Disclaimer: Paramount owns all, but the story, which popped into my head many miles away.


By Mindy

Drabbles are short pieces of stories, exactly one hundred words. This is my collection, not entirely J/C.

"Again & Again"

Just that one spot she hit sent him into overdrive. The fingers on her other hand touched the one place, sending mixed messages to his over-stimulated brain.

"Make up your mind, Kathryn. One or the other." He gasped, his eyes rolling slightly. "Butóyou canít have it both ways."

"I can have it," she flicked out her tongue, "any way I please."

She smiled, then turned her hand upside down, twisting, rolling, coming back around, twisting again, moving in flawless rhythm.

One finger pressed, then released, doing it again and again.

"I guess you can do both," he gasped.



Wondrous warm water. Long legs slide in, testing the warmth. Rear-end makes contact, a soft sigh emanating from the owner of the legs.

White skin becomes blotchy in the warm water, turning delicate skin pink in its wake.

A long leg emerges, stretching into the air. Water and suds slide down as hands caress upwards. It chills in the cooler air and slides into the suds disappearing into nothing.

Body rises, shining from the wetness. Towel pats dry skin, hair rubbed. Terry robe tied around a slender waist.

A man appears at the door the make-shift shelter, smiling.



Naomi Wildman, sub-unit of Samantha Wildman, called my eyes icy blue. She said they looked like the type of ice that could melt under the right circumstances.

Bright intelligence only equaled by a small questing spirit. I have read that children are the closest thing to perfection. I find this theory unsettling, but the more I observe, the more I concede that the theory has some substantial fact.

She says Iím too pretty to be blue, then smiled, reminding me that I look nice in my cranberry suit.

I concede. My eyes are icy blue.

I will wear cranberry today.


"Higher Calling"

I wish it had happened sooner. This changing. As humans would say, hindsight is always twenty-twenty. I think Iíve felt this coming for a long time now. The doctor would smile pleasantly and tell me that everyone goes through changes.

Iíve gone through many.

If I had known ahead of time, I could have pushed Voyager through Borg space, saving the Captain and Commander from fighting. No battles, no defense.

Then again, with my passing, Captain Janeway will need someone new to watch. Her name is Annika and she does need our help.

"This is my gift for you."

Goodbye. . .


"Iíll Keep the Light On.

A prized pupil, one with driving force, powers that she is only beginning to realize. Seeing things that many of us only dream of ever seeing.

It was obvious.

When she could see the flame on a molecular level, it was terrifying and great.

Yet a Vulcan does not admit to these feelings. To do so would be improper, illogical.

So with barest control we sent her into the unknown. I leave the lamp burning, an eternal flame for the moth.

It would surprise many, of that Iím sure. But that is fine. I would have it no other way.



Again, I smile and clap enthusiastically for yet another crew member receiving a promotion. Yet I canít be completely happy.

If back in the Alpha Quadrant, I would have been a Lieutenant Junior Grade at least, perhaps even a full Lieutenant. Itís disheartening.

Itís like a mother who clings onto her little boy just a little too long.

"Last but not least. Harry Kim, I promote you to Lieutenant JG."

I rise from my chair and approach her, smiling. I turn, new shiny pip in place.

"Way to go Harry."

I grin. "Thank you, Ensign Paris."

I finally outrank him!


"Years. . ."

The first year was a cup of coffee.

The second year was an ancient legend.

The third year was an argument.

The fourth year was a watch with a story.

The fifth year was a challenge of velocity.

The sixth year was a promise.

The seventh year was a pendent with the other half on a chain around his neck.

The eighth year was our daughter.

The fifteenth year was an incurable illness.

The sixteenth was spent in bed.

I know I wonít live to see the seventeenth. But I cherish each precious memory heís ever given.




"Smell good?"


"Kes started them."

I smile. I remember the way sheíd fret about them. The diligence she applied to each of her tasks.

He rubs his hands on his loud jacket. "That she did, commander." He leans in and I swear I see his whiskers twitch. "I like to think she still watches over us, urging us on."

I grin, itís a nice thought.

"Ah, commander. Youíre ratherómystic. Do youódo you ever get impressions of her?"

"I wish I could say I did, Neelix."

He walks away. I turn.

Behind me, an elfin face smiles.


" ĎaHí " (Paraphernalia)

I cry, brandishing my batíleth.

"Gees, BíElanna," Tom says, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. Itís a typical defense for him.

"No Tom, there is no Ďgeesí. Now, youíve got me here, fight like the loDHom you are!"

"loDHom? What did you just call me?"

"Boy!" I say with a snarl.

"Oh, let me break out the whips je nIr."

Just what he wants, aH. He will not get that pleasure.

"Your puerile attempts at Klingon, while good, lose something in your translation. Get your nIch ready, Tom."

He crouches, ready.

"Fine, BLT. BYOB, and use it."

"Sure, Turkey Platter."


"All That Glitters"

I see her, sitting all alone in the corner, optical implant raised like Mr. Vulcanís, a padd in hand. How lonely she appears.

Many of us are orphans here. The closer they get to home, the further away mine becomes. The doctor, myself, Kes, Seven, Naomi. Some may call us lost souls. But I know differently.

I approach.

"How is your dinner, Seven?"

"It is adequate."

I sigh. Same answer, regardless.

"Well, Iím pleased it is Ďadequateí."

She looks as though she wants to say something else.

"Seven?" I ask.

Optical implant is all that glitters.

"Mr. Neelix," she says. "Stay."



Wrapped in a blanket, I take my mug, wrapping both my hands around it, savoring the heat.

My private time.

Its easy to share, but this isnít a typical dawn.

"Lights, 5%," I order.

My room is cast in almost dark. I stand at my window, watching.

In my position, you take dawn, sunsets, wherever you can get them. Space is no different. Usually though, Iím on the bridge and cannot partake in such rituals. Certainly no with blanket, hot coco and flannel p.j.ís.

I lean in. Voyager moves, the planet reveals its sun.

Itís dawn and I witnessed it.


"Lifeís Little Lesson."

"Lesson number one; Life is an Adventure, live each day to the fullest."


"Nice bermudaís, Doc," Tom Paris quipped.

"Well, Mr. Paris, apparently quite as nice as your loud shirt and," pausing dramatically, "flip flops."

"Lesson Number Two; Get to know your friends, inside and out."


"Doctor, I really donít have time for an internal exam." Janeway said, waving her hand.

"But captain, this is required."

"But not on my bridge, doctor."

"Lesson Number Three: Tell Stories."

"So the animal guide said, pardon me, youíre in my sun."

Chakotay shook his head. "Your delivery is off."

"It is?"



Hand in hand they ran. Legs moved quickly, heads looking back over shoulders occasionally.

They giggled. The sound almost foreign sounding to both of them.

"Come on," he said, squeezing fragile fingers, "letís go."

"Youíre right, Chakotay. How many times have we ever had this kind of freedom?"

"Only once." He answered, his lungs unaccustomed to the exertion.

"Only thirty-five years ago," Kathryn said, slowing. "Sorry, but at 74, I canít run as fast as I used to." Brushing gray and white hair back.

"Feels like yesterday. I feel young."

She smiled, as they fell into green grass, giggling.


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