733: All Along

by Fleur Le Marc
90104.20
Following Une chaîne d'amour

-=Altaan Province, Bajor=-

Fleur could hardly breathe, feeling lightheaded as Camen spun her slowly around as they danced.

After years of imagining how it would sound to hear him say the words, he said them.

She replayed them again in her mind, over and over, trying to convince herself that this time hearing them was not a dream.

Yes, though it seemed somehow impossible, on the eve of her thirty-first birthday, Jariel Camen had said that he loved her, and in that instant every wish, every dream, every fantasy, every prayer spoken and unspoken, came true. Better than any fairytale or storybook ending, because it was not an ending it all.

It was only the beginning.

She was afraid to close her eyes, yet somehow she took the last leap of faith required to do so, clinging to the hope that when she did, he would kiss her.

He kissed her.

Better still, when asked to he kissed her again, seeming only too happy to do so.

It was nothing short of miraculous to her that he had chosen to tell her how he felt here, upon this land, where he had so many memories that she thought would always enslave him. It seemed she had been wrong and that he was truly free now, not only of his past, but of all of the ghosts that had haunted him.

She never would have believed, if anyone had told her, that of all the places in the universe where Jariel Camen may choose to kiss her, should he ever choose to kiss her, that he would do so outside the very building where he had grown up.

Camen began to worry as the moments dragged on that she was still not entirely well, and shouldn't linger in the cold for too long.

Without a word he tugged her gently by the hand up the Alchemy's boarding ramp, and through the ship. She had no idea where he was leading, and she didn't care, either. It seemed utterly surreal that they were aboard this ship, on this night.

The ship upon which Fleur had stowed away to follow him, a year ago, when he had undertaken the hazardous mission to rescue 'her'.

The same ship upon which, just months ago, he had sat Fleur down in the galley and told her that he could never return her feelings.

She didn't know how she had managed to change his mind; what she had done to work her way into his heart at last after years of wondering how, and if, it could ever be done. Truthfully, tonight she didn't care about that, either.

Camen said that he loved her. That was all that mattered.

That was all she could have asked for, from the moment she first saw him.

How vividly she remembered the first time that she saw him.

=====/\=====

Tea and Sympathy
by Fleur Le Marc
40712.02

(four and a half years ago, current timeline)

"Time is an illusion. Lunchtime doubly so."- Douglas Adams (1952 - 2001)

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

-=Deep Space 23=-

It was a completely crestfallen Jariel Camen who walked absentmindedly through the Plaza now. He bumped into a few people in passing, apologizing softly with his dark eyes cast down. They either cursed him or simply gave him a wary glance, but either way they always checked their pockets to be sure he hadn't lifted their latinum.

He really had no idea where the hell he was going. He simply had to keep moving. So he followed his errant feet along a row of shops that he gathered from the reaction of passersby were new to the area. As the air moved with the seemingly blurry, swishing strides of those rushing by him, Jariel caught a hint of wonderful aromas which seemed to originate from a small café in the corner.

He didn't think he could possibly be hungry, yet he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. At the very least, perhaps some tea might soothe his nerves a little, because Liis had taken hold of every last one of them and plucked them like the strings on a Bajoran temple harp.

Wandering in beneath the sign which read French Twist, Jariel moved to the front and eyed varying contents of gigantic pots that simmered and steamed over burners behind the counter. They seemed to be filled with soup of some sort. He smelled bakery as well, but didn't know if he could handle consuming anything solid at the moment. He felt like his heart was in his throat, and even though he realized now that he desperately needed nourishment, he couldn't imagine swallowing.

He felt around in the pocket hidden beneath the folds of his robe and located his small slip purse. On Bajor, he wouldn't need money; doors flew open and tables were spread with food fit for kings for men and women in Jariel's station. Vedeks were revered, nigh worshiped, and people tended to overdo for them just because of the nature of their work. That was utterly ridiculous to Jariel, after all, weren't the vedeks meant to serve the people, not the other way around?

He had seen others abuse this kindness in the past, and it had sickened him, for the ministers to take advantage of those they were to minister to. Especially with so many orphans, and widows on Bajor.

He never did any such thing, and had tried to be a simple, and simply grateful guest of the people of his homeworld whenever he was with them. Better an old crust of bread at the monk's table than grain-fed beasts and a guilty conscience afterward, Camen had always said, and this he taught his novices.

Of course, some in the Assembly, it seemed, did not suffer the burden of conscience in the way that he did.

Starfleet had been good as well in tending to his needs whenever he had interacted with them, but he had had no idea why he was even coming to this remote place, hadn't known what to expect at all. So he had done something that he rarely if ever did, he remembered to take some of the small amount he tucked away (after giving nearly all to the children) out of his vedek's stipend and take it with him.

His thoughts were interrupted as a cheerful, musical voice addressed him from the other side of the clear, shining counter top.

"Bonjour!"

A tiny, towheaded, boyishly shaped young woman spoke. She had just the slightest smudge of flour on her chin, and she wiped her hands on a towel on the front of her apron as she moved closer.

"May I offer you something, Vedek?"

Jariel was surprised that she addressed him by his title. Most people from worlds other than Bajor would not have taken the time or interest in their religion enough to know the differences between an Acolyte, a Monk, a Prylar, and a Vedek. But she had identified him instantly and correctly as a vedek and bowed her head slightly as she spoke. She knew what she was doing.

"Yes, please, and thank you. I... don't feel very well, truthfully, but I need to try to eat something. What would you suggest?" He asked weakly, realizing that he had leaned his hands against the counter to support him by this point.

*Ah. I know that look,* Fleur thought sympathetically. *I have had that look,* she remembered reading in Universal Religion class at University that Bajoran priests were not celibate as most from Earth were. That explained the look. She took pity on him, but smiled and gave no indication of doing so. She wondered what the woman's name was, the one who had made a man of the gods so sad.

"Kind sir, please, sit, just there. I will bring you something."

She indicated a table next to a flower cart that was in the corner. Just being in this place made him feel better; it was so much like being outdoors in the sunshine. He looked up at the 'sky' overhead and for just a moment, imagined he was really feeling its warmth on his face.

Not to mention how being here spoke to his love of flowers and plants! What unexpected blessing was this that he could sit still here, close his eyes, and be among the flowers as he began to try to unravel the intricate, and frustratingly knotted string of feelings that Zanh Liis had left in his lap.

He glanced over and saw the girl exchange words briefly with another human: tall, blond. About as young as she was. When, he wondered, did everyone get so young, or when did he start feeling so old? Was there a difference?

A moment later she approached, a tray in her hands. She set it down in front of him, and with a flourish pulled a linen napkin away from the contents to reveal them.

"Voila," she announced. "Chicken soup, hot bread, and a very mild, light and sweet tea. Bon appetit." She nodded to him and then was about to leave him in peace, and it was then that he realized that he hadn't paid her.

"Wait, I must-" he reached for his purse and she waved his hand away.

"For a man of the cloth? No, Monsieur. It is my privilege to serve you today as I am certain you have served countless beings in your ministry."

"That is very kind, but I can't-" he realized that this was her livelihood.

But Fleur would have none of it; and she smiled mischievously as she literally had to press the slips of latinum back into his outstretched hand. Extraordinary.

"I tell you this, yes? If you have Starfleet friends, you bring them back to me, eh? Then my pockets will jingle very loudly, and this gentle vedek of Bajor will always gets all the free soup he would like to eat. Hmm?"

Jariel felt the corners of his mouth turn up just slightly at the smart, charming girl who was far too young to be so much of either quality. He looked around and saw that while business seemed to be steady in this small restaurant that it could have been fuller.

"Slow day today?"

"Ah, all days are slow so far. We have not been open long. But word is getting around. That Mr. McGraw in my kitchen makes a Hungarian kalacz that would make the angels weep. That we brew real coffees from all over the quadrant. Once word is out on that, those, how do you say it, 'caffeine freak' Starfleet types will throw away their replicator credits and come to see Fleur."

"Fleur," he actually laughed a little, thinking of Liis and her coffee addiction. He was distracted enough now to lean closer to the bowl to take a sniff of the broth which glowed a rich, alternately red and orange color in the light. "Is that what you're called?"

"Oui. And this is my home, and my business. I have thrown my lot in with the soldiers, misfits and transients of Deep Space 23 and so far, I am still living. Perhaps there is a God, after all, no?" She knew of course that this man believed in gods, at least, even if she wasn't sure she really believed such things existed.

Jariel nodded, realizing how perfect her description was. Soldiers, misfits and transients. He wondered which Zanh Liis was now? Sadness crashed in again, a violent riptide to drag him under. He managed somehow to remember his manners despite it.

"I am Jariel Camen, and I am very grateful to you for your kindness. Thank you, Fleur. The soup is delicious." He had tasted it while she was speaking, and it was soothing and revived him. Soon, he felt well enough to take a bite of the bread as well. "I do not mean to keep you. I will stop monopolizing your time and allow you to get back to your work."

"Ah, it is past my own lunch time, Vedek Jariel Camen." She sensed that he didn't want to be alone. Truth be told, she had been feeling a little lonesome herself. She was working with wonderful people, but somehow she missed having a 'safe' person she could talk to without fear of what the rumor mill would be adding as fodder to the fire of gossip surrounding 'the boss'. From where she stood right now, a Bajoran priest with a woman trouble seemed like the safest listening ear on the station.

She returned a moment later with a crescent shaped pastry, a small cup of soup for herself and a large pot of tea. She inclined her head asking Jariel if it was okay for her to sit, and he gestured with an open hand.

"Please, do sit down. Tell me, how did you bring this amazing cuisine to Deep Space 23?"

Fleur stirred her soup to cool it and buttered her croissant, framing her response in her mind before speaking. She became aware there were eyes on her besides those across the table, and she looked over her shoulder to find Troy staring at her as he put baguettes into the display case. He caught her glance and reddened, then went back into the kitchen in a hurry. Maddening. Work was work and she was not here to be flirted with. She tried to shake her irritation off and returned her attention to the conversation.

"It is not so much the how that is important, Vedek. It is the why," Fleur said, thinking it was enigmatic, but realizing that this was a very perceptive man. He was trained to read people, to draw them out. And he wasn't even having to try to draw her out.

"I understand. You are a long way from home. Perhaps this means a new start for you?"

"Yes, it does. I have put all of, how do you say, the eggs into only the one basket and I must not drop them."

Jariel had no doubt that if the quality of the food meant success, that she was well on her way. Without realizing it, he had wolfed down the whole bowl of soup, and was now on his second piece of bread.

"Well, the food is delicious, young Fleur. I am certain that once this place is discovered you will be busier than you can imagine now. With a little patience, and just a little time."

"Busy is good, yes. Busy keeps the heart from growing weary, and makes it forgetful," she said, stirring her tea and taking a sip, not looking up at him now.

"Are you trying to forget something?" Jariel asked, slipping into full ministry mode now, ready to let her confess her sins if she needed to or to offer her comfort or whatever he could do to repay the kindness she had already showed him in the past half-hour.

Fleur's eyes clouded like a threatening sky, and she flipped the longer side of her asymmetrical bob back over her shoulder. She laughed nervously, wondering now if she'd already revealed too much about her insecurities to this mild man in the bright orange robe.

She had been so on her guard ever since arriving at the station, she hadn't let it down for a moment, not even to cry when she was alone. But somehow, this one with the honest face and gentle demeanor made her feel like suddenly she could tell everything, the whole story of her life and how she'd come to be where she was. She was so certain that he wouldn't judge her, that he would listen and perhaps, was capable of offering some kind of comfort, or absolution. She had found none elsewhere, no matter how hard she searched.

Warning bells chimed in her head and she realized that she was perhaps letting his robes get the better of her: It was better not to say. Better to just hold onto it, in silence. Even if it burned like the very fires of Hell. What was that old saying, 'Hell is truth seen too late?' She knew for a fact that the words were true.

He repeated the question gently as she stirred her tea.

"Mon dieu, Vedek Jariel. Aren't we all?" She meant to be flippant but the words stung them both, hard.

Suddenly he was the one wearing the nervous expression. Seemed she had him pegged; how did she do it so quickly? Was she a telepath, perhaps? Or was the pain he was feeling really that plainly displayed for all to see? He hated to think that was true.

"Indeed," he said softly. He finished the warm, sweet liquid in his cup, and suddenly he wished that he were a drinker. Perhaps wine would soothe him now more than the tea had. He had never been so desperate to numb himself emotionally.

The meal had been a blessing and so had the conversation, if for no other reason than to distract him from his misery with the thought of helping someone else. Their exchange abruptly broke off, a sudden death in conversation due to their individual preoccupations.

Fleur jumped up from the table as if spooked by borhyas that only she could see. She took the tray with her half-eaten food into her hands and nodded to him slightly. "I have talked your ears off and yet said very little, you must think me very strange," she said softly.

"No, not at all." His voice lowered, as if he were speaking to a Bajoran child in the temple. "I find you troubled, and I wish that I could help you, somehow."

She was unnerved by his genuine kindness, something she hadn't seen in such a pure form in a very, very long time.

"I must be getting back to work now. I thank you for sharing your lunchtime with me, Vedek. I hope you will stop in to see us again soon."

Jariel stood as she turned to go.

"I must thank you again, Miss Fleur. You were very hospitable to an old vedek on a very hard day."

"Old? No, not so much old. Just tired, I believe. I will see you again I hope, kind sir. Good day."

"Wait, please? Are you sure I cannot offer you this for my meal?"

She waved her hand as she walked away. "No, no. It was my pleasure."

"Is there... anything else I can do to help, my child?"

Suddenly, and she couldn't have said why if asked, she felt her lip start to quiver. She bit it hard between her teeth to stop it and the tears that were right behind it.

"Pray for me?" she blurted. He nodded.

She quickly disappeared into the kitchen now and instantly he heard her voice rise up melodically in the singsong of a language unfamiliar to him. Perhaps the dialect of her region of Earth: he had noticed her accent was different from other Terrans he had met. She was trying to throw herself back into her work to escape whatever past she was desperate to leave behind. He could understand that.

After taking a few steps, Jariel paused and returned to the table. He emptied the contents of his slip purse onto the tabletop, before heading to the exit.

-------------=/\=------------

USS Alchemy: Current time

As they finally stopped walking, Fleur wasn't even certain just what deck they were on anymore. She was dizzy, she felt weak, and she was far beyond the capability of speech when Camen finally opened the door and led her into the warm, dimly lit room.

It was adorned with artfully scattered vases of flowers, giving the space an aroma much more comparable to that of Camen's beloved Arboretum than a sterile room of quarters on a small starship. The normal ambient lighting, so cold and harsh as it issued from the fixtures above, had been replaced by stands of candles, warm and soft.

Fleur's heart rate increased. Jariel turned to her slowly, unsure just what he should do now.

He hadn't planned the rest of the evening past this point, he only knew that he wanted to be near her. He wanted to tell her, again and again, that not only was he certain of how he felt about her, but he was certain, for the first time in his life, of how he felt about everything.

Decades of uncertainty and second-guessing every step he took, was about to take, or had taken yesterday, had faded into nothing, more with every day that he got to know her. There was so much more he wanted to know, needed to know, about this woman upon whom his entire future suddenly depended.

His heart was too full to speak aloud.

[[You must be tired,]] he signed at last, [[you should rest.]] He led her gently toward the bed in the far corner, and folded back the blanket atop it. Fleur watched his every gesture as he moved. Each motion was so gentle, so sweet and graceful. She felt suddenly shy, all alone with him here; even though she had dreamed of nothing less each day since the day he'd come into her life.

She removed her coat and hat and tossed them aside. She slid slowly out of her shoes, and stood before him with eyes fixed upon the skirt of her dress.

She slowly swung her hips from side to side nervously, and the fabric rustled as she moved. Camen lifted her chin gently and also tilted his head down, his deep brown eyes bright with affection.

[[Shall I kiss you goodnight and go?]] Whatever happened now, he was going to get at least one more kiss. He had to.

Fleur blinked, looking up at him and, unable to stop herself, lifted her hands and signed her dearest wish.

[[Kiss me goodnight and stay.]]

Camen mumbled something in Bajoran under his breath that Fleur couldn't quite make out, as he took her into his arms and kissed her again. He pressed his lips to her ear, the ridges of his nose brushing her skin. "I love you, Fleur."

"I..." she whispered through her tears, "have loved you all along."

---------------------------------------
Fleur Le Marc
Happiest Woman on Bajor

-=====/\======-

NRPG: Five years. It took me nearly five years...but I did it.

He loves her.

I had no idea how much I really wanted to see that happen until now.

This was unusual, i know, a post within a post but it didn't feel right sending out the original text as simply a flashback. The stardate really does indicate it was written in July of 2004.

I just had to reissue the original post intact, as written all those years ago- given where they are now- it makes it even more poignant to me than it was when I wrote it then.

Oh, happy day...

~Le Marc