PART IV

Kathryn stood there for an interminable amount of time, gazing absently at the chilled stabs of light kniving through space. The stars had always been so beautiful to her, always held some hope, swirls and sprinkles of them glittering in the cosmos. She had never seen them like this before, so cold, so desolate, abandoned furnaces roaring to life only to burn out in the end.

Her thoughts numbly meandered over the confrontation with Chakotay. Her entire body felt exhausted, and her emotions were burnt out. Her myriad of anger, shame, remorse, and bitterness had dissolved after he left, leaving her feeling hollow, spent. She could only gaze numbly at space, watching the stars. She had tried to work on some reports, but found herself unable to read the words. All she wanted was to let her mind go blank for a while, to forget the mess in which she was embroiled.

A chirp at the door interrupted her thoughts. Kathryn sighed heavily, bathing her gaze one last time in the cold, empty space yawning before her. Then she turned away and called, “ Come in.”

The door slid open, and the person hesitated only briefly before proceeding into her readyroom. Kathryn caught her breath, caged her features to an emotionless mask.

“ Tom,” She greeted. “ What can I do for you?”

“ I have a confession to make.” He said abruptly, not quite looking her in the eye.

*Oh no. Nothing more.* She thought desperately.

Kathryn considered requesting Tom to leave, to make his confession, whatever the hell it was, later. She stepped closer to him, and noticed his gaze furtively slink away from her, avoiding eye contact. His hair was unruffled, and she could see the slight stubble of a beard scrubbing his cheeks. Apparently, the sleep she'd ordered him to get had done more harm than good. She stepped closer, gaze transfixed by the dark shadows under his eyes. He looked so sad.

She found herself reaching out to him, to lift his chin, to let his gaze meet hers. She wanted him to see her understanding, her compassion. She wanted to chase that pall of sadness away from him. Her fingers almost caressed his cheek before she realized what she was doing, and pulled the hand back to her side.

Heaving a sigh, Kathryn leaned back against her desk, scrutinizing him. “ All right, Tom.”

His gaze met her for the first time, and she could see the genuine shame in his clear blue eyes.

“ Do you remember how we got drunk on the Riyalan ship?”.

Kathryn winced. How could she forget? “ Of course. Our alcohol suppression boosters failed.” She supplied flatly.

He shook his head slowly. “ No. They were working just fine. When we were at our last stop, after Neelix negotiated for foodstuffs and medical supplies, one of the things they gave us was an alcohol enhancer. It basically suppresses your resistance to alcohol and enhances its effects.”

“ I see.” She murmured. Kathryn tried not to jump to any conclusions, but she had a sneaking suspicion just where this was heading.

Tom nodded, and continued raggedly, “ Well, when you and I were on the Riyalan ship-- well, we succumbed to the alcohol there because we didn't have alcohol suppression boosters. We had taken those enhancers.” His gaze snapped to her face, and he felt a bit relieved that no emotion registered on her face immediately.

Kathryn maintained the careful mask. It wasn't too hard. His statement didn't surprise her with the lead in he had given. “ I see. And just how did we end up taking them?”

Tom nodded slowly, eyes on the wall behind her. “ It was just going to be a prank, captain. I-- I thought it would be--”

“ Funny?” She supplied.

His eyes again snapped to hers, and he seemed surprised at her complacence.

“ Yeah. Um... after you'd already taken the enhancer, somehow I ended up taking it as well. And, well, you know what happened from there. I'm so sorry. I had no idea that this would happen. I can't apologize enough.”

There was a long moment of silence as she considered him, arms folded across her chest, expression thoughtful.

“ Just tell me something, Tom,” She murmured, pulling up to her feet and slowly circled him, eyes distant. “ We were off ship, and you know from experience that even a good situation is potentially dangerous. Your.. prank resulted in getting me intoxicated. What would have happened had there been an emergency? Starfleet has regulations that require the use of alcohol suppression boosters in order to protect against potentially dangerous occurrences. Those regulations are there for a reason. By your prank, you undermined those regulations.”

Tom blinked. She had caught him by surprise by switching to protocol.

“ I-- I had a booster just in case. If there had been an emergency, I could have detoxified you in five seconds.”

“ But it didn't work out as planned, and you and I ended up... in an awkward position.” “ Yes.” Tom said lamely.

She nodded, and then paused her pacing at her desk. She leaned back against it again, and her arms folded across her chest again. Her eyes met his, and he found himself unable to look away.

“ Why did you do it, Tom? If it had worked out, and I had simply gotten drunk while you were still sober, what would you have gotten out of it? A good laugh?” She watched him color, shift uncomfortably. Kathryn was genuinely perplexed. What would have motivated him to play such an infantile prank?

There was a long silence as Tom fumbled for words.

“ Captain-- I...” His voice faded off, his gaze distant. He seemed lost in thought, debating. Finally, his icy blue eyes focused on her, gaze lucid, expression set. “ It was about everything. The thirty days in the brig, Harry, B'Elanna,... I was angry.”

Her eyes clouded over. She said quietly, “ I thought we were over those events.”

There was a long silence.

His eye flickered, and he finally said, “ I'm not.”

Kathryn found herself without words. She knew, in retrospect, that the brig time combined with the demotion was harsh, overly harsh for Tom's actions. He had disobeyed a direct order from the captain, and merited some form of punishment, but what she had given him was harsher than she'd dealt to anyone else thus far. She'd punished worse less severely. But she felt stung after his affront to her authority, stung deeply. They had been getting along so well, then he simply disobeyed her. And it hurt. Kathryn had assumed all was forgiven between them after the malfunction with Chaotica's program, but she realized now that nothing had been resolved, only avoided.

He mentioned B'Elanna, Harry... All people whom, recently, she had affronted. She forced the operation upon B'Elanna... She separated Harry from Tal... She mentally added the doctor, whom she had berated as a simple program, a simple hologram, no more sophisticated than a replicator, and hadn't allowed him to get over a traumatic experience until Seven reasoned with her...

Kathryn flushed. She hadn't been aware that the crew was keeping tabs on this, that they held it against her. Her eyes flew to Tom's, and she realized suddenly, *My God, they must hate me.* She had been so close to them all before the void, but then they became strangers to her. They banded together to prevent her from flying out in the shuttle alone, to prevent her from being left behind. A part of her had cried in joy for their love, their loyalty, another part of her was consumed with hatred for them. If she had just disappeared into the void forever, it would be the end to the pain, to the guilt that assailed her every moment... And she had been taking it out on them since.

Tom's prank began to make sense. He had gotten her intoxicated so he could laugh about her later, joke about her with the junior officers, humiliate her, degrade her... She peered at him with suspicion, wondering if he had accidentally 'blundered' into taking the enhancer as well, or if he had simply faked being drunk, faked his hangover the next day. What if he had maneuvered to get her in bed, simply so he could joke about her later to the rest of the disgruntled crew? The possibility began to solidify, and she became more convinced each nanosecond she pondered the situation. Paris had been trying to humiliate her. Paris had wanted revenge upon her. The whole crew was fed up with her. They wanted to see her humiliated.

“ So, you wanted to hurt me,” She said quietly. He drew in a breath to speak, but she raised a hand to quiet him. Her back was to him, and for that she was grateful, so he couldn't see her tears.

Pain burned through her chest, reeling her. She had never felt so used, so humiliated in her life. She could imagine Paris and Kim surrounded by crewmen, laughing, as Paris related, “So, she got a few beers, then she was reeling drunk, slobbering all over me...” Laughing. Laughing about how he had gotten the captain into bed, how she'd turned a loose slut with a bit of alcohol. “ How could we have known we had a whore in the command chair?” Paris had probably jokingly related to Kim.

The tears threatened to overflow from her eyes, and she fought them back with every shred of pride left in her being. Some angry, inner voice told her to curse Paris out, give him a piece of her mind, some other, commanding part told her to let him finish what he had to say, hear the whole story, give him a chance to atone for his actions. But neither Captain Janeway or Kathryn Janeway won out at this point. All she could feel was the pain, the hurt, and it numbed her, stupefied her. She was too exhausted to fight anymore, drained by Chakotay, drained by Paris, drained by the hatred the crew must feel for her, the hatred she had been blissfully oblivious to until this moment. * Oh God... just let this day end...*

With great effort, she managed to mask her feelings, and gazed at Paris from the side, not quite looking him in the eye.

“ So, you wanted to hurt me, to humiliate me.” Her voice threatened to break, and she finished quickly, “ Well, congratulations. You succeeded.”

He stepped forward to say something, but Kathryn could not bear those eyes on her, the mocking blue sapphires that had seen her at her most vulnerable, at her most powerful, and her most passionate, the eyes that laughed at her even now. She sidestepped him and fled blindly for the door, disappearing before he could react.

* * * Chakotay fumed as he checked the chronometer. Paris was still in conference with Janeway. He directed a seething glare towards the door, wondering just what was going on. Likely a sweaty reprise of last week, only they were sober this time. He forced his gaze away from the readyroom and began methodically going about his duties.

The door swished open, and he heard light footsteps pattering across the top platform of the bridge. He studiously ignored them. He couldn't look at Paris right now. Years of discipline were the only thing keeping him from lashing at the younger man's throat. The turbolift doors slid open, and Paris exited.

The doors to the readyroom slid open again. Chakotay unconsciously rose to his feet to relinquish the bridge, ignoring Janeway as he heard her walk out, unwilling to acknowledge her on a personal level. Curt, professional, impassive-- just like she had always wanted him to be. His eyes burned into Paris's chair as he pictured the asshole sitting there, so cocky, so arrogant. He'd probably already bragged to his friends about bedding the Captain. The convict. The traitor.

He was confused when Janeway's footsteps led away from the command chair. He glanced behind him to confirm that she was entering the turbolift. There was a brief flash of Tom's blonde hair and shaken expression before the turbolift doors slid closed.

Chakotay blinked. He had assumed that Paris left first. Paris left the readyroom last? Janeway exited before someone else? He looked up and saw Tuvok's furrowed brow, and again felt a rare camaraderie with the Vulcan, a man as equally perplexed as he. Chakotay sank back into the command chair, and mused over what had taken place in the readyroom. He hadn't heard any noise of muffled shouts, nothing to indicate a confrontation. But that look on Paris's face...

He suppressed a wave of satisfaction that rolled through him. Perhaps Janeway had lashed him, given him a piece of her mind, wiped that smug attitude off of the pilot's face. Chakotay raked a hand through his short cropped hair, and wished that he could believe that possibility. He would be able to, if only Janeway hadn't been the first one to leave. She never was the first one to leave, not from her own territory. She was never the one to back down first.

He cursed himself for the concern he felt. He cursed himself for remembering the devastation in her eyes during their confrontation. He cursed himself for remembering the anger in her voice. He cursed himself for loving her. For loving her.

' We were drunk, Chakotay,' She had said. ' That doesn't excuse us but--'

He had interrupted, 'Damn right it doesn't excuse you!' It didn't excuse her. She was drunk, she had succumbed to lust when intoxicated. He could accept that. He could not accept it with Paris. Not with Paris. Did she think he was blind? Did she think he had no idea what was going on? Maybe she didn't realize it herself. It didn't matter. He had seen her eyes when she looked upon Paris. He had at first dismissed it as a mentor's love for a pupil, or extending her affection for Admiral Paris to his son. But it was later when he realized it was more than that. He remembered how shattered she had been after Paris's demotion, during his time in the brig. She had tried to hide it, acting cold, acting supercilious, but she was more hurt than he'd ever seen her. He could remember her worry when Paris was in the prison with Harry, he could remember the little something more in her eyes after the ship had been rescued from the Kazon-- something more than just gratitude, something genuine.

And it was not just her. Since the first day, the first day, Paris had committed himself fully to her. He knew the minute he beamed on the bridge, right after being pulled into the quadrant by the caretaker, that the traitor, the turn coat, would never turn on her. He had betrayed the Maquis in a blink of an eye, he had turned his back on starfleet, but he would never betray Janeway. The asshole had stood firm when Chakotay verbally lashed him, glowed with gratitude when Janeway defended him, when she conferred responsibility upon him.

He recalled the old man, Kalem, who had defended Janeway from the Mokra when she had been stuck on a planet, who had helped her free Torres and Tuvok from the Mokran prison. He could remember her devastation at Kalem's death, and his own helplessness to comfort her. B'Elanna had related to him afterwards how the Captain had knelt over the old man's body, caressing the cheek sadly, how Tom had tenderly taken her by the shoulders, urged her to come with them. Torres, at that point, had been convinced that there was something going on between the helmsman and the captain. That point was before she and Tom were even interested in each other.

And there was the banter. The banter that sprang up between the captain and her helmsman was natural. Chakotay would banter with her, they'd share a warm moment, then the akward silence would follow. He had a feeling, with a twinge of unreasoning jealousy, that Tom would never have an akward silence with her.

* No,* Chakotay thought furiously. * Simply an akward just-fucked morning.*

He hated Paris in that moment, with a passion. He had always felt enmity towards the man, even after his life had been saved by Paris. Now it grew into a passion. He hated Paris with all his heart, all his soul. Paris was the bastard who would hurt her, who would shatter her heart. Chakotay dispaired over the hatred Paris had given him, the passionate jealousy, the envy, the animosity, because if the man could provoke such impassioned hatred in Chakotay, then there was no reason he couldn't provoke such passionate love in Kathryn. B'Elanna Torres or no, Paris was going to break Kathryn's heart, and neither of them would realize it until it was too late. Damn that fleet bastard, that playboy...

* Be reasonable,* His rational mind implored. Chakotay knew he'd move on, knew he'd recover from this animosity. But that could wait. For now, he simply wanted to indulge his rage

* Just be angry for now. I'll get over this soon. Just for now.*

* * *

Kathryn spent the afternoon on the holodeck, trying to think about the confrontation with Chakotay, trying to forget the confrontation with Paris. When she finally left, she was fuming. Her remorse had faded into anger, her hurt had disappeared into betrayal.

* 'Armed fortress of a heart...' Damn him, he doesn't know anything!* She thought furiously as she stormed through the corridors. Kathryn thought of Justin, her beloved fiancé, dead for over fifteen years. Chakotay thought her incapable of love? He didn't know half of it. He didn't understand the passion she'd felt for Justin. She could remember how miserable she felt when he was gone, the joy when he was back, the tingle of pleasure when they brushed hands, brushed arms, the unthinking ecstasy when they made love... Chakotay didn't know the comfort she'd felt afterwards, nestled quietly in Justin's arms, the future secure. He didn't know the love she'd seen in Justin's eyes, the love that mirrored her own. No... all he knew was the tall blonde of the week and the stirrings in his groin. What did he *want* from her? She found it impossible to think he could love her, after his dalliances at almost every planet with his alien babe of the week.

Chakotay couldn't know what she'd felt for Mark, the peace, the security. Could she call it love? Perhaps. Maybe she wasn't *in love* with Mark, but she loved him like family, like a best friend. He was the one she could turn to in any situation, the presence she could fall back on when she doubted herself. He had helped her recover after Justin's and her father's tragic deaths, and he'd been behind her ever since. It was only natural that they'd eventually marry, solidifying their close bond into something more permanent. And he *was* in love her; she saw it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. He would never have betrayed her, never have left her.

But what she'd felt for Justin... she'd never felt it for Chakotay.

She halted in the middle of the corridor, surprised. Just what *did* she feel for Chakotay? She did not have the passion for him that she had for Justin, nor was he the reliable safety-net that Mark had been. Did she really feel anything for him? or did she just assume she was in love with him because she had never considered anyone else?

She began walking again, gaze distant and thoughtful. * All right then, Kathryn... if you could be involved with anyone on this ship, anyone, who would it be?* Her mind meandered over the different people on the ship, carefully avoiding the one man she was madder than hell at. But, inexplicably, her thoughts kept wandering back to him, his sky blue eyes, his unruffled blonde hair.

* Tom Paris? Surely you can do better than that-- that bastard...* She thought angrily, unsure if she was more furious at Paris for attracting her or at herself for being attracted to him. She closed her eyes against angry tears that welled up. She could see Paris lounging in Sandrine's, beer bottle in hand, spouting off his misadventures to whomever would listen, mocking her, the crewmembers around him laughing encouragingly.

She reached her quarters, and quickly keyed in the entry code. The door slid open just as her vision blurred completely with tears. A strangled sob choked her throat. She slammed down on the button to close the door, and collapsed against it with an angry gasp. Sliding down to a crouch, she clenched her hands into painful fists. She watched in morbid fascination as her knuckles grew white, then whiter in the half light. The pain of her joints filtered back to her, as if at a distance, and it took her a long time to getting around to unclenching them. The fingers unwound gingerly, sending stabs of pain shooting up her hand. She massaged her fingers slowly, soothing out the cramps. Her face felt sticky with tears, but she was relieved that they had stopped streaming out of her eyes.

Her legs ached. She placed her hands back against the door and pushed herself to her feet. She stumbled. Her knees felt like jelly. She raised a hand to her head to steady the quarters swimming around her vision. * I've really got to get to bed,* She thought. She began to walk towards her closet, but the stack of reports waiting on her desk called to her. Kathryn sighed heavily, and turned away from the closet. Her gaze wandered over to her bed, and exhaustion washed through her. She felt dead.

* Maybe I'll just take a little nap,* She reasoned, ambling over and lowering herself onto the bed. Her eyelids were like dead weight, and pulled shut. Before she could wonder why she was suddenly so exhausted, she slipped off into sleep.

* * *

Kim crept uncertainly into her quarters, like a burglar. He felt distinctly uncomfortable with this, like he had about many things. B'Elanna had commandeered the holodeck and thrown Klingons left and right, splitting them with bat'leths, threatened to split him as well unless he beat it. Paris had sulked in his quarters, desolate and miserable, displaying genuine emotion only when he snapped at Harry to get out. The Captain and Chakotay had been giving one another funny looks, and she and Tom had both left the bridge early the previous day. And now, she had overslept the beginning of her shift by nearly half an hour, hadn't responded to hails.

He entered her bedroom, found her draped over the covers in her uniform. He felt a rush of undue relief. He had heard that she wore light, silk nightgowns, and his lovelife had been desolate enough recently that his libido would respond to almost any stimulation. He couldn't even stay in the same room as Seven of Nine at the moment, for once wishing that she'd wear something large, loose and unflattering. It would save him distinct embarrassment.

He approached hesitantly, shook her shoulder lightly. A lock of reddish brown hair slid down from her shoulders to drape over her face, but she didn't wake. * Heavy sleeper. Who would guess?* Kim mused. He shook her again, a little harder, and whispered, “ Captain,”

She didn't stir.

Louder, “ Captain!”

When she still didn't respond, his brow furrowed, and he pressed his hand to her forehead. Hot, clammy flesh seared his touch. Kim gasped, and quickly tapped his combadge.

“ Kim to the doctor. Transport the captain directly to sickbay.”

Index

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