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30 April 2007 @ 10:09 pm
memmoranda:  
Meg: A sweater on a squirrel.

calleigh_j: YOU WIN FOR TOTALLY with your Jake 2.0 icons (with a side of Atlantis)!

Medie: NICE MEME, dude.

Name three fics you think I will never, ever, ever write. In return (and if inspired), I will attempt to write a snippet of one of them.
 
 
hear: sister playing WoW
 
 
 
Little Red: trek - jc float on - daygloparkermylittleredgirl on May 1st, 2007 06:31 am (UTC)
It surprises the heck out of him to learn that she knits.

Knits.

Kathryn isn't someone who sits still well. She bounces around the bridge during all her shifts, ducking in and out of her ready room, even punching him in the arm occasionally for attention (ostensibly, for "a status report") on days when absolutely nothing has exploded.

It isn't just on Voyager. On their unintended holiday on New Earth he'd watch her dash back and forth from insect traps to gardens to research equipment, completing eight separate tasks before he was fully done contemplating the sunrise.

He teases her, says it's the coffee. She threatens to stop drinking it -- an empty threat, to be sure -- "See how much you like me then."

So, after all of that, Chakotay is entirely surprised to find her in the mess hall with a pair of knitting needles in her hand and some sort of curved metal needle -- his mother was an afficionado of all sorts of needlecrafts, but he never bothered to learn the names of her specific equipment -- tucked in her uniform collar.

He's almost afraid to interrupt, like Calmly Knitting Kathryn is a mirage that will disappear if he makes too much noise.

She spots him anyway. She always does. "Commander," she greets him.

"Is there some news I should be aware of?" he asks, already smiling, nodding toward the pile of knit fabric in her lap.

Kathryn puts her needles down in an apparent tangle and stares at him, confused. "I don't follow."

"Is it Ensign Tavarez?"

"Commander?"

"Are you going to tell me who it is?" Someone must be pregnant -- after all, the only other time he saw her with anything knit was when she presented a baby blankie to Samantha Wildman, but he'd assumed until now that she'd replicated it. They had plenty of time to kill on New Earth, and he never once saw her with yarn and needles.

"Chakotay?" she says, like she thinks he's crazy.

He supposes, considering they've been waiting out a magnetic storm inside an asteroid cavern for the past three days, that he has the time to play twenty questions.

"What are you knitting, Kathryn?"

She makes a face. "A sweater. Sort of." She holds the tangle of yarn toward him and smiles ruefully.

He's afraid to touch it, for fear of tangling it further. "Can I ask what possessed you?" Besides not liking sedentary passtimes, she really hates doing things badly.

"My grandmother, actually." Kathryn shakes her head. "She taught me when I was eight."

"You sat still long enough to learn this?"

"I didn't learn it well." She smirks, then leans over the armrest of the couch toward him to confide, "I overheard her telling my mother that she didn't think I'd have the knack for it."

Chakotay laughs. "I've never known you to shrink from a challenge."

"She said it's good to pass the time. I started it four years ago and forgot about it. I think it's beyond repair."

There really isn't anything else to do, so Chakotay sits next to her. He doesn't realize how exhausted he is until he's down -- they've been in gray mode with nothing to do, just waiting, but that doesn't mean he's managed to sleep.

"I'm sure someone on board knows how. They could give you some pointers."

Kathryn raises an eyebrow.

That's something else she hates -- asking for help. She's getting better about that one, though. He'd tell her how proud he is of her, but she still has the power to demote him.

"It's hardly the highest and best use of my time."

(...)
Little Redmylittleredgirl on May 1st, 2007 06:31 am (UTC)
"So you're going to let it beat you?"

It's a low blow, but unfortunately, she doesn't bite.

"I'm not eight years old anymore, Commander."

He shrugs. She always sees right through him, but it's worth a try anyway.

"I think you should keep going," he says. "It's not like we lack for time out here. It's nice to see you doing something that isn't the highest and best use of your time for a change."

She doesn't answer, and he's okay with that. They do a lot of sitting quietly together. Usually they're working, but when they're not, he likes it best.

After a few minutes of staring out at the dark, jagged asteroid interior, lit eerily in places by light from Voyager's windows and deflector, he leans over her shoulder and prompts, "Show me."

She shakes her head at how she's indulging him. Her stitches are uneven, lacking the rhythmic precision of his mother's practiced hands. Chakotay has vague memories of infancy, lying in his mother's lap while wooden needles clicked overhead.

"This can't be very interesting to watch," Kathryn says, nudging him with her shoulder.

He smiles. "Actually, it is."