Title: Logs of Passion: Chakotay's Journal
Code: C, P, J
Part: 1/1 NEW
Date: 14th January 2000
Summary: Chakotay reflects on his unrequited feelings for Kathryn Janeway.
Explanation: This AU story is the fourth in the Logs of Passion series. I originally started Chakotay's Journal months ago. I picked it up this week and the words flowed. You never know when your muse will sit on your shoulder and shout in your ear; but when she does, you'd better pay attention.
Special thanks to beta readers: Phyllis S. and Annie M.
LOGS OF PASSION: CHAKOTAY'S JOURNAL
by PJ in NH
January 14, 2000
Doesn't she notice? Doesn't she care? Can't she see that I love her? That I need her?
I sit beside her on the bridge, almost her equal, scant centimeters separate us. I'm one step below, only one step, but it seems insurmountable. She should trust me, I believe, and turn to me before anyone else on the ship. I'm her First Officer, but she prefers him--her Chief Pilot. Can't she see how I feel, how I yearn to be part of her life, both on and off the bridge?
I should have realized that she had feelings for him when she promoted him from a mere observer to a lieutenant after we were trapped in the Delta Quadrant. She struck quick. Who was to question her decision 70,000 light years from home? No one but the crew; and the crew remained silent, at least to her face.
If you listened carefully though you heard them. Heard them in the lowered voices in the corners of the mess hall, in the far recesses of Voyager's corridors, among small work details in the bowels of the ship. I listened and I heard them--both Maquis and Starfleet alike. They questioned Janeway's decision. Why did she promote him, make him, the "observer," one of the crew? Because he deserved it? Maybe. Because he was the son of her mentor? Possibly. Because she cared about him, had a soft place in her heart for Tom Paris--mercenary, traitor, and murderer? Yes, as far as I was concerned. I knew that he was the best pilot I had ever seen, but to me he still had to earn that rank, that privilege she afforded him.
I didn't believe it at first, didn't want to believe it; but as time went on, I too came to the same conclusion that she felt something more than friendship for Tom Paris. Reality kicked me in the gut when she confided in him behind my back. When Paris assumed the role of a discontent and fought with me, I believed him. Leaving the ship to pilot a Talaxian vessel, I silently wished him good riddance. Then Paris returned, and I found out about his collusion with the Captain and Tuvok. I had been purposefully left out of the plan. She said it was because she needed a good performance from me. In reality, I knew she felt she couldn't trust her First Officer.
Then I had an opportunity. Kathryn and I were left on a planet because we were ill. I took it slowly as those days passed, until finally I thought I was making progress. First I wooed her and made her the bathtub she wanted. I fetched and carried, but never pushed her; after all I had all the time in the world and it was just the two of us. Her 'Eve' to my 'Adam.' A chance of a lifetime, and we'd have a lifetime to know either other--know each other intimately I hoped. Then one evening she complained that her muscles were sore, the next thing I knew, I was touching her. I was massaging her tense, tired shoulders. I could feel the knots in her muscles beneath her soft skin. The smell of her freshly washed hair engulfed me and I savored her scent. Then....just when I thought I might be able to make my move, she denied me. Threw the proverbial cold water on my soul. I hurt, but stoically I did not let it show. She retreated back to her bed and to her dreams of her blue-eyed god; and I finally retired to a fitful sleep of dreams of Kathryn and Tom Paris nakedly entwined, while I stood back forced to watch.
After, we were brought back to the ship I tried to come to terms with her rejection. I mediated and consulted my spirit guide, but I could achieve no comfort. Then the unexpected happened, Tom and B'Elanna started seeing each other. I was conflicted. I reveled in the fact that Tom had spurned any advances Kathryn had made towards him, but something inside me grated at the fact that his love interest was my friend and former Maquis engineer, B'Elanna Torres.
Then whether out of pity for her treatment of me on that planet, despair over Tom's affair with B'Elanna, or hopefully out of friendship, Kathryn began to confide in me. So again foolishly, I hoped for her to turn to me, but she had erected a force field around her. If I got too close, it prevented me from getting any nearer. So bravely, on the outside, so close and yet so far away, I pretended to be just a friend....on the inside I still yearned for her touch.
I thought I was getting a handle on this thrust and parry routine we had developed. Thrust? What a laugh! Kathryn Janeway probably hasn't had anyone...become intimate with her since Mark; not that she hasn't had the opportunity. Not that I didn't want to be the one to provide her with the experience. But then suddenly, B'Elanna needed my help. We found that she had been running holoprograms without the safeties on, intentionally placing herself in dangerous situations. She pushed herself to the limit and beyond, often at bodily injury and risk of death. Upon the Captain's orders, I was allowed to investigate the particular programs that B'Elanna had been running in order that I might be able to help her overcome this need to endanger herself. I found many programs that shocked me. Orbital skydiving, bullfighting in Madrid, and of course program Torres 2-1-6 where she took on Cardassian warriors in hand to hand combat; but nothing could have prepared me for one particular program that I uncovered called simply: Fantasy.
Like I had the other programs I had entered in search of B'Elanna's demons, I adjusted the program to view me as a nondescript stranger. I didn't want any particular holocharacters that B'Elanna had created, like any Maquis, to recognize me.
Compared to the other holoprograms of B'Elanna I had entered, I was amazed at the serenity that greeted me. Standing on a well-worn path, tall green-leaved trees towered above me. Birds sang from the branches and the sound of a stream somewhere in the distance gurgled. Because of the horrors and dangers I had uncovered in the other programs I was prepared for creatures to descend upon me as I traversed my way through the forest, but none did. Finally, the forest thinned and I found myself entering a clearing. In the middle of the clearing I saw opulent gardens surrounding a large white marbled building. Its stately columns and arches reminded me of depictions of ancient Roman life. Perhaps B'Elanna had designed a gladiator program, I wondered and steeled myself in case of attack. Nearing the building, I could hear sounds of water splashing from a fountain and the muffled sounds of feet from within. Skirting around the building I found a portico and decided that I would rest myself on one of the carved wooden benches that had been placed there.
"Are you waiting for the master?"
I looked up upon hearing the familiar voice, but I wasn't prepared for the sight that greeted me. A toga-clad Tom Paris, wearing leather sandals approached me. The garment hung off one shoulder affording an almost unobstructed view of his chest. The skirt of the outfit was almost indecent providing barely any coverage of his groin, a slight breeze, I determined, would be all it would take for him to display his family jewels. As he walked I saw that he didn't even need a slight breeze. If B'Elanna had created this Tom Paris from exact medical records, our Chief Pilot had more to brag about than his piloting skills.
"Perhaps you didn't understand me?" he asked again. "My Latin is still rusty, are you waiting for the master of this house?"
I looked up into his earnest face, startled to see the fine line of a scar running from his left ear halfway to his mouth. "No, I'm but a traveler and..." I improvised. "...the good lady of this house has permitted me to rest a while before I continued my journey."
"I can fetch you something to drink...some wine, perhaps? We have the finest vineyards in all of Pompeii."
"They do indeed look grand, but thank you, but I'm fine. In a few moments, I'll be on my way. Maybe if you could sit, we could talk instead?" Perhaps this Tom Paris could give me information on this program, I figured.
He nodded and joined me, taking a seat not on one of the other benches but on the terra cotta floor, carefully positioning himself so he remained covered.
"You said that your Latin is rusty. You aren't from around here?" I asked to break the ice.
He laughed lightly and ran his fingers through his hair. Hair that was about three to four centimeters longer than Starfleet would allow. "No, I'm far from home. I was taken from my country, my Britannia, over a year ago and sold into slavery. This is my third master since then. They say that I'm untrainable." He smirked, proud of his distinction.
"What service do you perform here?" I asked anxious to see how B'Elanna fit into this scenario.
Apparently this amused him for he laughed all the louder and I could smell wine on his breath. "What service? You did say you were leaving didn't you?"
I nodded and smiled to encourage him to speak.
He stopped his laughing but still smiled broadly. "Well according to the master, I serve to plow the soil...in reality I plow his wife."
"Not a bad job if you can get it, and can stay out of the master's way," he confided in me. "Of course the job does have its downside." He turned his upper body away from me and pulled down the top part of his tunic from over his shoulder. Vivid red marks marred the skin upon his back. "She's a vixen," this Tom Paris explained. "Last night she was especially 'enthusiastic.'
That sounded like B'Elanna Torres, I thought. Any man to take her to bed would have to be prepared for a vigorous experience.
"She fights you know, like most women do. She swears she doesn't want it, but at the same time begs for it. She's such a tease. During the day, she brushes up against me--fondles me when no one is looking, and sometimes she's blatant enough to do it when they are. She'll wrap her toga around her body loosely so the slightest tug or bend of her body will expose her breasts. If I try and touch her during the daylight she laughs at me and scolds, or worse. See this?" Tom Paris pointed at the scar and grinned. "She hit me with a rod one day after I first arrived for daring to kiss her on the stairs when we were alone at noonday. That same evening she took me to her bed."
"You are playing a dangerous game," I reminded him. This did indeed sound thrilling, something to challenge B'Elanna, but not like the other programs I had uncovered in my quest.
Tom nodded. "Life is short for a slave. Your masters hold your fate in their hands. Any moment, your time on this earth can be over and I know it, so I enjoy what time I have left. Her husband doesn't please her, doesn't fight enough to excite her passions and I do. It's what keeps me alive." His eyes sparkled and his lips curled. "After the master has drunk himself to oblivion and taken one of the young slave girls to his room, she waits for me and I don't disappoint. It's a game we play, she demands and I deny. She curses me and I revel in her anger daring her to follow through with her threats. She's tells me at night, after her lust is satisfied, when her long golden red hair is the only thing that covers my body that I am the only one that brings her to such peaks of passion. She's a fiery woman, my mistress--fiery and dangerous. It's quite an exciting combination. Wouldn't you agree?"
My mouth dried, my heart stopped beating...long golden red hair? That didn't sound like Voyager's Chief Engineer, it sounded like... her captain! "Ye-es," I stammered. My mind unwillingly imagined Kathryn Janeway taking this holocharacter of Tom Paris to her bed. Opening her hands and legs to let him in, and he willingly obliging. Allowing herself to indulge in the fantasy she contemplates as she sits on the bridge and stares at her pilot.
"Thomas!" echoes in the distance, followed by the sound of footsteps.
The young man seated before me looks up. "The master's calling, I have to go. Good speed on your journey."
I nodded too numb to speak. Having just listened to his holocharacter relate Kathryn's actions to me it was all I could do to stand. I was about to call for the program to terminate when a man, presumably Thomas' master, the one that can't satisfy Kathryn's desires, turned towards us. I all but fall over in shock. The face on the man was my own, including the tattoo. Abruptly, I ended the program and sunk to my knees in despair, choosing to stay in the now empty holodeck until I could regain my composure.
"Computer, state creator of the holoprogram "Fantasy."
::::The creator is Captain Kathryn Janeway.::::
It confirmed what I had suspected. How had this happened? How had I stumbled upon this program, this "Fantasy," when I had been given rights to B'Elanna's holoprograms? And then the answer hit me. It had been planned. Oh, not what B'Elanna had been doing to herself. No, that was still a problem that had to be resolved. What had been planned was that I would find this. The Captain had intended during my search that I would discover her program. It was her way of telling me that we could never be.
I don't know how long I sat there alone in the middle of the holodeck, the past experience playing over again in my mind on an endless loop. Finally when I regained my composure, I stood and moved toward the exit when I thought of something. A smile tugged at my lips. Using some old Maquis tricks almost long since forgotten, I accessed the protocols to the program. Kathryn was going to be in for a surprise the next time she tried to fulfill this fantasy.