The Shattering of the Mask 6
By Morticia

See part 1 for disclaimer

If it were possible for a self-aware hologram to feel real emotion, the Doctor would have described himself as royally pissed off. As it was, he cursed his programmers for failing to provide the sub-routines necessary for dealing successfully with smart-mouthed, arrogant assholes like the pilot. Ex-pilot, he corrected himself.

He had been horrified when he had been notified of the new crew roster as soon as he had activated himself that morning. The thought of spending the next four weeks with Tom Paris as his unwilling full-time assistant had been enough to make him consider decompiling himself.

It wasnít that the young man wasnít a capable assistant. Indeed, to be fair, he had come a long way from his basic field medic training and had proved himself an asset in several genuine emergencies.

No. It wasnít so much his lack of experience that bothered the Doctor, it was his attitude. His tendency to treat his sick bay duties as though they were beneath him. The way he constantly moaned and complained as he did the more routine tasks. How he bitched constantly that he was a pilot not a nurse. The incessant, inappropriate smirks and wisecracks with which he irritated the Doctor beyond endurance.

He had angrily conned Chakotay with a virulent protest at what he considered to be the Commanderís high-handed decision.

"I fail to understand why it is necessary to inflict Mr. Paris on ME! Surely the brig would be more appropriate. What have I done? Why should I have to suffer for his misdemeanors?" he had complained.

"What Tom needs is to learn ships discipline, Doctor. He wonít learn that by sitting in the brig, moping and feeling sorry for himself. Heíll learn it by hard work," Chakotay had replied firmly

"Hard work and Tom Paris are mutually exclusive," the Doctor sniffed, somewhat unfairly considering how much he had recently been availing himself of Tomís programming masterpiece, Fairhaven. (Somehow the open-door policy of the program which everyone enjoyed had allowed everyone to conveniently forget who they should have thanked for it. In fact, it was only when something went wrong, and they needed a butt to kick, that anyone remembered Tomís hand in the creation.)

"I think you will find that that has changed, Doctor. The Captain has given the situation to me; to deal with as I see fit. There will be no more acceptances of his insolent attitude and inappropriate behavior. Should you find anything in his actions to dissatisfy you, I want you to bring it to my immediate attention. In fact, it would probably be best if you inform him that I will be monitoring him very closely."

"I doubt that even that will make any difference," the Doctor sulked.

"Oh, no Doctor, youíll find that Mr. Paris and I have come to an understanding." Chakotay had replied with just a hint of uncharacteristic smugness.

Despite the Commanderís words, the Doctor was unconvinced. He waited for 0800 with irritation. There was no doubt about it. He WAS royally pissed off.


By 1800 hours, as Tom put away the last of the instruments that he had spent the day silently stripping and repairing, the Doctor was almost beside himself with confusion.

Several times he had had to stop himself grabbing Tom by the arm and demanding, "Who are you and what have you done with Tom Paris?"

His sub-routines chased each other in mad circles as he tried to reconcile his helpful, humble and very QUIET assistant with the irrepressible Tom Paris that he had known for almost 6 years.

When the noticeably pale and tired Ensign had stepped through the door at 0750 (early for shift for the first time ever), the Doctor had immediately laid down the law, telling him in no uncertain terms that any attitude or disobedience would be immediately reported to the First Officer.

Tom had paled even further at the words and ducking his head had asked humbly, "What would you like me to do, Sir," in little more than a whisper

Stunned at the immediate capitulation, not to mention the "Sir", the Doctor had understandably suspected that Tom was playing a game with him. Lulling him into complacency before springing the trap shut on yet another patent Tom Paris practical joke.

He had brusquely ordered Tom to clean and recalibrate all of the medical instruments. When Tom had simply nodded obediently and started work, without the inevitable complaint at the boring task, the Doctor had KNOWN it was a set up!

Yet by 1300 hours the Doctor had found himself sitting in his office, unable to concentrate on any of his own duties. He was simply watching Tomís diligent performance through the glass partition, and beginning to feel truly worried.

It hadnít surprised him that Tom had declined to go to lunch in the mess hall, given the possibility of his bumping into BíElanna. (It hadnít taken the Doctor long to hear the tale from the crewmembers who had come for minor first aid and gossip that morning) and Tomís confession that he had no replicator rations left had simply led the Doctor to assume that Tom had been gambling again.

No, what had rocked the Doctor had been Tomís reaction to his gruff offer to let Tom have a bowl of soup from the sickbay account.

He had doubted the accuracy of his visual receptors when he had seen bright tears of gratitude welling in the Ensignís eyes at the small kindness. Because he had only made the offer in irritation at the thought of the already too thin man keeling over in a faint mid-afternoon, the Doctor had suffered a previously unknown emotion; guilt.

For the remainder of Tomís shift he had watched the pilot closely, becoming increasingly sure that Tomís behavior was not an act. He was showing all the classic symptoms of a clinical depression.

He waited until Tom had scuttled out, barely hearing the pilot mumbling in panic about being late for an appointment in maintenance, and then commed the First Officer.

"I am very concerned about Mr. Parisís state of mind," he stated portentously. "In my opinion he is severely depressed, possibly on the verge of a complete mental breakdown."

"Is there a physical cause for his behavior, Doctor?" Chakotay asked with evident concern.

"IÖ" the Doctor stopped in confusion as suddenly he received a clear memory of examining Tom which warred for a moment with the knowledge that he hadnít. For a moment the two sub-routines clashed and his external image flickered in evidence of the conflict, before the new data merged seamlessly within his program.

"I have given Tom a thorough medical examination and have found no physical reason for his distress," the Doctor continued, unaware of Chakotayís sigh of relief at the success of his tampering.

"I can only conclude that the problem is psychological. In view of my own, shall we say, less than successful attempts at counseling, may I request that you consider treating Tom in that capacity, Commander?"

"Certainly, Doctor, although I must admit that I am not sure when I can find the time."

The Doctorís program glitched again.

"In my opinion, Tomís condition is serious. He should not be left alone. I believe that he should stay with you, Commander, when heís not working, where you can keep an eye on him. I am sure that there is room in your quarters for a small cot and that would give you the opportunity to counsel him in the evenings without interrupting your schedule too greatly."

"I will talk to the Captain about your recommendation and if she agrees with you, I suppose I will have to put up with the imposition. After all, crew welfare is the responsibility of the First Officer and some sacrifice must come with the job," Chakotay sighed.

"Thank you for your understanding, Commander. Voyager is lucky to have you," the Doctor replied.

As he turned away from the monitor, he wondered whether to ask BíElanna to have a look at his program. There was definitely something a little off kilter today.

No, he was simply upset with the Tom situation and the last thing he needed was an angry Klingon fiddling about with his insides. Under the circumstances BíElanna would hardly have her mind on the job. He shuddered at the damage she might inadvertently cause.

No, he would simply de-activate himself for a few hours and that should let his systems re-set.

"Computer, end EMH program" he said firmly, and winked out of existence.


By the time Dalby had finished "preparing" him, Tom had been made aware of his change of quarters. Ayala had not been present tonight. There had been no need. Tom had walked in, stripped, placed the dildo silently on Dalbyís desk and stepping into the stall had opened his legs and bent over.

Throughout the experience he never once looked at Dalby, uttered no sound except the odd involuntary whimper and had accepted the news that he was to go to live in Chakotayís quarters with a single defeated nod, vaguely aware of Dalbyís disappointment at his failure to resist.

As Tom walked painfully out of the door, head down and shoulders drooping, Dalby decided that the sooner Chakotay got Tom trained to prepare himself, the better. He didnít know how long he could take having the naked slut in his power whilst being unable to do anything about it. If Tom didnít resist he would have no excuse to hit him and Tomís pale skin marked far too easily for him to get away with it.

In Tomís new mood of non-resistance he could probably rape Tom without the pilot being marked but Chakotay had told all of his Maquis co-conspirators that if anyone touched Tom sexually he would rip their balls off. Of course he could take Tom before he prepared him. The hose would remove all evidence and he was almost certain that Tom would say nothing, but it was the Ďalmostí that stopped him.

He knew that Chakotay would space him without hesitation if he disobeyed his orders. Chakotay had decided that Tom was his. Dalby knew that that meant he would never again get a chance at that sweet ass and that being the case, the sooner Tom stopped parading it in front of him like the wanton slut he was, the better.


"I wonít forget this, Chakotay," Janeway said with gratitude as they played rings. Behind them the raucous sounds of Irish singing filled the room.

She looked surreptitiously at the bar, catching Michaelís eyes and blushing as he winked at her suggestively. She swallowed and looked away, catching sight of young Harry Kim who was chortling merrily at something BíElanna was telling him. She was surprised momentarily by the depth of distaste she felt at the way he had dumped Maggie OíHalloran since BíElanna had become Ďavailableí.

It seemed uncharacteristically callous of him to be making such a swift and obvious move for his ex-best friendís ex-girlfriend. Shaking her head she turned back to Chakotay.

"Really, Chakotay. I canít believe you have agreed to the Doctorís suggestion, although I realise Tom needs someone to keep their eye on him and I canít imagine anyone else volunteering."

"Well I havenít exactly volunteered. I wonít pretend that Iím happy about it, Kathryn, but our only other option is to keep Tom in sick bay and the Doctor doesnít have the facilities for that kind of long term care."

"I know," Janeway paused as she took her turn before continuing "Iíll be back on the bridge tomorrow. I know that Tom will be spending his shift with the Doctor every day but I donít want you burned out trying to do your normal routine when you will be up half the night counseling. Iím going to put you on half-shift for the time being and weíll see how it goes."

"Thank you, Captain."

"Thank YOU, Chakotay," she replied with fervor. "Now, about that drink you owe meÖ"


Tom had arrived at Chakotayís quarters to find that the access code had been changed to allow his entrance. He had walked into the empty rooms and uncertain of what to do had simply stood in the middle of the living room with his head bowed, swaying with exhaustion.

His whole existence had become a living nightmare. The whole of the last few days had become an unreal blur. He was almost outside of his body, looking in. The pain in his ass was nothing to the pain in his soul and yet he felt vague and unconnected as though his body really didnít belong to him.

Perhaps this was a dream. Perhaps he would wake up in his quarters and find that none of this had really happened. On the other hand, perhaps the memory of his life ever being different from this living hell was the real dream.

He couldnít think, couldnít even decide what to do next. He instinctively knew that Chakotay would be angry with him if he lay down on the bed and even the thought of sitting down made him flinch. Finally he simply sank to his knees, his legs spread so that his throbbing butt hung between his ankles, his hands on his thighs to support his upper body and he dozed fitfully, in and out of reality, as he waited for the Commander to return.

It was about 2200 when he heard the swish of the door opening and the soft padding of Chakotayís feet.

Chakotay paused, drunk momentarily at the sight of the kneeling blonde, before swiftly stepping to Tomís head and backhanding him across the cheek. Tom crashed to the carpet with a surprised yelp and scrambled desperately at Chakotayís feet.

"Iím sorry, Iím sorry..." he sobbed in bewilderment. "What did I do?"

"Lesson one, Paris. When I come into my quarters I do not expect you to be dressed, do you understand? You will remove your clothes and kneel here," Chakotay pointed at the wall opposite the door. "Do it now so I can be sure you understand."

Tom hurriedly pulled off his clothes and, crawling to the spot Chakotay indicated, he knelt submissively.

"Open your legs wider," Chakotay ordered. He kicked the inside of Tomís knees in encouragement. Tom obeyed until his muscles of his thighs protested and his genitals were fully revealed, his cock jutting out vulnerably under the pressure of the leather strap.

Satisfied, Chakotay turned and walked back to his couch, where he sat with a contented sigh, stretching his legs comfortably before continuing in a gentler voice.

"That is what is called "In position" and it is how you will sit in all times when you are in my quarters. This way I will always be able to see what is mine. You will always be in exactly that place so that you are the first thing I see when I come in and so that I can see you any time I choose from my couch or my desk. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Tom mumbled, his whole body flushed with renewed humiliation.

"You are never to break position without my permission. You will not speak, eat, sleep, shit or take a piss without permission." Chakotay continued "Your body is mine and I will do anything I want with it. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

Chakotay noted the exhaustion in Tomís face. He knew that Tom had now not slept for over three days. He had to be reaching the delirious stage where his sub-conscious and conscious minds blurred so that he could barely tell reality from nightmare.

Although Chakotay was aware he was going to have to back off and relieve the pressure a little or Tomís mind would shatter so far that he would be of no use to him, there was one more lesson Tom needed to learn whilst he was in this receptive state. For Tomís sake he hoped that it would not be long coming.

It was about an hour later that he noticed Tom was squirming desperately. Whilst he was still holding position, he was swaying in distress. Chakotay could see Tomís genitals were swollen and red and Tomís face was screwed up in agony.

Pleased that Tom had not made the mistake of talking without permission, Chakotay decided it was time to give a little slack.

"You may speak, Paris," he said generously

Through his clenched teeth Tom muttered, "Please, Sir. I needÖ I need the bathroom, Sir."

Chakotay hid his grin. Lesson two, here we come, he thought.

"You may release the strap, Tom," Chakotay said with deceptive kindness, laughing inside as Tomís face filled with relief as he fumbled with the strap.

The sudden look of horror on Tomís face, as he realised his mistake, that instead of relieving him the action caused the pressure to turn into uncontrollable raging need, was almost comical.

Tom was now bouncing up and down on his knees, tightly holding his genitals to try to replace the pressure on the straining faucet. He wasnít sure he could make it to the bathroom now even if Chakotay agreed.

"Please, Sir," he wailed. " I have to go, NOW!"

"You may NOT break position, Paris. What else you do is up to you," Chakotay replied firmly.

Agony chased horror over Tomís features. He understood what Chakotay was saying, but he couldnít, he just couldnít. Toilet training was too deeply ingrained in all civilised people. What Chakotay was suggesting he did was more humiliating than anything that had ever happened to him before. (Which was saying something). He knew that Chakotay knew this, knew it was why Chakotay was doing this. But knowing didnít help.

He had read stories of torturers making their victims wet themselves and had always wondered what the big deal was. Now he knew. He knew if he did this he would never recover, he would never be the same again.

The choice was taken from him as his body took control. He almost heard his mind go snap as his bowels ripped loose. Hot steaming urine spurted out and down his legs until he was kneeling in a puddle of the stinking liquid. His body heaved with mingled relief and embarrassment. His head dropped to his lap and wrapping his arms around his head he huddled in a tight ball of misery, the muscles in his back spasming with his broken sobs.

"Position," Chakotay snapped.

Tom obeyed like a stiff marionette. Weeping brokenly, he rocked back on his heels, his whole body racked with hiccuping sobs. Tomís face was a mess. His features were red and swollen with crying, his glazed eyes huge and dilated over puffy black bruises of exhaustion. Tears and snot dripped over his slack, trembling mouth and down his chin.

Chakotay thought Tom had never looked so beautiful before.

Tom stared at him with the helplessness of a deer run to ground, thralled by Chakotayís feral grin. The terror had been replaced by weary resignation. All conscious thought had burrowed protectively deep inside himself, leaving only a battered husk that didnít even really look like Tom Paris any more.

Chakotay simply stood up and walked silently to his bedroom. He stopped at the door, saw Tom was still watching him with his bleak, hopeless eyes and pointed to a blanket in one corner of the room.

"You can sleep there," he said. "Oh, and make sure you clean that mess up first."

And turning, he stepped into his bedroom and closed the door behind him.