Title: Once Upon a Christmas
Author: Brenda Shaffer-Shiring
Rating: PG
Part: 2 parts, both included
Codes: "Kathryn and the Wrong Person" is J/7; "Chakotay and
the Ladies' Man" is C/P.
Archive: Just let me know where. And keep the headers
intact, 'kay?
Disclaimer: Paramount owns these characters, but never lets
them have any fun. I'm here to redress that. Or maybe I
mean, undress that...
Note: "Chakotay and the Ladies' Man" was originally posted
on the "Protective! Chakotay" (Cha_Club) list, under the
title "Ladies' Man." It was written in response to a
Christmas challenge by Ellison Wonderland.
Summary: At the shipboard Christmas party, Janeway and
Chakotay find true love - but not with each other.
Once Upon a Christmas
by Brenda Shaffer-Shiring
1. Kathryn and the Wrong Person
As she dressed for the ship's Christmas party, Captain
Kathryn Janeway asked herself why she'd always had such a
knack for falling in love with the wrong people.
When she had been in high school, her choice had been a star
athlete, brilliant, handsome, and completely self-absorbed.
She still shuddered at the abasement she'd put herself
through to win his bare attention. When she'd finally
summoned the nerve to tell him that she was entering the
Academy, will-he-or-nil-he, he'd stormed from her in a fit
of temper that had appalled, horrified, saddened her -- and
when she'd had the time to reflect on it, made her grateful
to be free of him.
At the Academy, her desire had focused on an older man, an
officer, one of her own teachers. Dammit, she thought,
tugging a brush through her hair, exasperated with herself.
Am I keeping his name from myself now? Admiral. Owen. Tom
Paris would have been appalled if he knew the intensity with
which Kathryn Janeway had once lusted after his father. Not
that he was ever likely to find out; in point of fact, she
didn't think his father had ever found out, either. By the
time Kathryn met the admiral, he had already been married
for some years, a fact that kept her lips firmly sealed but
did nothing to deter her vivid dreams.
Brushing completed, Kathryn twisted her newly-lengthened
hair up into a soft, loose bun, the motions familiar despite
having gone unpracticed for a few years. The formal style
not only suited her, but would also be completely
appropriate for the events of the evening. The pins slid
into place with absent skill.
After that frustrating time at the Academy, she had gone to
her first posting more than ripe for a real lover. So she
fell, hard, for Elena Morovna, slightly her senior in the
Mercury's Sciences department and everything Kathryn wanted
to be: tall, shapely, and vivacious. Elena swept Kathryn
off her feet (figuratively and sometimes literally), into an
affair marked by the kind of passion Voyager's captain had
never shared with anyone before or since. A touch of the
beautiful brunette's fingers, a heated glance from those
deep-brown eyes, and Janeway had been helpless with desire.
Others in the crew tried to warn her, but she did not
listen, did not want to listen. And so Kathryn was perhaps
the only person on board who was surprised when she made an
unexpected visit to Elena's cabin one day, thinking to leave
a small love-token - and walked in on her dazzling lover,
supposedly on duty, actually naked, in bed, and engaged in
passionate sixty-nine with a buxom blonde from Engineering.
After Kathryn made what recovery a very young woman can from
such humiliation, she decided that she'd had enough of love.
She threw herself into her career, with a zeal and energy
that (added to her natural gifts) eventually won her, not
only the respect of her more-experienced crewmates, but also
that rarest and most surprising of all accolades:
recommendation to Command School.
Captain Janeway's slender fingers hesitated over her small
selection of eye makeup. Normally, she preferred a natural
look, and so applied her few cosmetics with a delicate hand.
Still, this was a party, and considering who was likely to
be in attendance...well, excess would be neither appropriate
nor appreciated, but a bit of color might suit. A touch of
soft green, accented by an equally muted gold, she decided.
One might think that, surrounded by career-minded classmates
and self-sworn against love, Command Candidate Janeway would
lead a celibate life. One would be mistaken. In the
company of those who, like her, wanted no commitments beyond
career, was she free to indulge the full range of her
sexuality: earthy, sensual, and passionate. She had more
lovers in one six-month span than before and since combined:
male and female, human and otherwise, all in her bed for the
simple pleasure of being there. She told herself she
enjoyed it immensely.
Then Kathryn caught herself yearning for the one Vulcan in
the group: dignified, discreet, and the only one in all her
circle who had never expressed the slightest interest in
sleeping with her. As Kathryn longed for that quiet regard,
she realized she had been living a lie. Sexual acrobatics
might be (hell, were) pleasurable, but they were not enough
for Kathryn Janeway. She craved the love of the heart quite
as much as she craved the love of the body.
Kathryn spent the next few months trying to win T'Mar's
esteem, but that never worked out, either. She suspected
that her efforts had been sabotaged by her earlier
profligacy.
The captain regarded her face in the mirror, pleased to see
how skillfully she had enhanced her natural beauty. There
was no disguising the signs of middle age, the lines and
creases that experience had drawn (though lightly, as yet)
into her face, but in this enlightened era no one would hold
the fact of her age against her. Especially not anyone as
rational as...she laid the makeup brushes down and went to
her wardrobe.
Kathryn had pretty much kept to herself on her first
shipboard posting after that - or tried to, anyway. If she
and Captain Rodriguez had never been trapped in that cave-in
together, she probably would never have admitted, even to
herself, how attractive, charismatic, engaging she found
him. But, cliché as it seemed even at the time, proximity
(or perceived proximity) to death has a way of eroding
barriers and releasing inhibitions. And she was not the
only one who'd felt secret love and desire....
The affair lasted a few months afterward, longer than she
had expected - cruelly, long enough to thoroughly reacquaint
her heart and her body with the feel of passion. But she
had known from the outset how it must end, and so when he
came to her to tell her that his ethics and their futures
demanded that they separate, she had agreed, quietly and
composedly. What weeping she did came long after Eduin
Rodriguez left her cabin.
Kathryn gathered the long chemise up in her hands and
carefully drew it down past her hair before sliding her arms
beneath the straps. The silky white garment dropped down
over her body, fitting sleekly over her breasts, flowing
gracefully over her flat belly, rounded hips and slender
legs. Snowy lace kissed her ankles.
Then Mark had returned to her life. Good old Mark. Good
old safe, dependable, friend-from-the-old-neighborhood Mark.
Good old Mark who had patiently loved her all these years,
waiting for the moment when she would notice his devotion.
Kathryn had had enough both of grand love affairs and of raw
lust. It was nice to be with someone she could relax with,
someone she could trust. A quiet, low-maintenance companion
like Mark was an ideal partner for a busy, driven command
officer: someone who could keep the home fires burning while
she was away, take care of the dogs and the house and the
mail and be a warm pair of arms and a cozy bed to return to.
And she could trust him; after all, he loved her so.
They'd drifted into an engagement before she realized the
one crucial flaw in their pairing: she didn't love him. Oh,
she liked him well enough; he was so easy-going he was
almost impossible to dislike. But that very quality made
him incapable of igniting her passion; she liked her
partners with more fire and drive than he'd ever dreamed of
possessing.
Before she could do anything about that little problem,
though, Voyager had been swept into the Delta Quadrant.
Kathryn drew her attire for the evening from the closet,
regarding it thoughtfully. The gown would have suited a
Jane Austen heroine: high-waisted and short-sleeved, with a
deep round neckline that would expose a fair amount of skin
without actually baring anything that couldn't be shown in
polite company. Lace bordered neckline, cuff, and hem, the
last word in elegance for the era the dress was supposed to
represent.
Only the color would have kept this dress from appearing in
illustrations of Pride and Prejudice: it was a deep emerald
green, quite unsuited to the young, virginal heroines Austen
favored. Well, Kathryn was neither young nor virginal, and
she'd often been told that emerald made her eyes sparkle.
All things considered, she thought tonight would be a good
night to test that theory. Though in truth, she would be
much happier if the dress made someone else's eyes
sparkle...
Carefully, she unseamed the back seam of the dress and
lifted it over her head. Like the chemise, it slipped
gracefully over her curves.
For a time, guilt had kept her loyal to Mark, coupled with
the certainty that he would be loyal to her. Not that there
had been no temptations.
Given her penchant for wanting the wrong person, Kathryn was
a bit amazed she'd never fallen in love with Chakotay. A
wanted criminal, the man she'd been sent to arrest, and her
second-in-command - you just couldn't get any wronger than
that. And Chakotay was not without his charms, to be sure:
a handsome man with a winning smile, an off-center sense of
humor, and an obvious capacity for passion. Add to that the
easy rapport that characterized their interactions almost
from the beginning, and Kathryn was truly amazed that she
had never felt the urge to take their relationship beyond
friendship. But somehow the necessary spark had never been
struck.
Perhaps because she had been too busy watching B'Elanna
Torres. Now there was a package: passion and ferocity and
unaware beauty all in one lithe form. One lithe, very young
form. One lithe, very young form that from the beginning
was clearly interested in being wrapped around the
even-younger form of one Harry Kim. Which, of course, made
her quite the wrong choice for Kathryn as well. (Not that
the knowledge helped. It never did.)
In the wake of B'Elanna's marriage to Harry, Kathryn gave
Tom Paris a passing thought. He was quite handsome and more
than a bit daring - the only man on Voyager who'd ever had
the chutzpah to actually hit on the captain. But her
attraction was never more than superficial, as the young
pilot was too much the rake, too eager to demonstrate his
prowess by cutting a wide swath through the ship's female
complement. Probably just as well, as it would have been
entirely too uncanny for Kathryn to form a relationship with
the son of the man who had obsessed her all through her
Academy years.
Besides, she had already seen the looks her first officer
was casting at Tom Paris. She wondered if Chakotay himself
was quite aware of them, but suspected he was not. Tom
Paris, the ladies' man...between this and Seska, Chakotay's
luck in love appeared to be much like her own, poor man.
Sliding her small feet into a pair of low-heeled satin
slippers, Janeway turned to her full-length mirror. A
vision from the past greeted her: an elegant lady clad in
garments fitted enough to display her figure, yet loose
enough to flow and sweep.
She looked pretty good, if she had to say so herself.
(Though she rather hoped someone else would be willing to
say it for her!) Collecting the finishing touches, a lacy
kerchief and a small silk fan, she turned toward her cabin
door and swept out into the hallway.
Then there had been Kes. Dear, beautiful Kes...Kathryn had
braved Nikani caves and Nikani mysticism to rescue that
curious young explorer from a certain death, and never
counted the cost. But holding the younger woman in her arms,
even in dire circumstances, had only fueled Kathryn's desire
to hold her again.
When Kes broke up with Neelix, Kathryn had actually thought
it might be possible to pursue her attraction to the lovely
Ocampa. Then she'd spoken to Kes...only to see the blue
eyes widen, the pretty face turn apologetic. It seemed that
Kes, like Tom Paris, was one of that minority who was
attracted only to one gender - in Kes's case, male.
Embarrassed, Janeway had retreated. Not long after that,
Chakotay approached the captain, offering a curious pact: he
and she could play the roles of a courting couple, so that
neither would have to deal with would-be suitors. "Mutual
protection," Chakotay called it. After her latest debacle,
Kathryn was more than ready to accept his offer. (She did
wonder briefly if he'd had the same experience with Tom that
she'd had with Kes, but nothing changed in the way he looked
at Paris, so she suspected he was simply trying to avoid
temptation.)
The agreement worked well enough. Chakotay was an attractive
escort, a charming companion, and a good friend. If Kathryn
felt no more passion for him than she'd ever felt for Mark,
well, at least he didn't expect her to.
Exchanging desultory greetings with various officers as she
glided through the hallways and rode a lift to the proper
floor, the captain felt her heartbeat quicken as she
approached the site of tonight's revels.
She had thought that, bruised by Kes's gentle rebuff and
shielded by her pleasant partnership with Chakotay, her
heart would be safe from any further inappropriate
involvements.
Then Seven of Nine joined Voyager's "collective."
Thereby proving the gods (if gods there were, which Janeway
personally still doubted despite her experience with the
Nikani) had no pity on wayward starship captains.
Apparently it wasn't enough that Seven of Nine was drop-dead
gorgeous, with a striking face and a figure that would have
put a model to shame. Oh, no. It wasn't enough that she
had the kind of deep, throaty voice that holoporn actresses
could only aspire to. Oh, no. It wasn't even enough that
she was brilliant. In addition to all of that, she was
proud, imperious, and more strong-willed than any man or
woman Kathryn Janeway had ever known.
And she had the emotional awareness of a small child.
Kathryn had fought the inevitable as long as she could.
Seven of Nine looks at me as a mother-figure, the captain
had told herself, then, Seven needs me to be her friend.
Finally, when the lonely comfort of Kathryn's own hands
proved utterly insufficient after certain vivid, tormenting
dreams, Seven isn't ready for a lover yet, dammit! Knowing,
even as she admonished herself, that those dazzlingly blue
eyes and sensuously full lips would appear behind her closed
eyelids the moment she tried to resume sleep, as surely as
the touch of those strong, slender hands would seem to
caress her drowsing body.
But in these last months, Seven had begun to develop a
better understanding of herself and others - begun, in
short, to grow up. Her relationship with the captain had
become, if not a relationship of equals (that being
impossible for a captain and anyone for whom she assumed
responsibility), then more a relationship of two adults.
Kathryn had still been hesitant.
Then she learned that the Doctor (of all people!) was
tutoring Seven in the art of social interaction.
Specifically, on the rules of dating. If she's ready to
learn about dating, then she's ready to learn about...well,
maybe more than dating, the would-be suitor thought
hopefully.
But if that were to be so, the captain would have to make
her own chance. To her bemusement, the Doctor had selected
his own list of suitable dating prospects for his beautiful
protégéé - all male. What century does he think this is
again? the captain asked herself rhetorically, but concluded
that the Doctor's casual assumption of Seven's
heterosexuality probably had as much to do with wishful
thinking as anything else. She'd noticed the way the
hologram regarded the lovely Borg.
What the Doctor wanted and what Seven wanted could very well
be two different things. For that matter, what Kathryn
wanted and what Seven wanted could be two different things,
too. (The memory of Kes's apologetic expression surfaced
briefly, only to be forced firmly down.) But win or lose,
pain or joy, Kathryn meant to find out tonight. I've waited
a long time to ask the question, Seven.
Her heart pounded harder, but she would let none of her
anxiety show in her face. Skirts swaying elegantly about
her legs, the captain entered the holodeck, and another
time.
She passed through a small anteroom first, where holographic
cloaks and coats hung to look as if the party's guests had
actually traveled through inclement weather. Then she
stepped into the brightly-lit ballroom of an old English
country manse. Beautiful. Crystal chandeliers glittered in
the light of dozen of candles, including those which adorned
a tall Christmas tree that nearly brushed the room's high
ceiling. The fragrant smell of burning hardwood issued from
a large fireplace, mingling with savory aromas from all the
traditional dishes that covered the groaning buffet tables.
Many of the crew were already on hand, splashes of bright
color against creamy walls and wood-toned floors. Like
Kathryn, most had selected garb that suited the era: the
women in bright, high-waisted gowns, the men in tight,
fitted breeches, high-collared white shirts, and satiny
waistcoats. Despite her nerves, Janeway made a moue of
appreciation as Ken Dalby sauntered past in a particularly
well-tailored example of male costume. Dalby, noticing,
bowed and grinned before returning to his pursuit of a
red-gowned Mariah Henley.
Was she here? Janeway no sooner asked the question of
herself than answered it, as she sighted Seven standing
before one of the high, wreath-adorned windows. The
beautiful ex-Borg, clad in a long blue dress that fitted
tightly (a shade too tightly; Janeway recognized the EMH's
tailoring style again) over her full breasts and draped
gracefully over the rest of her lush curves, appeared to be
in earnest conference with the Doctor. Damn. Well, I've
waited this long; a few more minutes won't kill me. Besides
- in all fairness - I should talk to Chakotay first, and let
him know he's about to lose his "relationship protection."
The last thing either she or Chakotay needed was a string of
well-wishers commiserating with him over her "infidelity" in
pursuing Seven.
Kathryn scanned the room for her first officer, but he was
nowhere in sight. She just managed not to tap her foot as
she waited, one eye on Seven and the other on the door as
she automatically exchanged holiday greetings with various
members of the crew.
After what seemed far too long, but was probably no more
than minutes, Chakotay stumbled (stumbled?) in, looking
distracted. After a few moments, his eyes settled on her,
and she walked quickly toward him.
He met her in the middle of the room. "Kathryn -" he said,
an urgent sound to his voice.
"Chakotay -" she began, only a heartbeat behind.
"We need to talk," they said in the same moment, then
stopped and stared. She wondered if the trepidation in her
own eyes mirrored that in his.
Suddenly his expression cleared, as if in comprehension.
"Maybe we don't," he suggested slyly, a hint of mirth on his
lips.
Maybe we -? Oh. Oh! The revelation came quickly and
completely, and she chuckled, as much in genuine amusement
as in relief. What a coincidence! "No, I guess we don't.
So do we need to have an argument, or can we just have an
amicable 'break-up'?" she teased.
"I'd like us to stay friends," he joked back, and she felt
the warmth of their long, albeit thoroughly platonic,
relationship in the words.
"I hope we always will," she answered, more seriously,
leaning up to place a sisterly kiss on his cheek. "Good
luck with him, Chakotay."
He squeezed her hand, his smile filled with fond
appreciation. "Thanks. Good luck with her, Kathryn."
"Thanks." She turned away from him then, toward where Seven
had been standing with the Doctor - to see that the younger
woman now stood alone, looking pensive. Then brilliant blue
eyes lit on the captain and, to Kathryn's surprise,
seriousness vanished as the full lips curved upward into a
radiant smile. Oh God oh God oh God... Kathryn walked
quickly toward that shining beauty, barely daring to let
herself hope.
"Seven," she said, almost stumbling over the syllables. "We
need - I need to talk to you."
The ex-drone regarded Kathryn for a moment, still smiling.
"Talking is inefficient," she answered, with her customarily
precise diction. "I prefer direct action."
Before the captain could think of another word to say, Seven
of Nine wrapped long arms around her and gathered her in,
ardently (if awkwardly) planting a searing kiss on her
commanding officer's half-parted lips.
Oh God, Seven had no sense of occasion, did not realize that
the captain didn't, couldn't, engage in this kind of
activity before her crew no matter how welcome it was or how
long she had wanted it -
But instead of objecting, Kathryn Janeway leaned into the
other woman and deepened the kiss. She felt the surge of
Seven's heart against her breast, and her own heart sang as
they stood there locked into their joyful embrace.
She had found the right person.
At last.
2. Chakotay and the Ladies' Man
Underneath the mistletoe, Tom Paris kissed Gregor Ayala,
full on the lips.
From a half-hidden alcove, Chakotay stared in outright
amazement.
Tom Paris was a ladies' man.
Everybody on Voyager knew Tom Paris was a ladies' man. To
be sure, there were a number of men and women on Voyager who
had a healthy interest in their own sex, and plenty more who
divided their attentions between the two genders. But Tom
Paris, everyone knew, was a ladies' man. Mentally, Chakotay
recounted the evidence: Sue Nicoletti, Donna Henley, the
Delaney twins (simultaneously, if rumor was to be
believed!), B'Elanna Torres, Tal Celes, even an aborted play
for Kes, a flash-frozen pass at Seven, and a doomed
flirtation with the captain. The list went on, but so far
as Chakotay knew, there wasn't one man on it. Not one. Tom
Paris, so the evidence indicated, and so the good ship
Voyager believed, was a ladies' man, and nothing else but.
The only problem with that theory just at the moment was
that ladies' men, as a general rule, did not kiss other men
full on the lips. Especially not tall, dark and handsome
men who (and this was equally well-known) did not often let
flirtations with other men end with merely a kiss. In fact,
even as Chakotay watched, Ayala's hand took up position on
Tom Paris's hip, sliding around to cup his well-muscled
ass...and, far from protesting, Tom moaned and deepened the
kiss.
Chakotay retreated further back into the alcove, his
thoughts whirling like wind-blown snowflakes in his
confusion. Could this be possible...? Could it mean...?
Beyond the alcove where Chakotay hid, and past the little
anteroom where Paris delivered his so-stunning kiss, the
sights and colors and scents of a traditional English
Christmas surrounded Voyager's crew as they joined in the
annual revels. The holodeck had been configured into the
shape of an old country mansion, and the crew celebrated in
its ballroom, a high-ceilinged place with tall
wreath-adorned windows and crystal chandeliers, further
decorated by a candlelit evergreen and warmed by a large
fireplace. A banquet table groaned under the weight of an
assortment of traditional savories and sweetmeats, not to
mention several punchbowls filled with warm wine punch and
nutmeg-fragrant eggnog. For the most part, the crew had
dressed to suit the occasion, as well. Many of the women
were clad in bright, high-waisted silk dresses that would
not have been out of place in the Edwardian era, and a
number of the men wore the short satiny waistcoats and
tight, fitted breeches of the same period. Including
Chakotay himself and (the first officer groaned mentally at
the memory of just how well those breeches fit) Tom Paris.
Chakotay heard a couple of pairs of footsteps walking past
his alcove, and ventured a quick peek. Paris and Ayala had
left the anteroom and gone into the main ballroom. Perhaps
Chakotay should enter, as well.
He looked down at exactly how well his own trousers fit, and
precisely what they defined, and decided to postpone his
entrance for a moment.
So much for trying to make up his own mind about how he
wanted to handle this little revelation about Tom's tastes
and inclinations! His cock had clearly already decided the
point. Still, he was a mature man, and beyond being able to
use the decisions of his "little head" as an excuse for
unwise choices; even if he knew what he wanted to do, it
didn't automatically follow that he should go and do it!
The first officer turned to face the tall, frosty windowpane
that was the center of his alcove, and looked through it to
the faux English countryside. White, snowy hillsides and a
clear starry night met his distracted gaze, though the
starfield that lit the landscape was not one that would
normally have been visible in the space which he (and
Voyager) currently inhabited.
If he had known, years ago, what Tom's fervent kiss had
revealed tonight, these last several years on Voyager might
have been very different.
Chakotay did not know exactly when he had fallen in love
with Tom Paris, but he knew when he had realized it: back on
New Earth. Alone with a pretty, vibrant, intelligent woman
for whom he cared, Chakotay had fully expected that
attraction to ripen into love; indeed, for a time, he even
thought it had. It was in his nature to nurture those dear
to him, and the ever-driven Kathryn Janeway seemed a woman
much in need of such care. So he tended to her needs as
best he could, and tried to make a home for her, against
that day when she might be willing to accept it. And he
told himself that this was a good life, and she his best
companion for that life.
And at night he dreamt of Tom Paris.
Nothing erotic, at first - that particular torment would
come later - merely scenes in which Paris laughed, or joked,
or teased him. Vivid memories of the tension in Paris's
face, the strain of his muscles, as he had hauled Chakotay
up the collapsing staircase on Ocampa; clear depictions of
the almost-casual skill with which he flew the ship;
well-drawn recollections of the easy grace of his posture
and movements as he played pool, or collected drinks, or
chatted with fellow officers in Sandrine's. And Chakotay
would wake from those dreams with a strange sense of loss,
almost a longing.
By day, he firmly banished such wayward thoughts. He was a
practical man, a reasonable man. He expected to be on this
planet, in this situation, with only Janeway for companion,
for the rest of his natural life; there was no point in
tormenting himself by dwelling on what he had not sought
before, and now could never have. Better to value what he
had. And he did value it. His life on New Earth had its
own measure of contentment, and he was more than fond of his
companion.
By night, though, he could not block his dreams. And his
dreams grew more vivid as time went on.
He told himself, quite sensibly, that the dreams were merely
a response to the lack of options in his current situation;
that Tom's unavailability was precisely the reason why the
other man had begun to seem so desirable. If I were somehow
to see him again, he'd turn into the same gadfly who used to
piss me off on such a regular basis, he told himself,
managing a slight smile as he thought it. And that would be
that.
Then, much to his surprise, Voyager had returned. Once
aboard, Chakotay had waited patiently for his attraction to
Paris to fade, for the irritation to outweigh the interest.
And waited....
And discovered that he was still having dreams about Tom
Paris. Hell.
Before Chakotay could decide whether or not he should do
anything to act on his attraction, there came Voyager's last
battle with Seska and the Kazon. His supposed son.
Voyager's capture. The exile on Hannon's moon. Tom's
"death."
Gods, the guilt. None of this, he'd known, would ever have
happened if he hadn't gotten captured by Seska in the first
goddamn place, back on Culluh's ship. If he hadn't been so
wrong about her back in the Maquis.
Dreams turned to nightmares. Even after they (after Tom)
had recaptured the ship, and returned to Hannon's moon, it
was a long time before Chakotay's sleep was easy.
After the rescue, of course, Tom was more popular with the
ladies (always the ladies) than ever. He seemed to have a
new girlfriend every week, at least - maybe it was every
few days.
If Chakotay of Dorvan had had no heart for a hopeless cause,
he would never have joined the Maquis. But there were
hopeless causes and there were hopeless causes.
Tom Paris was obviously a ladies' man.
And a ladies' man would never be interested in Chakotay of
Dorvan.
To salvage his pride, Chakotay approached Kathryn Janeway,
and suggested a pact to her. "Mutual protection," he'd said.
"A way we can both avoid unwanted, ah, entanglements."
Janeway had agreed, with a look of relief.
Chakotay was not surprised. He'd noticed the looks she had
been casting toward Kes, knew that she, like he, was unable
to act on her attraction. Knew that she, like he, had no
interest in being approached by someone other than the
object of that attraction.
Mutual protection. So they had let it be believed that they
were interested in each other. It wasn't exactly a hard act
to pull off - half the crew had assumed as much anyway,
after their mutual sojourn on New Earth. And their duties
brought them together often enough that it was only
necessary to add a few dinners together here, a few public
appearances together there, to complete the appearance of
couplehood.
Chakotay supposed it wasn't a bad arrangement, as such
things went. Their respective dignities remained intact,
and their respective true desires went unremarked. He liked
Janeway pretty well as a friend, and neither of them had any
illusions that their "relationship" would ever become any
more than it was. And it was pleasant to have a companion,
even if only to a limited extent.
And if he still woke up, some nights, from dreams of Tom
Paris, well, that was no one's concern but his own.
Comfort, pleasantness, habit were powerful motivators; the
pact lasted for years, even surviving Kes's departure from
Voyager, and Seven of Nine's replacement of her (or so
Chakotay surmised) in Janeway's interest. Chakotay had
sometimes thought it might have survived anything, except
close scrutiny.
But then, he had never anticipated seeing Tom Paris kiss a
man. This changes everything. Everything.
Chakotay was halfway out of the alcove when a disturbing
thought occurred to him. What if you're too late, old man?
What if Tom and Greg are already a couple? He actually
hesitated a moment before he realized that if they'd been
together for more than a few minutes, he surely would have
heard of it before this! Gossip traveled through Starfleet
ships (especially this Starfleet ship) faster than subspace
communications waves traveled away from them, and gossip
about such a notorious womanizer as Paris breaking his
long-held pattern would move faster still. And Chakotay was
certainly under no obligation to stand clear of Paris merely
because Ayala had shown an interest. All's fair in love and
war, Greg, he thought, and dismissed his fellow Maquisard
from his considerations.
The simple fact that Tom Paris was attracted to men did not,
of course, mean that Tom Paris would be attracted to him,
Chakotay. But the simple knowledge that what had been
impossible an hour before was now possible was enough to
lend courage even to the most timorous of hearts. And
Chakotay had never been accused of being timorous.
He looked out over the brightly-dressed crowd. Yes, Tom was
right over there, near the buffet, unmistakable in his trim
dark-blue waistcoat and well-fitted cream-colored breeches.
His present companion represented no threat or competition
to Chakotay, as it was none other than Harry Kim, longtime
friend of Tom Paris and (of course) devoted husband of
B'Elanna Torres.
Chakotay could take a moment for unfinished business, then.
Scanning the group further, his eyes came to rest on a
small, slim woman in her middle years, looking at once more
regal and more delicate than usual in a long, Empire-waisted
gown of deep green satin. As he located her, her own
searching gaze lit upon him. As of one accord, each began
striding quickly toward the other, meeting in the middle of
the floor.
"Kathryn -"
"Chakotay -"
"We need to talk," both said, in chorus, then stopped and
stared. He noted the look of trepidation on her face,
suspected the same expression occupied his own, and realized
that he knew exactly what it was that she wanted to say.
"Maybe we don't," he suggested, a sly little smile shaping
on his lips.
She stared for a moment longer, then chuckled in sudden and
complete comprehension. "No, I guess we don't. So do we
need to have an argument, or can we just have an amicable
'break-up'?"
"I'd like to stay friends," he teased gently.
"I hope we always will," she answered, more seriously. She
leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, the only form of kiss
the two of them had ever shared. "Good luck with him,
Chakotay."
Later he would wonder how she knew, and how long she'd
known, but for now he simply appreciated how completely his
old friend understood him. He squeezed her hand. "Thanks.
Good luck with her, Kathryn."
The captain smiled. "Thanks." She turned away from him
then, her heels clicking lightly on the parquet as she
stepped gracefully but directly toward the tall, blue-gowned
figure of Seven of Nine.
Chakotay watched her go for a moment, then turned his
attention back toward the man who had held that attention so
long and so unconsciously. Tom was at the buffet now, his
back to the room, as he and Harry engaged in what appeared
to be an animated discussion. Moving quietly closer,
Chakotay was surprised to hear the tenor of their talk.
"Yeah, well, I thought you had more balls than that, Tom,"
Harry was saying, an edge to his usually well-modulated
voice.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Paris answered
irritably.
"Oh, geez, Tom, I don't know - what do you think? Maybe it
means that if you're going to kiss a man, why don't you just
go ahead and kiss the one you really want!"
"Oh, right." Tom's response was sarcastic. "Kiss the
captain's boyfriend. Swell idea, Harry. Hand me my
toothbrush - I think I need to go scrub out some warp
nacelles."
Chakotay's breath caught. Kiss the captain's boyfriend? My
gods, they're talking about - Tom's talking about -
"Chakotay," Harry said sharply, noticing him. Tom turned,
looked, and froze, fair features twisting with alarm.
Oh, hell. Definitely not the opening Chakotay had hoped
for. Still, at least now he had some idea of his probable
reception - and there was, all too obviously, nowhere to go
but forward. "I'm not the captain's boyfriend," he said
urgently, his eyes on Tom's dismayed countenance. "And I
think - I think Harry has an excellent question."
There was no convenient mistletoe nearby for excuse, but
Chakotay had waited too long for this moment to care.
Taking Paris's broad shoulders firmly in both hands, he
leaned forward, and - there in front of the buffet table,
Harry Kim, the crew, God and everyone - he kissed Tom Paris,
full on the lips.
END (OR BEGINNING?)
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