.
When his gaze returned to her face, she was smiling slightly, and he was the one who had to look away first. He turned, paged Hoshi to deliver some clothes to the guest quarters, and then pulled out a bottle of wine. When he returned, with two glasses, she was unabashedly studying his quarters.
"This is a living museum," she murmured, and her eyes were sentimental.
With a start, he realized that she probably knew what happened to him--to all of them--in the future. How they lived, what they discovered, how they died... He gave into temptation. "I always figured maybe Enterprise would end her days as a museum," he said. "With school kids running all over her, checking out the sanitary waste system, and bouncing on the captain's bed."
Her eyes shifted away. "As you've probably guessed I wasn't the best history student in class. Or I would have remembered you had a Vulcan science officer." She accepted the wine. "Cheers."
He searched for a neutral topic. "Porthos is in the bedroom. I didn't want him jumping on my clean clothes. T'Pol finds his smell--actually, all of our smells--offensive."
Her eyes had brightened at the mention of Porthos. "I'd like to see him again. Maybe, later?"
Later would mean returning to his quarters, the two of them, alone. Alone with Porthos. "Sure," he agreed.
"It's interesting what you say about Vulcans and their sense of smell," Janeway mused. "The Vulcans on my ship have no such problems. Now, the Bolians, well that is a different matter." She wrinkled her nose charmingly. "Bolians have a very unique natural odor."
He laughed along with her, then couldn't resist teasing her about her slip. "Bolians? I don't think we've run across them yet. Maybe you could draw us a map, and we can skip them altogether. That shouldn't change the course of history too much."
"But it would." Her eyes were suddenly three centuries away. She half-drained her glass. "I apologize for turning up at your quarters, Jon. It's now obvious you didn't intend for us to eat here." Her mouth turned down in a wry twist of self-deprecation, "Somehow I managed to forget all about the captain's dining room."
"Don't worry about it; this gives me an excuse to open a bottle of good wine. I don't often bother as Trip would rather drink iced tea or beer, and T'Pol..."
"Doesn't drink!" They finished the sentence in unison.
He pondered her words. "You must be on a long mission. Do you eat in the messhall with the crew?" Grinning in what he hoped was a disarming fashion, he continued, "I think you can tell me if your mission is a long one without compromising your prime directive."
Janeway appeared to be laughing at a private joke. "Oh yes," she said. "Our mission is definitely a long one. And my private dining room was annexed early on in the journey to expand the galley."
"You have a good relationship with your crew, then?" He was probing, he knew, but he was hoping this future captain, a long away from home with no lover, at least had friends.
"I like to think so. My first officer and I are close friends, and my security chief and I go back a long way."
"As do Trip and I."
"That's good. And don't forget Porthos." She drained her glass, and held it out to him hopefully. "I haven't had wine this good for a long time. I don't suppose I could have a refill?"
He filled it up for her. "We better not keep the others waiting too long. You can come back here after dinner, if you would like, and we can finish the bottle. Porthos would like to see you again, too."
"I might just take you up on that." Holding her glass carefully, she linked her free arm through his. "But it wouldn't do to keep T'Pol waiting."
Trip's face was a study when they arrived for dinner, arm in arm. He waited until Janeway was talking to T'Pol, then sidled over. "Offer still stands, Cap'n. Me 'n T'Pol could take our sorry asses elsewhere."
He was saved from answering by Janeway. "Jon, T'Pol was telling me about the time you exposed the Vulcan listening post underneath the temple. I've read about that - so you know that one exploit of yours did make the history books. I'd love to hear the story first hand." So he related the story, embellishing it a little, in the face of her admiring gaze. Trip topped it with a tale of his own, and the two of them traded stories, each one more outrageous than the other, all the way through the meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and on to the coconut cream pie. When pushed, T'Pol even related a story of her own, her droll narration earning an appreciative chuckle from Janeway.
"You tell stories just like my Vulcan friend," she said.
"On that note, I will leave you. Captain, if you will excuse me?"
The mood was broken. Trip departed shortly after T'Pol, mumbling excuses, and Archer was left suddenly tongue-tied with Janeway.
She seemed to have no such inhibitions. "You promised me another glass of that wine, Jon. Shall we?"
Archer let Porthos out of the bedroom as soon as they were in the door. Just as he had hoped, Janeway was immediately down on her knees playing with him again. Pouring the wine, he watched her; unobtrusively, he thought, until she turned to him.
"Do you stare at everyone like this? Or is it just that I'm an oddity?"
"A bit of both." He joined her on the floor and let Porthos lick his face. "I've never met anyone three hundred years older than I am."
"Older maybe, but not wiser. If I were wiser I wouldn't have been using the device. I scanned it today, as best I could with your equipment and I can't find anything wrong with it. Tomorrow I'll use the systems on the Delta Flyer. I have to return to my time."
On cue, the dog whined.
Archer laughed. "Porthos doesn't want you to leave."
"He's one of the things I like around here."
He had to ask. "And the others?"
"Seeing Earth's history come to life. Your wine cellar and coffee pot. Meeting you."
She had a secretive smile on her face, a half come-on that he couldn't pass up. Slowly he inched closer to her, shuffling across the deck that separated them, and lifted a hand, meaning to touch her hair.
She beat him to it. Leaning forward, she fitted her mouth to his, kissing him with a ferocity that surprised him. It seemed she was as decisive in this as she was with everything else. There was no hesitation, no subtle withdrawal that would have forced him to take the initiative, she paused just enough to gauge his response, then pushed her tongue against his lips, seeking entry.
He swelled immediately. It wasn't just that he had been mainly celibate since Enterprise launched, it was also this woman, Kathryn Janeway. She who had still to invite him to call her by her first name. So he kissed her back, just as needily, and let her press his shoulders to the deck and unfasten his uniform.
When her hands, slim and sure, touched his bare chest, he hissed. The heat radiating from her seemed to scorch over his skin, almost incendiary in its touch. She mapped every inch of his chest, then bent and caught his nipple between her teeth.
He swelled harder at her actions, his erection straining at the front of his thick jumpsuit.
One of her hands drifted down, lightly touching him through the material. "That doesn't look very comfortable," she observed.
His teeth gritted as she fumbled with the fastenings, before he finally moved her hand away and did it himself.
"There were no uniform fastenings in the Starfleet museum for cadets to practice on," she said, as he shucked himself out of his pants.
He needed to gain the upper hand; Janeway radiated desire, but he couldn't help but feel she was humoring him in some way. Once he was naked, he pushed her back on the carpet, straddled her body, and started to peel the uniform from her.
The amusement faded from her eyes the minute he touched her breasts, and she twisted, trying to push them into his palm. He ran his finger lightly over her nipples, enjoying how they puckered under his touch. She was older than most of the women he'd slept with, but her body was firm, leanly muscled, as if she kept herself fit. Pushing her uniform down over her hips, he stroked her belly, just above her panty line. It quivered under his fingers, and the small downy hairs on her stomach sprang into goose bumps of awareness. Her hand reached down and encircled him, the hot press of her palm, and individual points of finger heat on his shaft. He contented himself with curling one finger underneath her panties, until he could touch the coarse pubic hair, afraid that if he delved further, down between her legs, he would embarrass himself by blowing off in her hand, before he had a chance to push inside.
Impatiently, she raised herself up, wordlessly inviting him to remove the rest of her clothes. When he finally explored between her legs, he found her quivering and soaking wet, on the verge of exploding. He rubbed gently, then harder, as she unceremoniously grabbed his hand, pushing it more firmly between her legs. She came convulsively when he pushed a thick finger up inside her, and the clench of her sex around it made his penis twitch in gleeful anticipation. So tight, so hot, so wet.
He hadn't realized she had been holding her breath throughout her climax until she started to take gulping breaths of air. There was no time for her to recover, he just rolled over on top of her, and raising up on his hands, pushed into her with one movement.
Inside, she was as tight and hot as he expected, the feeling increasing when she raised her legs to wrap around his thighs. Slowly he started to move, increasing his pace in response to her drumming heels. Sweat slicked his body with the effort of holding back.
Janeway convulsed underneath him again, sharp thrusts of her hips in time with his movements, and as he felt her tighten gloriously around him, his climax rising in his balls, the thought jumped into his head that some things hadn't changed much in three hundred years. The laughter bubbled out of him as he came inside her, in a heated rush. Once started, he couldn't stop, and he buried his face in her hair and laughed helplessly.
She shifted underneath him, and he had the presence of mind to move his weight off of her.
"Should I be insulted?" she asked lazily, running a caressing hand down his back.
So he told her his thought, and then held her closely as she chuckled along with him. Porthos, who he realized with a start had been sitting and watching them since they started to make love, came over and licked her face, tickling his shoulder with his waving tail.
Janeway shifted to tug at the beagle's ears, and Archer slipped out of her, his cock lying stickily against his thigh. He rolled over and sat up, watching in amusement as Porthos did what all dogs do -- sniff delicately at Janeway's crotch, the hair matted with his spend -- before sitting down heavily with a sigh.
Sitting up, Janeway said lazily, "We never finished the wine. Do I get an invitation to finish it in your bed, or are you worried what your crew will think if I spend the night here?"
"They won't say anything," he replied, surprised that she would even ask. But this captain seemed to live by different rules.
"Then I think we should try out your bed."
In his bed, she propped herself up against the pillows, holding out her glass for a refill. She looked comfortable there, and he tried to imagine her in other captain's quarters, certainly plusher and more comfortable than his own spartan surroundings. The bed was small, barely a double, and she moved close to him, settling herself against his shoulder as she sipped the wine.
"So strange seeing familiar stars again," she mused. "To be this close to Earth."
"They're new to me," he replied. "At least from this viewpoint. And this is the farthest into the galaxy humans have ever traveled at this point in time."
Silence hung for a moment, then she said quietly. "They go a lot further, Jon. A lot further." And she seemed to withdraw from him, wrapping herself in the superiority that knowledge brings.
He remembered the disapproval of the Vulcan high command, their insistence that humans remain Earthbound, until they had gained the subtlety and sensitivity that the Vulcans seemed to think was missing. How his race had fought to get into space at all. And yet, he knew from talking to Janeway, that what Enterprise had done so far was spitting in the gravy, as Trip would say. Janeway's voice had been pensive, light years away in distant star systems, and she was suddenly the untouchable superior woman he had momentarily seen in the shuttle bay when she had first arrived. He wanted to ask about Enterprise's future, if only to reassure himself that they acquitted themselves honorably, that they weren't the blundering boy scouts that the Vulcans seemed to believe they were, but he knew she wouldn't answer.
Janeway's aloofness was suddenly irritating, so he reconnected with her in the only way he knew, sliding his hand down over her stomach to delve between her legs. She gasped and her legs opened, letting him feel. She was slick and wet, sticky with his spend and her arousal, and she responded to him instantly, pushing her sex into his hand, and reaching for his body.
Rearing up, she tried to straddle him, grasping his penis, trying to position him underneath her, but her withdrawal of a moment ago was fresh in his mind, and he resisted, trying instead to roll her underneath him. She evaded his pushing hands, and for a few glorious moments they grappled, skin sliding over skin. He tried to anchor her to the mattress with a thigh, but she twisted from his grasp, and gained the upper hand, flipping him expertly and sliding over on top of him, trapping him between her thighs.
His penis twitched between them, pressed into her outer lips, then she shifted again and took him inside in one smooth movement. He swelled even harder, and gave up the fight, letting her ride him, enjoying the sight of her pale lean body moving over his, and the sight of his cock disappearing inside her. It didn't take long; when she started to pleasure herself with her own fingers, pressing rhythmically in time to his thrusts, he came hard, convulsively exploding inside her, and his shudders triggered her own.
Archer's final conscious thought for the night was that, selfishly, he hoped she wouldn't figure out the temporal device tomorrow.
***
He delayed going to engineering the next day for as long as he could. Janeway had been sleeping when he left, and it had been hard to resist putting his mouth between her legs and kissing her awake. Trip had grinned at him as he entered the bridge, giving him a discreet thumbs up. No doubt Trip already knew exactly where their uninvited guest had spent the night.
At midday, armed with the excuse of offering her lunch, he descended to engineering. He found Janeway sitting at a station, probing a palm-sized device with a strange looking gadget. She was wearing a uniform that must be Hoshi's--it was slightly too tight in the bust--but she had affixed her captain's pips onto the neck.
"Lunch?" he inquired. He knew his grin was too wide, but the memory of their lovemaking had been giving him problems in his pants all morning. Trip hadn't helped; the engineer had leered and asked if women from the future had any new tricks.
Janeway looked up, distracted. "What?" She tucked her falling hair behind an ear. "Lunch? No, sorry, Jon. Maybe if you could just get some coffee sent down here, that's really all I need." She returned her attention to the shield-shaped device in front of her.
The dismissal was plain, but he persisted. "Having any luck?"
"Some," she said. "I've been working in the Delta Flyer all morning, you just caught me here. I need to get back there as I have better instruments, more suited to the diagnostics on this." She returned her attention to the device.
As she bent forward, making a minute adjustment, one edge of the shield shimmered briefly, fading out of existence much as her shuttle had when she arrived. Intrigued, Archer peered over her shoulder. "What was that?"
Glancing up at him, her voice was short as she replied, "It was out of temporal sync for a moment there."
Archer remembered Daniels and his own experiences with time travel. None of his recollections included that sort of shimmering. His own experience was more like that of the fledgling transporter technology - vaguely unsettling.
"Do you have temporal police in your time?" He asked the question, even though he thought he knew the answer. After all, he had been further forward with Daniels than her time.
"You sound like you already know the answer to that," she said evasively.
"I do. And obviously you do. I've already been further forward in time than yours."
"They let you retain the memories?" she said, intrigued.
He hadn't even considered the possibility that they might not, and he mentally recoiled at the prospect of someone tampering with his mind, altering his memories, sieving through his head. "They do that?"
"They do," she said. "Retaining knowledge of alternate timelines can in itself alter the true one."
"But who is to say which is the true one?" he said. It had always bothered him, after his glimpses into a thirty-first century that now, he hoped, would never happen the way he had seen. The picture of the ruined city, abandoned and reeking of desolation and vanished lives, was one that stayed with him always. There was no one he could really discuss it with. Trip would shake his head, spend a few minutes debating how it would be possible, then make some weak joke and change the subject, uncomfortable with Jon's disquiet. And T'Pol... Well, T'Pol didn't believe in time travel. Period. The Vulcan High Commission had said it wasn't logical or possible and that was that as far as T'Pol was concerned.
"Well, that's the catch twenty-two." Janeway flashed him a brief smile before bending back to her device. "The time police are godlike. Such responsibility, such endless tempting possibilities."
"Have you ever had the opportunity to change things?" he asked. And the thought crept into his mind, and once there became a certainty. "That's what you're doing, isn't it. Undoing something. Preventing something from happening." Briefly he wondered where the hell Daniels was and why wasn't he here when he needed him.
"You won't know." Janeway shifted in her seat. "This part has kept me awake at night; we both know the temporal police are real and active, in both our times it would seem. So, when we're tampering with the time line and they don't show up, does that mean they were out to lunch and missed it, or does that mean our tampering is actually part of the true time line? And if it's the second one, well, what were they doing to let the original one happen in the first place, and that means..."
"Stop." Jon seized the opportunity to lay a hand on her shoulder. "This is giving me a headache."
"Me too," Janeway flashed him a conspiratorial grin. "So I don't think about it. It's easier that way."
Her shoulder was firm under his hand, and he let the fingers casually drop down, to just brush the upper swell of her breast. She shifted slightly and his fingers fell away.
"Well, I'll be in the Delta Flyer for the rest of the day." Standing, she gathered her tools, packing them into a small case, which she strapped around her waist.
"Dinner later?" Jon flashed what he hoped was a winning smile.
"If I'm not too tied up with this, that would be good."
He watched the sway of her hips as she left Engineering.
***
On the Delta Flyer, Janeway once again ran the tricorder over the temporal device. She thought she had isolated the problem that had caused her temporal jump to fail. Ironic, that the Borg, so precise and perfect in other matters, had miscalculated a simple formula. Although, and she snorted softly to herself, the device had fallen into the hands of the Borg when they had assimilated its developer, along with the rest of the colony. The Borg had no need of temporal devices, and so they obviously had taken the thing at face value. Maybe the error was deliberate sabotage on the part of its inventor. Whatever the cause, what was intended to be a simple test had resulted in far reaching consequences. It obviously worked - it just needed fine tuning.
She watched as the shield shimmered again, scanning its temporal distortion. Close. That last adjustment would put her to within a few days of her real time. What was supposed to be a simple test was rapidly becoming more. Sure, when she fine-tuned the device, she could be back in her time almost before Chakotay noticed her absence, but obviously the device needed a lot more work. And that was best done on Voyager, with the benefit of the more sophisticated technology. It had to work. The threat from Species 8472 could not be ignored. This device could help her prevent what she knew would otherwise be a certainty.
Briefly, she wondered what Archer's reaction would be if he were to encounter Species 8472. He amused her, this early captain. The history books had faithfully recorded his early blunderings, his well-meaning attempts at exploration, and credited him with many things that had paved the way for Starfleet's entry into the galaxy, but no record book could capture the essence of a person. She had been unprepared for the sheer magnetism and likeability of the man. Janeway had expected the slight arrogance, the self-righteousness and unquestioning belief that his way was the only way, which goes hand in hand with ignorance. But she hadn't expected such a physical person, or that open grin.
The sex was a bonus. The pleasant, satisfied fullness of her lower body was something she had missed. Janeway fully intended to experience a repeat performance before she returned to her time.
And there was Porthos of course. Her hands stilled on the tools. She had missed having a dog. Starfleet had long ago forbidden pets on most starships, the Porthos experience having a lot to do with their decision. But she could enjoy him now as well as his owner. She wondered if anyone ever gave the poor pup any exercise. A walk would clear her head. Tucking away the temporal device and the tools, she left the Delta Flyer to walk the captain's dog.
***
There was no pretence that evening. Archer came off shift to find Janeway already in his cabin, sitting at his desk, reading something on the screen, Porthos curled up at her feet. She was wearing more of Hoshi's clothes - a dark jogging outfit in a color that didn't suit her. Porthos lifted his head momentarily as he entered, then dropped his head back to his paws.
He missed the beagle's normal exuberant greeting. "What have you done to my dog?" Crossing over to her, he peered over her shoulder at the screen. She was reading ship's logs.
"Walked his paws off. Around and around the ship, it helped me think." She craned her neck to look at him. "I hope you don't mind me reading your logs--they're available in the public domain in my time anyway--I was enjoying reading them at the source, so to speak."
"As long as my personal logs aren't required reading at Starfleet Academy."
"Not many of them."
It was a moment before her curl-corner smile told him she was joking. Pulling her to her feet, he dropped his head to nuzzle the curve of neck and shoulder. "Maybe I should write about sex with Captain Janeway," he murmured, pushing aside the collar of her top.
It was her turn to stiffen. "Jon..." Steely warning in her voice, which dissolved into a gasp as he ran his tongue up to her ear.
His hands were busy working the fastenings of the jogging suit. "I never thought I'd be taking off Hoshi's clothes," he mused, as his fingers found soft flesh.
"Don't stain it," she murmured in husky tones. "I have to give it back to her, and your laundry is primitive. And you could do worse than Hoshi."
The top draped over her hips, leaving her upper body exposed to his gaze. "Then you better take it off now." If he didn't get inside her soon his own clothes would be the ones with stains.
It seemed she was as impatient as she. Naked, she tugged at his uniform, freeing his cock and running its hot head around her palm. When his fingers delved between her legs, he found her soaking, slick and creamy.
She sat on his desk and spread her legs. "Now, Jon. Do it."
"Are you sure you were only reading ship's logs?" he couldn't resist asking as he maneuvered himself between her parted thighs. "What were you thinking about?" Spreading her with one hand, he pushed the end of his cock teasingly into her heat.
Her eyes glittered and she tried to pull him closer, deeper into her body. "You," she said, the word low and dark. "I was thinking about you."
The arousal in her voice, the need and the passion, made further teasing impossible. He drove into her with one thrust, and took her hard, fingers digging into her buttocks as she keened her climax, clenching around him so fiercely that thought was impossible. His own orgasm surged, tightening his balls hard against his body, the jism racing down his cock to flood inside her.
His head dropped to her shoulder, taking great panting breaths as he waited for his heart rate to return to normal. Under his cheek he could feel the flutter of her pulse, as fast as his own. Disconnecting from her, he pulled back enough to see her face. Her head was bowed, damp hair covering her face.
With one finger he traced the line of the sex flush on her pale skin. "If Trip walks in now, he'll know what we've been doing by looking at you."
"You don't think the fact that we're both naked on your desk will be enough of a clue?" Her soft laugh caressed him.
"Maybe not." Smiling into her skin. "He can be a little slow at times."
On cue, his communicator chirped, and Trip's voice came through loudly. "Cap'n, have you forgotten about dinner? Me 'n T'Pol are hungry enough to eat that blood sucking critter that Phlox keeps in sickbay."
He opened his mouth to tell Trip they'd be there in ten minutes, when he saw what Janeway was doing. Dipping her fingers inside herself, coating them with their fluids, and then licking them daintily off her fingers. She gave him a slow, heated smile, and his cock twitched in response. Who needed dinner when he could bury his face between her legs and taste her again?
"You and T'Pol needn't wait, Trip," he said instead. "Start without us. We might just eat in my quarters tonight."
The muffled snort of Trip's laughter told him that the engineer hadn't missed the meaning. He raised an eyebrow at Janeway. "Now, where were we?"
She pushed on his shoulders, until he was kneeling between her thighs. "I think you were just about to have dinner."
***
Porthos' defection was a sudden one. Jon knew his dog loved him, in the blind, unquestioning way that dogs do, but when he woke the next morning and found Porthos sleeping on Janeway's legs, rather than his own, he questioned the beagle's loyalty. When Jon stirred, Porthos opened an eye, then wiggled over on his stomach, tail wagging in submissive pose, sneaking in to lick his face.
"Traitor," he muttered, as he mussed the short hair. "A few strokes and you're anyone's." Although not just anyone, he conceded. Janeway's. And the same could be said for himself.
The movements had woken her. Instantly awake, she rolled over onto her side, her eyes flickering between his naked chest and the wriggling dog. Her hair was tangled in loose curls, hanging to her shoulders, and he could see faint scrapes caused by his five o'clock shadow on the white skin of her breasts. Throwing back the covers, she arched, cat-like, her breasts pushed towards him. The dark tangle of hair between her legs was matted and damp, her slow sinuous movements were those of a sated woman. How many times had it been last night? Three, maybe? Four? Archer didn't know he still had it in him. Fancifully, he wondered if she intended to suck him dry, and leave his bleached husk for Trip to find in a day or two.
She rolled toward him, and Archer wondered if she wanted more, but she only kissed him with moist, parted lips, then moved away. "I need a shower."
He lay and listened to her shower, too drained to move. Porthos gave him an apologetic look, and trotted to the bathroom door, whining and scratching with a paw until the door swung open a crack, enough for him to squeeze in.
When she returned, she was dressed in her original red and black uniform. "I think I'll be gone today," she announced, without preamble. "I'm satisfied that I've repaired the device the best I can here, and my tests indicate I'll be able to get within a few hours of when I left. My ship will still be in range."
He wondered if he looked as stricken as he felt. Irrational, he knew, she obviously had to go, the time line was in jeopardy the longer she stayed, the more people she came into contact with. He nodded once, sharply.
She saw, and her face softened. Coming over to the bed, she perched on the side. One hand came out, hovered for a moment, then lowered to rest on his chest. "I'll miss you," she said. "We're good together. Who knows what we could have done in another time?"
Not trusting himself to speak, he simply nodded again.
"And I'll miss Porthos."
He found his voice. "The feeling's mutual." With a nod, he indicated Porthos, who it seemed, had sensed the shift in mood and was lying despondently, nose on his paws, across the door. "Seems he doesn't want you to leave either."
Janeway's glance shifted, imperceptibly. "I know. Well, I might as well enjoy his company while I can. I have to visit sickbay, see if the Doc has a few things I need. C'mon, Porthos, you can come for the walk."
Obediently, the beagle followed her out.
***
Janeway paged him on the bridge, a few hours later. "I'm as ready as I'm ever going to be," she said. "Permission to launch the Delta Flyer."
"Granted," he replied. "But if you wait a few moments, Captain, I'll come and see you off."
He closed the link, nodded to T'Pol to take the bridge, and took the lift to engineering. Trip was checking relays at one of the engineering stations.
He looked up as Jon approached. "Hear our guest is leaving," he said. "Thought I might swing by to wish her luck." A closer look at Archer's face, and he changed his tack. "On second thought, you might like a private farewell. And I should monitor that little ship of hers from here. Just in case."
Jon nodded. "Thanks, Trip." He paused, wondering whether to say more, but Tucker's sympathetic expression decided him. "I'll miss her, you know. Not just the sex," forestalling Tucker's wisecrack, "but the woman herself. She knows everything about us. Where we went, what we saw, how we died."
Tucker was silent for a moment. "Don't know about you," he said. "But I ain't planning on dying any time soon. I kinda liked her though. You and she were good together." He grinned sideways at Archer. "Hope I can find myself a man or a woman as hot as she is."
Jon grinned too. "You will. Right now, I'm going to say goodbye."
She was waiting in the cargo bay. Behind her, the Delta Flyer stood ready. Archer hesitated, wondering, now that the time had come, what he should say. She'd told him very little about his own future; maybe he could pry some last minute information from her, or maybe he should just wish her well and keep on wondering.
The decision was made for him, when she stepped forward, grasping his hands in both of hers. "Goodbye, Jon. Thank you for everything." Putting small hands on either side of his head, she drew him down to her, kissing him with the thoroughness and enthusiasm he'd come to associate with her.
He kissed her back helplessly, feeling his cock start to rise. Yes, he'd miss her.
"I'll tell Porthos goodbye for you," he said, when she broke the kiss. He ran his hands over her back and buttocks a final time, pressing her briefly against his erection before releasing her.
"Yes, you do that," she said. A small smile played over her lips. "I doubt I'll forget him."
From the bridge, he watched her shuttle swoop around Enterprise, then hover. For long moments, the craft shimmered in unreality before vanishing as if it had never been. Or never was.
***
Voyager was proceeding at half impulse when Janeway returned. A check of the chronometer showed she had been away for seventeen hours. A slight miscalculation; Chakotay would be worried, no doubt scanning for the Flyer when she failed to report. She would have to think of something to tell him, something that wasn't the truth. The temporal device had to remain a secret for the time being, else she had no doubt he would try to prevent her interfering with the timeline, and in particular using it against Species 8472.
The DNA sample was carefully stowed in a medical container in the pocket of her uniform. It should be a simple enough matter for the Doctor create a clone from the DNA. And then, she would never again be alone in this dammed quadrant.
She hoped poor Porthos wasn't too sore; she had been clumsy with the old-fashioned instruments and taking the sample had been a painful procedure for him.
How on Earth was she going to explain a beagle to Chakotay?
(((FIN)))
Feedback? Please. Shayenne and Your Cruise Director
Crusher has written a sequel to this story. Read "Past Tense" here. (rated PG)
© Shayenne, YCD, November 2002 Please email to post/distribute elsewhere.