Fan Fiction
TITLE: Chakotay's Holidays: Let Nothing You Dismay
AUTHOR: Brenda Shaffer-Shiring
RATING: G
CODE(S): C, T. Future chapters will be C/T.
PART: 1/?
DISCLAIMER: Paramount will little note, nor long remember, what I do here. But
they still own the VOY copyrights, so they get a shout-out anyway.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is the first in what I intend as a year-long series
depicting the development of a C/T relationship through scenes set on various
holidays and special occasions. I got the idea from Britta's delightful C/P
series "Tom's Favorite Holidays" (located at the Tom Paris Dorm), though my
approach is more serious in nature. Thanks to Diane Bellomo for betaing.
SUMMARY: After a holiday party, Chakotay returns to his apartment to find
unexpected company. Set post-"Endgame."
Chakotay whistled a little song, softly, as he walked down the long quiet corridor to his apartment. He had no idea who Jeanette or Isabelle were supposed to be, or why they ought to bring a torch -- had in fact never heard their song before tonight -- but something in the lilting melody, and its suggestion of childlike happiness, appealed to him. And so he whistled.
Though he'd never been a celebrant of Christmas himself (had in fact never heard of the holiday until he'd gone to Starfleet Academy), Chakotay had enjoyed Christmas parties from the first time he'd attended one. Fireplaces, good food, singing, happy people -- what's not to like? And this evening's celebration had been a fine example of the genre. In fact, the only possible complaint Chakotay might have made about tonight's party was its early end. But the host, Chakotay's coworker Philippe, had apologetically said that he had to be up early next morning, as his children were expecting a visit from Pere Noel.
Arriving at his own familiar door, Chakotay spoke his name for the voiceprint lock, and the door whooshed open to admit him. He stepped through the doorway, and froze.
He had definitely not left a light on in his living room.
He stepped back into the entranceway, keeping the door -- and his options -- open. Summoning his best former-Maquis-captain-and-erstwhile-Starfleet-commander voice, he demanded, "All right, who are you and what do you want?"
There was a stirring from the shadowed vicinity of his couch, as of a reclining person sitting up. A weary, familiar voice said. "Pipe down, Chakotay. It's me."
"B'Elanna?" He moved into the entranceway then, letting the door slide shut behind him. "What are you doing here?" At this time of day -- and especially on this particular day -- normally she would have been home with her husband Tom and their toddler Miral. "How did you get in?"
"Oh, please, Chakotay. Did you really think I couldn't hack a simple voice lock?" Her voice was still soft. "Sorry I took you by surprise. I just couldn't think of anywhere else for us to go." "Us?"
He stepped closer to her, and realized that she was not alone. Miral lay curled up at the head of the couch, her pastel blankets pale against its dark green fabric. The chubby two-year-old was sound asleep, a thumb planted firmly in her mouth.
"B'Elanna, what's going on?"
She pushed herself up from the furniture in one swift move, so gracefully that the cushions weren't even slightly jostled. Propping a bolster behind her daughter's back, she gestured Chakotay toward the darkened kitchen. He followed, lighting a single low light in concession to the need not to disturb Miral. Then he cupped a hand over B'Elanna's shoulder, watching his friend's face carefully.
"B'Elanna, what is it? What's wrong? Please."
"It's Tom."
For a moment she looked as if she were about to cry, but instead she gritted her teeth, her features twisting into an expression that was closer to a snarl.
"What did he do?"
B'Elanna's expression was sour. "I just decided I'm tired of keeping the bed warm by myself when he's not around."
"What do you mean?" A disturbing thought occurred to Chakotay. "He's not cheating on you, is he?" Even as he said the words, Chakotay found the prospect hard to believe. Pre-B'Elanna, Paris had been so much the ladies man that at first Chakotay had feared his friend would be merely the next notch on the pilot's belt. But once the two of them had gotten together, even protective Chakotay had never had any reason to question Tom's fidelity.
"Hah." B'Elanna's expression showed her scorn of that idea. "I don't think he has the time."
"Excuse me?" Chakotay was bewildered now.
"It's his work, Chakotay," B'Elanna said impatiently. "He's never home from work. Do you know where he is right now? At Starfleet headquarters, testing a new shuttle prototype!"
"On Christmas Eve?" Chakotay was incredulous. Though celebration of the Christian Christmas was far from universal in the 24th century, everybody who knew B'Elanna knew that Christmas was *her* favorite holiday, and she celebrated it with all her heart. "Was he ordered to do the tests?"
"No!" she snarled. "He was *asked*. And *I* asked him, couldn't it wait until the 26th. And he looked at me as if I'd lost my mind."
Wanting to thrash Tom Paris, Chakotay squeezed her shoulder. "Okay," he said quietly, "okay. I get the picture." Buying himself time to think, he turned to his replicator unit and called her up a tall glass of ale. While she blew a light coating of froth off the top, he called up another one for himself, and took a sip. Toeing a couple of chairs out from the dark-wood table, he took one and gestured B'Elanna to the other.
After a moment he suggested, "I know this is a bad night for him to do that, B'Elanna, but if this is the first time it's ever happened..." He let his voice trail off. Spirits, he didn't particularly want to be fair to the man who had upset his friend, but he owed B'Elanna more than to let her do anything rash when she was upset. And he knew he wouldn't be doing her any favors by widening the breach between her and her husband.
She actually chuckled ironically (but softly, so as not to disturb Miral) at that. "Give me a little credit, Chakotay. I'm not the rampaging Klingon I used to be." She sipped at her drink, growling softly and appreciatively. "No, this is pretty much all the time now. There's always a new prototype. Always one more test. And he never treats any of it as optional, even when it *is*. Even when it's Christmas!"
Chakotay took another mouthful of his own beverage. "Well," he said, cautiously, "it's not as if he's the only workaholic in the family." He quirked a little smile at her.
"Nice try, Chakotay." She set her glass down on the table. "But tell me the truth -- do you really think I'd be here if it wasn't a lot worse than that?"
And of course there was only one answer to that. "No. No I don't." Having been through the experience of being abandoned, B'Elanna wouldn't visit it on anyone else lightly. He reached across the table and took her hand. "How bad is it, B'Elanna?"
Her lips twisted. "It wasn't too bad at first. I actually thought it was kind of nice when Tom's dad used to comm him and invite him over to take a look at some new project, test-flight the sims and so on. I thought, well, that's great, he's finally getting to spend some time with his father. And he really did seem to like it. He came home and it was all, oh, he and dad did this, he and dad did that, he and dad did some damned other thing."
"Tom's father is behind this?" Chakotay had not had the impression the older Paris disapproved of B'Elanna, or would want to make her unhappy.
"No, I said that's where it started. Then a couple of old admirals saw Tom at work, and the next thing I knew, half of Starfleet's senior command is calling my husband and asking can he please come over and help with their pet ship-project. And you know..." her hand circled in a helpless, frustrated gesture, "you know how Tom loves to fly. You remember Alice?"
"Sure." The strange ship-being that had tried to commandeer Paris (and kill B'Elanna when she interfered) wasn't something Chakotay was likely to forget. "But I thought a lot of Tom's obsession then was Alice's fault."
"Not all of it." B'Elanna slugged back a good portion of her drink. "Not nearly enough of it."
"B'Elanna. Have you tried to talk to Tom?"
She swirled her glass, staring down into the liquid at its depths. "He doesn't think there's a problem."
"I see." Actually, he didn't; in spite of his early skepticism, Chakotay had come to believe that Tom Paris did indeed care for B'Elanna Torres, maybe even more than he loved flying.
Or maybe not. Chakotay swallowed some more of his own drink before setting it down. "So what brings you here?"
She looked affronted. "I thought you told me I could always come here."
"You can. And you're welcome to stay, no matter what. I'm just asking why. Are you moving out, or are you trying to shock Tom into realizing how serious you are about there being a problem?"
Troubled, she cast her brown eyes down at the tabletop. "I'm not sure. The second one, I think."
"Okay."
Chakotay's feelings were mixed: he was pleased to see that she wanted to work through her relationship problems, rather than revert to her old practice of flaring up, breaking a few noses, and storming off. On the other hand, he was troubled to see his old friend so unhappy, and not quite sure Paris deserved such consideration. "Like I said, you and Miral are welcome to stay here as long as you want. But if you're planning an overnight or two, I have a guest bedroom that's more comfortable than the couch."
The offer coaxed a smile from B'Elanna. "Sold." She used the table to lever herself to her feet. "Could you keep an eye on Miral for a few minutes? My hover's parked in the complex garage, and Miral's Christmas presents are in the trunk."
"Get her to bed. I'll get the presents."
He followed her directions to the hover, all the while pondering the circumstances that had prompted this mother and child to take shelter in his home on Christmas Eve. One thing for certain: Philippe would be surprised to learn that his Native American colleague had joined him in taking the role of Pere Noel.
