The Experiment
Part Three
The roses began showing up in Chakotay's quarters the next morning, one a day, every day the same color. There were over a dozen now. The Captain, obviously. Only she and Tuvok could get through the lock out, and Tuvok just wasn't the type to send him flowers.
He tried his best 'mess with me and you're dead' expression. It'd worked with Dalby, Paris, Harrington, and Ali after all. The roses ignored him, knowing who was in control of the situation. And that sure wasn't him.
He wondered cynically if he could claim they were aliens and get away with throwing them in the Brig. Unlikely. He didn't want to upset Tuvok. Tuvok was worried about him enough.
So he was stuck, literally, "smelling the roses." Kathryn Janeway had always had a wicked sense of humor.
He just wished she'd go play with someone else - like Tuvok, for example. Well, no, he'd really gotten to like Tuvok. But Tuvok wouldn't have cared if the Captain had sent him flowers. And he wouldn't be engaging in all sorts of ridiculous fantasies because of them.
He stared at the roses accusingly. He couldn't sleep because of the damned things. Their scent was permeating the room, waking him up .
Silence. Apparently, his accusation didn't merit an answer. And he had to admit that he hadn't been fair to them. They weren't the real problem. The real problem was that their scent made him think of Kathryn, which made him think of what had been going on for the last two weeks, which was what was keeping him up at night. He stopped on the last thought, appalled. He was losing it. He couldn't even stand his own puns anymore.
Maybe if he just explained they'd leave him alone. He badly needed for them to leave him alone. He didn't understand their message. None of it made any sense.
He thought back over the last two weeks. When Kathryn had started on "phase two" of the experiment, he'd prepared himself for the worst.
Instead, "phase two" had been completely innocuous. They'd gone to Sandrines and spent two evenings playing pool together, talking to the crew, and joking. He'd enjoyed it. He'd begun to see her as Kathryn again, to remember how much he enjoyed the way laughter lit up her eyes, the beauty of her smile, and the way her sense of humor matched his.
A petal dropped to the ground. He acknowledged the point. Of course, remembering how much he enjoyed being with Kathryn had been his first mistake.
The second was agreeing to have dinner with her in her quarters. Of course it'd all been perfectly innocent - very innocent. And it wasn't as if they hadn't had dinner there any number of times in the last few years. But somehow this had been... different.
He smiled, remembering the evening. He'd expected the usual - a standard meal where they both just grabbed what they wanted from the replicator and then worked on reports for most of the night.
Instead, he'd walked into a room containing an already arranged meal of his favorite foods, along with candles, soft music, and the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life.
"Captain?"
"Kathryn, Chakotay. You've been calling me Kathryn for years when we're off duty. I can't imagine why you've forgotten."
He couldn't remember himself. Then again, he couldn't even seem to comprehend the scene in front of him.
She smiled, and led him into the room. "Come in. Dinner's already made."
He tried to regroup. "Kathryn, you can't cook." He could have bitten out his tongue the moment he said it. He'd teased her a lot about it ... a long time ago.
She gave her standard answer to the joke. "But I've got a hell of a way with the replicator." She paused and continued. "And these are your recipes, anyway. I borrowed your files."
He sat down and looked at the food. "As in, you broke into locked-out personal files by accident?"
She smiled. "Nope. Just resurrected the files that we had on the replicator on New Earth."
He didn't want to think about New Earth. He did his best *never* to think about New Earth. And the thought of resurrecting anything from the place was slightly...nauseating. He turned the conversation aside. "It looks wonderful, thanks. I talked to Kim today about the proposal to reconfigure the main banks to -"
She interrupted. "It can wait until tomorrow, Chakotay. We're off duty, remember? You're supposed to be relaxing."
"But-"
She sighed, exasperated. "Consider it an order. Now eat, before it gets cold."
He started eating to cover his confusion. The Kathryn Janeway in front of him was one he hadn't seen in a long time, one he barely remembered. He must be mistaken. More likely, she wanted him to do something for her, and he was being proverbially buttered up. "All right, Kathryn. I give. What is it you want me to do?"
She looked confused, and then resigned. "I suppose I deserved that, too." She paused and continued, "Commander, you have a very suspicious mind, which is a terrific quality in an XO, and must have been very useful in the Maquis. However, it leaves a lot to be desired in a dinner companion." She looked directly at him. "Chakotay, I don't want you to *do* anything except have dinner with me. And I thought we might talk. We haven't done that in a long time; just talk together about things other than the ship or the crew."
"Talk about what?"
"Anything. About you." She sighed. "Let's take it slowly. How was your day today?"
"I worked all day today."
She shook her head. "I knew this wasn't going to be easy, but I'd forgotten how stubborn you can be. All right, tell me about the recipes. Are they from your family?"
She was incomprehensible, she was beautiful, and she was smiling at him. He gave it up and told her about the recipes. That led into a number of stories about his home and his family.
They'd spent the rest of the evening in holodeck two at the Newport shore on a midsummer evening. The ancient walkway swept past the elegant mansions from over 500 years ago. Then it led out into the wild, between hedges of sea roses, their reds and pinks a stark contrast to the deepening blues of the sky. The gray cliffs were a mass of tumbled rocks below them, stopped perpetually from making their way down to the sea. They sat down on an outcrop, watching the gulls hunt for food as the sun slowly set over the ocean, the waves crashing against the rocks.
They continued to talk about their pasts: about his home and hers and the Academy and the Maquis. They talked about Mark and Seska and about far too much, far too personal matters for it to simply be casual. But she hadn't objected, and she hadn't turned the conversation, or diverted it.
He looked at the roses defensively. She *hadn't* objected. She hadn't minded; he was sure of it. Because when the evening became late she'd thanked him and asked if he'd be willing to spend another evening with her the next night.
Of course, he'd said yes.
He sighed as he watched another petal drop. That was his third mistake.
He tried to explain why he'd agreed. The trouble was he'd been caught, hook, line, and sinker by her casual beauty, her sincerity. He laughed, embarrassed. Uhuh, he'd been crazy all right...paralyzed like a deer in the headlights...attracted like a moth to a flame. He'd started to... there was that damned word again... relax. He'd walked right into it, like a lamb to the slaughter. Stupid.
Now she had him trying to justify his actions to plants in mixed metaphors about animals. No wonder he wasn't getting anywhere.
He smiled, diverted. The metaphor problem was really B'Elanna's fault, not Kathryn's. B'Elanna had started him off into animal analogies earlier that day by telling him he was "acting like a bear with a sore paw."
He shook his head. At least acting like a live bear was better than being a dead fish, a frozen deer, a barbecued moth, or a lamb cutlet. At least a bear had some options. Not that he saw any in his situation. Well, he saw a few. He was going to keep himself firmly grounded, and quit imagining things, and he was *not* going to lose his sense of humor. Because if he did that, he wasn't sure what would be left.
He had been stupid. He should have seen it coming. He hadn't. He'd just lulled himself into a false sense of security.
It was now a pattern. Every evening for the last two weeks they'd had dinner together, sometimes in the mess hall but more often in her quarters. Then they'd played pool, or watched a "match," or more often spent time in one or the other of their favorite holodeck programs alone together, talking about anything and everything until late in the evening.
He couldn't quite remember when she'd picked up the habit of touching him so much. She'd been touching him for years, of course. She'd been doing it with all of the crew. He thought he'd gotten used to it. She was just that kind of person, that kind of leader. She touched people.
But lately... he'd counted one night to make sure he wasn't imagining it. Tuvok's obsession with detail must finally have rubbed off on him. He'd literally counted. She'd touched him precisely five times an hour or every twelve minutes they'd spent together; just enough time for her to do so, for him to pull away, and then for her to touch him again.
He'd should have backed off then. He hadn't. He'd taken her to the mountains instead. He couldn't believe he'd done that. He'd never intended to show anyone that program.
But then again, he'd never had roses taking up occupancy in his quarters before, engaging in a Grand Inquisition.
And, even more unlikely, he'd never had Kathryn Janeway wanting to know his thoughts, and hopes, and fears before.
So he'd shown her the mountains; his mountains - not civilized ski slopes, not even the summer mountains of brilliant skies, high alpine lakes and fields of wildflowers. He took her to the mountains that were home to him.
He loved the mountains of autumn, of peace, and of danger, arrayed in spectacular golds and reds and greens, and of gray skies that turned suddenly blue; the mountains of early fog, and mist, and sunsets that never left your heart once you'd seen them.
The first thing he always noticed was the quiet. But as one listened that changed. There was the rush of the stream as it fell over rocks and logs, the squawking of sparrows and jays, and the rustling of squirrels and deer as they moved away from the path. Later, higher up the mountain, the bugeling of elk as they fought for partners and the bark of the coyotes in the distance could be heard harmonizing with the silence. Even higher, on the alpine tundra, the warnings of pica sounded. Then there was nothing except for the wind as it rushed by over the peaks. He heard the quiet of the wilderness. He always had. Somehow, it was important to him that she hear it too, and understand.
They'd started the hike in late afternoon. It was cold, and the sky was gray, but the clouds were moving fast, breaking up to show a clear blue afternoon and then returning in force. The trail paralleled a mountain stream, climbing up through a densely forested mountain valley.
At first, they hiked on a carpet of shimmering gold through aspens losing their leaves as they settled down for the winter. As they climbed, the trail led into the deep shadow of pine forest. The first frosts had already set in. Most of the wildflowers had died back for the winter, leaving the browns and reds and deep maroons of autumn. There, in the pines, the ground was covered with bright green moss, and mushrooms, and serviceberry turning scarlet as winter set in.
The trail eventually opened out onto a high plateau of mountain meadow with an alpine lake. The wild grasses were the color of wheat, and the firebush was brilliant scarlet against the blue of the lake. The pines began to retreat back down the mountain, only a few groups clinging to the ridge. The brilliant white of glaciers and early snow on the mountain peaks were a spectacular backdrop to the lake and the meadow.
She sat down on a rock and stared at the scene. "Chakotay, it's really beautiful up here."
"I know. Was it worth the climb?"
She laughed. "I thought you were going to kill me on that last part. It must be 2500 feet up from the start of the trail. And at least a 15% grade in some places."
He smiled, and shrugged. She was right, but he wasn't going to let it end there. "You're exaggerating, Kathryn. Either that, or you've been conveniently forgetting that captains are required to follow the Starfleet workout schedule, too."
"Huh! I do work out. I just don't normally do it in programs that start 9000 feet above sea level and end at 11500." She looked around her, smiling. "It was worth it. Thank you."
"Here." He opened his pack and handed her some water and some chocolate. "Sugar. Energy. Go for it."
She looked back at him suspiciously. "Why do I need more energy?"
He pointed to the top of the mountain. "I'd thought we'd climb the rest of the way. It's beautiful up there, Kathryn. Alpine tundra and views for miles."
She squinted in the direction he was pointing. "That's got to be another 1500 feet, and there's a rock scramble at the top." He shrugged, and she smiled. "I think you're right about the chocolate."
They sat there silently, watching the waves of the lake roll back toward them from the cliff behind, watching the grass shimmer as the wind moved through it, watching the mists roll over the mountain tops.
"What's that?"
"Elk, bugeling. The bulls are competing for mates this time of year. I'd hoped we'd see them. We may later. I programmed the weather and the animals to be random within the possible outcomes of a fall scene. You never know when we might-"
"Don't." She got up and pulled him up, determinedly. "Don't talk about the program. I don't want to think of it that way. It's too beautiful."
So he quit talking about the program. He just lived the experience -watching her and sharing the wilderness. They climbed to the peak, and as they walked silently along the alpine tundra, she grabbed his hand. The tundra was surreal, stark outcroppings of rocks amongst the lichen and moss. But it was beautiful. Beneath them, they could see the valleys of pine and aspen and alpine lakes, and beyond, far beyond in the distance, more mountain ranges, infinite in their immensity.
Over all, the mists moved in, rolling over them quickly, then cascading down into the next mountain valley. When the fog finally settled in on top of the mountain, he knew they had to go down, so he took her back down to the meadow, and the lake, below the mists.
He made dinner while she sat with her back against a rock, watching the scene around her. The elk came in to feed just as they were finishing, while the sun set, casting shadows against the cliffs. They sat there a long time, quietly. He shifted, surprised, when she put her head on his shoulder, grabbed his arm, and wrapped it around her waist.
"What?"
"Nothing. This is just more comfortable."
He didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing. They sat silently watching the sun go down and the stars come out. Somehow, he knew she understood the silence, and why he'd brought her there.
Of course, that was his fourth mistake. He knew damned well he should never assume anything where Kathryn Janeway was concerned.
They'd had dinner in his quarters the next night and had spent most of the evening talking about... he couldn't even remember what anymore. He just remembered feeling relaxed and at peace with himself and with her. He remembered laughing at something she'd said and then noticing her rubbing her neck. She did it all the time, and he always ignored it; but for some reason this time he'd offered to help. Stupid. He couldn't even learn from his own mistakes.
Because she commented, "Sounds a lot like New Earth."
He froze, remembering another time. He moved away, backing off from the chaos he'd created, and backing away from her. "I'm sorry. You looked tired. I thought a neckrub might help."
She smiled and started to say something, but he interrupted, trying to remedy the situation. "Captain, I apologize for breaking protocol. It was uncalled for."
Her smile seemed to lose some of it's luster. But in retrospect, he was sure that he'd imagined that part. Because all she'd said was "Commander, you don't need to apologize. I'm the one that's out of line. But I have to try. Chakotay, we were friends on New Earth, maybe starting to be more than that. I don't know. We never got the chance to follow through on the experiment. And then we got back and the situation hasn't exactly been easy. I've made some mistakes along the way."
She looked away from him, and then finally turned back and continued. "In the last few years, there hasn't been much time even to think, let alone reflect on the past. But I'd like to get back to what we had, maybe even go forward, get beyond it. Do you think we can?"
"I've always valued your friendship, Kathryn. You know that."
She looked away from him. "Of course."
The rest of the evening had been strained. She'd left early, claiming that she was tired. The next night she seemed to have resolved whatever had been bothering her. She'd even been more cheerful than usual. They'd had dinner together and then decided to go to Sandrine's. He'd recommended it.
He swore the roses were looking at him suspiciously. All right, it was true. He'd insisted on going somewhere in public. He'd needed the distance of Sandrines, and other people, to help him get through the evening.
Because he wasn't sure she knew the definition of distance anymore. Sandrines was a case in point. He'd been watching her play pool with Paris, with his back against the bar, his arm out along it, when she walked right into him and put her head on his shoulder, laughing at something that Paris had said. He'd reacted instinctively and put his arm around her. He'd stopped, appalled, when he realized what he'd done and tried to diffuse the situation by laughing at whatever it was she had said. He'd waited until Paris missed a shot before finally walking away.
He hadn't realized Paris was such a good pool player. The man owed him one, whether he knew it or not, because he only managed by sheer paralysis not to beat Paris into a bloody pulp every time he made a shot.
He'd known he had to do something about it then.
After Sandrines, as they walked back to Officers quarters, he'd tried to confront her about the situation. What was it he'd said? Oh yeah, something brilliant, like "Kathryn, we need to talk."
"We are talking, Chakotay. We've been talking all night, and we spent most of the day talking."
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?" She looked at him, smiling. "You seem stressed. I knew I shouldn't have let you try to deal with B'Elanna and Seven again. They always manage to drive you to distraction. Let it go. I *am* willing to take them on. I've told you that before." She paused as they reached her quarters. "Chakotay, it's clear we need to change that situation for a while. Why don't you come in? "
He followed her into her quarters, distracted. "I'm not worried about Torres and Seven. I don't give a damn whether they kill each other off. In fact, I'd be at the match to cheer them on."
"Exactly my point. You need a break from them. I'm willing to try for a while."
"Stop."
"What?"
"Stop. That's not what I want to talk about, and I think you know it so just stop right now, Kathryn. I'm tired of it."
She sat down on the couch, and looked away. "Tired of what?"
He'd meant to tell her all of it then, but he couldn't. He couldn't stand to see wariness in her eyes, her defensive posture, her frozen expression. He settled for half. "The situation with the crew. And, well, you have to stop using me as furniture."
She looked at him, astonished. "Using you as *what*?"
He turned away, appalled at what he'd said. But she needed to understand. "As furniture." She still looked confused, so he elaborated. "As a comfortable object that's conveniently nearby... furniture."
She smiled. "What piece did you have in mind? A chair, a couch... the bed?"
He was suddenly, unwaveringly angry. "Stop it. It's not a joke."
She paused again, and looked away. "You're right. It's not a joke. But how you could think.. or misunderstand... I don't know what to say."
He'd never seen her at a loss for words before. He waited. When it was clear she wasn't going to say anything, he finally continued. "Kathryn, we have become very close friends. It's important to me. But the crew's beginning to talk. In situations like tonight where you're ...physically close to me our friendship could be misconstrued."
She finally looked back at him. "Let me get this straight. You're worried about the crew's reaction because you think I spent most of the night treating you like a couch?"
It sounded crazy, even to him, but he had to make her stop. "Yes."
"Don't worry."
"What?"
"They're a smart crew, Chakotay, a very smart crew. They know what's real and what's not. They won't misconstrue anything. They'll just see what's there."
"Kathryn-"
"No. If you think about it you'll realize what I've just said is true." She turned away. "I suspect the only one who doesn't understand by now is you, my friend. And I'm not sure whether to be relieved or worried about that."
"I don't -"
"I know. Let it go. We'll talk about it tomorrow." He started to protest, but she interrupted. "Chakotay, we're both tired. I don't want to say anything now that could be misunderstood. We planned to go running on the holodeck tomorrow, remember? 0900 hours. I'd like to talk then." She didn't wait for his answer. She just threw him out. "Goodnight, Chakotay."
That was last night. He'd thought about the conversation for the rest of the night. Gods, he'd obsessed about the whole situation for two weeks now. He always came back to the same conclusion. She was driving him crazy and she didn't know it - dinners, candles, music, laughter... seeking out his company, spending time alone with him, talking about their pasts, and hopes for the future, touching him constantly, invading his personal space. With any other woman, he might have thought there was a message in her actions. But not with Kathryn Janeway. It just wasn't possible.
What was possible - the only possible explanation for her actions -was that she needed some down time as well and, as Captain, she could hardly go out and socialize seriously with the crew. She needed a friend, and he'd been elected to the position.
As her XO, he could be trusted not to misinterpret the situation. And he didn't. He understood it perfectly. He understood that he needed to run like hell in the other direction before he said or did something that was going to embarrass them both, or even worse, strain or damage their friendship permanently.
He was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. He spent most of his free time enjoying her company and the rest of it kicking himself for enjoying it.
The real problem was that all the time they'd spent together had made him remember that he was in love with her. He'd known that all along, of course. He'd known it for years. But he thought he'd gotten past thinking about it anymore. He corrected that. He *had* gotten past thinking about it. The feeling had settled into a dull ache he rarely noticed but was always around. He didn't want to remember. He'd finally accepted that nothing was ever going to come of how he felt about her. He didn't want to live through having to learn to accept that again.
Of course, that was before the flowers.
"Computer, scan databanks and identify the representational meaning of the roses in my quarters."
"White roses with red tips symbolize unity. Loose rose petals convey the meaning of hope. Rose- "
"Stop." He got up and threw the mess of them, especially the dropped petals, in the recycler. There wasn't an answer there. He'd had no sleep for weeks, a crew ready to mutiny, a woman he loved playing games, and the damned Delta quadrant with its relentless uncertainties hovering in the background. He just couldn't stand it anymore, and he had no idea what he was going to do about that.
Chakotay started down to the holodeck for the meeting with Kathryn, distracted by his thoughts. He walked straight into Dalby, nearly taking the man to the ground. "Sorry."
"Hey, no problem, Chakotay. I heard you had a pretty late night anyway. You must be tired. Where's your better half?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Janeway, of course. I heard about the situation last night in -"
Chakotay grabbed Dalby by the throat and slammed him against the wall. "*Don't* say it. Don't even think it. What the Captain decides to do with her time is her business, not the business of worms. Got it?"
"Whoa. Give it a rest, Commander. I'm sorry."
Chakotay released him. "Good."
Dalby backed down, rubbing his neck as he fell to the floor. "It's not like anyone objects. We all think it's -." Dalby stopped short when he saw the look in Chakotay's eyes and stayed put on the ground.
Chakotay stood over him, glaring. He finally said, "Listen to me. Carefully. I don't give a damn what you do with your spare time, but if I ever find out that it has anything to do with speculation about *anything* related to the Captain or to me you won't survive the journey back home."
Dalby choked. "I got it. Jeez, what's gotten into you? You weren't this bad even in the Maquis."
"We're not in the Maquis anymore. Get it straight, Dalby. I don't have time to play your petty games. I'm tired of them. Look around you. There aren't any Cardassians out here. And I don't intend to keep picking your ass up off the ground because you can't find any other way of getting rid of your anger besides fighting your friends."
"Understood, Commander."
Chakotay was half way through the corridor before he heard Dalby's final comment. "Chakotay? Maybe you'd better take your own advice."
Chakotay ignored the comment and walked away. He was over an hour late for the run with Kathryn. He tried to prepare for the conversation, but the lack of sleep for nearly a month made rational thought almost impossible. All he knew was that the whole situation had to end, and end quickly. And that he was more tired and angry than he had been in a very long time.
He slowed for a moment, remembering how well he'd once understood Dalby. Day-to-day hatred had been the norm, and so easy, in the Maquis. Chakotay thought they'd all gotten past that. In the Delta quadrant all their energy had focused on surviving. He'd thought that was enough. He was wrong. Dalby had never let go. Even he'd never let it go. But he'd been able to sublimate the anger and focus on the present. Until now. Until Janeway's experiment, he'd forgotten what the anger felt like. Now he remembered the feelings of hopelessness, of loss, of wanting something and knowing that it couldn't ever be, and of trying to make a difference, anyway.
There'd been New Earth, of course. He had let go of some of the anger, then. He laughed at himself. New Earth was nearly the worst thing he remembered about the Delta quadrant - how much of a fool he'd been there and after, until he'd gotten it straight. He tried to calm his breathing, turning the thought away.
He stopped, appalled that he could let anything as simple as a failed relationship get confused with what he'd experienced in the Maquis.
He walked onto the holodeck. He was going to resolve the situation with Kathryn quickly and amicably. He was not going to let her disrupt his peace ever again.
"Chakotay? You're over an hour late. I gave up 45 minutes ago. I didn't think you were going to come."
He looked around, trying to see her amongst the greenery of the program. When he did, he lost whatever resolutions he'd ever made about her in his life.
She looked up at him from a stream along a running trail, her hair in disarray, strewn over her back and around her face. He could see the contours, every nuance of her body through her running clothes. He watched her pull back from the stream, moving her wet hand over her face and her neck. He saw the water glistening on her legs and watched it trickle down over her breasts, as they hardened from the cool of the stream. She glanced up at him with a mild expression of concern as she arched her back and stood up to see him better.
"Chakotay?"
He had to get the conversation over with. He had to be as clear as possible. He tried to talk, but he couldn't. He couldn't say anything.
He pulled her into his arms, using his strength to keep her there. He molded her body into his, pushing her into him, feeling how it might feel if she was willing, if he could ever admit how much he wanted her, if she'd ever agree.
The last thought stopped him. He knew she didn't want him. He knew that. He broke away from her before he did any more damage, horrified that he'd let himself get so out of control.
"I'm sorry." He tried to pull further away, but she stopped him.
"I'm not. Chakotay, I wanted -."
"Stop. I can't do this anymore. I .. just.. can't."
"Chakotay, I hoped that - damn it, listen to me..."
He moved away from the hurt and from her. "The experiment's over, Kathryn. I don't know what it is that you're trying to prove, but prove it with someone else. I don't feel like being your... lab rat... anymore."
"You really don't understand. I- "
"I do understand. Maybe you're lonely, maybe you need a friend, maybe you just wanted to see if you were still attractive... but... I... can't... play... anymore. I'm done with the experiment. I'd like to be done with being the XO but I don't have a lot of options in the Delta quadrant. So just leave it, and leave me alone off duty, Captain."
"Chakotay, listen to me. That's *not* what this is about. I-"
He didn't hear the rest of her comments. He walked out.
He barely made it through the third corridor before he ran into Tuvok, who blocked his way. Chakotay rounded on the Vulcan, still angry. "Where have you been? I thought we had an agreement."
"Commander?"
"We had an agreement. You were going to help me get out of the Captain's little ... experiment. You reneged on your part of the deal."
Tuvok responded calmly to the accusation. "I can explain, Commander, but I believe you are too angry to listen at this moment."
"The hell I am. What are you doing here anyway? You're supposed to be on watch."
"Mr. Paris is currently assigned to Bridge duty. I am here at the request of Ensign Dalby and the Captain."
Chakotay laughed. "What are you going to do? Throw me in the Brig?"
The Vulcan looked back at him mildly. "Is there a reason I should do so?"
Chakotay turned away. "I don't know anymore. Probably just more than a dozen."
"I do not understand the reference, Commander. Ensign Dalby and the Captain merely expressed concern for your welfare. I established a cordial relationship with the Ensign during our training sessions, and so he came to me informally. I believe his exact words were that 'he thought you were going to do something stupid, he hadn't seen you so angry since the Maquis, and he didn't want to see you get hurt.'"
" I thought Dalby knew when to keep his mouth shut. What did the Captain say?"
"I would prefer not to discuss that right now."
Chakotay looked at the Vulcan measuringly, feeling his rage resurface. "I bet you wouldn't."
"Commander, this anger is unlike you. You cannot function as XO in your current state."
"You think I don't know that? What do you want?"
Tuvok was silent, but finally said, "I propose you 'take it to the gym.'"
"Are you suggesting a match, Tuvok?"
"Two out of three, Commander."
Chakotay looked at the Vulcan and knew Tuvok was right. He wanted to break something, and in his current state that meant he was going to do something dangerous and stupid unless he got rid of some of his anger. Tuvok could handle a match. The Vulcan probably wouldn't even get a scratch, just beat him to a pulp. Well, Chakotay wouldn't object to that, either.
"You're on."
Chakotay let loose. He redirected the rage, the anger, and the frustration he'd been feeling for nearly a month into the match. Time moved in slow motion as he saw every opening, every possible advantage clearly even as a red haze took over his vision. He watched all of the memories he wanted to forget dissipate as he slammed his fist into the images again and again.
Chakotay finally found himself flat out on the floor, looking up at Tuvok.
"I believe the match is mine, Commander."
Chakotay tried to clear his head, and felt his anger begin to recede. "You mean I survived it?"
The Vulcan looked at him strangely. "You more than survived it. You won the first round, and the last has been in question until now. I was unaware that you are as familiar with hand-to-hand combat as you have demonstrated."
Chakotay grimaced. "So was I." He grabbed the Vulcan's hand, and got up from the floor. "Thanks, Tuvok."
"You have nothing to thank me for. It was your idea to set up the matches for this purpose. The opportunity to participate in one has proved enlightening."
"Uhuh."
Chakotay picked up his shirt and began to walk away, but the Vulcan interrupted him. "Commander, I wish to explain why I have not interfered in the Captain's experiment."
"It's all right, Tuvok. It wasn't your responsibility. I was out of line to even mention it."
"I believe you should hear this. Just before we began the match, the Captain asked me to convey the contents of an earlier discussion between us to you."
"You talked to the Captain about me?"
"Yes."
Chakotay looked at the Vulcan incredulously. "When?"
"Directly after the start of phase two of her experiment. I was concerned that the Captain was unaware of the difficulty of maintaining security during the initial phase, and of the stress that it placed on you specifically." The Vulcan stopped and looked away, and then turned back to look at him again. "I am also aware that you are not ... indifferent . My concern was that the Captain might inadvertently disturb you. So I asked her intentions."
"I can't believe I'm having this conversation."
Tuvok looked at him oddly. "That was precisely the Captain's comment." He paused, and continued. "She laughed. And her next comment was that 'her intentions were honorable.'"
Chakotay stared at the Vulcan. "She said *what*?"
"She indicated that her intentions were honorable."
"Hell."
"There is more, Commander. I asked the Captain for her precise definition of honorable. She replied that 'I picked the damnedest things to be precise about.'" The Vulcan paused and then continued, "I have no idea why that particular comment should have disturbed her, but it seemed to."
Tuvok shook his head, and began again. "To continue, the Captain placed the rest of her comments in a scientific analogy. Her exact words were that she believed that you both had once embarked upon an experiment, which she later chose not to acknowledge. She thought now that she was mistaken. She wanted to repeat the experiment, but was concerned that the length of time between events may have changed the conditions or rendered the question moot. When I asked for clarification, she stated that she was concerned that you may have found another answer and in that case pursuing the experiment would be an intrusion and impossible."
" An *experiment*. I should have figured it out."
"Commander, I believe she used that particular analogy to better help me understand her motives."
"She used it with more than you, Tuvok. She even told me. I was just too stupid to see what kind of game she was playing."
"I do not believe the Captain is engaged in a game, Commander."
"How do you know that?"
"I asked her."
"You... asked... her."
"Yes."
"*That* must have been interesting."
"It was an awkward interaction. However, I have learned that humans are not as analytical on such topics as the Captain's comments implied. I believed that it was important for her to understand that I felt the situation to be serious, and one that might result in significantly complicating the command structure, if her experiment was unsuccessful."
"Well, you were right about that."
"I hope not, Commander. I placed confidence in the Captain's response. She assured me that her own intentions were not in question, just yours, and given that, she thought that the most likely outcome was that you might be embarrassed around her temporarily. She assured me that none of it would affect the command structure."
The Vulcan paused and continued, "I trusted her judgment, and chose to not intervene as you requested. I decided that my interference in a personal interaction between the two of you would have been an unwarranted intrusion. It appears that I was incorrect in my assessment. I apologize for the error."
"I don't know if you were in error or not, Tuvok. But thank you for telling me and ...thanks for asking her to begin with even though I never knew ... well, that doesn't matter."
"Commander?"
"Yes?"
"What do you intend to do with this information?"
"I don't know, Tuvok. I really don't know."
The problem was that he really didn't know. Chakotay took the rest of the day off, giving Tuvok the responsibilities he'd normally take on. The Vulcan had suggested it, and looked relieved when he accepted.
If what Tuvok said was true, then Kathryn was serious about pursuing a relationship with him. Chakotay couldn't decide if the whole thing was a farce or a tragedy. He had no idea how he felt about any of it anymore.
Two weeks ago, Chakotay would have predicted that he would have turned her down if she had asked him directly if he was willing to re-explore what they'd had once. He thought he'd gotten past how he'd felt, and resigned himself to their current relationship of friends and colleagues. He wouldn't have wanted to reopen old wounds. And he wouldn't have believed that she'd follow through. She was frighteningly capable of conveniently forgetting personal commitments that were inconvenient to her as Captain.
He knew now that his prediction would have been in error. During the last two weeks, he'd grabbed at the opportunity to spend as much time with her as she allowed. He could have walked away, told her no or said he was busy. He hadn't. He'd jumped at the chance to be with her, even when he thought she didn't mean anything by it. The lesson was that, whatever else he was, it was clear that he was a fool. He didn't understand his own emotions. If they were going to get any of this straightened out, he'd better be very sure about how he really felt, or they'd never get anywhere.
She irritated, angered, fascinated, and entranced him. He felt alive when she was with him. When she wasn't driving him crazy, he felt more at peace when he was with her than he'd ever felt in his life. She was honorable, decent, and caring. She was also controlling and manipulative. And he was clearly still in love with her. If the last three years couldn't kill that, he doubted anything could.
But he'd established a mind set before that had made it possible for him to be around her without acknowledging how he felt. He could again. He might have to, because he couldn't live in a relationship with her unless it was a partnership.
He wasn't sure Kathryn was capable of a real partnership. She'd manipulated him and avoided being honest . That had to stop. The only way he was going to be able to let something grow between them was if she was willing to give up control, admit she was wrong, and talk about problems so they could solve them together. And he wasn't sure she could do that.
Then again, he wasn't sure he could walk away if she offered him a chance. A piece of him still didn't believe in the possibility; still thought Tuvok was wrong, or mistaken. That attitude was dangerous because it meant he didn't trust her. The only way to see if he could trust her and find out what she really wanted, was to talk. The conversation was going to be uncomfortable, difficult and frustrating. He didn't know how to even start.
Finally, he sent her a rose, but it wasn't a rose of hope. It was the same rose he'd given her before Lake George-a rose of peace.
jcjcjcjcjc
That evening Chakotay broke the impasse and went to see Kathryn in her quarters after hours. The tension between them was as awkward as he predicted, and what he'd hoped all along to avoid. They stood just inside her door, both of them reluctant to begin.
She finally broke the silence. "Thank you for the flower."
"You're welcome."
He waited, but she said nothing. Kathryn wasn't going to initiate the conversation. He tried something simple. "Why did you send Tuvok?"
She turned away and looked out the viewscreen. "Once I finally saw the situation from your perspective, I knew you wouldn't want to talk to me. But I wanted you to understand that I never intended to use you as a ... lab rat...regardless of anything else."
"I'm sorry. That was crude."
"It doesn't matter. I probably deserved it."
He waited. From the silence it was clear that she intended to let him lead the discussion. He felt suddenly hopeful. "Kathryn, what was this about?"
She turned back around and sat down on the couch. "I'd hoped we could explore a more personal relationship. And I thought the situation could be defined in black or white. I was wrong." She grimaced. "I seem to have said that more in the last month than in my last decade of command."
He sat down next to her, trying to absorb that she had meant the message implied in her actions. "Why didn't you just ask me? Why the 'experiment?'"
She shook her head. "Starfleet captain and all... always have a plan of attack, and a backup. I'm afraid it doesn't translate well into the personal. The experiment was an excuse. I thought that if you weren't interested in pursuing anything, any ... difficulties... that might arise could be easily explained to the crew as results. I thought we could both walk away without any awkwardness."
She paused and then continued. "You haven't exactly been easy to read, Chakotay. Every time I took a step forward, you took two back. Dinner the first night is a good example. Anyone else would have understood my intent. *You* asked what I wanted you to do for me. But later, when I asked if you'd be willing to consider furthering the situation between us you agreed."
He started to comment, but she stopped him. "You *did* agree. I never ordered you to do anything beyond eat the first night." Her tone was defensive, determined, as if she'd thought about that piece for a while, and felt secure in her assessment of it.
He sighed, admitting his culpability in the mess they'd created. "I thought it was stupid to... open myself up to possibilities. But I wasn't able to implement that idea."
She continued. "That's been the pattern for the last two weeks. You never refuse, but you never let me in. When we went to the mountains, I thought we finally understood one another. But the next night you froze when I mentioned New Earth, and when I asked if we could get past that, you turned the question aside by saying we'd always be friends."
She looked away from him, her tone quiet. "Last night... I misunderstood you completely. In Sandrines, I thought you were just upset that I chose to make the situation public without consulting you. Even after the accusation of *using* you, I still didn't understand that's what you thought I was doing. I finally figured that out today, and only then when you spelled it out. At first today ... well, at first, I thought something entirely different."
He sat silently, thinking about what she'd said. It was all plausible, if he was willing to admit the possibility that she'd changed her mind about a relationship between them. But old habits died hard. He needed to get it all out if he was ever going to be able to trust her.
"It's not going to fly, Kathryn. You're a trained negotiator. You know as well as I do that the first things that need to be clear in any successful interaction are the purpose and that the participants agree to the plan. Your actions and your comments were deliberately vague, and you left me wondering what you meant by them."
She said ruefully, "I know. The really disgusting part is that I had that rationalized very carefully. I thought that if we just had the opportunity to go back to where things had been between us once, then you might be willing to consider moving on. But I wasn't sure you'd be willing to go back again. So..."
He thought it over and acknowledged the probability. It fit. "The homefield advantage. You left your intentions deliberately vague in order to position yourself."
She grimaced. "Well, that's what I told myself. It really turned out to be cowardice."
He kept his tone mild, but he still told her what he was thinking. "You really are slime, Kathryn."
There was silence, and then she finally commented, "I know."
He smiled, hope rising even further. He'd never seen Kathryn Janeway admit a fault before. " I know all about slime. This experiment's turned me into classic slime. I think I could give even you a few pointers on technique."
She looked up, startled. "Chakotay?"
He smiled. "Regardless of the rest of it, I think I understand that this part's an unintended compliment. I haven't had many Starfleet captains turn into slime because they were interested in pursuing a relationship with me."
She looked at him carefully, and then smiled back. "I haven't had the experience of thinking of myself as slime before, so consider yourself complimented."
He turned away, suddenly glad that no matter what happened, the humor might still be there between them. But he couldn't let it go at that. "Kathryn, it's not that easy."
She became serious again. "I didn't think it was."
He got to the heart of the problem. "You've ignored the situation that started between us for three years now. I finally decided I'd imagined it. It hasn't been easy getting past how I felt. Why then and why now?"
"I didn't realize it was three years."
"What?" He'd expected any number of answers, but not that.
"When we got back from New Earth, I was uncertain about command. More so than I've ever been in my life. Being the Captain seemed ... like someone else's job. But it was mine. I knew then that I had to concentrate if I was going to make it work again. There were people depending on us. I thought what was between us had to wait for a while, because I found myself distracted around you."
He started to break in, but she forestalled him. "I know. I should have told you. I took the easy road, and saw it as black or white." She sighed. "It appears to be a very bad habit of mine lately. And then the *rest* of it became habit. The crises kept coming, the arguments between us got more complicated, and it was easier to put it off. I didn't realize a while had become three years."
"I see."
"I don't think you do. I don't know that even I understand it. What woke me up wasn't anything particularly profound. One day, about a month ago, something felt wrong, very, very wrong. And so, when the Senior Officers started coming to me with complaints about overwork and stress, I looked back through the logs and saw the pattern. And then I started the experiment."
He sighed. He should have known it would come back to the ship. "They *were* stressed, Kathryn. The idea to relax was a good one, and it's helped them pull together in the long run."
"The idea didn't do that. You did. You found a way to implement it. It wasn't anything I would have done."
"You're underestimating yourself."
"No. I'm not. I saw a problem with the crew, and so I put out an order, expected it to work, and expected you and Tuvok to implement it. And you did. Simple. Black and white."
She continued. "Don't misunderstand. I don't feel bad about that. It's what I should do as Captain. I don't intend to micromanage, and I do intend to make your life miserable, with reliable frequency. And I do expect you to find a way to implement impossible orders." She looked at him carefully . "And, Chakotay, I know you will."
She turned away, looking out at the stars. "But that's not the point. The crew interaction wasn't the pattern that disturbed me. The pattern that bothered me was between us. When I looked at the logs, I realized what I was missing. The closeness between us, the understanding, was gone." She smiled ironically. "Oh, that's not to say you weren't the perfect XO, and if I say so myself, I was being a classic Captain, but that's all there was. All of the rest of what we'd had once - the warmth, the laughter, the personal connection - was gone. It'd just disappeared without my noticing. I'm sorry I was so oblivious. That must have been difficult for you."
"It was."
"And so I went from oblivious to arrogant. I thought that if I tried.. the experiment, I'd know either way if it was possible to renew the loseness."
She got up, walked to the viewscreen and then finally continued. "It was *very* arrogant. I know that now. I wanted the situation to be simple, black or white. I expect the 'either-or' mentality is from years of command, from having to solve things quickly and never look back. It doesn't excuse it, I know. But I hope it helps explain it. I thought that when I finally said something, you'd either agree or disagree. And that you'd understand my intent. I didn't expect it to be complicated, or for it to be painful for you. I'm sorry."
"You didn't think it through."
"No, I suppose I didn't."
He sat quietly, absorbing her comments. "I don't know what to say."
She sighed, and then walked back to the couch and sat down next to him again. "I can't blame you. I'm not sure what I would say under similar circumstances. But I know what I need to ask. It's what I should have asked a month ago. Do you think we could try this again?"
"I don't know."
"I see."
"No, you don't. I've never stopped loving you, Kathryn. I doubt that I ever will. I'm just not sure that I can live with what that entails, with what you require to let someone love you. You walked away from me three years ago. And you have been ... very successfully oblivious. It was very difficult to get past that once. I'm not sure I'm ready to put myself through it again. What makes you think you won't do the same again the moment another crisis comes?
She kept her eyes away from his, looking out at the stars, as she considered his question. She finally said, "Nothing. I can't promise. I can't predict the future. But I can swear that it's the last thing I want to do. I want this. I want to be able to see... the full spectrum of color. I won't give us up again without going down fighting. Can you accept that?"
"Yes, I think I can."
She searched his expression. "Is it enough?"
"No."
He paused, and when she didn't say anything, took the chance. "But that's only because you're still talking in the singular. It's not your choice alone, Kathryn. You can't run a relationship, at least not with me, the way you run the ship. We have to make decisions together, after discussing the problems. And you're not always going to win."
She shook her head. "Chakotay, it's going to be difficult. I'm used to running things. But I swear I'll try."
Trying was the most he could ask of her, or of himself. He could live with her promise. He sat back on the couch, and put his arm behind her. He needed to be sure she understood the implications. " It means you're going to have to quit maneuvering to make sure you're positioned successfully. No more experiments. I don't think I could survive another one." He smiled at her. "Essentially, you're going to have to de-slime, Kathryn."
She looked back at him cynically. "I thought you said you were an expert in slime."
He laughed. "I am. So I'll recognize it when I see it. I'm probably the only one on the ship that can help with that particular problem." He pulled her over into his shoulder.
She smiled up at him. "I see. Anything else?"
He was starting to enjoy himself. "Yep. You're going to have to tell me, directly."
"Tell you what?"
He just looked at her.
He watched her swallow, look away, and then turn back to him, her heart in her eyes. "I love you."
He felt a tremendous weight lift off his shoulders, and felt peace settle over him lightly. They had a long way to go, but with the last, he thought they could deal with it, together. He pulled her closer as she settled into his shoulder. "Thank you. I needed to hear that."
They sat there quietly. He watched the past rush by as he reworked his understanding of the memories. Then he smiled, diverted. "Kathryn, there's one more thing."
She looked up, concerned. "What?"
"You owe me seventeen roses. And this time they better be red. If I'm going to have discussions with the damned things, I want to know what I'm talking about."
She laughed. "I think I can arrange that."
He was suddenly tremendously tired. He closed his eyes, then put his head back on the couch and his feet up on the coffee table.
"Chakotay, what are you doing?"
"Falling asleep. I've been plotting it for a month. Never seems to work out. I think I just might stand a chance, now."
"But I -" He opened his eyes to look at her, to see if she was already going to renege on their agreement. But she simply smiled. "I can live with that."
And with that, he forgot all about sleep, and the past, and started into the future, concentrating on the woman in his arms. He smiled down at her as he positioned them both more comfortably on the couch.
"Kathryn?"
"Hmmm?"
"I may have been mistaken about the experiments. I'd be willing to compromise on some of them. I wouldn't want to cramp your style, after all."
She laughed. "I was hoping you'd say that."
End