Because this is late, it's longer. Enjoy!
Crossposted to AO3
Chapter 3: Expanding Parameters
Present Day: Voyager
"Commander!"
All eyes turned to the rigid form of captain Janeway storming off the turbolift on a horse as high as Troy's. Blurring across the bridge in the direction of the two centre chairs, she past the other bridge officers without so much as a word or glance, before barking:
"What the hell do you think you're playing at?"
Oh, this ought to be good, Tom mused.
He let out a low whistle, half turning in his seat, as he good humouredly chanced a glance in their direction. This had to be some sort of joke, right?
"Not another word, mister Paris," Janeway whirled on him. "Or I'll have you join lieutenant Vorik on deck three, scrubbing plasma conduits for the rest of the afternoon. He sure as hell could use the company."
A stunned silence shot across the bridge, multiple eyebrows rose, eyes widened as tensions tripled.
"Aye, captain," Tom said, snapping back into motion, sensibly swallowing back the snarky reply that danced on his tongue the moment the captain's expression registered fully.
Fury.
There was no other word for it. War shone in her depths, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be a victim of that specific type of wrath. No, sir. Whatever the commander had done, it must have been affrontingly horrendous for the captain to disregard any of the proper boundaries provided by command. For as far back as Tom could remember, she'd never turned on an officer quite like this before, not in front of the entire bridge crew, and certainly not the commander himself.
The commander looked rather taken aback by the sudden peaceful interruption of his PADD perusal. Whatever the case may be, Tom could tell Chakotay had not thought the situation warranted a calling out on this scale.
"Maybe we should continue this somewhere private," he calmly stated, placing the PADD on the console in between the two command chairs.
"The hell are you doing confining my chief engineer to quarters?" she boomed.
Tom's eyes widened.
He'd done what now?
Chakotay sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I see we're really going to do this here," he rose, hovering slightly above her at an intimidating proximity, disregarding any sort of personal space or respect thereof.
To his surprise the captain appeared somewhat fazed, and Tom scrutinized her fumbling. The fingers at her side clenching and unclenching into fists over and over.
Curious.
Maybe he shouldn't have disregarded Neelix's far fetched theories and overactive imagination as quickly as he'd done. Maybe there really was something to it after all.
"Ready room," the captain finally acquiesced.
Tom's eyes followed them in the direction of the captain's personal workroom, everyone's focus on their retreating forms. As soon as the doors had steadily opened and closed behind them, Tom chanced a glance in the direction of Voyager's chief security officer at tactical. Their eyes met and held for a couple of seconds, but the Vulcan merely coaxed an eyebrow before stoically turning his attention back to his workstation.
=/\=
She turned on him the second the doors to her ready room had closed shut, her expression a flurry of frustration and doubt all at once. He'd never quite known her to give into rage and pressure that easily. It surprised him, as it had surprised the rest of the bridge crew. Calling him out like that in front of everybody, damned embarrassing. So much for professionalism then.
"Well?" she thundered.
He apathetically brushed past her and lowered himself onto her couch with a sigh, putting enough space between them to gather his wits before tackling the truth. How the hell could he broach this topic without crossing any of those damned parameters? The woman had rules and regulations coming out of every orifice nowadays. No matter which way he turned, there was always too much of him or too much of her spilling out over the rims and onto the ship.
On the other hand, why shouldn't he watch the whole goddamn thing crash and burn to the ground? What did he have to lose? It hadn't been his words, anyway.
"If you must know," he began, doing his best to keep the anger from his voice. "B'Elanna suggested, rather observantly, that the captain should resume pleasing her first officer," he paused and swallowed. "As she assumes, and I presume the rest of the crew along with her, that ending that endeavour is what has gotten her commanding officer so tightly wound up lately."
He watched the colour drain from her face as the paraphrased words revealed, what he could only assume, were his captain's worst fears. He inwardly snorted. In some ways seeing her in this state gave him a wicked sense of fulfilment, the only type of power he still wielded, and could expose whenever he felt especially wrathful. How tragic. How disastrously fast it had all turned to shit. And how very bitter he'd become.
She remained rooted to the spot, her eyes fixed on a point beyond his shoulders out the viewport.
"Would you have preferred I'd informed her she was onto something?" he asked, more of a rhetorical rather than an actual question.
She slowly turned to him; the heat rising in her face
"Leave!"
He snorted, shook his head, and rose.
It did affect him. Much more than he led on. When they'd first returned to Voyager he had hoped that all she needed to come around was time. But the more time he had given her, the more she'd withdrawn. The guarded person that was now ordering him to leave, was not the person he had come to know in months prior. Her defences had become impenetrable, the ice in her eyes and features had grown thicker and colder. What's more, they hadn't even truly exchanged one word outside of the captain/commander structures of command since they'd gotten back, and it had been well over a month now.
He briefly halted in front of her, hesitation on his lips, before he questioned:
"What happened to us, Kathryn?"
Her expression briefly twitched at the sound of her name, but it hardly made a dent in her armour.
"Leave," she reiterated coldly.
He sighed, clenched his teeth, his hands balling into fists at his sides.
"I'd hoped that at the very least we could have remained friends," he tried once more.
She continued to stare him down with the same icy glare that ultimately propelled him forward. Once more, overcome by rejection he dragged himself back to the surface, and away from her.
The doors slid open, and on a disappointed exhalation he stepped out onto the bridge.
=/\=
New Earth: One week prior to Voyager's return
"Ice cream."
"Really?"
"I never quite liked the replicator variant."
"You ever try–"
"Giovanni's ice cream on the corner of 64 &117th?" she cut in. "Oh, yes."
He smirked, circling a lazy finger around her nipple in response. Satisfaction rippled through him as he watched the bud promptly tighten where his touch didn't quite graze the tip.
"The best ice cream in all of Little Italy," he whispered hot in her ear.
She chuckled, and pulled his hand away from her breast, twining her fingers with his instead.
"This is nice," she said, her voice husky.
He nodded against the side of her head, hypnotized by the flames as they danced across their skin.
They'd settled under the tree next to the campfire hours ago. Still clothed then, they'd taken their sweet time emptying a bottle of Saurian brandy while contemplating the setting of the sun in silence.
All the while, he'd studied her with suspicious curiosity over the rim of his glass. She seemed more relaxed, more so than she'd been on any other day since they'd arrived. Her hair completely down, no knots or ties binding her locks together, and her expression appeared void of worries, void of wrinkles, except for the lines that formed around her eyes whenever she smiled. She smiled a lot.
When the sun had completely set and they'd been adequately inebriated, he'd finally reached for her, unwilling to resist the pull any longer than was necessary, especially now that the responsibilities of the day had vanished with the sun behind the horizon.
She eagerly melted into him, clumsily pulling at his sweater the instant his lips claimed hers.
Their lovemaking had been surprisingly tender, much gentler and more deliberate than any of the lust filled highs they'd ridden over the past week, and he sensed she noticed the change as well.
As soon as the last spasms of her orgasm had faded, he'd tipped over the edge with a force that had him collapsing on top of her. Spasm after spasm ripped through him. Surprised at the intensity of the waves, he struggled to keep his arms from giving out. She took it in stride, hugged him close, panting and gasping heavily, sweat mingling, rubbing against slick skin. He pressed a possessive kiss to her lips, drawing a muffled whimper from her throat, not quite ready to withdraw, yet.
When their breathing had finally levelled out, he'd rolled off of her, brushed a kiss to her forehead, before situating himself behind her. Leaning heavily against the tree for support, she'd settled against his chest willingly and wrapped his arms around her midriff in silent contentment. They'd said nothing for a while, only stared at the flames and the oddly shaped fireflies that had now grown accustomed to the dancing of the firelight.
He didn't quite know when or who broke the silence, but when words began to flow, they had quickly turned playful, and for the first time since he'd come to know her, she truly opened up.
"It is nice," he echoed her earlier statement.
She dropped a kiss to his neck and spun around in his embrace, her hands and chin resting on his bare chest, her eyes impishly playful.
"What about you?"
"Leola root stew," he retorted.
She scrunched up her nose.
"I hope you're joking."
"Oh, no," he said, playing with a strand of hair that had fallen across her face.
"I actually quite like it."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Why? It tastes of dirt and mildew on a good day."
He laughed.
"Well, where would we be without it?" he responded, matter-of-factly.
She pensively turned her head, resting her cheek on her hands while he continued to brush his fingers through her hair. They wouldn't be in the Delta Quadrant, that's where. The thought saddened him, and he felt the air around them grow thick, suspecting she realized the same. He half regretted veering the conversation in such a dark direction.
"I would have thrown you in the brig," she said after a minute or so. "Handed you over to Starfleet."
He nodded in the dark.
"I know."
"I wouldn't have given it a second thought," she admitted.
"You trying to make me feel better?" he countered.
"I'd be married by now," she continued.
He halted his administrations as the candour with which she'd revealed the obvious, hit him where it hurt the most. Even if that were true, he wouldn't have known better, nor, would he have liked or cared for her. Handing him over to Starfleet, marrying her fiancée, it wouldn't have meant anything to her, all in a day's job, and he doubted he would have been aware of the latter. She'd have only played a minor role in his life, and he wouldn't have given it a second moment's thought either. It wouldn't have mattered.
He lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to look at him.
Things hadn't exactly played out that way.
"I'm in love with you," he bluntly stated.
Her eyes widened and he watched how they instantly clouded over. Doubt. Panic. Conflict sprung from their depths.
"I–I," she stuttered, sliding from his lap to sit up straighter.
He rose with her, pressing a finger to her lips before she could say anything he wasn't ready to hear, nor she ready to say.
"I know," he assured. "I know. You haven't figured it out, yet," he shook his head. "It's alright."
He pulled her to him, resting his forehead to hers, and to his relieve she relaxed into him.
"I just needed you to know," he whispered. "I needed you to hear."
=/\=
Present day: Voyager
"Come."
"What the–" Chakotay cried, as he nearly tripped over a broken piece of what looked like part of a chair, entering B'Elanna's quarters.
Tiptoeing away from the threshold, he noted how beyond his immediate vicinity, most of the furniture lay on its side, had been thrown across or hurled through the room in what he surmised had been done with wrathful scorn. Personal items, photos, and trinkets lay shattered across the floor, some broken, others merely scratched, not wholly irreparable. Jesus, B, he thought. What the hell had gotten into her? He hadn't seen her lose her temper like this in a long time.
"Come to gloat?" she said.
He turned and caught sight of a forlorn figure on the far end corner of the couch, legs pulled into her chest, shrouded in darkness.
"Computer brightness at 90%," he ordered.
B'Elanna blinked rapidly as the sudden sharp light shot across her retinas, scorching her eyes. God knows how long she'd been seated in the half dark, sulking, contemplating her bad tempered choices.
"I like what you've done with the place," he started off lightly.
"Fuck off, Chakotay."
Okay, then.
Too soon.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."
He stepped closer and carefully - although he didn't quite know why he was even still trying at this point - pushed the bent out of shape Bat'leth from the shredded armchair onto the floor, taking a seat on the battered cushions. He studied her for a moment, noting how incredibly beat she looked. She avoided his eyes, but even a blind man could tell that she probably felt similar to what her quarters looked like.
"I figured we should talk," he broke the tension. After all, that's why he'd come.
She turned to him, waiting, but refrained from saying anything.
Very well, he would bite the bullet then.
"I regret what happened in the mess hall yesterday, but you really left me no choice, B," he began. "I'd've done the same to Harry in your place."
She continued to stare, pulling her legs tighter to her chest in response.
"You defied and insulted me in front of the crew without provocation," he stated, conveying it as a stone cold fact, but rubbing a hand over his face in demonstrative defeat nonetheless, "Even so," his voice cracked. "even if it had been provoked, you should have known better! Hell, I know, you know better!"
She snorted.
"What's gotten into you?"
Her eyes flashed with anger.
"What's gotten into me?!" she boomed. "What's gotten into you? Or the captain for that matter! You two have been hell to tolerate, lately. I've been bending myself over backwards, working double shifts, while there's exactly zero to do, Chakotay. But for some reason, which I've yet to figure out, I find myself torn from bed at odd hours, send to do the most trivial of things. And I do them," she bit out, the bitterness rising in her eyes.
"Because you know what happens if I don't?"
She paused, searching his eyes for answers he clearly didn't have.
"No? I'll tell you what happens. She'll have her first officer breathe down my neck come morning." B'Elanna rose from the couch, and started pacing up and down the floor. Words that had been lodged inside her head for the past couple of weeks now flowing freely.
"Nothing is ever good enough, anymore," she rattled on. "Which is odd, since engineering has been running at peak efficiency for the better part of two weeks, and on top of that, the damn plasma conduits have never been cleaner. Hell," she threw her hands up in mock astonishment. "I doubt they were as clean the day this ship departed from Deep Space 9 two years ago!" her pacing continued.
"But for some reason," she halted, "For some reason the two of you are blind to your own damaging behaviour. Do you even see it?" she whirled on him, "Are you aware of the power struggle? How you two have been systematically deciding which crew member - Starfleet or Maquis - has been slacking off the most on a given day?!" she hovered over him now, pointing an accusatory finger to his chest, before dropping to the couch, defeated.
He stared, mentally fumbling for words, while all his mind could really come up with was: is that so? But then, in his heart he knew she was right,he felt the truth of it drop heavily into his stomach.
"I'm exhausted," she continued. "And don't get me wrong," the anger visibly draining out of her now. "I can take a tough love approach; I was brought up on nothing but tough love. But this, this isn't just tough anymore, you know? Both of you are pushing the entire crew to its limits, and you're not even aware of it, are you?"
He frowned.
B'Elanna could be horridly frank if she wanted to be, observant as hell, but no less tactless with words. But she wasn't wrong. It was true. He hadn't seen it, had only been mildly aware of his less than exemplary behaviour, and he hadn't considered it from the crew's point of view at all, hadn't wondered if it had any effect on them whatsoever. It was wrong. It was worrisome.
"What you're really saying is that neither I nor the captain are currently fit for duty," he finally stated, buying himself a couple of seconds as she mulled over his suggestion.
"Well," she conceded. "What if I am?"
"I'd say you might be onto something."
Her jaw dropped open, and he couldn't help but smile a little at the blatant show of astonishment. It surprised him too. But then again, if what B'Elanna had just revealed about the crew's collective state of mind was indeed true, then both the captain and her commander had been compromised in a manner that was now bleeding straight into the foundation of what had made their crews work so well in the first place. If, the arguably most pig headed woman on this ship was now buckling under the pressures of her commanding officer's orders, then maybe, yes, they really should be taking a good hard look at themselves.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that the captain and I aren't functioning at peak efficiency at the moment."
As the meaning of the words dawned onto her, the soft silence that followed quietly sucked away all of the remaining anger still attached to her features.
She looked away, her fingers contemplatively started to pull at a place where a hole had emerged through the fabric of her couch. She really had done quite the number on her quarters. It was going to take months to replace everything.
"It's because we dragged you off that damned rock, isn't it?" she asked, more of a statement than an actual question. She probably suspected, knew more than she'd led on, and even if she didn't, it wouldn't have been such a leap.
He nodded.
"She break it off, or you did?"
He scowled and shifted uncomfortably.
"I guess, she, then," B'Elanna answered.
"I didn't think it was that obvious."
"People talk," she admitted and shrugged. "Although, I didn't believe any of it until you relieved me off duty and confined me to quarters," she snorted. "Didn't think there was any truth to my off hand comment, it honestly was a negligible after thought at best."
"Negligible?" he shot back.
"I was angry!"
"I'd hardly call a remark about oral sex negligible," his voice rose again. "No matter what state you find yourself in!"
She rolled her eyes.
"I never said your reaction wasn't warranted," she countered. "I'm only saying that it made it crystal clear."
"Enlighten me."
"Okay," she began. "The Chakotay I know, would have gotten angry, yes. But, the Chakotay I saw, bled shame first. Frankly, for as long as I've known you shame has never been part of the package, not for you, and certainly not when it comes to matters of the heart," she paused. "Or your dick," she added. He gave her a sharp look, and she quickly amended: "that last bit was off the record."
"Point taken."
He caught her eyes, the anger completely gone now that she'd spoken her fill.
"So," she said. "What happens now?"
He reached behind him, pulling a PADD into sight from seemingly nowhere, and handed it to her.
"You've been reinstated effective immediately."
She gawked.
"You could have led with that!"
"Now where would have been the fun in that?" he smirked.
"Asshole."
"Careful," he narrowed his eyes at her. "I've just been informed by my chief engineer, of all people, that I'm not in my right mind at the moment. Don't tempt me into revoking your holodeck privileges."
"You wouldn't!"
"Watch me," he warned, and got up to leave.
"Chakotay," she called back.
"Hmm?" he half turned.
"You shouldn't allow her to order you around like this," B'Elanna said seriously. "It's damn near impossible to put the genie back in the bottle once it's been released," she continued. "Trust me, I've tried."
He raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
She snorted and resumed pulling at the foam that made up her couch.
"I was just a stupid teenager, but that's not the point," bits of foam sprung from her fingers, and he found it somewhat amusing that even with her anger in check, she still felt the urge to destroy whatever she got her hands on. Ironic, too.
"You need to make her understand that the only way forward isn't backwards. There's no coming back from this," she wisely stated. "If that makes any sense," she finished, casually flinging more foam across the room.
"It does."
"Good," she beamed. "Because I swear to God, Chakotay. If she drags me out of bed in the middle of the night one more time, I'll personally drop you off at her quarters myself."
He laughed, an actual genuine laugh, as he imagined a furious B'Elanna dragging him across decks crammed with onlookers in the middle of the night.
"Noted," he nodded. "Oh, and B?"
"Yeah?" she looked up.
"Stop destroying that couch," he said, "That's an order."
"Oh, shut up," she threw back, almost affectionately.
He smiled.
"Briefing at 0800," he called over his shoulder.
