To Feel So Much

Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager, its characters, etc. belong to Paramount.

Chapter 4

"Is there anything else?" Kathryn inquired from her seat at the head of the conference table. No one spoke so she stood up. "Dismissed." The senior staff filed from the room, and the captain followed. From where he still sat, Chakotay could almost see the room exhale its tension as the crew left the morning briefing. Although nothing unusual had been reported at the meeting, and the problem with the warp core had thankfully been solved, the level of strain in the room had been incredible. He knew it was a direct reflection of the gulf between him and Kathryn.

"Captain, are you all right?" He heard Tom's concerned voice from the doorway. The pilot's hand was gripping Kathryn's arm, and he was studying her intently. Kathryn, wearing an obviously manufactured grin, was nodding.

"Yes, I just lost my balance for a moment. Thanks for catching me," she said wryly. Tom smiled in return, and the pair headed for the bridge.

Chakotay remained seated, wondering how long it would take anyone to notice that he hadn't arrived for his shift yet. At this point, would Kathryn even bother calling him on it? They had barely exchanged more than ten words over the past two days, and she had even taken to espressing her comments and questions to him in terse written messages rather than initiating verbal contact. Some part of him was grateful.

But he still hadn't slept since he had walked out of Sickbay that first night.

When he finally strode onto the bridge, he was startled to see Kathryn sitting in her chair. She had been making her presence scarce on the bridge, barricading herself in her Ready Room during her shifts. He sighed and wondered if he could muster an excuse to work in his office until she departed. Then again, he probably wouldn't even have to offer an excuse. He doubted she would publicly question his intentions anyway.

They sat in silence for several minutes, Chakotay focusing his eyes on the stars trailing by on the viewscreen, Kathryn fiddling with a PADD, shifting constantly in her seat. He wondered if his continued presence was making her uneasy—it wasn't like her to fidget unless she was deeply disturbed. Like that day when she left for the Borg cube. She had been slumped down in her chair, pulled into herself, and practically wringing her hands. Enough, he ordered himself harshly.

Maybe he should retreat to his office.

But then Kathryn abruptly stood up.

"I'll be in my Ready Room." Something in her voice was not quite right, and Chakotay glanced at her, despite himself. She was deathly pale and seemed to be struggling to breathe.

"Captain," he said, beginning to rise and reach out for her.

And then she was falling, so quickly that he was powerless to stop it. Her head cracked against the edge of the console between their seats and the rest of her hit the floor with a resounding thump.

"Kathryn!" He was at her side in an instant, feeling the bile rising in his throat as he saw blood streaming from the left side of her face. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow. "Kathryn, please. Can you hear me?" She didn't respond to the sound of his voice, and Chakotay looked up frantically, seeing Tom Paris already bounding from his seat at the Conn with a tricorder in his hand. He knelt next to the captain and scanned her, a worried frown creasing his forehead.

"Paris to the Doctor. Please prepare to receive an emergency transport. It's the captain." Eternal seconds passed before Kathryn's still form sparkled and faded from view. Chakotay turned to Paris with panicked eyes.

"What is it, Tom?" His voice was deliberately quiet.

"Her body is having a reaction to the remaining Borg implants," Tom replied flatly. "And now she has a nasty concussion and cranial swelling." Chakotay swore to himself.

"She should never have-" he began, but Tom cut him off with an icy stare that would have rivaled one of Kathryn's.

"I think it's because she's exhausted, Commander." Chakotay didn't miss the careful emphasis on his rank. "She didn't even stay in Sickbay for twenty-four hours after returning from the Borg cube. And then she was back on duty several days before the Doctor's recommendations. Her body didn't have enough time to heal." There was something almost accusatory in the pilot's tone, and Chakotay bristled.

"Is there something you'd like to say to me, Mr. Paris?" Chakotay's voice was dangerously soft.

Tom continued to glare at him, and Chakotay saw something unfamiliar in the man's eyes. Loathing. It surprised him. He and Tom had never been the best of friends; in fact, they had begun their journey through the Delta Quadrant as undeclared enemies. But the anger, the disdain, had, if truth be told, all belonged to Chakotay. Tom had been insolent, brash but he had never seemed to harbor any overt resentment towards his former Maquis leader.

"In my office, Paris. Now." Chakotay straightened up from where the two had still been kneeling on the now empty patch of floor. As they stood, the bridge seemed wreathed in a tense silence. He and Tom had purposely kept their voices low, but perhaps they had been overheard anyway. But as they walked off the bridge, Chakotay suddenly realized with a sinking feeling that the tension, the silence, the stares, were all directed at him.

The minute the doors to his office had closed, Chakotay whirled around and pinned Paris with a menacing look of his own.

"Why don't you go ahead and say whatever's on your mind, Paris? You have my permission to speak freely," he spit out. He stepped closer to the other man and crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

"That might not be such a good idea right now," Tom answered, his voice serious and determined.

"Afraid, Paris?" Chakotay raised his eyebrows. "Think you can't take me?" Tom's shoulders suddenly slumped, and the anger seemed to drain from his face.

"What is going on with you, Chakotay?" he asked with concern in his voice. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Acting like what?" Chakotay took a step closer to Tom.

"Like..like this." Tom seemed to be struggling for words. "Like you want to pick a fight with me! Like you don't care whether the captain lives or dies!" His voice rose on the last words.

"I beg your pardon?" Chakotay clenched his fists at his sides. "Who are you to say how I feel about Captain Janeway?"

"I'm your friend," Tom shot back, "and hers. If you really care about her, why have you been acting like she doesn't exist since she came back to the ship? You certainly wore your heart on your sleeve while she was over there! Now you've been avoiding her and ignoring her. If you speak to her at all, it's barely even civil. You've been a real jerk, Chakotay. And what are you doing standing around arguing with me? Why aren't you in Sickbay by her side like you usually are? "

Chakotay advanced yet again so his face was just inches from Tom's. "Let's get one thing straight, Paris. It is none of your business how I feel about the captain. It is none of your business how I treat her. And it is none of your business why I am not in Sickbay right now. Is that understood?" He was yelling and making no effort to rein in his emotions. Tom had stepped back almost imperceptibly when he had raised his voice, and the other man's apprehension made Chakotay feel almost giddy.

Then the door to the office slid open smoothly, and Tuvok stepped in with a grave expression on his face.

"Commander Chakotay," he said pointedly. "It would be prudent for you to step away from Lieutenant Paris. And perhaps to lower your voice. The entire bridge crew has been privy to your conversation." Chakotay turned from both of them, walked over to his desk, and slammed his hand down on the surface, startling a couple of stray PADDs that were stacked near the corner.

"Get out of my office. Both of you," he said quietly.

"Commander-" Tuvok began.

"Get out!" The words were shouted this time, and Chakotay didn't turn around again until the doors had hissed shut behind him. Then he walked slowly over to his desk, cradled his head in his arms, and cried.