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Summary: Seven finally speaks her mind. Paris also has a say.
Synopsis for Part 11: The Doctor hosts an awkward meeting.
Part 12: Pressure Drop
November 23, 2379, Time: 03:37:31
USS Petit Morin, Federation Space, Twelve hours outside of Andor(ia)
"You keep hurting me."
Chakotay looked up across the cramped sleeping quarters of the runabout to find Seven percolating on him, just inside the open door. "I would not retake you as my husband," she modulated, resolutely. "We no longer function as a unit. We are separate, but I find am hurt by your actions past and present." Her gemstone glare refused to waver. He grabbed his shirt from the edge of the bunk and put it on. "Tell me, Commander, did you ever care for me at all?"
Chakotay's fingers latched on to his earlobe. He didn't know if he could have this conversation with her yet, without breaking, but it was her right, and so, this, would be the time. "I cared for you," he told her, thickly. "You know I did. I still do, more than I think you will allow yourself to believe."
She wasn't moved. "And the admiral?"
"She has nothing to do with what I did to us. Don't ascribe it to her, Seven. None of it is Kathryn's fault."
"I do not ascribe any of what has happened between us to the admiral," she contested, outraged by the assumption. "I have and will always place responsibility for the entirety of what has occurred specifically on you."
His eyelids fluttered a few times at her riposte. It was righteous and Seven-blunt, which was healthy, but it still stung to hear her say it. A dry lump formed at the bottom of his throat. She'd come for an answer, an honest explanation. He would man up and provide it. He'd finished with lying, either directly or through avoidance, and he had lied to her so often —everyday they were together, after his release from New Zealand. He had lied by omission, in not telling her about his condition. Lied every time he didn't take his medications. Lied by pretending that he was capable being a proper husband to her, or anyone, at that point. Lied by pretending everything was fine.
It was her right to hear the truth spoken from his lips for a change, no matter how witless or deficient it might sound. He would not degrade her further and make her ask him "why."
Kicking the covers off his lap, he climbed out of the lower berth, only to stand and turn to size up the top bunk, unable to look her in the eye. "I didn't expect you to wait for me," he said. "Sixteen months were what we planned; sixteen months were all we needed. Sixteen months of living with my sister, until your aunt's sponsorship re-legalized your Federation status, independent of our marriage, then you would be free. You could start a real life as an official citizen. You could do anything, be anything —as a true individual, autonomously, unencumbered, without fear. Free to make all your own choices without strings or enforced obligations. But that's not what happened. I was let out ahead of schedule. You set your whole future aside and chose to be with me... Seven, it was such an extravagant and an unexpected gift." He steadied himself against the bunk, against the eddy of emotion swelling up inside. "I was mess after New Zealand. The meds the doctors put me on were effective, but the side effects were...difficult to endure. They weren't necessary continuous, but some days —most days, it felt like I was living underwater. I could see, touch, taste and hear. At the same time, everything was different. Everything around me got so garbled, moved so fast. Me? My mind would move so slow." He smiled dolefully into the mattress-rail, heartsick, still incapable of looking at her. "And you were there. This unexpected light, this ray of clarity, above the water, out of my reach. Still wanting me, but the old me —the man from Voyager, the one you fell in love with. The man before the noise, and before the medications... I hadn't had an episode in over six months. I convinced myself I was fine, and I stopped taking them."
She was crying. He could hear it, in the subtle alteration of the way she absorbed breath. She never cried, and he felt lousy: cruelly thoughtless. Gutless and stupid. His inane confession, insufficient, made no sense, but it was the only explanation that he had. "I wanted to give you back that man so badly, Seven," he opined, lamely. "That man you gave up so much for, the man you deserved," He finally looked at her.
She was a perfect study in incredulity and anguish. "You dismantled our collective because you believed I would not love you had I known that you were damaged? The human race is a flawed design, riddled with imperfections, yet I adapted to accept those inefficiencies, permitting us to be as one." She marched in, close. Her hand poised, hovering in place above his shoulder for mere seconds before she dropped it to her side. "I am not a child. I am a matured sentient being, a fully ripened individual. I make my own decisions, my own errors, otherwise, the growth of my humanity will cease." She tossed her head, anger visibly beginning to seep through with her tears, "Who were you to decide for me, what kind of man I should have been allowed to love? Your inability to trust in me is what destroyed our marriage, not your mental inefficiencies. A malfunction of the mind would not have been enough to make me run away."
She started to cry harder, and it was pure torture. Her immaculate features marred with reproach; her nose, red; her skin, blotchy. He didn't think, just sought to moderate the latest injury he's caused her, his arms reaching out to pull her in.
Chakotay literally "saw stars" for the first time in his life as his head collided with the mattress rail of the bunk, a cracking agony exploding behind his right eye with a horrendous potency. Seven twisted his arm behind his back, jerked it up, mightily, with one hand; mashing his face further into the unforgiving rail.
"It will be a long, long time before you and I negotiate an armistice." Briery tubules scraped precariously, along the side of his neck beneath the jugular." The admiral's safety is all that matters, now."
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"Quit squirming and look at me." Tom grabbed his patient firmly by the chin and ran the dermal regenerator across the entire right side of Chakotay's face. "You want to tell me what happened?"
"I tripped getting out of bed. Broke the fall with my face."
"Oh yeah, that explains scratches on your neck." Tom didn't bother hiding his disconcertment. "Hold still. You're worse than Miral." He tilted his head in the direction of the cockpit. "The two of you are going to have to learn to play nice if you're going to do this together."
"We'll be fine."
"Seven's more than capable of piloting our orbit, if you want my boots on the ground."
"Negative." Chakotay knocked the hand waving the regenerator over his cheek aside. "I don't know exactly what we're beaming into. If we get into trouble, her presence might come in handy." He touched his swollen eye and winced. "Some of the guards might think twice before charging a Borg. Besides, the transporter is designed to take only two at a time. B'Elanna may have to work a little hasty magic if things get sticky on the surface, and I want you the ready to make the jump to Warp right away. Did Tuvok and Harry get the Doc to the Jupiter Station?"
"They're setting up the makeshift O.R. there right now." Tom put the regenerator back in the Med Kit and placed the case on the Multipurpose Lounge table. "Don't worry, Boss, we'll get the admiral back. Everything's gonna be A-OK."
"I'd feel a whole lot better if we could wait until we have word from th'G'Phov. He was adamant as to how this all should go down. ch'Raioth managed to get to Johnson on Earth all the way from Andor(ia). I don't want to take any unnecessary risks."
"The Envoy lifted off over a week ago. A Federation vessel sanctioned to travel at high warp. We're not taking a huge gamble."
Chakotay wasn't convinced.
"Look, if our positions reversed, if this were B'Elanna and Miral, I might second guess moving this soon, too, but it's our best chance. We don't know how long the ambassador's mission will last, more than a few weeks, and he is bound to send for her." Tom settled himself at the table, italicizing the reason they were there. "She's entered her second trimester, Chakotay. The EMH has to remove those fetal graftings before the baby develops in the third, or ch'Raioth's DNA will take root and alter your kid's genetic structure permanently. The sooner the Doc performs the surgery, the better."
Chakotay reiterated the Doctor's warning, "The longer we wait, the more difficult the reversal becomes." If the baby developed a telepathic connection to ch'Raioth in-utero, there would be no way to separate them until after the birth. Mother and child would require the ambassador's psychic support to survive. Chakotay threw back his head and grimaced at the ceiling. He was going to throttle Kathryn, once he had her back, erase the EMH's program and make her watch him do it, for good measure.
Tom accurately read his expression, "Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Muddle things up in your head. You said it, yourself, in the Doctor's office. This isn't about assigning blame."
"That's enough, Lieutenant." The older man's salty mien portended ruination.
The pilot softened his approach. More or less. "With all due respect, Sir, you'd already done the job when he started this. What was she supposed to do? He threatened her using all of us. He's backed up those threats by killing people. He'll kill her, too, and the baby, when he discovers, she isn't carrying an accelerated clone."
"Stop telling me things I already know, Paris. It isn't helping."
It was a lie, of course. It was helping. Tom was only talking sense, but Chakotay's nerves were still a-jangle, had been so, ever since the meeting at SMC. He couldn't seem move away from feeling bubble-headed: bouncing between an unnatural impotency and an ever-growing anxiety. ch'Raioth was incredibly connected. Much more, than anyone in their group had realized. Admiral Paris recently expressed new concerns. Stating that, even if tensions within the Double Planet were to disappear tomorrow, and even with the new evidence they had which proved the ambassador's ghoulish activities, a Federation trial, was "Going to be a hard sell and a long way off at best."
Removing Kathryn from Andor(ia) as soon as possible and establishing paternity was the most efficient way to protect everyone from harm. As long as they observed the formalities to the letter (i.e. meeting off-world in private with select members of the Andorian Council), before going public, ch'Raioth could be not only forced legally —but pressed politically into leaving Kathryn immediately alone. The rest would eventually follow in time. At least that's what they all hoped.
Tom continued with the pep talk, "Get her off the planet and you've got this in the bag." He tapped the tabletop determinately for emphasis. "The conception date is prior to the marriage. That's your weapon, Chief. You get your woman legally when she renounces her relationship with Snail-head, and you stake a prior claim. Chakotay's eyes met with the back o f his head. Tom made a face. "What? Don't you like my terminology? Undoubtedly, my wife has told you; I'm little more than swine."
"I don't take issue with your boorish tendencies, Paris. You just don't get to call me that."
"Huh? Call you what? Oh. Chief?" The pilot smirked, beatifically, and set up for the zinger.
"Why the hell not?"
The tabletop sputtered impertinently, chirping discourteously as Chakotay deadpanned, "You're not Indian." He whapped communications with the Cockpit open with a planate palm." Go ahead."
B'Elanna's voice catapulted up, out of an invisible speaker, into the air, "Aft-to bow, gentleman. On the double. We've got a problem."
Parallel Lines: Part 12, Pressure Drop