Paramount….blah, blah,blah….everything; Moi…nada. Same ol' , same ol' To CyberMum, whose thoughtful, eloquent epilogue so moved me and Monkee, who touching loving, epilogue was so delightful to read. Both of them did lovely stories that were plausible extensions to the episode. Each had depth and meaning….my rendition…we'll just call it UZ light. Resistance Is... (Epilogue to UZII) Author: Turtlewoman Date: 10/00-01/01 Rating: PG-13, J/C       The Doctor adjusted the cortical monitor on the comatose Vulcan. She asked how he was doing. "He is stable."       "You told me that before. Care to elucidate just a bit?"       He turned with as much exasperation as a hologram could muster. You wish me to again describe, in detail, the healing coma Vulcans self-induce?"       "No, once is enough. I just meant how stable is 'stable'?"       "Stable… as in unchanged, the same, readings within the same acceptable parameters that I explained to you the last seven times you asked."       "Yes, yes, of course."       He unobtrusively monitored her actions as she fussed with the covers, shifted herself a number of times, picked up any number of already read padds and threw herself back against the pillow in irritation. She winced.       "It would be better for your back if you would stop banging it against the bed."       She shot him a venomous glance as she settled herself more comfortably. "How is B'Ellana?"       "Blessedly silent until her throat heals and being monitored quite closely and constantly by Mr. Paris at the moment."       That earned another glare as she shifted again to a sitting position. He continued checking the monitors attached to Tuvok. She left him alone, if a constant shifting, muttering and glares were not counted as attention. Of all his patients, the Captain was easily the most irritating, far surpassing even the volatile Chief Engineer. He went over to his console and tapped out a request. Perhaps this was a bit too soon, but even a hologram hadn't the limitless patience it took to deal with this woman.       In exactly the amount of time the Doctor predicted she would start badgering him, the Captain said, "I would be much more comfortable in my quarters. I'm sure I could heal perfectly well there."       "I concur."       "Finally!"       He helped her to ease off the biobed, discreetly admiring the lovely, pink, new skin along her back and the lovely, not quite as pink, subtle curve of her buttocks beneath. He'd often thought that the person who had designed hospital gowns ought to have been granted sainthood. She straightened, pulling the gown around her slender form. He held out a flannel robe to her.       "Flannel! For Seven you design a cat suit and I get flannel?"       "I do not think the new skin on your back would appreciate such a close fitting garment, however I'll keep your couturial preferences in mind for your next visit. Do you wish to use the bathroom before your escort arrives?"       She shot him another look, "I don't need an escort. I can drive that biochair just fine by myself."       "I'm sure you can but the Commander insisted."       "The Commander! I don't even have on lipstick!" She started rummaging through the covers, padds, and drawers by the biobed in frantic haste. "Where the hell is a hairbrush?"       Chakotay quietly watched from the sickbay doorway as she made an effort to primp. Smiling he backed out the doorway and loudly thanked a non-existent ensign for some non-existent report before re-entering sickbay.       She was casually leaning against the biobed projecting her confident, controlled command mode. He tried not to laugh and settled for a huge smile. Luckily she took it as friendship, rather than humor. ' Thank the spirits she finds dimples so distracting' he thought. She'd completely missed the chuckle beneath the smile.       "Your chariot awaits, Captain," he said as he guided the biochair next to her.       "Thank you Commander." She swept regally toward the chair. The gesture would have been quite impressive if her weakened legs hadn't collapsed, dumping her into the chair, causing it to make a loud thud against the floor as she hit. The stabilizers quickly raised the hover back to the required 50 millimeters and she barely moaned as her tender back was again assaulted with another piece of hospital furniture. Chakotay and the Doctor found it prudent to be engaged in conversation.       Her passage through the corridors was almost regal, as she gracefully accepted the well wishes of her relieved crew. The effect was marred by one clump of hair she'd missed. It quirked out at a crazy angle, making her look more like a favored child coming home from the hospital, than the commander of a starship. He decided against smoothing her hair. She'd resent the action and cringe from his touch in such a public place. He thought to himself that she'd probably cringe from his touch in any place. Besides which, he wouldn't trust himself to touch her right now. Between his relief that she'd made it back relatively undamaged and his elation that they'd actually pulled this off, he didn't trust his control. No, he would not touch her right now.       She attempted to dismiss him as they reached her quarters. He explained to her that her release from sickbay was dependent on her having someone to assist her to bed and attend to her for the next few hours. She could request whomever she liked but he was to stay with her until that person could report. She told him it was a toss up between him and Naomi as baby-sitter, but since he was already there she would make do with him. Humor. He was pleased. The doctor had said she had been nervous and high strung, carefully gracious with visitors, but brittle and edgy alone. Her good-humored acceptance of company was healthy sign. She could be terribly punishing to herself if left alone too long to ruminate. No matter what miracle she accomplished, it was never quite good enough in her eyes. Whatever happened over there was still eating at her, but he didn't know what it was…yet.       For the first hour, she played the gracious hostess but he could see it was a strain for her, an act. Still, he played along with it, trying to catch the nuances, trying to figure out what she needed him to do or say. It was this way with them. She'd never ask for his comfort directly, never even let herself know she was asking, but it would be there, beneath the surface.       She'd beaten him for about the twentieth time at this strange 'fisbin' card game she attempted to teach him when the Dr. made his expected house call. After checking her vital signs, adjusting the sonastim pillow and generally fussing over the her, the Dr. requested the Captain to sit with her back toward the Dr. and drop off her hospital gown. Chakotay attempted to leave at that point but the Dr. sent him to wait in the other room until the Doctor finished applying the cortisalve to her back. The Dr. had just begun to apply the salve when sickbay contacted him.       "Doctor, Commander Tuvok is beginning to awaken."       "Thank you ensign, I'll be right there. Commander Chakotay, come here please. You will have to finish this application. The salve is to be applied to her whole back, especially the shoulder area and thoroughly messaged thusly." The Doctor demonstrated how he wished the message to proceed. Kathryn and Chakotay looked at each other in shared mute discomfort.       " The treatment is to be repeated in approximately three hours." The Doctor then shoved the salve into Chakotay's hands and sailed out of her quarters. They stared at each other until Chakotay looked down at the salve in his hand.       "Kathryn, ….I….the doctor…maybe I should call someone else for you."       She looked down at the bed and idly smoothed the blanket. "No. This is just a medical procedure. I mean….it's been a long time Chakotay. It probably doesn't matter any more. Please, just do it and get it over with."       "Right….a long time." He sighed and gently touched her shoulders. She went rigid immediately, then forced herself to relax slightly. He stopped.       "It's just that it was cold. Please continue."       He had warmed the cream in his hands before he'd applied it. He knew that wasn't why she'd flinched. Thinking that she found even his touch in such a sterile situation offensive, he sadly continued to rub in the salve. Even knowing this he couldn't stop himself from getting lost in the feel of her and his hands slowly changed from the brisk, firm strokes the Doctor had demonstrated, to longer, deeper, more sensual strokes.       She felt the change in his hands. She felt the change in her body and then she began to softly cry, holding her body as still as she could.       He continued to touch her, kneading gently and stoking down her back and around her shoulders. He touched her until she drew a shuddering breath, unable to hide her tears from him any longer.       He turned her toward him and sat next to her on the bed. "Kathryn, don't cry. I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? I'm so sorry. This was a bad idea. Maybe we should have someone else finish this. I just can't touch you as if it doesn't matter to me. If I've offended you….."       She placed her fingertips on his lips. "Sh, sh….I'm okay. It's okay. I just didn't expect to feel this. I didn't expect to be so moved by this. My tears are relief, Chakotay, not pain."       He sat in silence, willing her to continue with her eyes.       "Do you know the worst part, once we were semi-assimilated, the part that really scared me, that continues to scare me?"       "I'm listening."       "Even with the suppressant, a certain amount of the group mind comes through."       "Ummm, it's seductive, to belong so much, isn't it….and frightening to have your whole being and will absorbed that totally."       "Yes, there is that, but I think your experiences were fundamentally different from mine there. Your experiences were at once more positive and negative. On one hand, the community you were assimilated into was self-aware and able to control the images you shared. Thus, your first assimilation included the preservation of self and of your senses, even as you were fully assimilated. On the other, in your second assimilation, your will was brutally abducted to serve their needs. I don't have your issues of abandonment and betrayal to deal with."       Chakotay sat back stunned. He hadn't realized she understood. They had never talked about his time with the Borg. He'd never wanted to. Maybe he'd feel less like a fool if they did talk, but not now. Now, he wanted to hear her story, "Go on."       "We felt our will being assaulted constantly but we could resist. It became harder and harder, as the drug wore off, but we could fight back. Tuvok's body rejected the suppressant much faster and you know the results of that. But initially we could fight the assault on our wills. Our senses weren't so protected. They just went dead. Or to be more precise, our emotional reactions to our senses went dead. We could touch things, tactilely identify them, but the emotional response that underlies the intellectual recognition of hard, soft, hot, cold…it just wasn't there. B'Ellana mentioned it. Everything had that same numbness she went through when she learned of the annihilation of the Maquis. Tuvok concurred. He did not experience the controlled emotions of the Vulcan. Instead, there was a flatness. Intellectually we were committed to accomplish our goals, but there was no moral, ethical or emotional connection. There was no flavor to it at all."       She lapsed into silence. He waited.       So softly he barely heard her she said, "I never even noticed."       "Ahhhh," he said, gently placing his arms around her and pulling her to him in comfort. "Keep talking."       She held herself rigid in his arms, but didn't pull away.       "For me, there had been no change. It's the way I've become. I do my job. I focus on our goal. I give the expected social interactions and responses. The crew seems satisfied with that and I go about my business without anyone fussing over me. I can't even manage to get depressed anymore."       He mentally kicked himself for accepting the distances she'd increasingly put between them. It wasn't that she was rejecting him; she was rejecting everything. ' No more he vowed. She can hate me, be annoyed with me, fight with me, put me down, argue with me, anything, but I will never, ever again give her the space to ignore me and further this isolation.' So he bit her.       "OW!!" What did you do that for?" Her eyes were so startled and her lips began to quiver before she pulled herself back to show just angered annoyance with him.       "Because," he explained, as he placed a light kiss on her now reddened arm, "I think we ought to take an inventory of what you can feel and what you can't." His lips worked up her arm, with his hands caressing and kneading the trail of his kisses. "And," he continued, as he added little nips to her throat, "what flavor they come in."       "Oh we should, should we?" she countered but she bared her neck just a little to give him better access, her irritation dissolving though she mentally chided herself for allowing this. Still, his touch did come in all sorts of flavors. The flavor of him tasting her was as if she'd been thrown a lifeline. Kathryn leaned back more as he traced the hollow between her clavicles with the tip of his tongue. "And just how are we to go about this inventory?"       He pulled back and destroyed any reservations she might have with that dimpled smile of his. "Slowly," he said, "and thoroughly." With that he leaned in to resume his rain of kisses from throat on down.       "So," she said as she slid down to lie flat on her bed, "resistance is futile?" She was already trembling in his arms, her skin, her belly, every part of her quivering and electric. He was warm above her and gentle and loving and gorgeous and sexy and …flavorful, incredibly flavorful.       He chuckled and murmured back between kisses, "No, love. Resistance is pointless." ~~~~~~~~~~Fini~~~~~~~~~~         Home          Stories