Angel

ANGELBy Morticia

ANGELBy Morticia
4- 7/60
Disclaimers: See Part 1
 
CHAKOTAY
 
I know that it is just my imagination that I am cold. The
ambient temperature in my quarters is precisely controlled. There are no
draughts in a Starship. Therefore the freezing breeze that whispers around me,
caressing my naked body with ghostly embraces is impossible. The rigid
gooseflesh on my shivering limbs is merely a psychological phenomenon.

I know this, but even so, the fact remains that I am too cold to
sit here any longer. Too aware of the chill in my body to relax into meditation.
As if the state of mind required to meet my spirit guide had ever been a
possibility today, anyway.
Self-delusion seems to be my favorite pastime at the
moment.
I have been sitting here futilely for hours. My jumbled thoughts
and emotions chasing each other like snarling dogs and cats around the grey
ruined alleys of my mind. My legs are stiff as I unwrap my body to stand.
Suddenly I can feel the dull aches and niggles of a dozen old injuries. The
muscles in my calves are prickling as though savaged by tiny teeth.
I’m getting old, I realise suddenly, and the realisation is like
a dash of icy water over my already cold frame.
Too old to be alone.
 
~~~
TOM
 
"What’s up, Tom?"
"Huh?"
Lost in contemplative misery I hadn’t even heard Harry’s
approach. As he sat down with his tray he looked at me in concern and waved his
fingers in my face
"Voyager to Tom! Come in Tom!"
I shook my head and focused on the offending hand
"Put it away, Haz, before you poke my eyes out"
"Sorry"
"S’Okay"
"So what’s up"
"Nothing"
"It doesn’t look like nothing to me."
"I’m fine"
"You don’t look fine"
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"We’ll you’ve eaten your dinner so I KNOW something’s
wrong!"
I gaze at my tray in astonishment. He’s right. I’ve eaten
everything Neelix gave me. I didn’t taste it (obviously); in fact I can’t even
think what colour it was. I just sat like an automaton and shoveled it in my
mouth.
Comfort eating. That’s what my Nan used to call it when she used
to chase my tears away with homemade cookies. Ugh! Fancy comparing Nan’s cookies
with Neelix surprise!
Sorry, Nan.
Remembering her soft generous lap, her plump smiling face, I am
choked by a sudden wave of nostalgia and guilt. She’s been dead for years. Dead
in a transporter malfunction long before Caldik Prime. Her body twisted and
knurled into a monstrous quiver of tortured flesh. I cannot bear to think about
her. Haven’t thought about her for years. But I’m wallowing in self-flagellation
today. Counting my past transgressions and lining them up like ducks in a row.
My own private portrait gallery of the ghosts of my many victims.
It was my fault, you see. The transporter accident was my fault.

I don’t mean technically. I was only ten at the time. It was not
until I joined Starfleet that I was actually given weapons of destruction like
shuttles to do my dirty .
.
No, I wasn’t responsible for the accident, only the fact that
she was in it.
I’d fucked up again, big surprise, and Dad had gone crazy. He’d
only just returned from Cardassia where he’d briefly been a POW. He was changed
by the experience. Don’t misunderstand me, he’d always been tough and demanding
but somehow he was worse after that experience. It was like despair had found a
chink in his armour and had slunk in and made a home there for the duration. You
could almost see it hovering over his shoulders like a deformed hump.
Anyway, I fucked up and he punished me more than I thought I
deserved so I sent this whining vid-clip to Nan. Showing her the bruises.
Playing for sympathy like the coward I was. She was in Europe at the time at
some big inter-planetary conference. But she didn’t hesitate. She took one look
at my tear-stained, snot-covered face and jumped on a transporter pad. She never
arrived. Or at least what arrived fortunately didn’t live long enough to become
her.
Dad was so mad with me, he made me go with him to identify the
remains. Making sure I could finally be in no doubt of the cost of my actions. I
remember puking everywhere. I even remember how the doctors were horrified at my
presence. How they tried to stop Dad taking me in. It was nice of them, to care
I mean. But then I’m sure they only bothered because they didn’t know it was my
fault she was dead!
So, anyway, that’s how Nan died. It was a blessing in a way. It
meant she never witnessed my ultimate disgrace. I never had to see scorn warp
those well-loved features. She died with her illusion that I was worth caring
about.
Except, maybe, just maybe, she would have been the one person
who would have understood. The one person who loved me enough to forgive what
couldn’t be forgiven.
I can’t prevent a small sob escaping.
"Tom?" Harry is really concerned now. I have to make an effort
to comfort him.
"S’Okay, Haz. I guess I’m just suddenly homesick!" I explain
with a false but hopefully convincing smile.
"Oh!" He says, but he’s known me too long to accept it as the
real answer. Nobody could have been my friend for the last five years and fail
to realise that I am the one person on Voyager who didn’t particularly want us
to get home.
And now I am so desperate to stay in the DQ that the mad urge to
take over engineering and eject the warpcore directly into a planetoid is
becoming almost irresistible.
Because even if Chakotay hates the way I acted last night, even
if it takes him months to forgive me, if I could find a way to strand us here,
to eradicate any possibility of returning home, then surely he would finally
give in and love me.
But only if he didn’t find out what I’d done, of course. Which
would be highly unlikely. Even more unlikely than him coming to my quarters
tonight and making up!
~~~
 
CHAKOTAY
 
If I had really thought it through I wouldn’t have come here. I
guess it was only because I truly thought that Tom hated me that made me think
it a good move to come to his quarters. I guess that sounds peculiar but it’s
true.
After giving up my unproductive attempt at meditation I
attempted an equally futile task, that of trying to amend the duty rosters to
separate Tom and I. You’d think it would be easy, wouldn’t you, just splitting
up two members of a crew this size. If it were anyone else it possibly would be.
But the Chief Conn. Officer and the First Officer belong on the bridge
together.
Anyway, what about Department Head meetings? I think Kathryn
would soon smell a rat if we took turns finding excuses not to attend together.

No, the only solution is to make our peace, accept that our
abortive relationship had been a mistake and move on. That’s why I went to his
quarters. Just so we could settle our differences before another long bridge
shift. The path of good intentions and all that!
You see, I was totally unprepared for Tom’s reaction. When I
walked through the door I nearly looked over my shoulder to see who was
following me. It could have been the ghost of Zephram Cochrane himself, judging
by the absolute joy that filled Tom’s beautiful face.
"Oh, Chakotay!" Tom sighed blissfully.
That’s when I realised my colossal mistake.
So here I am, standing three steps inside Tom’s quarters,
wishing desperately that I had a time machine to undo the last 60
seconds.
"I’m so glad you’ve come. " Tom beamed, "I am SO sorry about
last night. I was stupid and childish to run off like that. It was shock I
think. I felt…well I felt inadequate I guess, but it doesn’t matter. All that
matters is us!"
He’s walking towards me, arms outstretched, with a huge
welcoming grin splitting his face and I admit for a moment of weakness I am
tempted. But sanity takes over and I put a hand out forbiddingly. Tom freezes
uncertainly, his eyes darting between my stony face and my raised arm. I see his
face crumple. The smile slips slowly off his face like melted wax. His eyes
widen and darken in horrified understanding and his Adam’s apple jumps with his
heart-rending sob.
Sucker-punched hversvers for a moment in anguish and then a
shutter slams down behind his eyes and all I can see is his hate as he waits for
me to explain my presence.
"I’m sorry Tom, I just came to make sure that you were okay.
That you didn’t have a problem with me."
Tom’s eyes narrow dangerously as he considers my inadequate
words.
"Oh, don’t worry Commander," He drawls with sudden comprehension
"I’ll keep it off the bridge"
On another occasion that insolent tone would have sparked my
anger. As it is, I am simply filled with guilty sorrow as I turn to leave. Tom’s
voice is surprisingly soft as he stops me with his question
"Won’t you at least tell me why?"
"Because I love you, Tom."
I see him blink in complete confusion
"That’s, that’s crazy. If you love me what’s the
problem?"
"Love's a sacred thing to me, Tom. Maybe it’s an Indian thing."
He’s unsurprisingly unamused by my weak attempt at humour. He folds his arms
across his chest and stares me down
"Explain" he demands
"I can’t just turn it on and off, Tom. How can I share my life
with you and then turn to you one day and say it’s over? I thought I could try.
Thought as long as I was honest with you that we might have a chance. But I
thought about it all last night after you left and I realised that I was wrong.
I can’t do it to you, Tom. It would be obscene."
"I don’t care. I’m willing to take the chance if you are."

"It’s easy to say that now, Tom. We are light years from home.
"
"So take a chance Chakotay. We might never get home and even if
we do, how do you even know he’s still waiting for you? "
"Because he is, Tom. He can’t live without me. He will never
give me up. Accept it Tom. We cannot do this. "
"Maybe he’s dead, have you thought of that?" Tom screams
bitterly at me. "If he loves you so damn much, if he can’t live without you,
maybe he slit his wrists the day you were lost in the badlands!"
I find myself pale at the words. Not the content of course, I’ve
thought of little else for five years, but the venom, the pain in Tom’s voice ase sae says it. I’m not angry at his cruel s. Is. I understand his bitterness. After
all, I caused it.
"I can’t take the chance, Tom. I can’t lead you on and then
discard you. It’s not fair, it’s not right and I won’t do it."
Grief-stricken I look at him, noting his pale trembling, his
sick despair. I have done this to him. With one error of judgement, With one
thoughtless, tactless wink I have turned my beloved Tom into this shivering
wreck. Well, no more. It’s over.
"I won’t do this to you, Tom. Put me, put US out of your mind.
It isn’t going to happen." I say with gentle sorrow and even as my heart screams
in protest I turn to walk out of the door.
 
~~~
TOM
 
"Who died and made you God, Chakotay?" I hear myself hiss
venomously.
It is enough to make him pause his exit. Bewilderment is etched
over his guilt-ridden expression, like a faint line drawing on top of an oil
painting. When he speaks it is in that same damnably soft tone. Considerate,
caring, concerned. He is trying to find a way to placate me.
"What do you mean, Tom. You know that this is the only solution,
don’t you?"
I want to scream. I want to shatter that composure. I want to
see passion in his face not this careful appeasement.
"How dare you make my choices for me? Do you think so little of
me that you don’t believe I even know what my own feelings are?"
"I’m not questioning the validity of your emotions, Tom, I just
don’t believe you’ve considered the ramifications of your decision. I think
you’ve had enough rejection in your life without having to suffer mine as
well."
"What the hell do you know about MY life?" I yell
"Enough" Chakotay replies simply. "I won’t be responsible for
hurting you."
"You ARE hurting me!"
"You’ll get over it, Tom." He says sadly and turns to leave
again. I watch him leaving me forever. Like everybody always leaves me. That’s
when I lose it completely.
Without conscious choice, without even being aware of making the
decision, I launch myself across the room and crash into his back. Momentarily
winded by my sudden assault he is helpless against my flailing fists as I pummel
his chest again and again. I’m not punching him; I’m just battering his chest
with the heels of my hands. Trying desperately to break through to his heart anforcforce it to respond to me. I am crying so hard I barely see his reaction. I
expect him to grab my wrists or maybe even strike me in the jaw. But I don’t
care what he does to me; at this point I’m too hysterical to care.
It takes me a moment to realise that he has simply wrapped his
strong arms around me and pulled me into his embrace. Crushed into his chest, I
stop fighting and begin to heave with great racking sobs. He tightens his hug
and begins to stroke my back soothingly. Such a simple action but it disarms me
completely. I simply drop my head onto his shoulder and collapse against him and
we stay like this, our hearts thudding desperately together until their rhythm
finally slows.
"I’m sorry," we both say simultaneously, and the sudden releases
of tension make us stagger a little.
Without any spoken agreement, we make our way to the couch and
sit down together. Chakotay keeps one arm draped across my shoulders and I sigh
as I snuggle in a little closer. I feel him stiffen a little but he doesn’t
actually object to my action. We stay that way for a long time, both lost in
thought. Finally he releases me with a huge sigh and straightens himself up. I
feel bereft as he removes his arm and then turns slightly to face me.
"So, Tom, what do we do now?" Chakotay asks, searching my face
with his brown eyes full of concern.
I find myself unable to answer. I look down at my lap where my
fingers are dancing together in a nervous waltz.
Chakotay gives another sigh. I can sense him making a decision.
I don’t dare look at him in case I jinx it. When he finally speaks, I shut my
eyes just in case."Okay,
Tom, I owe you the truth at least. I will give you my offer and then it is up to
you to decide whether to accept it. You’re right. It’s your decision
too."
Hope and fear war inside me as I finally look up to hear his
‘offer’
"I love you, Tom and I’m reasonably certain you feel the same
way. What I want, what I would like, is a relationship with you. Not just sex
but friendship and companionship. I want you to share my quarters, to share my
life. To be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at
night. I want us to be able to be open about our feelings. I want to share our
happiness."
"That’s what I want too…" I interrupt breathlessly but I am
stopped by his raised hand to my lips.
"I haven’t finished, Tom" he warns softly, so I shut up and nod
for him to continue
"I want all these things Tom but I have to know, have to be
absolutely certain, that you understand it might not be forever. That should the
day come that I have to leave you there will be no recrimination, no hatred
between us. Are you sure you can really do this, Tom? Are you absolutely
positive that you want to take the risk?"
You see, he doesn’t know me really. For all his love and concern
he really doesn’t know me at all, does he?
I’m Tom Paris. Risk is my middle-name.
Besides, whilst I am touched by his loyalty, the odds are in my
favour aren’t they? Let’s look at this in perspective: the chances of us
surviving this journey – Slim, the chances of us returning home – Slim, the
chances of Angel being alive and still waiting for him – Slim.
I haven’t got anything to worry about.
Have I?
 
CHAKOTAY
 
"Can I talk with you a moment, Chakotay? Privately?"
I spin around in surprise at B’Elanna’s soft question. Just the
fact that she is using my name rather than rank is warning enough that this is a
personal matter and I’ll just bet that I know what it is. I sigh despondently
even as I give a submissive nod and lead her into the deserted observation
lounge, which I have just passed on my way back to my quarters.
She’s a little out of breath. Her small chest is heaving
slightly against her tight uniform and a thin bead of sweat has gathered on her
ridges making her forehead gleam even in the dimmed light. She must have run to
catch up with me after I left Tom in Sandrines tonight.
I shouldn’t be surprised really. I had sensed her bright
interested eyes on us all evening. Several times I had looked up and caught her
concerned and contemplative expression as she watched Tom and I interact. I
suppose this conversation, which I am dreading, was inevitable. I simply hadn’t
expected it so soon.
It certainly didn’t take her long to put 2 and 2 together. Or
maybe that should be, to put 1 and 1 together.
And it’s not fair. It isn’t as if Tom and I are being obvious in
any way. It’s only been three days since we agreed to start a relationship and
we’re both taking it very slowly. Just wining and dining and spending off-duty
time with each other. A couple of chaste kisses. The occasional hug. We don’t
want to rush anything.
Actually, that’s somewhat misleading. The truth is that I alone
am controlling the snail’s pace of our court. To. Tom, on the other hand, is
coming at me with typical breakneck, head-on, full warp speed.
But he’s being oddly good-humoured about my failure to respond.

Instead of the sullen, sulky expression of rejection that I
expect each time I disentangle myself from his over-exuberant embraces, all I
see is a mischievous smile playing around his pretty lips. His eyes are bright
with secret knowledge. He knows it’s just a matter of time. He is prepared to
wait.
However, that doesn’t stop him trying it on at every
opportunity. I guess he wouldn’t be Tom if he were any different!
So, as far as I know, no one has even discerned the changed
dynamics of our relationship. They may be surprised by the amount of time we are
spending together but, to be honest, I don’t think anyone but Harry Kim has
noticed even that much.Except B’Elanna.
And as much as I dread this conversation, I would have been
disappointed in her had she not. We are too close for secrets.
You see we have a special bond, B’Elanna and I. She’s like the
daughter I never had, the daughter I obviously never will have. That
probably surprises you; that I see her in those terms. Then again, maybe not. It
wasn’t just the lack of any other suitable candidate that made her ask for
me to give her away when she married Seven.
When B’Elanna first joined my Maquis cell, raw psychological
wounds still smarting from her abortive attempt to survive Starfleet academy,
she was the most unpopular recruit we had ever accepted (This was before Tom’s
dramatic debut, of course).
To be honest, the general consensus within days was to throw her
back where we had found her.
Fierce as a wounded vixen, she snapped wildly at any attempt to
befriend her. Her quick uncontrollable temper drove most people away in droves
and her quicksilver brain and her efforts to achieve engineering excellence, at
the cost of any personal consideration of the crew, overwhelmed even the most
generous-hearted of the rest.
Like the time she took the sonic showers off line for a week to
increase engine efficiency and never even bothered to let us know, let alone ask
for permission. By the end of the week, the tempers were fraying so badly in
that small, overcrowded and now pungent ship that there were many volunteers to
take B’Elanna off line, permanently.
For weeks she skulked silently through my ship like a lone wolf,
baring her fangs at any gesture of friendship, snarling at any attempt to reach
out to her.
I loved her.
From our very first meeting, I secretly adored every part of her
defiant nature. I took it on myself to save her, to tame her, to gentle her
raginul. ul. I took my time; I never wanted to break that indomitable spirit. I
simply taught her to sway like a reed in the winds of adversity. To bend a
little instead of always standing with rigid pride, howling defiance, in the
path of the destructive storm of life.
She had never been loved before.
That’s a little unfair. I’m sure her mother did love her,
in her own way, but for a half-human child trying to satisfy the demands of her
bitter Klingon parent there was never any nurturing, only discipline and
inevitable failure. Her father had long since abandoned them both and whilst I
hate him a little for B’Elanna’s sake, I can sympathise with his decision (I’ve
met B’Elanna’s mother!). It’s just a shame he didn’t take his little girl
with him when he left.
She’s so like Tom it’s frightening. It’s strange that although
her background was so different materially from Tom’s, they both suffered such
similar abuses. Both had one dominating parent who could never be pleased.
Neither was ever capable of achieving the impossible target of earning the
affection that should have been given to them for free. Both came to me bitter
and wounded, their self-esteem destroyed, their coping mechanisms equally
defensive, and their personalities twisted and malformed.
I have wept for them both, those sad, lonely, unloved
children.
Unlike my failure to see through Tom’s carefully cultivated
persona, my blind ignorance for which I am not sure I will ever truly forgive
myself, I understood B’Elanna from the very first moment. Never once in those
early days did I raise my voice to B’Elanna or discipline her excesses. I simply
withheld my approval when she displeased me. She soon learnt that it was better
to bask in the warmth of my regard than freeze in the cold of my disapproval. I
became her mentor, her guide, and her surrogate father.
Our relationship has deepened over the years. It has developed
the subtle nuances of long association. We have both reached a level of trust in
each other. And just as a child grows from seeing a parent with god-like
adoration, into an adult who can finally perceive the many flaws that lurk under
the image, so B’Elanna has learnt to see beneath the still waters of my surface
to the raging torrent below.
So I am not surprised that she is confronting me now, only
apprehensive. Oddly I find myselmostmost trembling at the prospect of her
inevitable disapproval. The parent has become the child. Strange isn’t
it?
"What’s going on between you and Tom, Chakotay?" B’Elanna
demands fiercely with typical directness.
Despite my disquiet, I find myself grinning at her
characteristic audacity even as I try to formulate a reply.
"Going on?" I say innocently, a delaying tactic to give myself
time to think.
"Don’t bother denying it. I know you too well. You’re
seeing him, aren’t you?" she accuses
"And if I am?" I reply softly.
She is confused and momentarily wrong-footed by my easy
admission. Her frown forces her ridges down to almost conceal her black flashing
eyes.
"Do you know what you’re doing?" she demands
incredulously
"No," I confess "But it’s too late, B’Elanna and I’m too tired,
too lonely to fight it anymore."
B’Elanna bites her bottom lip pensively before
answering
"I understand your loneliness Chakotay. To be honest, I’m more
surprised you haven’t given in to your needs earlier. But why the hell did you
pick Tom Paris?"
Suddenly I am angry. I am furiously, bitterly disappointed in
her. Of all people, I would have thought B’Elanna might understand. I thought
that she was one of his few true friends. I am appalled that she really thinks
so little of him.
She actually flinches as I lash out; she’s never seen such venom
on my face or heard this tone of outrage in my voice before.
"Why the hell shouldn’t it be Tom? He’s brave, beautiful,
clever, witty, and wonderful. He’s worth ten of anyone else on this ship!" I cry
and both of us can hear the unspoken "including you." but instead of erupting
with justified anger she just looks pityingly at me as though saddened by my
passion
"I know, Chakotay. But he’s also more sensitive and vulnerable
than most peopealiealise. I can’t bear the thought of him being the victim in
this. I know you too well, Chakotay. I know the promise you made. I understand
what a promise means to you. I know that you can’t ever offer Tom what he
needs," B’Elanna replies softly. "Whatever you give him won’t be enough for him.
I know, because Tom and I are so alike and it wouldn’t be enough for
me!" I am ashamed of my outburst, of having
had so little faith in her, after all.
"Sorry" I whisper and she is generous enough to wave my apology
away with a shake of her head.
"Does he know?"
"Yes, of course!"
"Oh!" In that single word I can feel an unplundered wealth of
disapproval.
"He says he accepts the situation, that he’ll take the chance."
I say defensively
"And then just walk away?" She laughs in disbelief
"That’s what he says."
"Do you really believe him?"
"I don’t know."
"And what about you? Will you just walk away too?"
"If the situation arises. It may not."
"But can you?"
It is a painfully long time before I can answer. I am aware of
the ticking seconds with every panicked beat of my heart. I know that the longer
I take to reply, the less likely she is to believe that the answer is yes. So,
as I always say, if in doubt go for honesty.
"I don’t know," I whisper brokenly "I really don’t know." And to
my horror, I begin to cry.
Stepping swiftly forwards, concerned pity etched on her face,
B’Elanna runs the back of a hand softly down my wet cheek. I ignore my pride,
close my eyes and lean into the comfort.
We stand there in this frozen tableau for a long time as Voyager
speeds on through the night, her engines humming happily as she unwittingly
carries me ever closer to my Rubicon. I can feel B’Elanna getting restless. Her
concern for me conflicting with her knowledge that Seven will be waiting for
her, wondering and worrying about her lateness.
"Go home, B’Elanna" I order her gently.
"Will you be alright?" She asks with soft concern.
"Yes." I reply. We both know that it’s not really true but that
it also cannot be helped.
"Go home to Seven, B’Elanna," I repeat gently. "Leave me to think
this over, I need some time by myself n
"I
"If you’re sure you’re alright"
"Go!" I pat her gently on the shoulder.
She surprises me suddenly with a fierce hug before abruptly
spinning away, as though embarrassed by her show of affection, and she leaves with
just a fleeting backwards glance.
I walk slowly to the observation window. My tears blur the
countless passing lights. As I stare out of the Plexiglas I am struck, as though
for the first time, by the absolute vastness of Space. Each one of those
pinpricks of light is a star. Planets surround each star. Many of those planets
team with life of one fashion or another. There are an endless, infinite variety
of souls in the galaxy.
In this vast universe, filled with billions of billions of life
forms, can an insignificant dot like me really matter? Can any decision I make
have any implication in the greater scheme of things? Is there anyone truly
judging me, weighing my life, finding me wanting? Do the actions of any one
person really matter that much?
Will life as we know it grind to a halt because of one broken
promise? Does it really matter if I grasp for my own happiness?
Yes.
Yes, it does.
Because it matters to me.
 
TOM
 
I know I shouldn’t be doing this.
Chakotay made it abundantly clear when he left me at Sandrines
that he had absolutely no intention of us meeting again later this evening. In
case his failure to walk me home was insufficient clue, he has pointedly
arranged to meet me for breakfast.
I might have been born a blonde but I’m not stupid.
I don’t need it written in two-foot high letters on the wall. I
understand absolutely that he wants to take the relationship slowly. That
sleepovers are not going to be allowed for at least the next millennia (or at
least that’s how it’s beginning to feel). I’m sorry to be crude but I’m
definitely developing a fatal case of ball ache.
He’s left me in absolutely no doubt that his decision is final
and my opinion on the matter is irrelevant. He’s not a person who will be argued
with. He’s a goddamn rock. Completely and absolutely unmovable once he’s made up
his mind.
So that’s why I know he’s going to be mad with me for doing
this. Mad, angry, furious, enraged, incensed, livid … I can’t think of enough
adjectives just at the moment but I’m sure you get the picture. I am going to be
in so much shit!
So why am I currently standing outside of his quarters sounding
the entry chime? Has the pressure of sexual abstention finally driven me insane?
Am I suicidal?
Nope, I have a cunning plan, you see.
Here’s how it goes: The door opens, Chakotay sees me. He gets
mad. I get defensive. We have a huge passionate argument. I dissolve in tears of
hysterical contrition, pleading for mercy. He feels guilty for making me cry and
comforts me with a hug. (Well it worked last time!) I take the opportunity to
rub myself against him. He involuntarily starts to respond. I sneak in a kiss
whilst he’s distracted by my hip grinding on his groin. The kiss deepens…Getting
the picture, yet?
Oh yes. It’s a good plan.
Maybe…
Or maybe not.
What if I blow it? I mean its nos not like he hasn’t already got
enough reasons to walk away from this relationship. What if I push him over the
edge? Why can’t I just wait?
Well, actually, I know the answer to that last one. You see, the
way I figure it, (given the fact that I know he’s as eager to fuck me as
I am to be the fuckee since it’s hard for a guy to hide that sort of thing,
especially in these bloody uniforms), the only explanation for him having
suddenly turned into a character from one of Janeway’s holonovels is that he
knows that once we’ve finally got down and done the nasty, so to speak, it will
be too late for him to change his mind.
And knowing that, it puts me in a kind of dilemma doesn’t it? Do
I wait and take the chance that one of these days he’s going to shake me by the
hand and say "Well it’s been nice, Tom but I’ll see you around" or do I jump
right in and get it over with?
Shit. Maybe I could come up with some excuse for my visit just
in case I need a get-out. Like, like, umm, damn! I think the navigational
controls in my brain have gone off-line. Maybe one cunning plan a night is my
quota. I just can’t think of any believable reason for turning up at Chakotay’s
door after midnight other than the obvious one: to jump his bones!
Wait. I know. I could run to my quarters before he opens the
door, get ready for bed, tousle my hair a bit and then run back here and claim I
had a terrible nightmare and need him to comfort me! Oh, yes!
Except I’m pretty sure he’ll take one look at me in my sleeping
shorts, equipped with raging hard-on as standard issue, and kick my butt back
out of the door without waiting for an explanation.
And speaking of doors, why the hell
hasn’t this one opened yet?
~~~
B’Elanna
 
" I fail to understand Chakotay’s refusal to accept that his
prior relationship is undoubtedly over."
I look at the perplexed expression of my beloved and have to
smile at her. Despite our own relationship she has still not grasped the nuances
of human emotions. Though she sometimes gets a damn good blast of half-Klingon
ones!
"It’s not that easy, Seven. He can’t just turn off his feelings
because they are inconvenient or even illogical."
"It is inefficient to waste time being concerned about remote
probabilities. His energy would be better employed in dealing with the current
known factors."
"It depends on the possible harm that those remote probabilities
may represent." I reply.
I find that it is easier to converse with Seven if I use the
language she understands. It is one of the compromises that have been the price
of our marriage. Not that I regret any of it.
I admit that Seven is bombastic, stubborn, unreasonable and
often unemotional but it is those qualities that temper my wild uncontrolled
passions. We fit together like a hand in a glove. Each of us giving to each
other what we lack. Two sides of a coin. Two halves of a whole. Pretty mushy
thoughts for a warrior, I guess, but undeniably true.
Sometimes though, like tonight, I find it difficult that she
cannot fully share my problems, cannot understand my worry because she doesn’t
have a frame of reference to compare my feelings with. It’s not her fault. Given
her experience with the Borg it is amazing that she functions as well as she
does.
I love her so much. My ice princess. My beautiful, brilliant
lover.
But sometimes I need wiser counsel. Usually at times like this I
find Chakotay. He is my dependable shoulder to cry on. My staunch anchor in this
uncertain life.
Who can I talk to now? When it is he whom I need to
discuss. I cannot betray his confidence with anyone else on board. So I have no
choice. I must talk it over with Seven and even if I fail to make her
understand, at least she is a Wailing Wall for my fears to bounce
off.
 
~~~
TOM
 
I’ve finally given up. Either Chakotay is not answering or he
isn’t in his quarters
"Computer, location of Commander Chakotay"
"Commander Chakotay is on Deck 5, observation lounge 2" the
computer replies to my astonishment.
It is gone midnight. We both have early shift tomorrow. What on
earth is he doing?
Perhaps he’s with someone. Don’t misunderstand. I didn’t mean
that in a negative way. I mean if I can’t get my leg over, how the hell would
anybody else? But he might be with the Captain or something.
I’d better check. I can’t think of anything worse than charging
into a secret staff meeting at this time of night.
"Charging in?"
You’ve caught me. Yes of course I’m going to go and find
him.
And damn the consequences.
 
~~~~
 
B’Elanna
 
I realise that the only way to possibly explain myself
to Seven is to give her the whole sordid story. Even then I doubt she’ll
understand because trying to explain Angel to someone who’s never met him is
kind of like trying to describe blue to a blind person. It’s that frame of
reference problem again. But maybe if I simply tell her everything it will at
least chase away the cobwebs in my own head.
Deciding I may as well be comfortable whilst I talk, I
slip into bed beside her. She’s sitting up reading, at the moment, with the
pillows fluffed behind her and the bedside light casting a halo in the loose
waves of her unbound golden hair. She looks like an Angel herself. I snuggle
beside her and let my own hair spill like a black scarf over the bare skin of
her pearly white shoulder as I press my cheek for comfort into the yielding
firmness of her breast. It is only then that I begin my
tale:
I hadn’t been in the Maquis for
very long. About three months I guess. I’d been really unhappy. If I’d had
anywhere else to go I would have left. But I’d burnt my bridges with Mother and
with Star Fleet and I didn’t want to be e. Ne. No one liked me. To be honest
there wasn’t anything to like back then. I was young and angry and I hated
everyone and everything. An accident of birth had left me unable to fit in
anywhere. The Klingons didn’t want me and the humans feared
me.
The only person who made my life bearable was Chakotay. He
was the leader of my Maquis cell. I hated him at first, he was just so damned
Starfleet! You see, it shouldn’t surprise anyone that he fitted right into
Voyager, because the truth was he was a Starfleet officer through and through.
If it hadn’t been for the fact that Dorvan V was involved in the conflict, if
his family hadn’t been murdered by the Cardassians, he’d be safe in the Alpha
Quadrant right now, Captain of his own ship probably. And I can’t even imagine
what would have become of me.
You see he ignored my hate and my scorn. He never lost his
temper with me. If he criticized me it was always in such a sad soft voice. As
though my actions reflected on him. As though I hurt him personally with my
childish behavior. Before long, without even consciously being aware of it, I
was doing everything I could to keep that hurt tone out of his voice. To keep
that wonderful smile on his face. I realise now that it was his way of
manipulating me but I don’t mean that as a complaint. I love him. To be honest
there was a time back then when I was ‘in love’ with him.
I don’t think I would have stood a chance even if he liked
women. He saw me as a prodigal daughter, a replacement for his younger sisters
perhaps. And once I recovered from my crush I began to regard him as the father
I never had. It was soon after we had developed this new understanding that I
accompanied him on a supply mission to DS5. Chakotay’s face was becoming too
recognisable at our usual haunts. He chose me to go with him because I was a new
face, I think. It was less likely that we’d be caught
Anyway, it didn’t work. We had only been on the station for a
couple of hours when we noticed the security officers beginning to block the
exits. We barely escaped onto our shuttle and Chakotay managed to land a lucky
shot and disable their tractor beam but not before we had sustained heavy
damage. We ran for a couple of days before we had to eject our anti-matter
containment field and then we were like ducks in the water, limping along at ¼
impulse, just waiting to get caught.
We were almost dead by the time a vessel found us. The
emergency generators had failed and life support was at minimal. We were out of
food and water. To be honest I was glad Starfleet had found us. Only it wasn’t a
Starfleet ship after all. It was a border control ship from Hera. We’d floated
right into their outer defenses. I was pretty scared when they beamed us aboard.
I’d grown up in the federation, been schooled in the horrors of eugenics, the
villainy of Khan.
All I knew about Hera was that it was a closed world full of
genetically engineered supermen. Having grown up teased by my human playmates
about how ugly I was, how my Klingon features were repulsive, I couldn’t bear to
meet these perfect people. I was sure that they would be disgusted by me.

When we arrived in their transporter room it was like a
nightmare. There were maybe a dozen Herans. They were all giants; the shortest
well over six and a half-foot tall, all blonde and nauseatingly beautiful. Their
bodies were perfect, their faces completely symmetrical. They were completely
overwhelming. Too perfect. Unreal. Somehow their very beauty was monstrous. It’s
impossible to explain their effect on me except that they were like a higher
lifeform, another step up in the evolutionary chain. They made me feel so
inferior just by the very fact of their existence. I wanted to cover myself up
and hide from them.
They were completely gentle and welcoming with us, they fed
us, gave us quarters, repaired our ship. Nothing in their attitude suggested
they felt superior. But they simply were. I couldn’t even talk with them. They
spoke in complex algorithms like it was their language. When I tried to help
them they just laughed at me kindly and patted me on the head like an amusing
child.
I never saw Chakotay after the first couple of hours. He had
disappeared into the bowels of the ship and other than sending me the occasional
Comm signal to assure me he was okay; he didn’t emerge again until it was time
to leave.
It wasn’t untir shr ship was primed for take off that
Chakotay turned up. He was different. Changed somehow. He glowed with happiness.
It was like he’d taken a drug. I’d never seen him so animated, so full of life.
I didn’t know what had happened to him but I was so pleased to see him smiling
like that. Then he introduced me to the reason.
Angel.
Somehow they’d taken one look at each other and it was
history. As far as I can ascertain, they had fallen straight into bed and had
stayed there the whole week. When we left, Angel came with us.
You have to understand that it was an unbelievable thing for
him to do. The Herans are terrified of ‘normals’, they have been raised for
generations with the knowledge that they would be hunted and killed simply for
being what they were. It had only been a few years since they were given closed
world status and federation protection. Up until then they had been considered
fair game for anyone.
To leave that protection. To venture out into space with
someone he had only known for a week, took a courage that even I find hard to
comprehend, especially since Herans are genetically incapable of aggression. For
all his size and phenomenal strength Angel is as helpless as a baby in a
fight.
You can’t imagine what a burden Angel’s choice is for
Chakotay. The responsibility he feels for letting Angel come with us. He didn’t
think it through. Didn’t consider the virtual impossibility of keeping him safe.
Who would have with a virtual god swearing unending devotion to you? I’m not
saying he has ever regretted it before now, though I’d be surprised if he
hadn’t. But he was drunk on lust, on pride that such a glorious creature should
have chosen him, and he made a promise, a solemn and binding promise that in
exchange for Angel’s trust he would never, ever leave him.
Seven takes a long time to reply, obviously mulling my story
over in her mind. When she finally speaks I am surprised by her
comment
"You are beautiful, B’Elanna. I cannot comprehend anyone
thinking otherwise."
I am ridiculously touched at the fact that she has discarded the
rest of the tale and honed in on my own insecurities.
"Thank you, Seven, I’ll never tire of you saying that, of making
me believe it. But do you see now why Chakotay can’t let go? Why he shouldn’t
start a relationship with Tom?"
"No. Your conclusion is flawed. Chakotay did not ‘leave’. He did
not break his promise. The events that have brought him here are not in his
control. He is lonely, Tom is lonely. They are attracted to each other. Their
relationship is logical."
"But what if we get home. What if Angel is waiting?"
Seven is silent for a long time before replying.
"Should such a situation occur, the probability is high that the
Commander will feel bound by his original commitment."
And that’s what I’m so very afraid of.
 
CHAKOTAY
 
I have been stood here for hours, lost in indecision, in
memories of choices made. I am incapable of moving, of walking to my quarters,
of doing anything except stare into the cold loneliness of space. I have never
felt so hopeless, so cold, so alone.
I barely register the door opening and the soft-footsteps
pausing in confusion for a long time before they creep up behind me. It is not
until I feel the warmth of his bodnk ink into the length of my back, his arms
wrap themselves securely around my torso and his chin descend to rest on the
back of my head that I am truly aware of his company.
"Tom" I whisper in defeat and sink back into his
embrace.
We stand there looking at the stars together as I steal the
warmth from his body. Eventually he speaks in a voice soft with concern and a
little fear
"What are you doing, Chakotay. Why are you just standing
here?"
"Just thinking, Tom."
"About us?"
"Yes."
"I’m sorry" he mumbles miserably
"I know."
He lets his head slide down to rest on my shoulder and I can
feel his tears trickling down my neck.
That’s when I understand. That’s when I realise that we are both
so unhappy now that nothing we can do can make it worse. We may as well grab
happiness whilst we can. Whilst there is still time.
In sudden decision I spin around fiercely, breaking his grip,
and he lets his arms to to his sides at my apparent rejection.
For a long time I stare into his sad blue eyes, gazing into the
depths of his battered soul and then I step forwards so quickly that he
flinches. As I grab his shoulders I see fear flash in his eyes only to be
replaced by wonder as my hands begin to fumble with the fastening of his
jumpsuit. For an instant he is so shocked that I am afraid he might literally
faint, then a huge relieved grin splits his face and his own hands leap eagerly
to the fastenings of my own clothes.
We are both naked so fast that I am almost breathless, but I
still have enough composure to bark out a privacy lock on the door.
I grab him in my arms and embrace him, feeling the delicious
friction of his erection against mine. I rub up against his beautiful body, five
years of longing translated into the possessive clawing of my fingers into his
back.
Tom gives a cry and shudders and I feel the sticky wetness of
his cum splattering my belly. Oh, Spirits, I’m overwhelmed that my mere touch
has done this to him. I feel him tense and he starts to sob, I can barely hear
his franticly mumbled apology. His eyes are closed in shame at his loss of
control. Gently I cup his chin and raise his face to mine.
"Tom. Look at me, Tom" I whisper gently, my words a caress in
the silence. Slowly he opens his eyes and searches my face for dern atn at his
flashing. He finds only love.
"Thank you, Tom. You can’t imagine how honored I feel at you
showing me your love like this. It’s best this way. Best to get the firver ver
with quickly. Now we can take our time and get to know each other properly." I
say with gentle understanding and watch his face relax into the most honest
expression that it has ever shown me. Complete acceptance and love.
"Take me, Chak. Please!" He asks and his eyes are bright with
longing. There is no doubt or hesitation in him. Just a deep and generous
need.
Unwilling to let him go now I have finally accepted him in my
arms, I walk him slowly backwards to the replicator. I certainly have no
intention of hurting him with my act of love. Tom doesn’t wait for me, he grabs
the lubrication as soon as it appears and starts to apply it generously to my
cock. Just the sensation of the warm gel and Tom’s fingers is almost too much
for me. I grasp his wrist gently to stop the delicious friction.
I am almost seared by the heat in his eyes as he looks at me and
without a word he turns and drops to his hands and knees.
"Take me" he begs and I need no further invitation. I drop to
the floor behind him and rub my own cock to lubricate my fingers. Tom spreads
his knees to reveal his most private place and I find myself gasping at his gift
to me. With my index finger I start to tease open the tight hole, watching his
buttocks quivering as he begins to pant with desperate need.
Slowly I work in a second finger and then a third. Gently I move
my fingers around until I find the hidden nub of his prostate and then very
carefully scrape a nail across it. Tom literally leaps in the air at the
sensation, bucking on my fingers, gasping in pleasure.
"Fuck me, Chakotay. Fuck me now!" he demands through clenched
teeth.
As I withdraw my fingers Tom gives an involuntary groan which
turns into a gasp as he feels me guide my cock to his tight passage.
"Oh, Yes, yes, do it" he begs and slowly I begin to force myself
into him.
Tom is so tense, so stiff with need, that he can’t consciously
relax his ass muscles so I am incredibly careful with my entry, inching in
slowly, listening carefully to his whimpers, amazed at my own self
–control.
When I am finally fully submerged, my balls pressed tightly to
his, I pause whilst he adjusts and catches his breath.
"Okay" he gasps, "Do it"
I grasp his hips and pull him back onto my cock so that he is
sitting on my lap. His own weight impales him even deeper and he moans in
pleasure. I run my fingers over his tight nipples, pinching and squeezing
lightly. He is squirming on my lap his head back, neck arched with pleasure and
I lean around to taste his eager mouth.
As I use my left thumb to gently flick his tender nipples I
reach down with my right hand and grasp his cock which is newly erect. In the
same rhythm as I am raping his mouth with my tongue, I start to stroke his eager
cock.
Even around my tongue I can hear his gasps and moans at the
stimulation. He is jerking helplessly in my arms from the multiple sensations in
his mouth, nipples, cock and ass. When I am finally sure he is at the brink,
when his eyes are rolling from an overload of pleasure, I rock him gently
forward onto his hands and begin to thrust slowly into his ass.
He is quivering and screaming. Sweat is pouring off his back and
running down the cleft of his butt. I increase my pace until his whole body
judders with each plunge.
"Harder" he gasps and since I had considered he should have been
past the ability to talk by now, I obey, renewing my efforts so that my whole
body weight is slamming into him with each stroke.
With a howl that could wake the dead, Tom comes again and as his
muscles clench and spasm I feel myself erupt into him, filling his wonderful
body with my hot seed, pumping furiously until every last drop is spent and then
I collapse onto him.
When my frantic heart stops its attempt to batter its way out of
my chest and a little strength returns to my limbs I roll sideways and take Tom
into my arms. He is dazed and crushed. He sinks his head into my chest and lies
there quietly in my embrace for so long that I begin to worry.
I have done all I can. I have used every scrap of knowledge and
experience to make it as wonderful for him as I know how. I wanted him to never
regret any of our times together; His uncharacteristic silence is like a
blow.
"Tom?" I query softly and then say the oldest line in the
book
"Was is good for you?" I feel myself cringe even as the words
emerge but my embarrassment fades rapidly as he finally lifts his face to look
me in the eye.
His pale skin is flushed a deep red with exertion. His pale hair
is dark with sweat and is plastered to his head. But he has never looked as
beautiful as he does in this moment as the happiest smile I have ever seen
spreads like a sunrise over his features.
"Good?" he gasps with laughter "It was great, fantastic,
mind-blowing. It was the best!"
And sinking his exhausted head back onto my chest he simply
falls asleep.
TOM'S pov
So here I am again. Four days on and once again I am fidgeting
helplessly at the Conn as though I've got piles or something. My ass is on fire.
I feel like my butt is in a furnace and every time I move some sadistic
invisible demon is sticking a hot poker up my bum. Wow, it hurts. In fact the
only thing hotter at the moment is the blush on my face. I can feel Chakotay's
eyes locked onto the back of my head and I can just imagine the effort he must
be making to keep a straight face as he watches me squirm.
Bastard.
By the time we woke this morning there was barely enough time
for me to run to my quarters, grab a quick shower and change into a fresh
uniform before meeting Chakotay again as we stumbled out of the turbolift
together, onto the bridge, with bare seconds to spare.
Believe it or not we haven't said a word to each other. Every
time one of us tried to speak, we caught each other's eyes and just descended
into giggles. Can you imagine it? Chakotay giggling? Then again, it's no wonder
he was laughing. He was probably anticipating the look of horror on my face when
I finally sat down at the helm and realised the price of last night's ecstasy.
Bastard.
But it was, you know. Ecstasy, I mean. He completely blew me
away. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I've never had a dick up my ass before.
I mean, like I said before, I've been around the block a bit. I've had every
imaginable object inserted in every imaginable orifice in my hedonistic search
for pleasure. I'm no blushing virgin. I like sex and I've never been afraid to
admit it.
So what if people think I'm a slut? It's never been enough to
stop them taking advantage of my weaknesses. Only, I think I've finally hit the
nail on the head with that thought. Whilst I've never objected to being used as
long as there was enough pleasure in the experience for me, I've always known
that that was all it was – being used. That's what was different about last
night.
I have never had a partner before who took such exquisite care
to push every one of my buttons. Who concentrated purely on my own pleasure. Who
took an almost painful effort to ensure that it was the best sex I had ever
experienced. Only it was more than that. We didn't have sex. Chakotay made love
to me.
Unless you've been there yourself, you won't understand the
difference. If you'd asked me yesterday, I wouldn't have known the difference.
With just one night of passion Chakotay has irredeemably changed me. It's as
though I only knew the taste of water and he has introduced me to wine. Water
will never taste so good again. He has ruined me, created a taste in me for
better things. I will never be able to pretend that I don't know the difference.
He's also completely rearranged my internal organs.
Bastard.
The sudden sound of his dulcet voice breaks into my reverie.
"We seem to be drifting off course a little, Mr.
Paris" His voice is soft with genamusamusement, his words caressing me like
long tendrils of affection. As invisible, but as real, as radio waves I can feel
the emotions surging from him and enveloping me.
Damn! He's right. Only 0.2 degrees but it's there. I have
forgotten to allow for the sluggish port nacelle that was damaged in our last
encounter with the Hirogens.
"Sorry, Sir. Attempting to adjust to compensate."
A new wave of heat floods my blushing face at my stupid
mistake and I furiously start to correct the minor error. I nearly fall out of
my chair when his voice comes again. He has silently moved forwards to look over
my shoulder at the Conn and I can feel his soft breath on the nape of my neck. I
feel the tiny hairs there jump to attention in time with my cock's sudden leap
of interest at his unexpected nearness.
"Perhaps if you try this…" and he leans over me,
using a hand on my shoulder to steady himself as he reaches over and taps
something into the console. I am trembling helplessly under his fingers as,
unseen by the rest of the bridge crew, they gently caress my collarbone with
teasing feather-light strokes, sending shivers of arousal through my whole body.

"What do you think, Mr. Paris?" he queries lightly
and I look down at the screen to read the words he has input. /perhaps a hot
bath would be a good idea/ Startled, I look up into his grinning face. See, I
told you the bastard was laughing at me! I attempt to keep a straight face under
his mischievous scrutiny.
 His silent laughter is not mocking; it is simply the
loving acknowledgement of a wonderful secret shared between us. Where is the
stoic officer now? Did I only imagine the serious Chakotay of my old memories?
How could I ever have failed to notice the humour that dances beneath his
impassive face? I can see nothing now but unmistakable love shining in his eyes
and want to hug myself to contain my overwhelming happiness.
"Um…I think that might work, Sir!" I reply as
calmly as possible
He taps another message before straightening and returning to
his seat. I look at it and nearly collapse. If I die at this moment it will be
worth it. I don't ever remember a better moment in my life. The words just
scream out at me from the console. / Our quarters, 18.00 hours. I'll start the
water running./
Did you see it? Did you see the most wonderful word ever?
"Our" He said "Our" quarters. Oh God, if there is a god,
don't let this be a dream. And if it is a dream, don't let me ever wake up!
Please.
Kathryn's pov
The worst part of a Vulcan mind-link is you simply can't get
away with being distracted during sex. I mean, with anyone else you can plaster
a smile on your face, interject the odd moan and whimper, and your partner will
happily continue his efforts, blissfully unaware of your disinterest.
That probably sounds awful. As though I am dissatisfied with
Tuvok sexually. Nothing could be further than the truth. He's actually the
perfect lover in most ways. He considers it illogical to take part in any
activity without giving it his undivided attention and applying every talent at
his disposal. This includes sexual activity.
Despite the unplanned nature of our marriage, I consider
myself a lucky woman in a lot of ways. But, (and there's always a but – isn't
there?) my brain doesn't work like his. We may be physically compatible but our
minds are alien to each other.
Since Tuvok's Ponn Farr we have shared our thoughts but not
our thought processes. He understands what I think but cannot understand how I
arrive at my conclusions. Tuvok's mind works like a computer A + B + C = D
whereas, despite my scientific background, I usually make an intuitive leap
straight from A to D.
Unfortunately if I arrive at E instead, I have no way of
justifying my decision to him. I just know I'm right. It makes for some
interesting discussions. Furthermore, Tuvok does not juggle thoughts like I do.
He compartmentalizes everything. He puts all his problems in separate boxes and
once he has taken one out to consider he pops it back, slams the lid and opens
the next box. I am not so disciplined.
No matter what I am doing, sudden thoughts fly in, squawking
like rowdy chickens, grabbing my attention, and refusing to be ignored. Hence
the current problem. With a disappointed shudder he has straightened his arms
and risen up and out of me. The exquisite muscles of his stomach are shining
blackly with perspiration above his wilting erection. The combination of his
body warmth leaving me and the immediate guilt that engulfs me, make my body
shiver in the sudden chill of our bedroom.
With infinite understanding he lies down next to me, gathers
me in his arms and pulls the bedclothes over us. It is not until we are thus
comfortably placed, both staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, that we
begin to talk. Aware of my inability to converse coherently with my mind alone,
he graciously accedes to my unspoken request to talk aloud.
"You are particularly inattentive tonight."
"I'm sorry, Tuvok I just can't stop thinking about
something."
"What troubles you so?"
"Chakotay," I reluctantly reply.
He is silent but I feel him ponder this, considering the fact
that I had at one time been besotted by my enigmatic First Officer. Since our
link, I have been able to hide no secrets from him.
"Do you regret our marriage, Kathryn? Have I stolen
happiness from you? Do you regret your decision?" His words sound
unemotional but I can feel his pain and regret. I turn and hug him fiercely in
reassurance. I love this man.
Even before his Ponn Farr, when my thoughts had been platonic,
I had loved him. It was for his sake alone that I had thrust Voyager out on her
first and last mission to rescue him from the badlands. I have never regretted
it. I have never forgotten the look on his face when he refused to leave me to
die alone when I had evacuated the crew to stop the Dreadnought. He was my
staunch right hand. He was my family. He was my friend.
I admit that I had been bitterly disappointed to discover that
Chakotay was gay. Not even BI, just gay. I had held a girlish fantasy about him
even before our first meeting. He had been an anti-hero, a rebel, a Maquis, a
pirate fantasy figure, dark and mysterious like a holovid character. Then I had
met the real man and discovered his innate goodness, the terrible choice he had
had to make. His daring escapades had taken on a poignancy in my mind.
He became a tragic, heroic figuremy imy imagination and the
easy way he integratis cis crew into mine, the way he accepted his place beneath
me with quiet dignity, soon secured him a firm foothold in my affections. I
remember the exact moment I fell in love with him: It was at that most terrible
moment in my life, when I had made the decision to destroy the Array, when I had
decided to steal the lives from all my crew because of a personal sense of
morality.
B'Elanna had gone crazy; she had demanded to know who was I to
make this choice. And I heard Chakotay say softly "She's the Captain."
That was when I lost my heart to him. But I have long since accepted that it
wasn't to be. In a strange way I am relieved. Just as I find the bridge quaking
sometimes with the effect of a disagreement between Tuvok and myself, so it
would be had Chakotay and I become lovers instead. It's easy to make a rule
against P.D.A.'s, it's harder to obey them and similarly sometimes it's
impossible to leave angry feelings in your quarters too.
I don't think Voyager could survive a relationship between her
Captain and First Officer. There are too many sudden dangers, too many critical
decisions to be made, to allow for us both to be distracted by emotion at the
same time. So I have put away my desire like an unwanted gift, locked it in a
deep cellar and thrown away the key.
But I still have regrets. I care for him very much as a dear
and bel fri friend. All of these thoughts are shared with Tuvok in our intimate
embrace. I hear him give a small sigh of relief as he accepts the truth of my
feelings.
"What is the source of your concern for him?" He
asks and I reply with a question of my own.
"Have you noticed any change in his behavior
recently?"
"He has been late for duty on one occasion. On that same
occasion he left before the end of his shift. He has been seen to be spending an
unusual amount of time with Mr. Paris. Both he and Mr. Paris have been
distracted and emotional in the last few days. Today I noticed an unusual
interaction between them on the Bridge."
"Your conclusion?"
"Whilst I have insufficient data for a conclusion, I
would surmise that the Commander and Mr. Paris have embarked on a relationship
of a personal nature. It appears that after an initial indecision on both their
parts they have now resolved their differences and are actively pursuing their
association."
"I agree and it worries me."
"Are you concerned about the possible implications to the
efficient running of the Bridge or the effect of the relationship on the
individuals concerned."
"Both. Tom and Chakotay have taken years to overcome
their dislike for each other. If their affair ends badly they are likel