Title: MY UNDOING
Author: Danielle et. al. ( danielleetal@dhearts.org )
Series: VOY
Code: J/C J/T (mentions P/K)
Rating: NC-17 angst
Parts: 1/1
Disclaimer: Yes, I know Paramount owns Star Trek and its characters. I'm jealous, so I'm playing with their old toys. Everything will be back in the sandbox by morning.
Warning: *Very* light bondage.
Summary: Janeway discovers how wrong it was for her to marry Chakotay, and now she has to do something about it...
Archiving: FFF and ASCEM. Ask first for anywhere else.
Feedback: Pretty pretty please with a cherry on top?
Note: Part of the Femme Fuh-Q Fest - http://www.oocities.org/femme_fuhq_fest/
Note 2: Endless thanks to my betas: Kelly, wunderwolfe, and JJ. Not only was their advice priceless, but they worked around a terribly short deadline. Thanks so much, ladies!
Note 3: This is written from Janeway's point-of-view.
by Danielle et. al.
On my sister's ninth birthday, my father took us to see Saturn and the moon that shares Phoebe's name. As my sister busily painted and sketched the planet and "her" moon, I questioned my father incessantly. I had to know exactly why the rings appeared as they did. My father patiently answered as best he could, but my curiosity outstripped his knowledge of Saturn's magnetic fields and the tidal resonances of its satellites.
In distant orbit around Saturn, I found direction. I knew then that I had to join Starfleet, where I could spend my life exploring all the intricacies of space.
Now, I live the culmination of my dreams. I command an Intrepid class starship. I have the privilege of making first contact with countless new species. We have studied spatial anomalies, creatures, and technologies beyond the wildest dreams of the Federation.
And yet, I'm miserable.
I lie in the bed that Chakotay and I share. The heavy rhythm of his breathing fills the room. He is a gorgeous man, noble and devoted. He loves me.
And I love him. I really do. But I don't love him the way he loves me.
The years have failed to temper the passion smoldering in his dark eyes. Off duty, I am no less than Queen regnant, and he is my attentive consort. Ensuring my happiness is his life's work.
Despite all his efforts, my heart lives in desolation. I regret that we are married. I don't want him for a lover, and I don't want him for a spouse. My love for him lives only within the bounds of friendship.
Yet, I cannot leave. His kindness imprisons me. He has made every effort to be the perfect husband; if nothing else, I owe allegiance.
So, I go through the motions of being a wife. I pretend that our marriage means something to me.
His strong body moves above me. He presses his lips on mine as his hand roams along the inner contours of my thighs.
Under his ministrations, my emotions betray my will. I should find him sexy. I should feel attracted to him. But my mind will concede only that his body is aesthetically pleasing.
I pretend to enjoy the slow, sensuous movements of his hips as he probes my depths. As his hands roughly fondle my nipples, I turn my discomfort into moans of pleasure. My body remembers how to move beneath him; the deception is complete.
He never lasts long within the relentless contractions of my inner muscles. He releases a long grunt, and it is done.
I change the sheets while he's busy in the head. After my shower, I return to find him fast asleep.
Silent tears of shame come quickly.
=/\=
My ready room is my refuge. This space is mine, and mine alone. Yet even here, I cannot escape the tragedy that is our marriage. Chakotay may be absent, but I am still a wife.
It feels wrong that Voyager can be so peaceful while her captain is in turmoil. Like a child whose parents are fighting, Voyager seems reluctant to be any trouble.
Well, perhaps her parents *are* fighting. One of them just doesn't know it yet.
I return to the pile of reports that comprise the tedium of my day. As I read each screen, a corner of my mind continues to think about Chakotay.
My attention never strays from our marriage for long. On the bridge, and even in staff meetings, I catch my mind wandering. In the end, I fear that the choice to leave him will not be mine to make. Voyager simply cannot survive under a captain so divided. And we both know that my loyalty is to Voyager first.
=/\=
The moment we entered our quarters, I knew that Chakotay wanted to have a talk. But he did let me finish dinner in silence. I have to credit him for that.
"Kathryn?"
Steeling myself, I look up at him.
"Please tell me," he asks, "what's wrong?"
I stand and walk to the viewport. To the stars, I say, "Why do you ask?"
"I'm worried about you. Kathryn, we barely even talk anymore. What's going on between us?"
A glance in his eyes confirms that he understands our problems all too well. He knows I'm suffering. And he's scared that he can't fix it.
I crumple onto the couch. I can't bear to look at him. Unbidden, the tears I know so well come forward. I refuse to wipe them away.
He moves to sit next to me and pulls me into his arms. It seems strange, him comforting me as I search for words to end our marriage. But I know his actions are as much for himself as they are for me. He wants to make things better. I only wish he could.
In a voice just above a whisper, he says, "I love you, Kathryn."
"That's the problem," I begin. After pulling back from the embrace, I reach up and touch his cheek. "Chakotay, I love you with all my heart. And I always will. But, my loveà" My voice falters. "My love for you isn't romantic. It can't sustain a marriage."
I am free from the burdens of my deception. I wish that mattered.
After a deep breath, I say the final line. "I have to divorce you."
I watch his heart break.
I want desperately to comfort him, but that is not my place anymore.
He leaves without a word.
=/\=
Chakotay doesn't live here. Alone, I watch the stars streak astride our bow.
I still cry myself to sleep. Now, my tears are of grief.
More than two years before its official end, our marriage died. But my denial was too strong then. Now that he's gone, I can finally mourn its demise.
Since he left, I've come to realize that my lack of attraction to him was not our marriage's only fatal flaw. In the earliest days of our courtship, everything seemed so right. His honorable nature and his gentle strength called to me. Scared and alone in the reaches of the Delta Quadrant, I succumbed to his siren song of security. But as our marriage played out, I learned just how wrong that security was. He needed to be there for me, while I needed him to leave me be. His caring smothered me.
My spirit thrives on self-reliance. In his need to connect with me, he refused to accept that. And I didn't insist upon it.
Despite our differences, Chakotay and I are maintaining our roles as first officer and captain. We're still a command team. He struggles to keep his personal feelings from permeating our work. In thanks, I humor his opinions as often as I can.
We pretend that we're still friends -- it's important for morale -- but in truth, we avoid each other. I ache for the friendship we shared. But like so much else, I have to accept its loss.
I left him. The least I can do is let him define our current relationship.
=/\=
I don't hold that time heals all wounds. However, the pain of the past can appear smaller in retrospect. I have stopped counting the months since our divorce. I will not let that marriage frame my life anymore.
My strength as a leader has returned. Decisions come naturally. Voyager and her crew are my family again, not my burden.
Chakotay and Sam Wildman have become inseparable. I'm hardly the first to wonder if they are courting.
Paris and Kim, on the other hand, are as obvious as they can be without earning themselves a reprimand. When they share dinner in the mess hall, they are always too busy eyeing each other to notice the contents of their plates. But Kim's professionalism prevails on the bridge, so I smile and wish them well.
With no room for her at the boys' table, B'Elanna's place is at mine. She and I have developed a solid friendship. In her, I find a kindred spirit. We share the stubborn determination to bend circumstance to our will.
We spend most of our evenings competing on the rec deck. I taught her the specifics of tennis, and she has become a daunting opponent. We battle at everything from velocity to swimming. Keeping up with her is a challenge that makes my body cringe and my spirit soar.
=/\=
Once a week, B'Elanna and I spend a private evening in Sandrine's with the boys. I daresay that I'm beginning to think of Tom and Harry -- as I've come to call them -- as my friends.
This week, we're trying out Tom's new addition to Sandrine's, a dance club. I enjoy a cup of synthetic Irish coffee as B'Elanna and I watch the boys sway on the dance floor. For this moment, they exist only for one other.
Theirs is a love affair fit for a fairy tale. The intensity of their first months together has calmed into deep adoration. It's only a matter of time before they ask me to officiate their wedding.
As I watch them, I feel a twinge of envy, but I am truly happy for them. I think it's good that they've displayed their affections so publicly; they seem to be proving that an on-board relationship can work.
B'Elanna grabs my hand, pulling me out of my reverie as she tows me to the dance floor. My heart jumps. A quick glance verifies that Tom and Harry are unaware of her actions. This is not a dare.
A new song has begun. The music is provocative, and she is shameless. She's also a bit drunk.
I'm enjoying every moment of it.
The sparks between us catch the boys' attention. She smiles lasciviously and creeps closer.
I sacrifice enough of myself for my crew. This is my time off, and we're among friends. If the boys want to watch, that's their choice. I'm not backing away from an intelligent, willful, and outright sexy woman. Not for their benefit. Not here.
I accept her challenge and step nearer. It's difficult to avoid brushing against her, and she's not helping the matter. In retribution -- or is it encouragement? -- I bow my head and breathe a cool stream of air beneath her jaw line.
Her intense, dark eyes lock onto mine. Their solemn gaze belies her playful movements. This is no game.
I will her to understand my silent reply: I don't want it to be a game.
B'Elanna answers with a sensual smile.
When the song finally ends, Tom and Harry applaud our audacious display. She grabs my wrist. Against my better judgment, I let her lead me to the door.
Impropriety? What's impropriety?
Without a word, she pulls me into the turbolift. "Deck Three."
As much as I want to, I can't let her do this. "B'Elanna, you're drunk."
"Not anymore."
It doesn't take long to see that she's right. Thank the Ferengi for synthehol.
She swoops in for a kiss, but I stop her with a raised hand. "Wait."
The lift doors open, and she again grabs for my wrist. This time, I elude her capture, briskly striding down the corridor to my quarters. Glancing back, I notice that she's taking the opportunity to appreciate my rear.
It's good to be appreciated.
She lifts me off my feet before the doors can close. "Computer, engage privacy lock and allow only priority communications," I manage.
She unceremoniously drops me onto my bed. In a flash, she's poised above me.
At the last moment, I again get a hand between us to halt her attempt at a kiss. Raw desire darkens my voice. "You know, I don't do casual sex."
In response, she bats my hand out of her way. Her breasts press against mine as her strong, feminine body lowers onto me. "Understood. Now shut up, Kathryn."
She removes her leather belt and draws the end through the buckle, creating a small loop. She asks, "May I?"
"Loosely," I agree. She binds my hands to the headboard. The closure would be easy enough for me to open, but I have no interest in escape.
For a long moment, her eyes appraise my body. Finally, she calls out, "Computer, lights off."
Blinking at my newfound blindness, I wait for her to take her long awaited kiss; but she has other plans. First breathing, then kissing, then suckling, she works her way up the side of my neck. The tip of her nose brushes my earlobe. I cry out. I can't remember being so aroused in my life.
She rips open my blouse and taps open my bra bindings. Eagerly, she settles upon a breast. Her tongue flicks lightly at the nipple. Electricity shoots through my body with every touch.
"B'Elanna!" I cry.
"Mmm," she replies in an unmistakably predatory tone.
Her hands lightly caress my bare skin. Lines of fire trail behind her fingertips. As she works her way down my stomach, she opens my slacks. Deftly, she removes the rest of my clothing. Beneath her fully clothed form, I tremble at my sense of vulnerability.
She moves her attentions to my neglected breast. Below, from my abdomen to my legs, I can feel the heat of her skin radiating through her skintight leather outfit. A corner of my mind becomes aware of her tongue swirling around the hardened nib of my nipple. I release another wordless cry.
Breathing and kissing her way up my neck again, she finally begins our first kiss. Her lips are endlessly soft and full. As she begins to pull back, the tip of her tongue runs gently along my bottom lip.
She slowly runs her fingers through my loose hair as she begins another kiss. Her tongue explores my mouth with exquisite skill.
Constantly kissing and gently nipping, she moves back down the side of my throat and down my chest. Her hands release my hair and tenderly caress the swells of my breasts.
The tip of her tongue draws long lines down the flat of my stomach, teasing ever closer to my groin. I can only whimper as my mind becomes fuzzy from hyperventilation.
Finally, her hands slide down the sides of my hips to find the tender flesh of my inner thighs. I moan gratefully as she runs her tongue along my slick center. I lose track of her actions as she submerges my mind in sensation.
My hands desperately pull at the belt above me. In the distance, I hear my voice moaning, "Beyà B'Elanna!" The tension builds steadily in my abdomen as she works relentlessly, always slowing just before I can reach release.
"B'Elannaà please! Ohà" I sob as she again lets me fall back from the brink.
I hear her muffled voice, and my mind finally understands the word, "Ready?"
"B'Elanna!" is the only reply I can manage.
As she finally brings me over the top, all coherent thought is lost. I can only offer a long, primal cry as the spasms take hold.
The sensation eventually becomes too much, and I twist my hips in hopes of pushing her away. Undaunted, she moves down to lap up the rush of nectar that has already begun to soak the blankets.
I lie spent, struggling to catch my breath. She frees my hands, then pulls me into a close embrace.
She calls, "Computer, lights to one-quarter."
Volumes are silently spoken as we gaze at one another. Our kiss speaks of promises and hopes and of newfound contentment.
Finally, I sigh, "You know, I could get used to that."
"You could, could you?" she teases.
A corner of my mouth upturns. "On second thought," I amend, "I don't think I could ever get used to that."
She offers a grin and says, "Good. Now, Kathryn?"
"Yes?" I ask.
She slowly lowers the zipper on her vest to reveal nothing but bare skin beneath. "I think you have a favor to return."