A BEGINNING, A MIDDLE, AND A PROPER END
The Journey
[two] [three] [four] [five] [six]
"Parallax"
CHAKOTAY: I have no intention of being your token Maquis officer. . . . You're right, Captain. I do consider these "my people," because nobody else on this ship will look out for them like I will. And I'm telling you--you're going to have to give them more authority if you want their loyalty.
JANEWAY: Theirs? Or yours, Commander?
CHAKOTAY: I'm trying to help you. I'm sorry you don't see that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 48439.9:
I have just had an acrimonious encounter with my first officer, which has left me both angry and disturbed. He has suggested, incredibly, that I promote B'Elanna Torres to chief engineer. B'Elanna Torres! She should be in the brig for assaulting Lieutenant Carey, and she would be there if I'd made Tuvok my second-in-command. Never have I seen such a temper. If Chakotay sees officer material in that young woman, he's out of his mind--and I may have been out of mine when I thought I saw officer material in him--at least in this environment. He might have been suited for Starfleet once, but he turned his back on discipline and self-control, on the standards of behavior that must prevail on board this ship. I had thought he was settling in, that he and I were building a constructive and even pleasant working relationship. But now I'm beginning to fear that he may not be able to resume a Starfleet manner as easily as he did a Starfleet uniform. He's talented, certainly, but he's also a loose cannon--defiant, insubordinate, questioning my decisions-- He says he will not be my "token Maquis." What insufferable gall. Well, I will not be his co-captain! What possessed me to choose this man over someone I've known and worked with for years? But I can't back out of the deal now. I'd be courting the wrath of every Maquis on board if I lowered his rank or his position, and he knows it. Besides, as far as the crew are concerned--all of the crew--he's performed his duties admirably; I haven't heard a single complaint. And Tuvok hasn't reported any suspicious activity among the Maquis, which means that Chakotay is keeping their grumbling under control, just as he promised he would. Only in his dealings with me is he difficult--but I'm the one who has to work most closely with him.
Well--we'll have to patch it up somehow. I've got to find a way to pull him into line. I've served on ships where the captain and FO didn't get along--they aren't happy ships. The crew inevitably take sides; discipline falls apart; efficiency, morale, effectiveness all suffer. I cannot let that happen on Voyager--not under any circumstances, but certainly not here and now. Maybe I could assign him to second or third shift . . . It's common practice for the captain and first officer to stagger their duty shifts, or to have only minimal overlap. I could tell him that we've completed a trial period and I don't feel the need to supervise him so directly any longer--and so on. He'd see through it, but maybe he's just as anxious for some breathing room as I am. Or perhaps he'd be offended enough to resign as FO--
Oh, who am I trying to fool? He isn't going anywhere unless I send him. And unless we can relocate that common ground we thought we had--it's going to be a long seventy-five years.
First Officer's Personal Log, Stardate 48440.1:
I've recommended to Captain Janeway that she promote B'Elanna Torres to chief engineer. I might as well have been talking to a stone wall. I'm beginning to think the captain isn't as much of a maverick as I thought she was. It was her idea, after all, to combine our crews, but it's becoming increasingly clear that she didn't think through what that has to mean. Her invitation didn't really extend to all the Maquis. I'm welcome, more or less, but the rest of them can consider themselves lucky she didn't leave them behind. That's how it feels to us, at any rate, but when I try to point that out to her she gets defensive and looks as if she's measuring me for a cell. And the Starfleet crew follow her lead--they aren't cutting my people any slack in training sessions, and with few exceptions they do exactly what I ask of them and no more. The Maquis are seething like a volcano about to erupt, and they take a lot of their frustrations out on me because they're tired of being civil to Janeway's crew and getting no credit for their pains. A few are a breath away from mutiny if I'd only say the word--
Computer, delete last sentence. Resume recording.
The captain wants me to keep order but so far she isn't giving me much room to handle my people the way I think is best. I'll be the first to admit that a lot of them can act like hotheaded teenagers--but whether she believes it or not they're giving this merger their best. Maybe I was wrong to think I could work with her, that she would ever really trust me, but I've got to keep trying; I've got to keep doing all I can to smooth things over, to make her see that she needs to learn to bend a little. She might hate my guts--and if this state of affairs keeps up, vice versa--but she still needs my help, though I'll probably be old and gray before she'll admit it.
I wonder sometimes if I'm on borrowed time, if she's considering replacing me as FO with Tuvok, and I wonder sometimes if I wouldn't be a lot happier as just a member of the crew, or maybe a department head, without the twenty-four-hour headache that this job has become. But if she wants to get rid of me she's going to have to boot me out and take the consequences, because I won't abandon the Maquis. Right now I'm the best liaison between the two crews, even without the captain's help, but we're going to be out here a long time. Eventually the more easy-going crewmen will form bridges of friendship, and the junior officers will have sufficient command experience--and by then I might just be begging one of them to take my place.
Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 48455.3:
B'Elanna Torres has been chief engineer for two weeks now. Our encounter with the quantum singularity unquestionably demonstrated her technical abilities, but running a department on a starship is a different story, and I must admit that I'm very pleasantly surprised by how well she's doing. In fact--I'm amazed. The change in her attitude is astonishing. I suspect it isn't easy for her--I understand she spends a lot of time in the holodeck conditioning programs, probably working off pent-up steam--but she does it, and I can't ask for more professional behavior than that. Her confidence increases by the day, she's getting more and more comfortable in briefings and with her own staff, and she never seems to run out of suggestions as to how we might improve engine efficiency or cope with the various problems we encounter. I guess you don't keep an old Maquis clunker running without a store of ingenuity to draw upon. Chakotay was right about this one, at least.
Speaking of Chakotay, I think I can say that--for now--we're getting along. We still disagree from time to time, and since we generally approach a problem from radically different philosophical positions, I imagine we always will. But we share the goal of getting home as quickly and as safely as possible, and to that end we seem to be learning to discuss a thorny issue without causing smoke to billow out the ready room door--and I'd say that's progress. When I asked Chakotay to be my first officer, I told him that the circumstances are different out here, but I wasn't yet ready to accept all the ramifications of our arrangement. He was right to accuse me of treating him as my token Maquis. That was exactly my attitude, I'm sorry to say--throw one of them a bone and expect the rest to sit and stay and lie down on command. I was also wrong to believe he thought of himself as a co-captain. I told B'Elanna that some captains like crewmen who challenge their assumptions. Well, I've got another one in Chakotay. Tuvok would never have recommended Torres for a senior post, and so I would have indulged my own prejudices and deprived myself of a highly competent engineer. Chakotay had the grace not to say I told you so--though I'm pretty sure he was thinking it. It's a kind of grace I probably wouldn't have if our positions were reversed. He asked me if I would have served under him. I claimed captain's privilege and didn't answer (which he accepted with a smile), but I've given his question some thought. I would probably have chosen to be an objective and irritating passenger rather than a cooperative comrade, and congratulated myself on my independence. But I think the loss would have been mine. I think I've made the right choice after all.
First Officer's Personal Log, Stardate 48455.8:
This is the third day the captain hasn't received a complaint from the Starfleet crew about Torres' promotion or about Tuvok making Ayala his second during alpha shift. It's the second day I haven't received a complaint from the Maquis about all the Starfleet crew except Harry Kim--everybody likes Harry. And the captain and the first officer have gone a full week without a spat. I haven't stopped counting the good days yet, but I'm beginning to think I might actually like my job after all. Who knows--I might even be getting to like my captain.
********************
"The Cloud"
JANEWAY: Is there a different animal guide for everyone?
CHAKOTAY: Actually, yes.
JANEWAY: Let me guess. Yours is a bear.
CHAKOTAY: Why do you say that?
JANEWAY: You strike me as the bear type.
********************
"Ex Post Facto"
JANEWAY: Not to belittle Maquis tactics, Commander, but this is a very old trick.
CHAKOTAY: It worked against those Starfleet runabouts.
JANEWAY: You're lucky I wasn't commanding one of them.
...
JANEWAY: That's one trick you won't be able to use again when we get back.
CHAKOTAY: I have more.
********************
"State of Flux"
JANEWAY: Seska's spent the last two years as an enemy of the Federation.
CHAKOTAY: So have I.
...
SESKA: You are a fool, Captain. [To Chakotay] And you're a fool to follow her. I can't imagine how I ever loved you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Is there something else, Commander?" Janeway asked, when Chakotay remained before her desk after handing her a status report.
"Yes, Captain. I just wanted to say thank you."
"For?"
"For not holding Seska's actions against me--or against the other Maquis."
She hadn't said a word to him--no questions, recriminations, accusations--not even in Sickbay in the aftermath of Seska's escape, when tears of rage had thickened her voice and he'd felt her eyes upon him but couldn't turn to meet them.
She sat back in her chair. So this was bothering him. She thought he'd been quiet lately--going about his job as efficiently as usual, but without that cheerful air she'd gotten used to, and had missed. And why shouldn't he be bothered? A second person he trusted had deceived him, and this time it was personal. At least he and Seska hadn't been romantically involved for months--according to ship's scuttlebutt, at any rate, which was far more useful to captains than Starfleet Academy liked to admit. He was not a lover betrayed, but a comrade--a different sort of pain, but in its own way equally intense. She tried to imagine how she would feel if Tuvok turned out to be a Cardassian spy. Probably she would be incoherent for hours, and then in a blue funk or a snapping fury for weeks--whereas Chakotay was merely subdued. All things considered, he was handling the whole nasty incident very well. He'd said he was good at acceptance, but boy, this had to be one hell of a test.
"I hope I'm perceptive enough to recognize that you were defending a trusted friend and comrade against an accusation you felt was unjust--and that when you were shown evidence to the contrary you did all you could to apprehend her. What could I possibly criticize? I was just as indignant on Carey's behalf as you were on Seska's."
"I'm glad you feel that way."
"I would imagine, in fact, that you feel a far deeper sense of betrayal than I do."
He tensed a little, wondering if she was probing to see what nerve she hit. Was she counting how many other potential traitors he might have brought aboard her ship? In the past few months her trust had come to matter to him; at the moment he wished it hadn't. "It's a fair assumption. I can't help feeling responsible--despite the fact that even Tuvok admits his logic wasn't any sharper than my instincts where Seska was concerned."
He half-regretted the qualification as soon as he uttered it, fearing she would think him so insecure as to feel the need to vindicate himself when she hadn't even asked him to. No, he was probably overreacting. But he looked bad in this, no question, and somehow he didn't like Janeway knowing he had been involved with Seska, no matter how brief and ultimately unsatisfying the relationship had been. He had a feeling she wouldn't approve--on a professional level primarily, but maybe on a personal level as well; she hadn't ever warmed to Seska as she had to B'Elanna and some of the other Maquis. Did she wonder what he had ever seen in her? Just now he couldn't remember. Then again, he didn't know what Janeway thought went on aboard a Maquis ship--for all he knew she envisioned orgies in the corridors after every battle. Damn Seska, anyway, for putting new distance between himself and his captain when they'd been getting along so well. Nothing to do but be doubly professional, find a little more to give so he could earn back any measure of her trust he might have lost.
"She fooled everyone else on your ship, too, you know," Janeway said, "--not just you and Tuvok." His shoulders visibly relaxed, and she realized then how deep was his concern that she might have lost faith in him. "I don't believe we're ever truly responsible for the actions of others, no matter how close a relationship we might have, no matter that command convention insists upon it. We make our own decisions, choose our own paths. It isn't your fault that Seska chose the wrong one." She smiled. "I still have good instincts about you, Commander."
He managed to concentrate a huge sigh of relief into a soft exhale. "I appreciate that, Captain."
She gave a brisk nod, and the subject was safely closed. "Well then. See you at Sandrine's later?"
"I wouldn't miss it--it's my turn to break first."
"Damn--I was hoping you'd lost track."
"I wouldn't be a very smart Maquis if I gave an advantage like that to a Starfleet hustler, now would I?"
She laughed, glad to see the breezy confidence restored to his smile, his bearing. "A hustler has to try! See you later, Commander. Keep a stick warm for me!"
********************
"Elogium"
CHAKOTAY: . . . [W]e're in a unique situation here. The development of intimate relationships might cause us problems that wouldn't arise on other ships.
JANEWAY: I understand what you're saying, but--we're a long way from home. Everyone is lonely, and all we have is each other. I think eventually people will begin to pair off.
CHAKOTAY: Including you?
JANEWAY: As captain, that's a luxury I don't have. Besides, I intend for us to be home before--before Mark gives me up for dead.
...
CHAKOTAY: If we're right that the creature is responding to us as a sexual rival, we might try behaving in a submissive way. That may appease him. We'd be acknowledging that he's dominant and that we're no match for him. . . .
JANEWAY: Good work, Commander. In the future, if I have any questions about mating behavior, I'll know where to go.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chakotay's double take was priceless. Janeway simply couldn't resist flirting with him when she could count on a reaction that gratifying. He really did have an infectious smile, and it lit up a handsome face. If he wasn't so reserved he'd have half the people on the ship lining up outside his quarters. But for all his friendliness there was something guarded about him, off-limits, a barrier that said this far and no farther. How could someone be both an open book and an enigma? As far as she knew he hadn't dated anyone since he'd come aboard Voyager. Maybe he felt that he didn't have the luxury of pairing off any more than she did; after all, the possibility that he might have to captain this ship, not just now and then but permanently, was very real. And he worked hard--he was almost as busy as she was. Who had time? She wondered if he had always been so self-contained, before the Maquis--before Seska. It would hardly be surprising if his experience with Seska had made him leery of shipboard romances.
At the moment he was teasing B'Elanna while she tried to line up a shot at Sandrine's pool table, probably trying to ruin her concentration, devious man. She'd wondered on occasion whether those two would ever take their friendship to another level. B'Elanna growled at him and then grinned and sank four balls, while Paris watched her with frank appreciation and both of them with frank curiosity. And I'm getting to be as nosy as Tom is. Snatches of conversation reached her from nearby tables, much of it heavily laced with wanton innuendo; she had a suspicion that Sandrine's was going to empty early tonight.
"Care for a game?"
Startled, she looked up from her padd, a flush suffusing her cheeks until she realized Chakotay had a pool cue in each hand; she'd been too busy eavesdropping to notice his approach. Not that kind of game, she scolded herself, and wondered if before the night was over the collective rise in body temperature would set off the fire-control sprinklers in the holodeck. A cold shower for everyone might not be a bad idea--
"Thanks, but no--I'm in the middle of a project here. I'm not falling for your tricks tonight."
His eyes crinkled up at the corners. "Too bad."
He passed the cues along to others and stepped over to the bar, while she tried to decide whether they'd just been engaging in a little innuendo of their own.
He returned with a mug of coffee for her and a glass of beer for himself. "You really need to take a break now and then, you know." He slipped into the chair next to her and pulled it closer.
"Oh, this isn't work. I'm going to make Samantha a blanket for the baby." They had hardly had time to feel relieved that Kes's elogium had been a false manifestation when Ensign Wildman had dropped the bombshell of her own very real pregnancy. But it's amazing how fast we get used to new situations around here.
"Make?"
"Crochet. My Aunt Martha taught me how the summer I was ten--she's wonderful at any kind of needlework. I haven't done any in years, but I think I can remember the basic technique well enough. What do you think?"
She handed him the padd displaying her tentative design; as he reached to take it his fingers brushed hers. "I like it. It reminds me of old-fashioned quilt patterns."
"Good! That's the idea." When he handed back the padd she was careful to grasp it by the edge.
"If you need me to hold the yarn while you wind it into balls, let me know."
Balls? Her chuckle sounded husky even to her own ears. She was too aware of hidden meaning tonight, real or imagined, too aware of the charged atmosphere around her. "I will. You're experienced, then?" And that, too, was a wonderful choice of words.
Something flickered behind his eyes and tugged at the corners of his mouth. "My mother loved to knit--sweaters, slippers, blankets. She could work complicated patterns and listen to my sister and me practice our reading at the same time." He smiled. "I'd never have expected you to have such a domestic streak." He liked discovering new aspects of her personality, liked to sense their friendship growing, strengthening.
"Oh, now and then I get the urge--" Another flicker. Damn. She was blushing again and she could tell he was noticing--he'd have to be half-blind not to, with a complexion as pale as hers. His skin was so dark she could never tell whether she made him blush, which she had long thought was very unfair.
The flicker had become a gleam. "Oh, for an innocent word--" His voice was half an octave lower than usual, a velvet rumble as close to a purr as she'd ever heard from a man.
"How dare you read my mind like that! So you've noticed it, too, hm?--what's going on in here?" Nicoletti and Tabor were practically undressing each other during a slow, sultry dance.
He was grinning shamelessly now. "Hard to miss it." And then he ducked his head, caught in the same predicament; the laugh lines deepened at the corners of his eyes, and she could swear the golden-brown of his cheeks had taken on a reddish hue. "The mess hall isn't much better."
"It's that damned horny space slug and his--her?--its harem that's responsible, not to mention Kes's plight--it was hopeless trying to keep that private. It's hopeless trying to keep anything private on this ship. The viewports are fogging up!"
"Tomorrow morning I'll get at least ten requests for duty shift transfers. It always happens when the crew are in an especially--fraternizing--mood, though usually the cause isn't a happy one."
"People take comfort where they can, when they can. Do you grant their requests?"
"I have in the past, but you're right--they're starting to pair off, and they're going to have to accept whatever emotional fallout comes from that. --Great," he said, lifting his eyes in supplication to the chandelier overhead. "Now you've got me doing it."
"Me? You're 'doing it' fine on your own. Keep it up!" His shoulders began to shake and she gave him a mock glare. "Stop it! By tomorrow the whole ship will know that the captain and first officer were behaving in a very undignified manner in public!" His eyebrows shot up and devilment sparkled in his eyes. "No--don't even think it!"
"Yes, ma'am," he said, reaching for his glass, but the question was written all over his face: Would you rather be undignified in private?
"You are a wicked, wicked man--that quiet, gentlemanly exterior is just an act!" His quick, irreverent sense of humor had been something else unexpected about him, unexpected and delightful. "Well, at least there's a lot of cover noise in here--maybe no one will notice."
"Bridge to the captain." Culhane sounded a little distracted, and Janeway hoped he wasn't flying the ship in circles while he indulged his imagination. "Engineering reports that full thruster power has been restored."
Thruster power??? Her eyes went round. Her lips quivered. Laughter exploded into her throat from the depths of her diaphragm and it took every muscle in her torso to clamp down on it long enough to sputter an acknowledgment and cut the connection. Her efforts at self-control were not helped at all by the sight of Chakotay choking on his beer. Convulsed with hilarity herself, she pounded him helpfully on the back. So much for no one noticing-- "Deep breaths, Commander--"
"I--can't--" he gasped, mopping at his eyes with a napkin. "I hope the gods of mischief are enjoying this--!"
He could not deny that he certainly was. With her flushed cheeks and swimming eyes, her face framed by wisps of hair escaping from her bun, she was captivating. He had always found shared laughter seductive, and for an instant he wanted very badly to see her hair in disarray, her face and chest flushed from a different cause-- She's your captain, idiot--get hold of yourself! Oh great-- And then he was chortling again, at himself, at her, at a whole shipload of people completely deranged by a creature with the intelligence of a cow.
When their laughter finally ran its course and they could draw breath without risking further paroxysms, she said, "Tell me more about your mother's knitting. Surely that's a harmless topic."
He flashed her a dubious grin. "We can only hope. Well, she tried to teach us, but Ritanay always wanted to be playing in the dirt--she's been gardening since she was three--and I wanted to be building models of space ships. But I can do this part of knitting really well." He held up his hands in the time-honored position, a shoulder-width apart, palms facing each other.
She had thought the tension safely dissolved, but in response to his movement her gaze focused on his hands, big strong hands framing a face that glowed with good humor and fondness and something else much more dangerous. He was looking directly into her eyes, and she remembered standing so close to him on the bridge, as they talked in low voices about pairing off, that she could see the tiny laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, the almost indistinguishable meeting of iris and pupil in his dark brown eyes, the slight blurring at the edges of his tattoo. Don't get personal with your subordinates, they told you in command training, especially with your first officer. Somewhere in the captain's manual, no doubt, there was a sidebar in big bold type: DON'T FLIRT. Probably in red. With a flashing border. Too much risk of misunderstanding, of--how had he put it?--emotional fallout. So--are you seeing anybody? A perfectly natural question between friends, even between a captain and a first officer. Not between this captain and this first officer, it isn't--not tonight. Not when she could recall very clearly the timbre of his voice when he'd asked, Including you?
She sat back in her chair, increasing the distance between them. Slowly he lowered his hands, but his body did not quite relax. Okay, she thought, I find him attractive. Evidently he finds me attractive. What now?
Or perhaps the question should really be, So what? Voyager had been away considerably less than a year; Mark wouldn't have given up yet and neither had she. Tonight she could find a Tellarite attractive, and she really had no business assuming Chakotay had been offering himself as a potential romantic partner; he'd probably just been demonstrating simple, friendly concern for his captain's emotional well-being. All the same, it might be a good idea to heed that advice from the manual for a while. Just in case.
She fished her padd out from under tear-soaked napkins, relieved to note that she had not subconsciously made the blanket design the least bit suggestive. "Well, if I'm going to have this finished by the time the baby's born I'd better start replicating crochet hooks and yarn. With any kind of handwork I'm quick to start but slow to finish. --Oh God, let me out of here!" She fled, leaving him spluttering and snorting and grabbing for the napkins.
This time the pounding on his back nearly knocked him to the floor. "You okay, Chief?" Paris's liberal consumption of Sandrine's house wine had made his drawl even lazier than usual.
"No." When he could see straight, Chakotay glared upward accusingly. "Paris, did you add some kind of aphrodisiac to the air recyclers?"
"I cannot tell a lie--no. But thanks for the idea! Want another game before I let one of these beauties get lucky? I might even be able to convince one to take you as a consolation prize."
Speaking of horny space slugs--, Chakotay thought with cheerful distaste; Paris had been drooling over every female in the place, both real and holographic, all night. "Screw you," he said before he could stop himself. He sighed, drained his glass, and took the proffered cue. Nope. Tonight it's definitely a "stick." "And if I open my mouth again you have my permission to stuff a ball in it-- Oh, just shut up and rack 'em--please!"
********************
"Maneuvers"
JANEWAY: What you did was commendable. The way you did it was not. You set a terrible example, and on a personal level you've made my job more difficult.
CHAKOTAY: If that's so, I regret it.
JANEWAY: I'm putting you on report--in case that means anything anymore.
CHAKOTAY: It means something to me, Captain. It means I've let you down, and for that I'm truly sorry.
...
SESKA: [on screen] Hello, Chakotay. Congratulations on your victory. I look forward to our next meeting. Oh--and there's something you should know. While you were unconscious I took the liberty of extracting a sample of your DNA. I impregnated myself with it. So, I guess more congratulations are in order. You're going to be a father.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Come in." Seeing Janeway enter his office, Chakotay stood and came nearly to attention. "Captain--"
"At ease, Commander," she said, but though he nodded acknowledgment and relaxed his posture somewhat, she could see that he was not at ease with her, and probably would not be for quite some time. He had spent most of the day off the bridge, and she had not objected. She did not sit down, nor did he. "I hope you aren't overdoing it. The Doctor did say you should get plenty of rest for a few days, and it's after 1900 now."
"I'm fine, Captain--thank you." He gestured toward his computer screen. "These are just routine crew evaluations." He could not deny to himself, however, his lingering fatigue, stubborn headache, and the knots in his muscles, but those discomforts had much more to do with Seska's message of that morning than to the residual effects of Culluh's methods of interrogation. "What can I do for you?"
She began to pace, and his tension mounted. Had she thought of something to add to her scathing rebuke? She hadn't been quite finished when they'd been interrupted by the discovery of Seska's message buoy. His regret that in her eyes he had disappointed her was bitter, but so was the hurt that she refused to see that he had been trying to do just the opposite, trying to protect the crew to whom she was so devoted. Trying to protect her, which was, after all, his job. It had never occurred to him that she would view his actions as a personal or professional insult; he had, in fact, been fool enough to expect to be thanked, if he survived. In going after a Maquis he had acted as a Maquis--but she liked to forget he had ever been Maquis, that he was not Starfleet to the core, as she was. Like a Maquis, he had taken a near-suicidal risk and been fully prepared to accept the possible consequences; once he'd been captured he had been very genuinely astonished to be rescued. Apparently she hadn't wanted to give up the opportunity to rake him over the warp coils. Never had he been so harshly reprimanded, the memory of that scene almost a worse humiliation than Seska's. It was a wonder he wasn't spending a few days in the brig. On the other hand, his authority was worth protecting as well--but here in the privacy of his office she could continue her verbal flaying with no one else the wiser.
She stopped pacing and looked directly at him. "I'm not going to tell you I know how you feel that your private life has been made so very public by someone you once trusted. But I do know that I don't have much tolerance for embarrassment myself, especially the professional kind." He flinched a little at that, as at salt in a wound. Her next words, however, were balm. "And I don't have any tolerance at all for the sort of dishonorable behavior that Seska is indulging in. There are very few people I would like to see treated with such contempt, and despite our current difference of opinion, Commander, you aren't one of them." Their working relationship had become so strong, so companionable, that she had on some level forgotten his early defiance, his unshakable allegiance to principles and codes of behavior that sometimes conflicted with her own. But he was a member of her crew, and, angry though she was, she would not allow him to suffer such undeserved mortification alone. "I wanted to remind you that while Seska's latest offense is more personal than her last, it is even less something for which you should hold yourself responsible in any way. She is still our common enemy. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Captain."
"Good. Get some rest. I'll expect you on the bridge as usual tomorrow morning."
"Yes, Captain."
When she had gone, he resumed his seat, but did not immediately return to his work. He sat very still, breathing deeply and feeling some of the tension leave his body. The last thing he'd expected from her when she'd walked through his door was sympathy. He began to hope that, while it was possible she could never understand his actions, perhaps eventually she could forgive them. And in the waning hours of what had been an especially rotten day, he found himself smiling.
********************
"Prototype"
JANEWAY: [To Torres] As far as I'm concerned you did what you thought was necessary to ensure the safety of this crew.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"How did it go with the captain yesterday?" Chakotay asked. He and Torres were in the holodeck, tightening knee and elbow pads in preparation for their weekly hoverball match.
"Fine. I was all ready to make a case for myself, but she wasn't as tough on me as she was on you. Actually, she wasn't tough on me at all."
"Glad to hear it, but I'm not surprised. The circumstances were a little different--you aren't her first officer."
Torres drew herself up in mock indignation. "Well, I'm a department head, and I violated the Prime Directive and disobeyed a direct order. That ought to be good for a little chewing out, don't you think?" She chose a bat from the rack the program had displayed. "What I think is that maybe she's learned something. Maybe she's learned that her authority is more secure than she thought--thanks to you. The whole crew knows you went after Seska yourself to try to keep us out of danger, not to defy the captain. And if anything the Maquis are showing her even more respect now than we did before, because you do. She's found out she has room to be lenient."
If she'd meant to give herself an edge in the match by embarrassing him, she'd succeeded. "Uh--thanks."
She shrugged. "You help us out all the time when we slam headfirst into some rule we aren't used to and don't like. It's only fair that we do the same for you."
"Maybe so, and I appreciate it, but let's just say I'll be happy if it never comes to that again."
But he knew it would.
********************
"Alliances"
JANEWAY: Nothing we've been through with the Kazon would lead me to believe they're trustworthy. I can't imagine making a deal with them.
CHAKOTAY: With all due respect, maybe that's because your imagination is limited by Starfleet protocols. As captain, you're responsible for making decisions in the best interest of your crew. And I think you have to ask yourself--if you're doing that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
First Officer's Personal Log, Stardate 49344.2:
We're back on course for the Alpha Quadrant again, our attempts to ally ourselves with some of the Kazon sects and then the Trabe having ended in spectacular failure. Captain Janeway views this failure as a triumph for Starfleet and Federation principles, but I'm not convinced. We allied with the Trabe, after all, on the basis of Starfleet's policy of dealing with a new species in good faith until given reason to do otherwise--which the Trabe proceeded to do pretty decisively. I could say that the captain trusted them too easily, but I'm as guilty as she is for letting my guard down. I need to regain some of my Maquis paranoia, but when you're alone it's hard to stay suspicious of people who seem to want to be your friends. They told us exactly what we wanted to hear, winning our confidence with pretty speeches about their regret for mistreating the Kazon, and we ended up mired far deeper in the politics of this region than we ever intended to be. And yet I can't accept that my original suggestion was inherently unsound. I don't believe that it was a fundamental violation of Starfleet and Federation principles to form an alliance in which we gave up nothing of technological importance yet gained a significant measure of safety for ourselves. But I'm not going to dispute the captain's interpretation; we've exchanged enough harsh words on this matter already and we'll no doubt have another opportunity--it's hard to believe that we'll get all the way home without the issue of temporary alliance arising again. What will we do, I wonder? Will she and I be on opposite sides again? The worst part of my job is telling my captain what she doesn't want to hear. She must get awfully tired of me, but she keeps me on, so on the whole I must be what she needs in a first officer. Sometimes what she needs is someone who will tell her disturbing truths, or question her preconceived notions. Those confrontations are unpleasant, but if that's what it takes then that's what I'll do.
I wish I could say that I regret ever proposing association with dangerous bedfellows, that I've learned a valuable lesson and I'll never do it again. That would be a lot easier. But I believe the crew are happier now that we've at least tried an alliance, that the captain has shown herself to be less rigid than some of them believed she was, more willing to take a diplomatic risk. My impression is confirmed by the reports of department heads, who say they've heard fewer complaints lately. Even some of the Maquis now see some value in Starfleet principles, including Hogan, who up until now has been one of the more resistant. So in my view we've gained something, and even the captain, when I conveyed these reports and impressions to her, seemed to regard them as solid food for thought.
I've been thinking, too. How firm is my commitment to the principles I've sworn again to uphold? After all, I made an alliance with a former adversary because I believed it was the best way to protect my crew and get them home. So did Captain Janeway. What will happen to that alliance when we arrive? Will the Maquis turn around and fire on our Starfleet shipmates the minute they drop us off in Federation space? What if they're ordered to fire on us? How can I embrace Starfleet principles now when it's necessary for survival and then turn my back on them again when we reach home? Not long ago I would have said I was still a lot more Maquis than Starfleet. Now I'm not so sure.
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"Investigations"
CHAKOTAY: Are you saying Paris's insulting behavior--the gambling, being late for duty, mouthing off at me--was all a ruse? . . .
JANEWAY: Commander, the simple fact is we needed a good performance. I'm afraid we used you to help Tom provide it. And you did a damn good job.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"So what did you think of Tom's apology this morning?" Janeway asked when Chakotay brought in the first sensor report of the shift. "I like Neelix's show, by the way--when he isn't giving away state secrets, that is. I think it will be good for morale--a big hit." She noticed that he didn't seem to have followed her along her tangent, and cocked her head at him expectantly.
"I suppose it did the job."
Her eyebrows lifted. "That was deafeningly noncommittal. Something on your mind?"
Knowing she would feel he was picking a fight, he considered whether he really wanted to take advantage of the opening she had inadvertently provided--and decided that he did. Better to thrash it out now, when the stakes weren't very high, than to have a similar problem flare up during an altercation with the Kazon or an enemy even less manageable. "Permission to speak freely, Captain?"
Very deliberately she set the padd down on the desk. "Honestly, Commander, I don't know why you bother to ask. In my experience you've never needed special license to be blunt." Her barb did not faze him, which meant he thought he was on pretty solid ground. She exhaled tightly. "Go ahead."
"An apology shouldn't have been necessary--not to me. You shouldn't have used me that way."
That "damn good job" comment had been meant to jolly him out of his anger. It hadn't worked. Even after he had risked his neck to retrieve the transporter module Seska had stolen, his captain was still, apparently, uncertain of his loyalty. If it wasn't a question of trustworthiness but of acting ability, he'd passed that test, too, easily luring Seska into Tuvok's trap even though she knew him well and even though he was at that early juncture still confident of her innocence. What made Janeway think he wouldn't go after another Maquis traitor with equal determination? What the hell did he have to do to prove himself to her? Well, at least she remembered I'm Maquis--
Had his demeanor been less confrontational, she might have been more sympathetic; but he did have a talent for getting her back up. "For what it's worth, I didn't much like doing it. But sometimes captains have to do things they don't like, even at the risk of causing a crew member some embarrassment." Especially a crew member who had an unfortunate tendency to go off half-cocked; if he thought about it for two minutes he might realize that her decision had been influenced by his recent attitude and behavior.
He took a step forward, and she felt her blood pressure rise in response to this further challenge. "You don't have to explain a captain's responsibilities to me." Anger transformed his voice from velvet to flint. "And while it's true that I don't like being manipulated, embarrassment--either professional or personal--isn't the issue here."
"Oh, I think it is, Commander. You--"
"No--the issue is authority. Only a few weeks ago you were worried about my actions undermining your authority. It doesn't seem to have occurred to you that your actions in this case undermined mine. My responsibility as first officer is to keep a hundred and fifty people working together as a team for you. It's tricky enough to do that in our situation without you and Tuvok conspiring, for whatever reason, to make me look ineffectual."
Her jaw muscles worked with the effort to control her temper. One of these days she was going to crack a tooth. "You have a point, Commander, but please credit me with a little foresight. I would never have risked this scheme if I didn't know that your authority on this ship is as strong as mine--if you hadn't made it strong enough to withstand a temporary drubbing."
She watched him mull that over. "I appreciate the compliment, Captain, but you haven't persuaded me that I'm overreacting."
"It really isn't necessary that I persuade you of anything--is it? I will tell you one thing, though. I can't promise I won't do it again."
"I know that. But I can promise that I won't be any happier about it if you do."
"Well," she said coolly. "As long as we know where we stand, hm? Dismissed."
She could not have been more surprised when he turned at the door and said, "You know--I really can't blame Paris for getting a kick out of giving me a hard time. In his place I'd probably have felt the same way." Her expression softened noticeably in response to his peace offering, and so he risked a further overture. "Do I have your permission to retaliate in an appropriate fashion?"
She found herself rather taken by the glimmer of mischief in his eyes. A year before he would never have suggested such a thing; then, concerned first and foremost with keeping order, he'd been more straitlaced than anyone else on board, including herself. But over time he'd seen that he could trust the Starfleet crew to accept the Maquis and the Maquis crew to behave, and the charming side of his irreverence had begun to assert itself--appropriately so in this case. Even she had thought Paris was pushing things when he sent Chakotay sprawling on the bridge. And from what she'd heard, their much more public confrontation in the mess hall had been genuinely ugly. She had told him she didn't like professional embarrassment, and then she herself had inflicted it on him. For all her displeasure about his cowboy commando raid on Seska's ship, she had to admit he had not deliberately set her up for a fall. Maybe he had good reason to feel taken advantage of. A captain should never play favorites, after all . . .
"Carry on, Commander," she said briskly. "I'll expect a full report."
She could have sworn he winked. "Yes, ma'am."
********************
"Tuvix"
DOCTOR: I assure you, Mr. Tuvix, there's nothing to worry about. We've accounted for every variable.
TUVIX: Except one. I don't want to die.
...
TUVIX: Each of you is going to have to live with this, and I'm sorry for that for you are all good, good people. My colleagues, my friends, I forgive you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
First Officer's Personal Log, Stardate 49669.5:
Today Tuvix was killed, and Tuvok and Neelix were reborn.
Those brief words cannot convey the horror I sense from nearly everyone aboard this vessel. Captain Janeway has been less accessible than I have ever known her to be, spending most of her time in her ready room, staying away from the mess hall and the holodeck, refusing my invitations to meals or walks, dismissing me as soon as business is conducted. I don't know what to do to help her. Probably I'll have to accept that it isn't possible for me to help her. Of the others most directly affected, Neelix is bouncing around with even more exuberance than usual, and Kes is understandably happy to have him back. I think maybe it helps to see them so cheerful. But to my knowledge Tuvok hasn't expressed an opinion one way or the other, and it's obvious that the captain finds his silence distressing. I suspect he wouldn't have supported her decision, but I don't think he'll increase her burden now by saying so unless she asks him point-blank. Knowing her, she might just do it. This is the sort of ethical problem she would have discussed with him, and I don't think I was an adequate substitute for his objective counsel. She's never seemed so strong, so remote, so alone.
I wonder if she regrets the decision she made. I know she regrets the necessity of it, but that isn't the same thing. My own feelings are confused. I said that Tuvix was my friend, and yet I rejected his plea, his demand, to be allowed to live. But Tuvok and Neelix are also my friends, and they too have a right to live. I honestly don't know what I would have done in the captain's place. Part of me wishes I could have spared her that decision. Part of me is relieved that it wasn't mine to make. It's true that we might have looked at Tuvix every day and known grief for the two who were sacrificed to create him, but will we now look at Tuvok and Neelix every day and know shame for the one who was sacrificed to bring them back?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"A-koo-chee-moya." He floated in the vastness of space, yet still felt in his marrow the faint throbbing of engines that in the deep of ship's night always made him think of ancient energy and wisdom. Through his closed eyelids he could yet see the streaking stars, and was reminded of the long journey of the Sky Spirits. "We are far from the sacred places of our grandfathers. We are far from the bones of our people. But perhaps the spirits who watch over us and guide us can find us here among the unnamed stars. I pray, as always, that you watch over the woman called Kathryn Janeway, whose soul is wounded now by the decision she made. I ask you to help her find a way to live with that decision, so that she can rejoin those who care for her whole and healed. And I ask you to embrace the generous spirit of the one called Tuvix, who lived among us--who lived--for only a short while but will always be remembered, and will always be mourned. A-koo-chee-moya."
********************
"Resolutions"
JANEWAY: Sometimes it feels--as though you've given up--that you're focused on making a home here, instead of finding a cure that will let us leave.
CHAKOTAY: I can't sacrifice the present waiting for a future that may never happen. The reality of this situation is that we may never leave here. So yes--I'm trying to make a home, something that's more than a plain gray box.
JANEWAY: Someday I may have to let go. But--not today, okay?
...
JANEWAY: I think we need to define some parameters--about us.
CHAKOTAY: I'm not sure I can--define parameters. But I can tell you a story--an ancient legend among my people. It's about an angry warrior who lived his life in conflict with the rest of his tribe, a man who couldn't find peace, even with the help of his spirit guide. For years he struggled with his discontent, but the only satisfaction he ever got came when he was in battle. This made him a hero among his tribe, but the warrior still longed for peace within himself. One day, he and his war party were captured by a neighboring tribe, led by a woman warrior. She called on him to join her, because her tribe was too small and weak to defend itself from all its enemies. The woman warrior was brave, and beautiful, and very wise. The angry warrior swore to himself that he would stay by her side, doing whatever he could to make her burden lighter. From that point on, her needs would come first. And in that way, the warrior began to know the true meaning of peace.
JANEWAY: Is that really--an ancient legend?
CHAKOTAY: No. But that made it easier to say.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Captain's Personal Log, Stardate 49863.9:
I'm finding it harder than I would ever have predicted to get used to being back on board my ship where I belong. It's been nearly two weeks now, but I can't seem to settle in. I look around expecting things to have changed, and I'm surprised to find that they haven't. Well, that isn't quite true. One thing has changed--my relationship with Chakotay. Commander Chakotay. I don't see him as often as I did before, certainly not as often as on New Earth--well, that's an obvious thing to say, isn't it. I came to know him in a different way there. He opened up to me that very private core of himself that he'd never shown me before, that it would have been inappropriate to show me before--and--I began to respond. Now he's shut that part of himself away again, and I miss it, while at the same time understanding that he can't do anything else, because I've had to shut away a part of myself, too. But I miss his smiles and his teasing--we had fun on New Earth. I heard him laugh more in two months than I did in two years. We told stories and shared dreams and regrets, and got to know each other better than we ever could have aboard ship. I felt closer to him than I have ever felt to another living soul, including my own fiancé. Of course Mark and I have never been marooned together, and I wouldn't wish it on either of us simply for the purposes of comparison--but even if we were we wouldn't experience that forging of a new kind of relationship, because we wouldn't need to. I don't know how long that new companionship would have lasted under the pressures of isolation, without new experiences to share and discuss, without a variety of social interactions, but it was real and growing and vibrant--and then without warning it was taken away. One day we were planning a camping trip, and the next we were back aboard ship. We hardly said a word to each other in those final hours. I just felt empty. He didn't tell me what he was feeling--not even in a story. Every time our eyes met he would smile, and sometimes he would take my hand, trying to support me, trying to make it easier for me and thus easier for himself--but I saw his face a time or two when he wasn't aware I was looking at him, and those were the times I wept. Those were the times I wished the emptiness would return, because it was less agonizing than grief. And now I miss not only the Chakotay I was coming to know but also the Chakotay I knew before, because I hardly see him. When he brings me reports he leaves as soon as he can--no small talk or joking, no overt concern for my health or my mood. No handmade bathtubs lately--or neck rubs. I find myself idiotically hoping for some minor crisis so he'll stride into my ready room and give me a piece of his mind. Will it take a real crisis to force us to speak to each other?
We've got to do something about this. I've got to. I've got to reconstruct a working relationship with my first officer, because one of these days I'm going to need it. I can't keep longing for something that can never be, not when had I been given the choice I would have chosen exactly what I've got. Of course I would prefer to be back on my ship among these people who have become my family, heading home again to the man I hope is still waiting for me--though he's never seemed so far away. But that preference doesn't mean something wonderful wasn't left behind.
I'm thankful this isn't the sort of problem the crew would notice. It's a very private matter between Chakotay and me, so private we haven't even discussed it with each other. Maybe we're afraid to. I'm not sure I could put a name to my feelings, but to his--? I will remember the story of the angry warrior as long as I live, and wonder how it would have ended. I shouldn't. It's too risky even to think about, to examine too closely-- In fact, I'm a fool to examine any of this too closely.
Computer--delete entry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"B'Elanna's requests for some down time to work on the warp coils are getting more urgent," Chakotay was saying. He was on his way to his office, Janeway to Engineering. "If we don't come upon a station or outpost soon we're going to have to divert from our course to find one."
"I really don't want to do that--we've already lost so much time-- We're certainly testing the tolerances of Voyager's systems, aren't we? Starfleet designers will go over this ship with a fine-toothed comb when we get back. All right, I'll talk to B'Elanna and see what options we have left, if any--"
They turned a corner, and dodged a couple of maintenance cases deposited outside an open Jeffries tube. Conversation drifted into the corridor, the words indistinct but one of the voices clearly belonging to Torres. They retraced their steps and Janeway thrust her head and shoulders into the tube, but before she could speak, the words began to resolve themselves and she found herself frozen in place.
"--must have been at each other's throats for the whole two months."
"What do you mean? It's usually pretty obvious when they're fighting, and it doesn't seem that way right now."
"Well, since they got back they haven't said two words to each other that aren't about ship's business. And when's the last time you saw them just keeping company in the holodeck or the mess? It's the only explanation." That sounded like Gerron, the very young Bajoran. He had come out of his shell somewhat after Tuvok's training course, but at the moment Janeway wished heartily that he'd suffer a sudden relapse.
"You think so?" Torres' tone was perilously speculative.
Janeway backed out before she heard any more, and found Chakotay watching her. When she looked up, his gaze dropped, and then returned. So he'd heard them, too. At each other's throats? Hardly. In another two months-- But what was she to do now--issue orders forbidding gossip? A lot of good that would do. But how could she behave with him as if everything was the same as it had been? Maybe we should talk after all--but wouldn't that just make it worse?
When he spoke, it seemed to her that his voice was especially gentle. "After you've met with B'Elanna, would you like to join me for lunch in the mess hall?"
And in that moment she sensed that everything was the same as it had been, or as nearly the same as they could ever expect it to be. She should have known he would be the one to find a way to move past private awkwardness in order to present a united public front. The story of the angry warrior, beyond the meaning she did not want to contemplate, also meant I will do all I can to help you, I will be whatever you need me to be. He had been the first to let go of their old life, the first to move toward that new and necessary intimacy. It did not surprise her that he should now be the first to salvage friendship, even if a friendship irrevocably changed, from the necessary restoration of distance--though the sadness in his smile told her what it cost him, for he had gone farther down that new path than she.
Her own smile wasn't much brighter, and the lump in her throat threatened to betray her. Letting go-- "Thank you, Commander--I'd like that."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"A-koo-chee-moya. We are far from the sacred places of our grandfathers. We are far from the bones of our people. But perhaps my animal guide and the spirits of my ancestors can find me here among the unnamed stars. After stopping for a while I am journeying again, but though my body moves forward my heart must now step back--"
They'd had lunch again today, the third time this week. They'd talked about the crew's morale and the latest rumor and how many miles the ship could travel on a molecule of dilithium. Nothing personal, nothing risky, but it was joy to be with her again. It was agony to be with her again. With Kathryn. His friend.
They hadn't said much during that first strained lunch, both of them too much aware of the reason for it, of the furtive glances in their direction from everyone else in the mess. The second lunch had been easier, as had the first Kimtones concert since their return, for which they made it a point to sit together--though they didn't trade whispered comments as they had once been inclined to do, and if one of them shifted position enough that their shoulders touched, the other would draw away.
They hadn't yet talked about New Earth. Probably they never would. He took his cue from her, and she had said nothing. And why should she, when they were working together effectively again, or nearly so, when they were talking again and sometimes even laughing, when they were sharing a table at Sandrine's again and challenging each other to games of pool and velocity? Finding their way back was hard. Why make it harder by thinking too much about what they'd left behind?
He had taken to calling her Kathryn sometimes in private. He hadn't intended to, had intended to do all he could to help her rebuild the professional wall between them, but after a late session in her ready room going over engineering reports he'd been tired and his guard had been down and he'd said out of new but already comfortable habit, "Good night, Kathryn." He wasn't sure either of them had breathed for a few seconds, and then he'd started to apologize, but her smile had been so tender, her eyes so luminous through welling tears--of wistfulness for might-have-been? of gratitude that something of might-have-been had survived?--he wasn't sure--that he had said nothing after all and only returned her smile, and his own eyes might have filled before he turned to go. Since then he had not hesitated to say her name, and the knowledge that some part of their new bond remained filled him with an elation so profound it could even assuage, a little, the ache of loss.
But the ache would fade, with time. New Earth had been a dream, especially during those last couple of weeks when she had been meeting him halfway, letting him in-- It wasn't really a surprise that he should have awakened, for dreams always have to end. During the day, walking with her through the ship, working with her over report padds in her ready room, he was relieved they had not yet become lovers; when he was alone at night, more solitary than he was used to now, he missed the sounds of her breathing, the soft rustle of her bedclothes, the scent of her lotions, her shampoo, her perspiration, the smudges on the table and countertops from the dirt always on her hands, the whirr of the replicator and the aroma of coffee at three in the morning--and wished he had a memory to cherish, of a week or a day or an hour when they had been a part of each other in a way they had never been before and might never be again. If they reached home tomorrow he was not at all certain they could recapture that nascent love.
If they reached home tomorrow, Mark would be there.
Nor was he certain they could truly recapture the friendship they had built during the preceding two years. For the rest of their lives, almost would resonate between them, though the poignance of almost would also fade with time and with the reestablishing of a once-familiar routine. He loved her but he was also her friend, and in this life she needed a friend a great deal more than she needed a lover. To wish for what simply could not be would be to deny what he had. How many lovers saw each other as often as he saw her, knew each other as intimately as he knew her? The distance between them after their return had made the loss of New Earth all the more wrenching, but now they were closing that distance, and though he would always feel sorrow for that loss he could sincerely rejoice that she was in his life again, if in a different way.
"As always, I ask you to watch over the woman called Kathryn Janeway, to help her if she asks your guidance during this difficult time, and I ask you to watch over me, as I try to serve her, and protect her, and be her friend. A-koo-chee-moya."
********************