Chapter Four
Jonathan Durant was not a sentimental man. He'd always believed that his best days were ahead of him, and chose to look forward towards those days rather than reflect on what had already transpired. He seldom thought about how he had reached his current position, or his current state of mind, but today he was thinking of a Cardassian he saw over twenty years earlier. The Cardassian had been young and vicious. His weapon was hopelessly out of reach, and his leg was twisted at an unnatural angle. This Cardassian, helpless and alone, flailing on the ground like an animal, snarled and screamed invectives as though he were the one pointing the phaser rifle at the Starfleet officers, and not an injured fool encircled by enemies.
Durant was a Commander then, twenty-nine years old, ambitious. His officers were hardened by months of bloodshed, sick at heart and angry. They pounced on the injured Cardassian like a pack of starving wolves, releasing their pent up rage on the safest outlet. Durant said nothing. He watched them butcher the Cardassian, and relished it on some level, but when one of the officers noticed his interest and cleared way for Durant to deliver a blow of his own, he held back. He'd never had a taste for delivering violence to another person. Not by his own hands.
He remembered those months after he met Kathryn Janeway, after Voyager had returned home from the Delta Quadrant. He met her two days after Voyager arrived. He'd seen holovids of her, and he thought her a mildly attractive woman, but it was a different matter in person. She was radiant, triumphant, alive, and absolutely stunning. Her eyes danced as she spoke with him, and her voice was mesmerizing. He couldn't tear his eyes from her. It satisfied him to learn that she was the rare person with the presence to match her epic achievement. He read Voyager's mission logs, saw the actions that might burn her name in glory across the history books, and the actions that might bring her down in flames. But he was not cowed. He could steer her clear of notoriety. He could be her guide, and in return, he could share in her glory. This ambitious, 47-year-old Admiral saw in her his future.
As the initial honeymoon between Voyager and the Alpha Quadrant died down, fierce debate began within Starfleet's elite circles over Janeway's more questionable actions. Durant took up the fight on her behalf. Always a charismatic, persuasive man, he managed to sway the Federation ethics committee in her favor. He convinced Admirals, old timers who revered the Temporal Prime Directive, friends of the late Captain Rudy Ransom, to back down from their desire to ship her straight to prison. He charmed the media into romanticizing her in their press reels. He secured pardons for the Maquis. In turn, he received Janeway's gratitude, and her friendship.
She couldn't comprehend why he was going to such lengths for her, but she was immensely grateful to him for it. He watched as her gratitude overrode her natural skepticism and lowered the guard to her emotions. She thought him a human being unparallel in his compassion and good nature, and he indulged her beliefs, used them to make entry into her affections.
They spent long nights over coffee, talking about life, love, their dreams for the future. She engaged him, she challenged him, and he even began to fancy himself in love with her. He enthusiastically elucidated his beliefs, his political ambitions. He began to trust her even with his private vision for the future. He told her of the society he envisioned-- a United Federation of Planets where the government comprised of appointed Starfleet Admirals. Starfleet Officers would hold the vote for President. The presidency would be a strong central figure to keep the fleet in line and control the chaotic elements of the Federation. He informed her that popular control of government by ignorant civilians had led to the chaos of recent years, because only veteran fighters could truly comprehend the consequences of their actions. He believed Federation society, devastated by the Dominion War and dissention within, was ready now for a change.
She laughed at him.
"You're practically proposing a military dictatorship, John. It will never happen," she said off-handedly, lifting her coffee mug casually up to her lips. He started to defend his assertions, trying to sway her opinion, but the smirk never left her. He realized then that she wasn't taking him seriously. He watched her with mounting dismay as she brushed off his vision as though it were mere coffee talk, his ambitions as though he were a typical university intellectual-- out of touch with reality. He saw she didn't care about or believe in his aspirations. After all he'd done for her, she didn't care.
He was further galvanized when he found out from Nechayev that Admiral Paris was warning Janeway away from him, expressing his 'unease' with regards to Durant. Durant had never liked Paris, nor Paris Durant, and he resented that Janeway seemed have a new barrier of caution towards him after Paris's words. It had not been Paris who saved her crew from a prison term; it had not been Paris who had swayed those tense council votes; it had not been Paris who elevated her into legendary status. Who the hell was she to listen to Paris over him? She owed Paris nothing. She owed him everything.
But his anger always subsided, and he continued to admire the idea of Kathryn Janeway, the possibilities she opened for him, if not the actual woman herself. They'd known each other three months when he kissed her.
She froze for a moment, her lips cold and lifeless against his, then jerked back. He opened his eyes to see her gazing at him with dismay.
"I'm sorry, John... I care about you very much, but not in that way."
He was not a violent man. He could have raped her. They were alone in his house. No one could have heard her scream. He held her eyes for a long moment and toyed with the thought.
Then, "I'm sorry for my presumption, Kathryn."
She smiled. At the pity in her eyes, he felt a sudden surge of hatred. He could imagine the power she thought she had in her ability to spurn him. She didn't realize that her dignity was intact only at his grace, her power accorded her only at his mercy, her strength at his indulgence. He calmed her unease, but there was malice behind his smiles, because she would advance him in society, willing or no.
He had a vague acquaintance with Empek, the agent from the Orion Syndicate who had approached him with an offer of friendship upon his promotion to the Admiralty. He hadn't rejected the offer outright, but he hadn't accepted it, either, knowing the price the Syndicate's friendship carried if he did not satisfy their expectations. He was inclined now to rethink the offer. He wished her a good night as the future clarified before him.
Empek was within his service two days later, and within the week Janeway's mother and sister met with unfortunate, grisly accidents five sectors away from each other, exactly one hour apart. When she'd had just enough time to learn of the deaths, Empek burst in on her and hauled her, distraught and shaken, to Durant's residence. Empek held her kneeling in front of Durant while he lay down the law, letting her know her place, giving her a taste of his power. He didn't have to claim responsibility for her family; she put two and two together and flew into a mindless rage. She tried to get at him, flailing wildly against Empek's grip, cursing him, screaming with rage and despair. She finally weakened in her struggles, and overcome with tears, she sobbed, "I'll kill you. You'll pay for this, I swear."
"You could kill me, Kathryn. I'm sure you're perfectly capable of that. You could even report me to the authorities," Durant told her mildly. "However, my colleagues at the Orion Syndicate wouldn't take it very well. Isn't that right, Empek?"
Her eyes shot up to meet his, and she was suddenly stiff in Empek's grasp. He'd caught her attention. Everyone knew to stay clear of the Orion Syndicate, the crime organization with tentacles in every government and organization of modern society.
"We would not be happy," Empek confirmed in a voice that betrayed no emotion, and no loss of breath from his struggles with her. "It could be very unfortunate for you if Admiral Durant were exposed. It could be unfortunate for your friends."
For her friends. Empek must have found the magic words, because her bravado suddenly crumbled. "They have nothing to do with this. Please. Leave them alone," she pleaded urgently.
Durant felt a flash of pity at the uncharacteristic entreaty, but Empek was admirably unyielding. He continued to pinion her arms at that unnatural angle, holding her on her knees, staring unblinkingly down at her with dark, impassive eyes.
"Your friends are safe as long as Admiral Durant has your full cooperation."
She must have stopped struggling, because Empek abruptly released his grip and pushed her back into a chair. She made no attempt to move. Her face was pale, her entire facade of strength dashed on the rocks. Her eyes glazed over, as though she comprehended the gravity of her new situation for the first time.
After a long silence, she asked in a tired, resigned voice, "Why are you doing this, John? I was gone for seven years... I just wanted peace. I just wanted to be with my family--" her voice caught, and he could see raw pain in her eyes.
"You owe me," he reminded her firmly, unmoved. "After all I've done to help you, you can't justify denying me a small favor."
Her voice was quiet. "I never asked you to help me."
"It's just a small favor, Kathryn. It always was."
And at the time, it was a small favor. There was no thought of marriage or pregnancy yet. He merely wanted her to appear in public with him, feign affection, get his name in the media spotlight. He'd realized two days earlier that she wouldn't ever feel genuine affection for him or true political zeal for his cause, so he took the route of coercion. He'd swayed Starfleet behind the scenes for years, and he would not pass up this opportunity to emerge into the light of day.
Durant noticed a purple and yellow bruise forming around her eye, perhaps from her initial struggle with Empek. His gaze darted up to meet Empek's cold scrutiny, and he felt a fleeting remorse. But then he reminded himself of his generosity to her; his charm was the only reason she enjoyed her current freedom. People reverently whispered her name because he'd orchestrated her portrayal as a hero. And he'd be damned if the ungrateful bitch was going to escape him now.
I made you, I can break you, he told her silently.
He reached out to run his finger along the bruise. She flinched, but she knew better than to pull away.
* * *
They passed the next few weeks in strained civility. She complied with his requests, hanging onto his arm in public, smiling at the photo ops, but it was all half-hearted. Even with her customary captain's mask, she projected utter misery. The Starfleet brass wrote it off as understandable grief at the recent tragedies. The media only cared about her blooming relationship with the handsome Admiral Durant. Durant got his name in the news. He was satisfied with the course of their partnership thus far.
He secured a promotion for her and offered it to her as a consolation prize. She eyed the extra pips disdainfully, unmoved by his gesture. She might even have refused his offer if he hadn't urged her pointedly to accept. She accepted the promotion, and was the most sullen person ever promoted at an Admiral's ceremony.
A month went by during their initial arrangement, and the day came when Empek told him, "She's plotting something."
Durant drew in a breath. "Are you sure?"
Empek returned his gaze coldly. "If she's not plotting now, she will be soon. She's getting a feel for the other officers in Starfleet Command, trying to figure out a way to seek their help without alerting you." He let Durant digest the implication, and then added, "It was a mistake to send her back to active service. You should have forced her to resign."
Durant scowled. "I need the influence, another vote on the committees." He looked at Empek carefully, and asked again, "Are you absolutely sure about this?"
"I've observed her. I've read the logs of her officers. I know how her mind works," Empek noted. "She does not fear you... a woman who traveled across the galaxy on a path paved with blood. Violence alone won't cow her. She was staggered by the initial strike, but once her shock wears off, she'll undo you if you don't set about systematically limiting her."
"So what do you suggest I do?" Durant asked carefully.
"Tighten your grip," Empek said. "She can't plot if she remains off balance and powerless. Restrict her to your residence or your company. She spends many hours of the day at liberty in her home, or out on her own business. You can no longer afford to give her that freedom."
* * *
When Janeway returned to her apartment that evening from Starfleet Command, she found it empty. Her furniture was gone, her replicator removed, her heating unit damaged, her windows smashed. Even her walls had been vandalized. All that remained was a note from Durant telling her she could reacquire her possessions if she took up residence in his house.
When she failed to come, Durant dispatched Empek to check on her. Empek reported to the incredulous Durant that he'd found Janeway sleeping on the barren floor of her empty, freezing apartment. No mattress, no blanket, yet she was utterly obstinate. Durant waited a few days, wondering how long she'd carry on her ridiculous, stubborn charade. After four nights passed, and no concession on Janeway's part, he sent Empek to collect her forcibly.
Empek shuffled her into his residence twenty minutes later. She was composed and uninjured. Apparently when Empek stormed into her apartment, she had raised a hand to halt his advance.
"You don't need to pounce on me. I'm coming." And she had accompanied him with sullen dignity.
Durant was surprised by her unexpected compliance, and it only reinforced just how much he didn't understand about her. He attempted to bribe her again, this time securing her a nomination for a Medal of Honor. After she won, she looked at the priceless accolade with scorn, knowing how meaningless it truly was. She dumped it unceremoniously on Durant's desk, rejecting his offer.
He followed another of Empek's recommendations and began to isolate her. He first damaged her traditional friendship with Owen Paris by arranging a number of social occasions for her with Paris's rival, Admiral Hayden. She was pressured into refusing invitations from her old mentor, shunning conversations. Thanks to Empek, Durant never had to tell her outright to avoid Paris; he simply allowed Empek to punish her on days she was seen interacting with the old Admiral.
The first time Empek beat her, it was without explanation, and it seemed to genuinely catch her off guard. As many years as she'd been in Starfleet, she had truly never found herself beaten brutally to the point of unconsciousness, and for seemingly no reason. As she was being treated, she related the incident to Durant, hoping for some measure of protection from his lackey. She didn't seem to realize until the next beating that Durant was fully cognizant of the situation. She quickly figured out that the beatings corresponded with her interaction with Admiral Paris, and though she seemed tempted to speak with Paris out of pure spite, her instinct for self-preservation was stronger. She began to avoid Paris as best she could, and when her old mentor happened to catch her by surprise, the fear and dread of what would await her that night choked her words and stifled her old affection. Better yet, Janeway even began to resent the oblivious Paris for continually seeking her out and bringing the terrible price upon her. She believed Empek had eyes everywhere, and she was correct. Empek related her eroding composure to Durant, who heard it with a certain relish. She was finally falling into line.
It was easy after that to decide whom she would befriend and whom she would avoid. Empek combed through her personal logs for information about her crew, to weed out the acceptable from the unacceptable. He reported to Durant that there were many gaping holes and clearly doctored entries, undoubtedly Janeway's attempt to retain some measure of privacy. Durant admired her for her cunning while simultaneously ordering her beaten for her presumption. She feigned innocence well enough, and he let her off the hook after one punishment. She seemed to have no inclination for her former crew's company anyway, whether out of indifference or fear that she'd invite harm to them.
Durant, meanwhile, grew in stature. His became a household name, tied as it was to Kathryn Janeway's. His political aspirations, long ignored, were suddenly relevant and actively supported. He was a hero by association. He rode on the wave of good publicity, and his charisma carried him the rest of the way. Soon, as many eyes were on him as were on his wife. Whispers began to emerge about his potential candidacy for President of the Federation, and the response was overwhelmingly positive.
The partnership had gone so well that decided that he was going to marry Janeway. She steadfastly refused, threatened that he was crossing the line, and she wouldn't tolerate it. Even after Empek tormented her off and on for a week, she wouldn't concede the issue. Durant didn't need Empek's powers of perception to recognize the fear behind her threats, and he played on her main weakness-- her affection for her former crew. As soon as their lives were threatened, her protests ceased.
She softened in the weeks before Voyager's one year reunion; she even grew fairly amiable. Durant assumed that she was attempting to make the best of her situation, and when she offered him a glass of champagne on the afternoon of the reunion, he accepted it without a second thought.
"To new beginnings," she said, raising her glass.
"New beginnings," Durant smiled and clinked his glass with hers, pondering the implications of her toast. Their brief moments of civility were always welcome, and as he drank from his glass, he didn't notice her eyeing him carefully.
When he started feeling nauseous an hour later, he didn't immediately connect it with the impromptu toast. As the nausea grew infinitely worse, Janeway dabbed at the sweat on his forehead with a wash cloth.
"Oh no," she said, disappointment coloring her voice. "I guess we're going to have to skip the reunion."
Durant was astute enough to see the scandal it would provoke if Voyager's captain skipped the one year reunion of Voyager's return, and he told her, "You should go. Just summon Doctor Tondra. She'll take care of this stomach flu, or whatever it is, and maybe I can catch up to you there."
"Don't push yourself too hard," she said with a sweet smile.
She left his side reluctantly, and by the time Doctor Tondra arrived, she was gone. The lean, graceful doctor scanned him, and her expression darkened.
"Here," she said softly, and she gave him an injection which instantly cleared up his nausea.
"Jesus, it's gone," he murmured, amazed. "What was that?"
Her dark eyes flickered to his, a flash of concern in them. "It neutralized the poison in your bloodstream."
He was stunned. "Poison?"
"Nothing lethal," Tondra said, snapping closed the tricorder. "A concentrated dose of ipecac, and a cocktail of other nausea-inducing agents. I don't suppose you know how you ingested it?"
Champagne. Janeway. He thought of it with mounting rage. "That goddamn bitch," he breathed. She'd manipulated him. She'd lulled him into trusting her, and then poisoned him long enough to make her escape. What was she plotting? He couldn't figure out what she hoped to gain.
He summoned Empek and then charged to the transporter mat like a man possessed. By the time he reached the grounds, Janeway had already left the reception. The crewmembers weren't certain where she'd gone, or if she'd left with anyone. Durant and Empek spent the night hunched over Starfleet Command sensors, combing the planet for her. Empek used every resource, every connection available, but she seemed to have vanished. She hadn't left the planet, and she hadn't checked herself into any hotels. No prominent night establishments had received her business.
The next day Durant walked into headquarters to see her already at work, looking composed and busy. He approached her menacingly, and she looked up with an expressionless face to meet his rage.
"You're going to have a lot to answer for tonight," he growled softly, aware of the people nearby. Her expression flickered, but she betrayed no emotion. "What the hell were you thinking?"
"I was accepting fate," she replied vaguely. Then, tartly, she added, "That is what you wanted, wasn't it?"
No matter how much he pressed, cajoled, or tormented her, she never revealed what happened the night of that reunion.
Sometimes, like this very moment, as he watched her gaze out the shuttle window during the approach to Deep Space Seven, she'd get an expression on her face that he could not decipher. He believed he'd seen the full range of her emotions, from the shades of affection and gratitude of their early friendship, to the hatred and betrayal of the present. Yet he never could read her face in those rare moments when she seemed to ponder something outside his knowledge. A part of him suspected it had to do with that lost night. Sometimes he wished he had it in him to beat the answer out of her with his own hands. He often came close.
But in the end, he resigned
himself to the fact that he'd probably never know.
