Time and Distance

[Charlotte Matsumura 0]

Time and Distance

CDR Malcolm Alexander (NPC)

LTJG Charlotte Matsumura

 

Note: Written originally in October, this takes place after the little soiree on the Promenade, prior to our departure on our current "milk run."

 

***

 

Malcolm Alexander looked up from his LCARS terminal, surprised by the silence that suddenly engulfed his quarters. For the past few hours, after leaving the Promenade, he and Charlotte Matsumura had kept up a steady stream of conversation. Topics had ranged from mutual experiences through their lives, to training, and what might await her, further down the road. But for some reason, the cheerful background chatter had simply...stopped. He furrowed his brow and directed his attention to the sofa.

 

Clad in her evening gown, bare feet propped on his coffee table and shoes discarded onto the floor beside her, was Charlotte. Her dark hair framed her features in waves, released from the retro style, eyes closed as she reclined. He watched as her chest rose and fell rhythmically. She'd fallen asleep in mid-sentence.

 

It had been a long day, he reasoned, and a glance at the time confirmed it. Training, dancing, and a bit of alcohol had likely amplified the exhaustion she felt after pulling several security shifts prior to docking. He couldn't blame her for falling asleep, really. He only wished she had made it back to her quarters first.

 

Rising from his seat, he crossed and lowered himself to the sofa beside her. He very gently brushed a strand of hair from her face; his fingers strayed softly over her cheekbones and registered the soft warmth of her skin. She was beautiful, this girl who'd grown up before his eyes. Warm, vital, full of life, full of expectations. She was yet to be plagued with the nightmares that plagued him, but knew that they would come in time.

 

He shook his head, swallowing back a knot. He'd gone through so much of that alone, not even sharing all with his best friend and partner; it was just too much. And he couldn't bring himself to lay another burden on a friend with his own worries.

 

Mal vowed that things would be different for Lottie. She would have her secrets, for certain; there were limits to even his access. But he would be there for her – an ear to listen, a shoulder to cry on, arms to hold her when needed – in the same way he once hoped someone else would be for him. He could understand her pain, and might be able to help her cope. It was better than watching her slip into the distant cynic he had become.

 

He sealed the vow with a light kiss to her forehead. She smiled but didn't wake. It was only when he scooped her into his arms to carry her to the bedroom that she stirred. Her brow creased. "Mal?"

 

"Shh," he said. "You fell asleep on the sofa; I thought you might be more comfortable in the bed." A rueful smile played across his lips as he lowered her to the mattress, then drew back to pull the covers over her.

 

"But you –"

 

"But me, nothing. The sofa's just fine for me; I've slept on worse." He brushed his fingertips gently across her cheek. "Get some sleep, love."

 

Charlotte said nothing further. She merely snuggled down under the comforter, her answering smile fading as she drifted off to sleep once again.

 

Mal stood by the bedside for a long while, content to watching her sleep. His eyes occasionally drifted to the inviting, empty space beside her. Finally, when the temptation became far too great, he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to the living room. It's going to be a very long night, he thought. Good thing the sofa's comfortable...

 

***

 

Charlotte awoke later the next morning, surrounded by a familiar medley of scents – shampoo, aftershave, and cologne – all of which belonged to Malcolm Alexander. A cursory glance around revealed her to be in his quarters, in his bed. How had she...? Her mind swam with memories: Dinner, dancing, drinking...and sleeping. On the sofa. In mid-sentence. She chuckled. Must have put me to bed, she thought. Her hand reached out for the cold, empty pillow beside her. And must have taken the sofa for himself. It was understandable, she reasoned. Anything else would have been...improper.

 

Stretching like a cat, she then sat up and swung her feet to the floor while tossing back the covers. "Computer, lights – twenty percent." Dim, yellow light filled the space, stretching thinly into the living room beyond. The hem of her dress, tangled across her thighs, dropped to the floor with little effort as she stood, padding to the next room. She could make out the familiar form of the commander, sprawled out on the sofa, his rhythmic breathing the only sound filling her ears.

 

As her eyes adjusted, she saw that he had removed the overshirt and tie, remaining in the base layer and slacks. The white crewneck shirt draped well over his chest, and the short sleeves offered a glimpse of the wiry, well-defined muscles of his arms. It was a rare sight for her, Charlotte reflected. It seemed that every time she did see him, was in some type of uniform – 'Fleet or karate – both of which covered his arms fully. A lopsided grin twitched across her lips. She found she rather liked what she saw.

 

She found she also liked the way his features had relaxed in sleep. The tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes told of his wicked sense of humor, but there was always a barrier, a wall, beyond the smile, behind which he seemed to be contemplating the galaxy's problems. The result was the worry lines so deeply creased his brow. But they were gone now, hinted at only in shadow. He looked a generation younger without them, she thought. Her eyes traced every detail, saving the image for later reflection.

 

Charlotte didn't want to disturb him; by the same token, she didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. He'd gone well above and beyond the call of duty, escorting her around the previous night and she felt he deserved her gratitude. She also knew that, if she didn't say goodbye, he would worry when he woke and a found her gone.

 

Kneeling beside the sofa, she reached out and smoothed a hand over his unruly dark hair. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke: "Mal?"

 

A wide smile curved his lips, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the effort. He slowly opened his eyes. "Mmm. Morning."

 

The warmth she saw in the hazel depths caused her stomach to flutter. "Morning, sleepyhead," she replied. She cleared her throat, attempting to beat back the heat rising to her cheeks. "I-I didn't want to disturb you, but I... didn't want to leave without telling you –"

 

"S'okay," he replied, interrupting her as he struggled to shake the cobwebs from his brain. The warmth in his eyes faded as more alertness flooded his senses. "I probably need to go check message traffic."

 

She remained kneeling beside him as he sat up, bringing his feet to the carpet. "You should go back to bed and get a few more hours sleep at least. It was a late night."

 

The warmth may have subsided, but the impish gleam had not. "I was never in my bed."

 

"And whose fault is that?"

 

The playfulness, the seductive undertone in her voice visibly surprised him; it stunned her. Certainly, she'd been thinking that, but thinking and saying were supposed to be two different things. Her mouth gaped as her brain struggled to catch up. "I-I mean you didn't have to take me to your bed—to bed –" She stopped, drawing a deep, cleansing breath even as her cheeks burned. "I-I would've been fine on the sofa."

 

"Shhh," Mal said, pressing his index finger to her lips. "It's okay, love. I get your meaning." His eyes darted over her head toward the clock. "It's just after eight. You should probably get back to your own quarters, anyway."

 

Charlotte nodded. She tried to ignore the warmth creeping through her at his touch. "I was going...but I wanted to thank you."

 

"Thank me?"

 

"For last night. You're my station chief, my father's friend; you didn't have to take me around like that, but you did anyway. And I had a wonderful time." She smiled up at him. "So...thank you."

 

"Ah, but thank you. It's not every night a codger like me gets such exquisite company."

 

"You're not, you know."

 

"Not? Not...welcome?"

 

Charlotte laughed. The sound broke the rising tension, flooding her with relief like a cool wave. "Not a codger. Granpere is a codger. You're not even approaching codger status," she replied. Mentally, she apologized to her Grandfather Matsumura...even if he was a bit of an odd duck. With a sigh, she pushed herself to her feet. "See you later?"

 

Mal rose and stood opposite her, nodding. The relief she briefly felt vanished as his hand came to rest against her cheek. Darkened hazel eyes sought hers, his brow once again creased with concern. Her gaze slowly met his and an eternal moment passed. What was he looking for? Could he hear her heart pounding in her ears the way she could? Was it – was it even possible he could care for her more than just as his best friend's daughter?

 

Her heart leapt to her throat as he leaned forward; his lips seemed to be following a trajectory toward her own. As her eyes closed, she felt the gentle, warm pressure of his lips as they met...her forehead? A wave of embarrassment crashed over her. Of course, she thought. Best friend's daughter.

 

Despite her disappointment, she was thankful for the smile he offered her, the concern in his eyes as he walked her to the door. "Be careful out there, Lottie."

 

Charlotte forced a smile. "I will. Good night, Mal."

 

Stepping out into the corridor, she wanted nothing more than to run – to sprint as fast as she could to the lift, to the ship. Spending so much time with him was bad, she realized; it was too tempting to project her own affections onto him. His attentions to her were platonic, protective, she told herself, and had to keep repeating. Her mind whirled. Surely he hadn't noticed how pathetically she had acted. If he had, he would have pulled her aside, admonished her for the silliness of a schoolgirl crush at her age.

 

"That's all it could be," she muttered, stepping into the lift. The doors slipped closed and she leaned wearily against the wall of the pod. She drew deep breaths and tried to focus her mind. For now, she had to find time and distance between them...and fight the realization that maybe – possibly – this was no longer a simple schoolgirl crush.

 

***

 

The doors slid closed behind her, and Mal leaned forward, resting his head against the cool metallic surface as a knot formed in his stomach. Was there any way she couldn't have known what he was contemplating, he wondered. But Charlotte hadn't flinched, hadn't even tried to pull away; she simply stood there and stared back. It was only in retrospect that he could recognize the jumble of emotions he saw in her eyes: The same dodgy, chaotic mess he felt.

 

"Oh, bugger," he muttered. For the first time since Charlotte arrived for duty, he found himself glad she was shipping out again so soon. He was going to need the time and distance to figure out how to approach this new not-so-little wrinkle.