APPLAUSE

Many thanks to Shayenne for the wonderful beta! (I've messed with this since so all mistakes are my own.)

The applause.

Perfect face, shining, every gesture absolute.

I know her. I’ve spent years watching her. She acts because she has to. She acts for visiting dignitaries, diplomats, ambassadors, emperors, kings. She turns around and there is the smile, welcoming, charming.

It even reaches her eyes; I don’t know how she does that. If I hadn’t seen her face that one day - when she turned from an ambassador and switched off the smile - I would’ve never known it was an act.

Her face was weary, she looked frustrated. Then she noticed me looking. “Evening, Tom,” she said, and the smile was back, dazzling.

Yes, that’s Tom as in Tom Paris. I bet you didn't take me for a poet, and you'd be right. But she brings out the eloquence in me, along with a lot of other things, and fine words come naturally when I'm talking about her.

Harry would laugh to hear me like this. Or maybe he wouldn’t. I’ve noticed he too speaks differently when the conversation turns to our Captain.

Our Captain and her frighteningly perfect conduct. God, it must be exhausting, it must cost her. But she manages, sometimes for days on end. She enchants them and they give us what we want before we even ask.

Hey, there’s a reason I asked her to play Arachnia.

And sometimes the act is of greater consequence. She coolly stares down enemies, never a quiver of fear, never faltering, even when it seems all is lost. When we’re entirely helpless, she still comes up with outrageous threats, and has the posture to match.

A languidly confident slouch, a curled lip, the lift of an eyebrow. Amused unconcern in her eyes, her voice a deathly low whisper. To see her in action, it’s no surprise that ships turn tail and retreat, even when their sensors must show they could take us out with a shot.

You know, there’s a reason I’ve never challenged her to a game of poker.

But it doesn’t stop there. There’s the daily confidence she exudes - in what she’s doing, in what we’re doing. The crew bathe in it, and it’s hard to feel worried when she’s giving orders with a relaxed smile. She places her hand on my shoulder and all is right in my world.

You could say that it’s dishonest, misleading. It’s not; I grew up in a Starfleet family, and I know it’s simply necessary. And sometimes her lies are so exquisite they are a pleasure in themselves. But these things she does have to appear utterly real. So many lives depend on belief in her - our belief in success, allies’ belief in our worth, enemies’ belief in our superiority.

To make them real, she becomes the act. And so the act becomes her. I’ve watched her as the years pass, and seen the illusion become solid.

As I’ve said, her lies are necessary, I don't mind them. That is, all but one. One of them is betrayal.

The looks they share. The touches, the smiles, the conversations. The story of Captain and the Commander. The crew love it; but they don’t say anything, even as the rations flood into the betting pool. They believe she is happy, that he is happy. They think the word ‘love’.

It's not true. The two of them keep up the game for the sake of the rest of us. They’re intelligent people, they know its necessary. Beneath the surface of their relationship there’s only emptiness. The rest is all an act.

But they're so good at it. She especially, of course, because she gets so much practice. And she leads, he goes through the motions. It's as though her voice no longer belongs to her. Her expressions, body language - they reflect nothing of what she feels

It’s a beautiful act, one that must take heart and soul. That takes the place of heart and soul.

They pretend for us. In some ways it’s better than any holonovel… and we applaud the brilliant, golden masks and shimmering lights. We cheer the artistry, and the actors, who make us believe. Who make us feel.

And that’s the betrayal. They teach us love like a blind man teaches sight. Maybe it was once there. But all that remains is the greasepaint and gold.

I wouldn’t have known this - I was as fooled as the rest of them, for so many years. But today, I saw her turn from him and her smile disappear, just as it did with that ambassador, years earlier. I looked into her face and there - nothing.

A brief flicker in her façade, and behind it was only emptiness.

I caught her eye and she stood, shocked, staring at me. Then, in those few seconds, I saw something I’d never seen in her eyes before. Fear. She knew that I’d realised, that I’d worked it out.

Instantly, the defences were back up and she gave me that polished, dazzling smile. I couldn’t smile back, my face had frozen. She walked away, slowly - elegant, elegant, poised. Suddenly, I hated her.

I couldn’t sleep that night. My mind kept circling round the horror of it, not wanting to touch it, but unable to think of anything else. The next few days slipped by, blurred. I tried my best not to look at either of them. It was difficult. Their presence fills the room.

Three nights later, 0200, I was lying sleepless again. Finally I got out of bed and dressed, and went out walking alone.

I found her in the Messhall, sitting in the starlight. I hadn’t been consciously looking for her, but here she was. I sat down opposite her, without speaking.

I looked at her. The mask was in place, calm, peaceful. Suddenly I couldn’t bear it.

“You’re not with him this evening,”

She didn’t ask what I was talking about. “No,” she said.

“Or… any evening?”

“No.”

“We all thought…”

“I know.”

“You… it isn’t…how could you?” I asked. A ridiculous question, but she again she understood.

“I have to,” she replied.

I didn’t know what to say to that.

I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, her expression hadn’t changed. Peaceful. Her face said all was well. I knew that it wasn’t, and could never be again.

“Why?” Another ridiculous question. If she couldn’t show it, it was unlikely she’d talk about it.

But she did, in a calm, straightforward manner. “There was someone else. I felt it was betrayal, even though… I didn’t have the right to. But we spoke about it. He thought I’d already betrayed us, that there wasn’t anything left for him to betray. Then we fought about it, bringing up all the old hurts from the past. There are a lot, when you’ve spent that much time with someone.”

Her expression was changing. And I knew mine had too. I didn’t want to hear this. I didn’t want to hear it, but I had asked.

“I said all those things you should never, ever say.” She drew a shuddering breath. “And then I went beyond that. I kept going.”

I looked down at my hands. I could imagine it; I knew how angry she could get. Or used to get, before she became so completely in control.

She was looking beyond me now. Her voice was very quiet. “When you care for someone that much, you know exactly how to hurt them. You know where to strike, you know what to say to make deepest wound. And that was the end of it. All of it.” She sighed. “But we had to keep it from the rest of you. ”

I felt cold. They’d probably talked about this, discussed the necessity of the lie. That was what this life had done to them. The unnatural becoming everyday.

This betrayal was for us. I knew there was nothing I could say to her - what can you say to someone who has given you everything?

I wondered how long ago this was. How could they have moved so seamlessly from love to this cruel parody of it? No one had noticed. But I couldn’t ask her that.

Her face, pale in the starlight, was sad. And suddenly, I loved her again, more fiercely and hopelessly than before. For once, for this moment in this unremarkable night, she had put aside the act. She’d put it aside for me. I couldn’t imagine what this honesty had cost her.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, as I desperately tried to think of something I could do in return. If only I could make it right again. I was still reeling from the impossibility of what she had told me.

I had no doubt that he’d once loved her. And I knew he was infinitely capable of forgiveness - he’d forgiven Tuvok and I, for one thing.

As I considered this, it occurred to me that she must have given up too easily.

Her gaze was fixed on the stars streaming by outside; I touched her hand to get her attention. “You have to talk to him, Captain.”

“Please, call me Kathryn. There’s no one else who does.”

I swallowed. “You have to talk to him, Kathryn.”

She looked down at the table, where my hand still rested on hers. “There’s nothing left.”

“There must be.”

She looked up, startled by the force of my words.

“There must be,” I pressed, “Or you wouldn’t be looking like this.”

“I’ve tried.”

“Try again. Keep trying. I’ve heard you can be determined.”

She gave the barest hint of a smile. “Stubborn is the word people usually use.”

“Exactly, and that’s a good thing.”

“He’ll never forgive me.”

“He will.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You can’t know that.”

“But I believe it. He’ll forgive you because he loves you.”

“He doesn’t love me. He told me.”

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he’d said that, considering the argument she’d told me about. But hearing the words out loud felt like a dash of ice water.

Still, she shouldn’t accept everything said in the heat of argument. “How recently?” I asked.

“Today. He tells me every day. He whispers it to me, so quietly, at the start of each morning. Then we get on with our day, we smile, we talk. Sometimes I can almost forget we’re pretending. But that’s why he tells me, to make sure I don’t forget.”

It shocked me. We stared at each other in silence.

I would never have imagined him capable of such cruelty. But then, a lot of thing I’ve believed have turned out to be false. And I didn’t know what she’d said to him, to drive him to that.

Perhaps I was entirely in the wrong, trying to fix something that didn’t even exist anymore. I tried to picture him saying it, and failed. Then I understood.

“He’s not reminding you. He’s reminding himself. He has to remind himself.”

She looked at me. She didn’t understand.

I tried again. “He has to remind himself, or he’ll forget that he’s decided not to love you. He says it out loud every day because it’s not true.”

She shook her head. “He won’t forgive me.”

“Do you forgive him?” I said, finally.

Her reply was immediate. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I love him,” she snapped.

She clapped a hand over her mouth, and looked aghast. But the viewports didn’t shatter. The stars didn’t go out.

I couldn’t help but smile. “There you are, then. Now go to him.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple. You expect things to be more complicated than they are.”

She stood, unsteadily, as though having just woken from a dream. Then she visibly collected herself, walked round the table, and leaned down to kiss me. A soft brush of the lips against my cheek. I loved her, fiercely, tenderly.

Then she walked away, slowly - elegant, elegant, poised.

I stayed where I was, watched her disappear through the doors, head held high.

She is the consummate actress. When she’s unsure, she says she knows the way, and you believe her. And you follow her. It makes it difficult to remember that she doesn’t know everything. That she can be unsure. That she can need help.

I blamed myself in many ways. There have been times when I’d wondered if she needs someone to speak to, then reminded myself that she has him, doesn’t need me. But for a long time - possibly years now - he hadn’t been there for her.

That had to change. I had to believe it could. My only fear was, if she came to me, and smiled, and lied, saying, “All is well now…”

I would believe her.

the end.

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© Violet, July 2009. Please email me to post/distribute elsewhere.