Dear Paramount/CBS/Any other Copyright Holders,
As far as you're concerned I'm a kid playing with action figures in a sandbox. Yes, they're your action figures and it's your sandbox, but all is well because no one is profiting from this venture other than you.
Hugs and Kisses, LeftennantAskara
Genuine hugs to StarSearcher for beta services. Any remaining goofs are mine.
_/==^==\_
Chakotay entered Sullivan's cautiously, looking as though he would turn on his heel and leave given any reason at all. The cheerful atmosphere of Tom Paris' recently resurrected holographic creation did nothing to assuage his apprehension. He had tried - genuinely - to enjoy the crew's newest faddish diversion, but he could never avoid the feeling of unease that upset his usual equilibrium upon entering the cheerful Irish coastal town. Paris had restored the majority of his creation in the weeks after the neutronic storm and Neelix had assured him of the resultant boost to morale.
Aside from the odd holographic local, the place was lousy with Voyager's crew. He scanned the pub, hoping to avoid the hawk-eyed proprietor. He spotted the Captain sitting at one end of the bar and swiftly approached her.
"Ah, Katie lass! You've got company tonight," Michael Sullivan brogued theatrically, emerging from beneath the bar.
Chakotay cringed. He had never been to Ireland but he'd had an Irish cadet in a study group in his Academy days and he was quite certain that Fair Haven and its inhabitants would be perceived as an insult and a laughingstock should an actual Irish person lay eyes or ears on the ridiculous program. It was about as authentic as the savage 'Indians' in Tom's mid-twentieth century films. Forcing an expression he hoped was more smile than grimace, he turned to face his Captain.
"Starting early tonight, Captain?" he asked, looking pointedly at the bottle of whiskey in front of her.
"Keeping tabs on me, Commander?" Her eyes flashed with challenge. "I think I deserve a shot of whiskey or two at the end of this day."
Chakotay sighed. They were both testy this evening. "That came out wrong. Let me try this again." He took a deep breath. Trying to sound as sincere as possible, he said gently, "Good evening, Kathryn. How did it go?" Michael was called to the other end of the bar and and Chakotay's eyes followed him as the hologram moved away.
She rewarded him with a half smile. "About as well as expected. While the Canvaraith government was most pleased to have their prodigal infant returned, the family was another matter."
"Was the baby's family not happy to see her?"
Kathryn took a gulp of whiskey and sighed. "Her parents were assimilated, Chakotay. To her remaining family she is a reminder of what they lost. They looked at her as though she were cursed and I'm not sure I blame them. A mature Borg has enough medical and psychological difficulties, as you and I know first-hand. I have to wonder if we did these people a disservice in returning their child."
Kathryn's feelings about the Borg infant had been complex from the first. Chakotay knew from Tuvok that the Doctor's efforts to elicit her compassion by letting her soothe the infant had had no effect on her plans to infect the disconnected collective of immature Borg.
"I'm sure the baby will adapt more easily than Seven has, Kathryn."
"I'm sure she will," she said. "But the poor thing is just a reminder of all that they lost to the Borg. Except for the legislative representatives - for them she's a public relations boon. It's a great deal of baggage to put on someone so young." She quieted for a moment, swirling the whiskey, watching it coat the walls of her glass. "On top of that, B'Elanna and I must have realigned the port and aft sensor arrays 25 times this afternoon alone. My arms and legs are about ready to fall off and my head may soon join them."
"Therefore whiskey." He returned her smile.
"Tonight, Chakotay, I have earned my whiskey." she agreed and raised her glass to him.
Chakotay realised he was perched uncomfortably on the edge of his bar stool and settled back in his seat. He ordered a half-pint of stout and leaned forward in what he hoped she perceived as a companionable silence. Glancing along the bar, he smiled and nodded at B'Elanna and Tom who were caught between watching the command team interact and participating half-heartedly in Seven and the Doctor's vigorous debate about the finer points of socializing and etiquette in nineteenth century Ireland. B'Elanna was scrutinizing him and looked like she was about to say something until Kathryn spoke up.
"Did I ever tell you about the first time I had whiskey, Chakotay?"
Story time, he thought, smiling. "I don't believe so."
"It was my sophomore year at the Academy," she began. He watched the nostalgia spark in her eyes. "My roommates dragged me to some house party - and don't ask me whose house it was because I don't remember. After three days of studying and little sleep, I was distracted, half-crazed, and overstimulated and I swapped my drink with someone else's."
"And did you give it back?" Chakotay sipped his beer.
"Not on your life, Commander!" She barked a laugh. "No, it was love at first taste - just as it was with coffee. But unlike coffee I quickly learned that whiskey and I are not meant to be together."
He kept his eyes on his glass and chuckled. "How so?"
"Honestly, I don't remember anything else about that night. When I found myself at the foot of a flight of stairs with a split lip, glass shards in my palms and a horrifically unidentifiable substance in my hair, I opted for more caution in my future dealings with whiskey." She paused and placed her hand on his wrist saying softly, "We haven't done this in a while."
"You and I? Or you and your whiskey?"
"I've missed it. And you."
He didn't respond. He looked her square in the eyes and for a moment he let her see a fraction of the hurt he felt. "Me too." Chakotay licked at the lip of his glass, lifted it again to drink and relaxed into a less pained melancholy. When he looked back, he was surprised that she was still trying to hold his gaze.
She turned away and refilled her glass. "Tell me about your day."
He swallowed and leaned back. "Let's see. Some of the crew who lost friends and family at Wolf 359 are having some difficulty adjusting to the presence of the Borg children on board."
"Like when Seven arrived."
"Not as severe. I think their apprehension is tied to the fact that the children aren't confined to the cargo bay as Seven's friends were, and that they travel in a pack."
"Collective habits die hard."
"Crewman Anderson said they looked thuggish and Ensign Macormak compared them to an Orion street gang."
Kathryn snorted. "I hope he knows how absurd that sounds."
"Yes, but I've reinstated our informal weekly gatherings for the survivors. Maybe you could join us sometime. I think they'd appreciate their Captain lending her support."
"I didn't know you had organized meetings like that Chakotay." She studied him with a piercing gaze. "It never ceases to amaze me how you make do without a counsellor on board. When we get home, I'm going to be praising you to the top brass at Starfleet Command so loudly, they'll hear me on Cardassia."
He looked down at his arm where she was gripping him again and couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from creeping up his face. Her touch was welcome and the lightness of their conversation was a balm to his rattled nerves. "I'm not sure I want the Cardassians hearing about my return to the Alpha Quadrant," he murmured.
"All right, just to Bajor then. The Vedics will hear about what a loyal and steadfast first officer you have been."
"I don't mind the idea of getting an in with the Bajoran Prophets."
"Naturally," Kathryn said softly, shaking with laughter. "But your brave deeds, now those I'll be sending to Qo'nos. Great songs will be written about Chakotay, son of Kolopak, warrior of the Delta Quadrant." She raised her glass again in mocking salute.
Chakotay had to put his glass down on the bar to keep from spilling. "You do a passable Klingon, Kathryn. I still say you should have done impressions last Talent Night."
"Katie, would you fancy a walk?" The damned hologram had returned.
"Perhaps another time, Michael," she began.
Chakotay interjected, "Don't decline on my account, Captain. I think I'll turn in anyway." He took one last swig of his beer and left it unfinished on the bar as he rose. "Enjoy your walk." He tried to keep the bitter taste of the beer out of his words. It was clear from the captain's expression that he hadn't succeeded.
"Goodnight Chakotay."
The night air outside the pub smelled like rain. In truth, it smelled like an artificial approximation of night air and rain and Chakotay could always tell the difference. He imagined how she would respond to these thoughts in defence of their valiant ship. Her whiskey-infused voice brushed inside his head: 'She may not always get it quite right, but Voyager tries to make us happy.'
"Wait up, Old Man. You're not escaping that easily."
Chakotay turned to see B'Elanna pulling Tom through the pub doors. "Did I forget to say goodnight? Sweet dreams, you two. Don't let the photonic fleas bite. I'm afraid I don't have a bedtime story for you. Perhaps another time." He propelled himself through the holodeck doors. He should have known B'Elanna wouldn't be so easily discouraged.
"Oh no you don't," she said firmly, threading her arm through his. "I saw that back there."
"Saw what exactly, B'Elanna?" Matching her determination, he set his jaw and his gaze on the turbolift and strode onwards with Tom trailing behind them. "Me in Sullivan's with a beer? Is that the sort of story fuelling the ship's gossip mill these days?"
"You having a drink with the Captain then ditching her with the bartender, looking like someone vaporized your pet targ."
"I'm sorry. I wasn't aware that my every moment in the Delta Quadrant had to be a happy one."
B'Elanna snorted. "Not every moment, Chakotay. But maybe there's a bit of happiness to be found for you and the Captain, if she'd let it."
"Lieutenant, this is really none of your-"
"Stow it, Chakotay. I'm not here as your Chief Engineer. I'm coming to you as a friend."
Chakotay glanced at Tom, who looked quite unwilling to open his mouth. He almost felt sorry for Paris, caught as he was between an irate superior officer and a determined Klingon lover. "I'm not discussing this. You're dismissed." Chakotay entered the turbolift and spun around to close the doors but B'Elanna was too quick. She stalked in after him. Tom followed hesitantly.
"I'm not going to let you run away from this."
"Leave it B'Elanna, please."
"What is her goddamned problem anyway?"
"Enough, B'Elanna." Tom's soft tone startled them both more than if he'd shouted in the enclosed space. "Drop it."
"Tom. you know you agree with me -"
"Yeah in theory, I do." Tom's countenance had turned grim in seconds. "Commander, we want you both to be happy, the whole crew does. But I understand why Captain Janeway is the way she is. Better than a lot of people on this ship." He gave B'Elanna a pointed look.
"What do you mean, Tom?" Chakotay had rarely seen Tom so sullen.
"You must know, Chakotay. You of all people would know how much she's lost to be who and where she is today."
"What do you know about it, flyboy?" B'Elanna asked.
"I was there, at her father's funeral and her first fiancé's. I probably remember it better than she does." Tom didn't take his eyes off Chakotay as he spoke. B'Elanna's face took on a look of shock. "I might have been a dumbass teenager at the time, but no one in that room missed how shattered Kathryn Janeway was."
For a moment the three stood in silence. The idea of their indestructible Captain as a shattered person was a difficult one. The computer chose that moment to complain "Please state a destination."
Chakotay silenced it. "Computer, hold turbolift and seal. Authorization Chakotay-Tango-Beta-Tau." He turned back to Tom. "I didn't know you knew the Captain back then."
"I didn't know her. She was my dad's superstar ensign. It's funny," Tom leaned heavily against the lift walls. "Everyone thinks it was the pressure of living up to my father's expectations and his legacy that ended my Starfleet career. To some extent that was true, but it wasn't his standards I was trying to live up to. You want a give a kid a complex, just talk about the shining example of Kathryn Janeway's Starfleet career every night at the dinner table."
"Oh, Tom…" B'Elanna tried to sound sympathetic as she bit down on a smirk. She looked at Chakotay who was having similar difficulties containing his amusement.
"Does the Captain know she's responsible for your mercenary career?" Chakotay was smiling wryly and his eyes had regained some of their sparkle.
"No," Tom snarled. "And nothing I say about this or anything else leaves this lift. Understood?"
That did it. Tom's attempt at sternness had them both snickering. The way he stretched out the syllables of his last word was far too reminiscent of their Captain.
B'Elanna caught her breath first. "Tom, love of my life, if the Captain ever hears that impersonation you just performed, you'll be my manifold maid for the rest of the journey."
The situation was getting out of hand. Tom's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't doing an impersonation." He noticed Chakotay's cat-in-the-cream expression. "Seriously, Chakotay. I don't want that getting back to her."
"I'm a man of my word." Chakotay's face became inscrutable again.
"That's what I'm afraid of. As I recall, you haven't promised anything."
Chakotay smirked and deflected: "We've all lost people, Tom. What makes her losses so unbearable?"
"Starfleet."
"What?"
"Chakotay, I get it. You lost your family to the Cardassians. I wouldn't trade places with you for all the latinum in the Alpha Quadrant."
"Starfleet wasn't blameless in that, Tom. Or have you forgotten?"
"I know. But they didn't pull the trigger. The Captain's losses are all due to Starfleet. More to the point, they're tied to her Starfleet career. If you think she blamed herself for stranding us in the Delta Quadrant, imagine how much guilt she feels about her father, her fiancés, her mother and sister. It's not that her losses are worse than anyone else's, but I think she feels that much more guilt than the rest of us. The weight of all that loss on top of the burdens of command and responsibility is more than most of us could bear."
Just then the lift door opened to reveal a puzzled Captain Janeway.
"I thought the lift was out of order. I had to use my override to open the doors."
B'Elanna responded the quickest. "All repaired now, Captain. Just a glitchy servo. Come on Tom, I think I left my sweater on the holodeck." She grabbed him and they headed down the hall, trying not to appear as though they were escaping.
Janeway entered the lift and the door hissed shut once more.
"Deck three," she requested. "I suppose the glitchy servo kept you from your rest, Commander." She shot him a wry, knowing look. When he didn't respond, she continued. "I'm going to pretend for the sake of my sanity that the three of you weren't just discussing me. I'm positive I don't want to know what Tom Paris had to say about me."
Chakotay chuckled. "Actually, Captain, you might. But I think I'll save that particular piece of blackmail for when I really need it."
He got a raised eyebrow and little else. The air grew heavy between them once again and he found himself studying her expression. Her face seemed to be closing in on itself, but as she raised her gaze to his, he thought he could see her experiencing despair, determination, then calm as finally her features settled on placid resigned uncertainty.
At her door, she took his hand and invited him in. He attempted to decline but her softly spoken "Please, Chakotay" pulled him into her darkened quarters.
"Computer, lights thirty percent. Tea?"
"Cinnamon." He fairly collapsed on the sofa. Unsure whether it was due to the weight of the day of the force with which he fought against his own emotions, Chakotay could hardly remember feeling so thoroughly worn. He tucked his right foot under his left leg and leaned back, closing his eyes.
He felt her leave the room, heard the subtle rustle of fabric and her footsteps over the background hum of the deckplates. He listened, unmoving, as she commanded their beverages from the replicator. And then she was beside him again. Warm, slender fingers caressed his face, traced the lines over his left eye. He opened his eyes to see her stormy blue ones, worry lines creasing her brow; his commanding officer draped in a silky pink robe. She handed him his drink and dropped herself onto the other end of the sofa, pouring an ounce or two from a flask into her steaming mug. Chakotay watched her through the veil of steam rising from his drink.
"Throwing caution to the wind, Kathryn?"
She raised an eyebrow, pursed her lips and decided not to bite. "Hardly. Would you like some?"
"Just a drop."
He watched her pour a dribble of whiskey into his mug and took a sip.
"What was it you wanted to discuss, Kathryn?"
"Fair Haven."
"Fair Haven? Or Michael?"
She shrugged. "You hate it."
He nodded, held her gaze, but didn't respond.
"You don't have to come."
"You're there"
"We can meet somewhere else. All you have to do is ask."
"I'm sorry. I know I'm not entitled to feel this way." He rubbed his hands down his face. "It's not something I can just turn off. Can I ask one thing?"
She hummed her assent.
"Why do you enjoy it?"
"Fair Haven? Or Michael?" She shook her head. "Why wouldn't I?"
"It's inauthentic? Historically inaccurate? The accents. The sunshine. The lack of tuberculosis, smallpox, poverty and starvation."
"I think Tom was going for quaint, romantic and fun rather than accurate."
"It's like that film. You remember the one Tom showed a few months ago?"
"The one you walked out of. I don't think he'll be showing any more 'Cowboys and Indians' videos." Her right eyebrow raised itself subtly.
"Good. I still owe him a history lesson. My point is this: Fair Haven and Tom's film both gloss over the struggles of the people they portray. My people weren't savages and your people weren't all drunken, illiterate sheep farmers. The way we tell stories like these has to matter. I wouldn't be happy if they portrayed the way we fought for our homes, the way my friends sacrificed their comfort and their lives in the Maquis as a quaint romantic tale. How would it make you feel if they told Voyager's story but glossed over how difficult the journey has been in the name of fun?"
"I see your point, Chakotay," she intoned.
He had hit a nerve, but he pressed on. "And?"
"And, what? Shall I give up Fair Haven? Would you have me play velocity with Seven, do my work and live only in the reality of our current situation?"
"What about Sandrines?"
"The crew loves Fair Haven."
"And you're there to spend time with the crew."
"This was a bad idea." She rose and crossed her arms.
"I'm sorry." He stood and reached for her hand. "I miss you."
"You're jealous." She pulled away.
"Yes. You're right. I envy a hologram because he gets to touch you, to walk with you alone, to kiss you. He doesn't have to disguise the way he feels about you. He receives your adoration, your attention, your time off duty and he's only a collection of photons and programming."
"I thought we were past this."
"Past spending time together?"
"You know what I mean."
Chakotay took her hands in his. "I can be happy with our friendship, Kathryn. I treasure it. But I need something from you when you're off duty. I don't want to chase you into Fair Haven to talk. Have dinner with me. Or lunch. Hell, comm me if you're too busy."
"You're right, Chakotay." She pulled away and turned to stand at the viewport. "I've been avoiding you."
"Why?"
"Guilt."
"About Michael?"
"Yes. No. It's…" She trailed off. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she gathered her thoughts. When she spoke, she did so with a resigned conviction. "Guilt about letting myself have with Michael what I can't have from you, what you'd rather be the one to give me. But I need to maintain my objectivity. I need to be your Captain. I can't do that if we're-"
"Lovers?" He smiled a little at the word and grinned wickedly at its effect on her. He turned and leaned back against the bulkhead. "Just tell me one more thing. Are these Starfleet's regulations or Kathryn Janeway's?"
"A bit of both, perhaps. My strictest regulations are those I have for myself. Unfortunately, this one impacts you." She mirrored his pose, leaning back against the viewport, eyes to the ceiling. "I don't expect you to wait around for me."
He let her last comment slide, not wanting to start another argument. "Do you ever picture us together?"
"Not on Voyager. I suppose if we had met under different circumstances in the Alpha Quadrant..." She stretched her neck backwards, resting the crown of her head against the pane as she spoke. "Maybe if we had met on another ship or at the academy-"
"And what would you have done when I ran off to join the Maquis?"
"I likely would have used my connections with the Admiralty to try and improve the situation in the demilitarized zone."
"You don't think we tried?" He interrupted.
She held a hand up, clearly not finished "And when that didn't work, who knows? Perhaps I would have gone rogue, stolen a ship and chased after you. Or maybe you would have recruited me." She turned her head toward him head on the pane and chin still in the air.
"Somehow I doubt th- Kathryn, what's wrong?"
Her eyes had widened and the colour had drained from her face."My... neck."
In a heartbeat he was at her side "Oh! Can you walk? Should I call the Doctor?"
"No! Just… help me to… the couch."
He wrapped an arm under her shoulder, using his hand to support her neck and eased her down onto the couch. He lowered her back to lie flat then removed the cushion under her head. "Try to release your head into my hands." He pressed his fingers into the knots at the base of her skull.
"Oh!" Kathryn's face tightened. She clenched her jaw.
"I know. Breathe into it. Slowly." He felt the knots release gradually as she focused on her breathing. The tension left her face and he shifted her head in his hands to press a thumb along the muscles in her jaw, her temples and along the sides of her neck to her collarbone.
"Thank you," she breathed.
"I know I'm a pain in the neck, but I can't be that bad." That earned him a chuckle. He helped her sit up, replaced the cushion and sat down. Unwilling to lose contact so soon, he returned his hand gently rub the muscles in her neck. "I once promised to lighten your burdens. I had no intention of becoming one of them."
"I don't think that's the case, Chakotay." She rolled her head slowly from side to side. "Our friendship is naturally unbalanced because of our positions, but you have a right to request my time. I don't resent you for wanting to spend time with me."
His eyes dropped to the floor and he smiled. "Good. I'd prefer you resent me for conduct I can regret." At some stage his hand had transitioned from rubbing her neck to stroking. He looked up in time to watch her eyes close as she exhaled deeply. Time seemed to slow as his fingers explored the softness of her skin while his pulse accelerated. When she opened her eyes, they had darkened perceptibly and he felt a shudder run down her back as she rose off the sofa.
"Let me warm our drinks. Would you like anything else? I presume you've eaten."
"Nothing else." He helped her to her feet and joined her at the replicator. When he reached to tuck her hair behind her ear once more, she flinched.
"It's getting late."
"I'll be going." Grabbing his mug from the replicator, he downed his drink and turned to the door. He threw a "Goodnight" over his shoulder and was about to press the controls when she took his hand.
"For what it's worth, Chakotay, I am sorry."
He looked down at their joined hands and brought hers to his mouth. Pressing his lips to her knuckles, he replied, "I'm a patient man." Anything left to be said was suspended in the air between them.
She closed her eyes while he left and as the doors hissed shut, she wondered how much time she had before his patience ran out.
All the Time it Takes to Wait
- Rose Cousins
You and your whiskey
Me and my heart undone
You say that you miss me
I wanna hear that from the sober one
I know you get lonely
I get lonely too
But you've got this sadness
You've been holding on to
All the time it takes to wait
Oh, all the time
I get so tired
Of trying to save you
Your love wrapped in barbed wire
And buried in all you've been through
But you've got you and your whiskey
The Captain and his first mate
You say that you're sorry
All the time it takes to wait
All the time it takes to wait
Oh, all the time