 |
By Maulmistress Disclaimer: Not mine, but oh I wish they were!! hehe! Rating: NC-17 Codes: J/C, C/7 Author’s Note: Continuation from Hiding in Shadows and Shadows and Deceptions, which should be read first. Mucho thanks, hugs and kisses to girlies on VAMB board for their feedback and posts. Dedicated to my darling Angelina, whose invaluable input resulted in a major plot change! “Computer, cancel wake up call,” I grunt, slowly easing out of bed. I feel like hell warmed up. I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I look like hell too, but I guess that’s what happens when you subject yourself to three hours in the ring with Boothby’s finest. Using my old, faithful regenerator, liberated from Voyager’s Sickbay after one too many lectures from the Doctor, I swiftly deal with the bruises and contusions on my face and abdomen. The sore ribs will have to make do with a hot shower. I turn the water on and wince as I bend to remove my boxers. Damn, that young Jenkins can pack a mighty powerful punch. I only hope he wakes up this morning feeling half as rough as I do. Stepping into the shower, I groan as the water pounds hotly onto my aching body. I’m getting too old for these marathon bouts, but after my meeting with Paris I needed to vent my frustration and my spirit guide was studiously avoiding me – as was my father. A sickening ache fills me as I consider the ramifications of Kathryn and Seven’s medical reports. Grabbing the soap, I roughly wash my torso. Part of me enjoys the painful reminder of my bruised ribs, enjoys the relief it brings, this pain helping me to forget the one in my heart. I can’t imagine Seven cheating. Hell, she doesn’t even like sex, let alone indulge in it with another man! No, I’m sure I’m the only one in our marriage with a secret lover … and that brings me to Kathryn … My gut twists at the thought of Kathryn cheating on me. I recall the time on Voyager when I knew she was romantically involved with Kashyk then later with Michael O’Sullivan. Although I had smiled and made all the appropriate responses a best friend and First Officer should make, I absolutely hated it! I hated the fact that those miserable sons of bitches were holding her, kissing her … and in O’Sullivan’s case, fucking her. I’m glad my feelings for her had dulled as Voyager travelled nearer to Earth, because if they hadn’t, seeing her with Jaffen would’ve destroyed me. She was so open on Quarra, freed from the burden of command. It was a rare opportunity to observe the woman behind the Captain’s pips, the woman who longed for intimacy and wasn’t afraid to offer her heart. She was soft and womanly and as sexy as hell! I envied the deep love she had found with Jaffen and was secretly pleased when the Captain re-emerged and forced Kathryn to leave him behind. Another lover lost. I pity Jaffen, and to some extent Mark Johnson. It must be hell to love Kathryn, and be loved in return, only to lose her. She is an amazing person, generous, kind, funny, beautiful, compelling … and she is also the most unselfish, thoughtful, enthusiastic lover I’ve ever had. Images of her assault my mind and my hand wanders lower, soaping my stirring erection. I groan, recalling her loving ministrations, and grasp my cock, pretending my palm is her warm mouth. I recall the afternoons she would tease me, bathing my aching cock with her tongue and lips … those times she’d be unable to make love and would strip down to her panties so I could fondle and caress her as she worked me over … her delightful moans as she sucked me hard and deep, accepting my spurting ejaculate and swallowing it greedily, peering up at me through eyes full of love. My hand pumps harder and I brace myself against the tiled wall of the shower. With a low growl, I come, splattering the cubicle with streaming jets of jism. My knees buckle and I lean weakly against the wall, whispering Kathryn’s name. I love her so much it physically hurts. The water runs in rivulets over my slumped form, mixing easily with the heated tears that roll down my face. What idiot said that it was only women who bleed? I reluctantly turn off the shower and reach for a towel. Drying myself, I think about the copied files I sent over to Paris in the early hours – and the footnote asking him to hack into Starfleet’s records and cross reference Admiral Peterson’s DNA with that of Kathryn’s baby. My baby. This doubting and waiting hurts worse than anything Jenkins could throw at me. Wandering back into the bedroom, I notice the shadow of my wife passing the doorway. I wonder, whilst dressing, if she had heard me in the shower, moaning another woman’s name. I wonder if I should care. God, I really am a bastard. This isn’t some stranger; this is the woman I promised to love and honour, to stand by in sickness and in health. The woman I swore to the Spirits and my honoured ancestors I would not forsake - The woman I have no compunction about cheating on. Hell, for all I know, she could be cheating on me. I give a shallow laugh as I slip into my pants. Seven? Cheating? I don’t think so … but then … I fight those thoughts and head downstairs, stubbornly refusing to consider all the sickening possibilities. Seven’s standing by the stove. She turns and gives me a tight smile. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?” “Like a log,” I lie, kissing her chastely. “I have prepared your breakfast.” The table is set for one – as normal – and a portion of grapefruit awaits me. “Thank you,” I murmur, sitting down and loading spoonfuls of sugar onto the bitter fruit. I hate grapefruit. “Your omelette will be ready shortly,” she says, adding chopped mushrooms and herbs to the already full pan. The grapefruit assaults my tongue and I wince. “You were late home last night,” I comment, adding more sugar. She removes the sugar bowl with a reproachful look and reminds me too much sugar is not healthy. I ignore her and manage to swipe another spoonful before she carries it away. “I like sweet things,” I grumble, thinking that it also applies to my love life. “So where were you last night?” “At the restaurant. It was a busy evening,” she says quietly. “Oh,” I say, trying the coffee. It’s hot, strong and severely lacking in sugar. Standing up, I pass her and grab the sugar bowl back, resolutely depositing two large spoonfuls into my mug. “Ro’lec says we’re fully booked for the weekend,” she persists. “Good. I’m glad.” She brings the omelette over, complete with hash brown. “Are you?” Blue eyes probe mine. I take a tentative bite and chew whilst I think of a suitable response. My beautiful, talented wife – former Borg drone and Voyager’s Astrometrics Officer - jointly owns a small restaurant in a Los Angeles suburb. Her partner, Ro’lec, is the front of house host, a swarthy, brooding Bajoran who charms every impressionable female he meets. “You know my feelings on this, Seven …” “Explain.” I sigh. “I just don’t understand why you choose to spend your day cooking for strangers. You’re capable of so much more.” “If this is what I want, you should be happy for me,” she retorts. “But you’re wasting your time!” I feel like I’m wasting mine. This is a discussion we’ve had countless times. “You’re the most intelligent person I know, you have knowledge and experiences of things most of us will never understand … and yet you’re throwing all of that away!” “Irrelevant.” My fork clatters onto the table top as I stand up. “Damnit, Seven! You can’t spend the rest of your life hiding from humanity in that dingy kitchen!” “I am not hiding.” Her voice trembles a little. I break eye contact and take a deep breath. “I know Mark Johnson has contacted you again …” She straightens her spine. “I have no desire to become a part of his collective.” “He’s a member of one of the most prestigious, intellectual organisations in the Federation …” Her eyebrow arches. “I have been inundated with countless, similar offers, many more appealing that Mr Johnson’s, and yet my answer remains the same. I am content with what I am doing. I find it relaxing.” “And what happens when you’re no longer interested in that?” The fingers of her Borg hand spider across the barely noticeable swell of her stomach. “I shall have parenting our child to occupy my time.” Fuck! The baby … yesterdays missed appointment … “Seven,” I begin, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I got caught up in a meeting … couldn’t be helped …” She eyes me coolly. “A meeting with Admiral Janeway,” she clarifies and I worry what’s coming next. “No doubt she is the reason you have mentioned Mark Johnson’s name today. I realise you and she are both concerned regarding my career choice, and my continual refusal to work with Starfleet and Mr Johnson’s think tank, but I am capable of assessing my own requirements and fulfilling them.” Relief sweeps through me. “Kathryn and I just want you to realise your full potential, that’s all.” “Chakotay,” her palm covers mine as it rests on her shoulder. “I am. I am a wife and soon I will be a mother. These are the most important roles I can undertake. Our child is my chance to fully understand humanity, to learn and embrace it. I do not require science or Starfleet. I cannot always follow Kathryn Janeway’s guidance. When I was in the Collective, I helped assimilate millions of individuals in pursuit of the Borg’s idea of perfection. When Captain Janeway ordered me to destroy the Omega particle, I thought I had seen true perfection for the first and last time, but I was wrong. This child is perfection.” Her sincerity humbles me. “Seven, I’m sorry ...” “Kiss me?” It’s more of a question than a demand. There’s uncertainty in her eyes, as if I’m going to deny her, and I realise how long it’s been since we’ve shared more than a peck on the cheek. I close the distance between us and softly kiss her. Her hand caresses my face. “Mmmm, that was nice,” she murmurs. It is nice. Not soul-rocking, like my kisses with Kathryn, but it is nice. “I am not working this evening. I thought I could prepare us a meal, perhaps open that bottle of brandy Tuvok sent ... if you are agreeable?” She waits for my answer. “Only if you agree that I’ll do the cooking.” “Do you find my cooking distasteful?” When did my strong, self-assured wife become so fragile and full of doubt? Was it when my back was turned and lying in the bed of another woman? I’m such a bastard. “I love your cooking, but I think it’s time I spoilt my wife. And child,” I add, lightly covering her stomach with my palm and realising, with a shock, that her tummy is no longer flat. In fact, the small curve feels more like Kathryn’s than Seven’s. She watches my reaction with amusement. “Your child is making itself at home.” “I didn’t realise …” I stammer, continuing to stroke her belly. “You don’t look any different … but I can feel the difference …” Seven’s metallic hand covers mine. “I do not think I would have managed to hide even this tiny bump had I still been wearing my regeneration suits.” My baby … “Although I believe the Doctor had an ulterior motive for the design of those garments. Something besides their functionality,” she continues with an arch of her eyebrow. My eyes remain riveted to our joined hands. “Does he or she have enough room in there? I mean, with the Borg implants … the abdominal ridges …” If I’d attended yesterday’s appointment I would know all this. Up until now, it’s been too easy to forget this child’s existence. She laughs, and it’s a sound I rarely hear anymore. “Do not worry, our child has inherited your stubbornness and is making more than enough room for itself.” I look up and see that there is something she’s not telling me. “Seven?” “Although there is enough room for the moment, my implants will prevent me from carrying full-term. Therefore, the Doctor will induce the birth a month earlier.” Eight months? “Is that safe? I mean for you and the baby?” “He has assured me that the risk is minimal. The baby and I will adapt.” “I should’ve been with you yesterday.” “It could not be helped.” I think we’re both surprised when I suddenly embrace her - then just as suddenly release her. “I have to go.” “Would you like me to go shopping?” she asks. “No, thank you. I said I wanted to spoil you, so that means leaving everything to me. All you have to do is sit back and enjoy!” She smiles warmly. “I understand, Captain.” My lips lightly brush hers. “I’ll see you later.” “I look forward to it.” * * * * The walk to the transport site is routine, allowing my mind to wander. Fuck, what a complete mess! A headache is already thumping solidly against the base of my skull and I know that it’s only going to get worse as the day progresses. Seven/Kathryn, Kathryn/Seven … spirits I’ve spent so many months agonising over that and now it has made worse by the fact they’re both pregnant – and only one of them with my child. I’m fond of Seven and I feel like such a lousy bastard for treating her the way I have. I recall her face this morning, her apparent delight at receiving just the slightest bit of attention. She deserves better. Starfleet Academy is jostling with cadets and officers, splashes of colour against the backdrop of official, grey buildings. Grey … the colour of Kathryn’s eyes when she’s tired or hurting … like I hurt her yesterday … like I always hurt her. How long has it been since I’ve seen her face light up with delight? How long since we’ve sat and laughed over some ‘Fleet rumour? I’m making both women miserable. I have to make a choice. I’m tempted to call Paris, because I tell myself the decision will be easier when I know the truth. I can hear my father’s voice asking me why I’m so obsessed with the truth when I live in a circle of lies and deceit. Because I need to know, father. Because I need to make a choice. ‘You need Kathryn,’ he answers. “Good morning, Captain Chakotay, I wasn’t aware that you have an appointment with the Admiral today.” I stare, in stunned silence, at Kathryn’s aide, Jacob McKenzie. He’s obviously as surprised as I am at my arrival. Only yesterday I’d promised her that I would give her time … no contact … “Captain?” Jacob prompts. I think quickly. “I … er … thought I could persuade the Admiral to join me for breakfast.” “Oh. Good luck then. She wasn’t feeling well when I arrived, even refused her morning coffee,” he replies, gesturing for me to enter. I force a smile as I pass by. “Perhaps I’ve finally weaned her onto tea.” Inside, her office is empty. “Kathryn?” An awful retching sound comes from her private bathroom and I cross the room to peer inside. She’s on her knees with her head over the toilet bowl. “Kathryn?” She waves me away with her hand whilst simultaneously throwing up. I ignore the order and dampen a washcloth with cold water, pressing it against the back of her neck as she hurls again. I murmur soothingly and stroke her back, feeling the vibrations as her tiny body shudders with every heave. Eventually she stops and I step away as she gingerly rises and flushes. “What are you doing here?” she asks huskily, lowering the toilet lid and sitting on it. “Would you believe me if I said I just found myself standing in your outer office?” I fill a glass with cold water and pass it to her. “Thanks,” she rasps, taking the glass and sipping slowly. She looks pale and tired, with dark circles under her eyes. “Are you sick every morning?” I ask, concerned that this pregnancy is already taking its toll. “Without fail,” she answers wiping her mouth and throat with the damp washcloth. I feel guilty. “Can’t Dr Pulaski prescribe you something to prevent it?” “I’m taking all the anti-nausea drugs I can. At least now I’m only sick in the mornings instead of all day.” “There must be something else she can give you …” Kathryn swallows a little more water before answering. “Because of my age, it’s not that simple. Dr Pulaski says I can’t have anything stronger without it affecting the baby’s health. And I won’t risk my baby for my own convenience.” “But surely you’re not getting enough food, for you or the baby …” Her eyes bore into me. “I’m taking supplements and adhering to the doctor’s recommended diet. Believe me, the baby and I are eating just fine.” “I’m sorry, Kathryn, its just I worry about you.” She smiles at me. “I know you do, but we’re fine, honestly. A little morning sickness isn’t going to kill me. Now, are you going to tell why you’re here?” I search for a response whilst she stands and begins to brush her teeth. Her raised eyebrow pushes me for an answer. “It wasn’t a conscious decision.” I am struck by the realisation that it seems perfectly normal to be watching her doing something as ordinary and mundane as brushing her teeth. For a moment I can pretend this is part of our regular morning routine, that this bathroom is the en-suite in the house we live in … “Hmmm.” Her non-committal reply jars me from my daydreaming. “I missed you.” She spits the toothpaste out and wipes her mouth and chin. “You promised. Two weeks, remember?” “I know, but you can’t just tell me that you’re pregnant with my child then expect me to stay away.” “So you’re only here because of the baby?” “Is that what you really think?” “Well, you’ve never had this much difficulty staying away from me before.” She’s referring to the many times we’ve tried to end this … affair. “None of those break-ups were my idea, Kathryn,” I growl. “I know,” she sighs, rubbing her forehead. “But each of those times you’ve respected my wishes and now suddenly you can’t last twenty-four hours without seeing me? And so I have to ask what’s different? Other than the baby that is.” A stray wisp of hair has fallen from her immaculate pleat and I use tucking it behind her ear as an excuse to touch her. “Yes, the baby makes a difference, Kathryn …” her face falls and she tries to pull away. “But not how you’re thinking,” I whisper, clutching her face and stepping closer. “I look at you and I see everything I’ve ever wished for, all my hopes and dreams in one incredibly beautiful package … and I wish things were easier, that I’d waited longer …” “Don’t,” she says, quietly. I fall silent, trying to convey with my eyes all the love and emotion I feel for her. She slips her arms around me and I hug her tightly. “I think my mother’s aware that something’s wrong,” she whispers. “Last weekend she was staring at me with a strange expression on her face. Problem is, Chakotay, I have no idea what to tell her.” Her chuckle is muffled by my uniform. “Listen to me! I’m a fifty year old Starfleet Admiral and I’m scared to tell my mother that I’m pregnant by my married lover! Oh, what I wouldn’t give for an intergalactic crisis right now! Something that would need my immediate presence on some alien planet …” I give her a warning squeeze. “I don’t want you and our child rushing off to save the galaxy! I want you exactly here, safe and sound and firmly out of the way of war-mongering tyrants!” “How very caveman of you,” she snorts then wriggles from my embrace. “Have you eaten?” “Seven made me breakfast.” She nods - a short, precise gesture - then strides into her office. “Do you have time to join me for a coffee?” “Yes, my first class isn’t until mid-morning,” I reply, following her out and shamelessly admiring the curve of her buttocks. I’m caught out when she peers back over her shoulder. “Not a chance, Chakotay,” she warns. “I’ve never found throwing up particularly arousing.” I chuckle and tug my ear as I admit; “Actually, I’ve already enjoyed your body this morning – at least in my mind anyway!” Kathryn tilts her head and eyes me up and down. “I hope I didn’t disappoint,” she purrs. “Believe me, you were great,” I say, feeling my cheeks warm. “Good.” She instructs the replicator, “Two camomile teas, hot.” I sit myself down on the couch as the cups materialise. She grabs them and brings them over with an exaggerated swing to her hips. “Tease,” I say, taking the offered mug. Kathryn laughs as she settles beside me. “I’m just grateful that after all these years I still inspire you!” The first time we made love, I’d breathlessly confessed, as I was pounding into her, how many times I’d fantasised about us together, about taking her, sinking into her warm depths … fucking her hard! “You’ll always inspire me,” I promise, feeling more than a little self-conscious. She takes a sip from the tea and eyes me over the rim. “Would it make you feel less embarrassed if I were to tell you that I was doing the same thing last night?” Yeah, that works! Embarrassment is no longer the main emotion coursing through me. “In the shower?” I probe, hoping for more graphic details. Kathryn’s lips curve up into that quirky half-smile of hers. “The bath, actually.” I lean in closer. “Oh, and was it any good?” She arches her eyebrow and smiles seductively. “You were wonderful.” A small thrill courses through me, knowing that I was her fantasy lover. “Perhaps you could show me sometime?” “Perhaps.” Spirits, this woman drives me to distraction! With hindsight, it was probably for the best that we never became involved whilst serving together. I’m sure we’d never have left her quarters – or the Ready Room! That’s the only fantasy of mine we’ve been unable to act out, well, that and the bridge. The amount of times I jerked off fantasising about taking her over her desk, or Tom’s consol, it’s a wonder I’m not blind! I did once try to convince her to join me on Voyager – after tourist hours, naturally - but she turned me down, worried the security guard would catch us in the act! “Still with me?” she teases. I dip my head and chuckle before taking a swallow of my tea. Kathryn studies me for a moment then shakes her head. “I swear you’re on some kind of testosterone shot! You’ve got more hormones running rampant through your body than a teenager!” Her comment makes me laugh. “You …” “… inspire you! Yes, I know!” Rolling her eyes, she raises both hands, almost spilling her drink in the process. I nod at her waving cup. “Tea?” “That’s about the most I can manage before noon.” “Have you tried dry toast?” She visibly blanches at the mention of food. “I’ve tried it – once. Lets just say it wasn’t that appealing to eat and certainly not appealing when it came back ten minutes later.” Now it’s my turn to go green. “I get the picture.” Her hand covers mine. “Don’t worry, darling, I’m fine – really. Once the morning sickness passes you’d be surprised at the amount of food I’m wolfing down! Honestly, I’m going to look like a barrage balloon in a few months!” Looking at her tiny frame, I find that hard to believe, but choose not to disagree. Instead, I settle back into the cushions, resting one leg on the other and balancing the mug on my knee. “Come here.” I lift my arm and she scoots closer, leaning her head against my chest with a delicate sigh. We sit for a while and a comfortable silence surrounds us. Eventually she asks about my classes, listening as I tell her about a couple of students who remind me of Tom and Harry. I keep the talk light, ignoring the stabbing ache in my gut at the thought of Tom and the job he’s doing for me today. She laughs at my tales, unaware of my turmoil, and then tells me about the latest ‘Fleet rumour concerning Jean-Luc Picard and Beverly Crusher. “Kathryn, those two have been foot-stepping around each other longer than we have!” “I know, but this is genuine, Chakotay! I’ve even heard that a wedding might be on the cards!” “I’m sure you and Owen Paris just sit around gossiping all day!” She prods my ribs. “Not true! Besides, this little juicy titbit came from Dr Pulaski during my examination. I think she was under the impression that I was more familiar with Jean-Luc than I actually am.” I look down into her mischievous face. “Oh? And exactly how did that happen?” Her shoulders lift in an innocent shrug. “I have no idea.” I lower my head and steal a kiss. “What was that for?” “There has to be a reason?” “No,” she breathes, pulling my head back for a longer kiss. We part and I stare into her blue eyes. “Don’t worry about your mother, Kathryn. We’ll face her and everyone else together.” My hand covers her belly. “This is my child and I’ve no intention of abandoning either of you.” “I know. I love you,” she whispers, tracing the lines of my tattoo. “I love you, too.” * * * * Click here for part 2 |
|