I was a little ill last week, soooo sorry for this being late once again. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!
I feel a little disclaimer is in order for this chapter. In the first part of this chapter there's a bit that borders on non-consensual sex. Anyone who is sensitive to this sort of content would be well advised to skip the first part of the chapter and move onto the second part.
Chapter 4: Reestablishing Parameters
New Earth: 30 hours prior to Voyager's return
"This is Tuvok calling Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay. Please respond."
Confusion hit him first, like a splash of cold water lashing every single nerve ending into motion.
She reached for the combadge, turned trinket on top of the dusty closet. No longer. Faithfully fulfilling its single most important purpose once more as Kathryn opened a channel.
"This is Janeway,"
"Captain, it's good to hear your voice," Tuvok's heavy vocals bounced off the walls. "We have news."
"What is it?"
"We have medicine which we believe will effectively treat your condition. We plan to be in orbit within thirty hours."
The connection broke off abruptly. Short and to the point. True to his Vulcan nature. Tuvok never relayed anything more than was strictly necessary.
Kathryn turned to Chakotay, astonishment written all across her features as she still appeared to be processing what had just transpired.
Voyager was coming for them; they had found a cure; they'd be back with their people in no less than thirty hours, and he was relieved. Of course, he was, but then…
"This is good," she forced a smile, dully reaching for the cloth on the table, meticulously wiping her hands clean while contemplatively staring ahead.
He nodded.
But then why didn't it feel better?
She slowly lowered herself into a chair, his mind blank but for one word: surreal. They'd spent the past couple of days in blissful tranquillity, gardening and building, turning this house into a home, the woods into their sanctuary, when out of nowhere familiar voices suddenly yanked them from their peaceful present and maliciously forced them back into an uncertain future filled with "what ifs". He was shattered. He was grateful. Happy. Furious.
"We'll need to start packing," she said, her voice hollow. Her shoulders slumped, and her stance defeated.
A cold fear gripped his heart. This wasn't right. She didn't sound right.
"Kathryn," he placed a hand on her shoulder, but she reflexively flinched away from his touch.
A crack.
Not a chance.
He knelt down in front of her.
"Look at me."
Her eyes darted to the side, blinking rapidly.
"Look at me!" he demanded more forcibly, his hands coming up to her face.
"Don't," she snapped.
He pulled away.
And it really shouldn't have come as a surprise. He'd always known that Kathryn Janeway was capable of pulling a one-eighty in the blink of an eye. Even so, it still hurt. He shook his head, and inched backward on one knee. What could he say? What could he do? How could she expect him to just stop? To switch it off and never mention it again? He wasn't made like that.
"Don't do this," he pleaded, helplessly watching her avert her eyes, hiding the tears that were threatening to spill. She squeezed her lids shut in an effort to reel them back in, but it proved futile, the drops freely falling to her cheeks.
"Damnit," he cursed.
To hell with it all.
He pulled her up into his chest, hugging her, refusing to let go even when she struggled and pushed against him.
"Let me go!" she demanded, her body shaking, wrecked with sobs.
"Stop it," he ordered, swallowing down the lump that had formed in his throat. "Please, Kathryn, stop."
She continued to trash against him, but he refused to yield, determined to hold onto her frame for as long as possible while his body strained against the beating of her clenched fists, every blow more painful than the next, her frame violently kicking and twisting for release. Under different circumstances he'd have welcomed her fire, would have hailed her anger, encouraged her wrath. But not now, not in this way. She was fighting against him. Not with him. Not for him.
And he didn't understand, couldn't grasp why every fiber in his being knew that they could make this work, knew that they would still be able to function like an unbreakable unit once back on Voyager, with lives no longer dictated to them by Starfleet regulations. They could, he knew they could. Why couldn't she?
He held her tightly, buried his nose in her crown and pressed his lips to her head, feeling his own resolves fracture under the stress of her struggle.
Enough.
He grabbed both her arms with one hand, and forced her to look up at him.
What stared back at him was eerie; her captain's mask had almost entirely slipped over her face back into place again. She darkly looked up at him; her eyes red, sorely swollen. Almost all of Captain Janeway staring back at him. He cursed her for it. Hated her unwillingness to even try.
They silently regarded each other, a few stray hairs stuck to salty streaks of dried tears. Despite it all, he marvelled at the rapidity with which she'd managed to rein her emotions back in, force them to retreat behind empty soulless eyes, after weeks of freedom. It made his blood boil, his mind scream, and in an act of retaliation he harshly pushed her into the wall behind them, crushed his lips to hers on a gasp, her back painfully crashing into the panels. She fought him, like she had fought his embrace. But when she felt him twist against her inner thigh, she relented.
He tore at her dress, the blue material splitting at the seams, rupturing all the way down to her bellybutton. She tore at his shirt too, the sound of ripping fabric the only thing he could concentrate on until one of her hands boldly reached inside his pants and closed around his growing length. He let out a throaty moan, his fingers coming up to squeeze her breast through her bra. She cried out against his lips. They had never been this rough with each other before, had never been this furious enough.
She crudely pulled him out, pumped him hard, firmly jerking his foreskin back and forth over his cock in a manner that was bound to make him sore for days. He gritted his teeth, his head dipping to her neck where he sucked her skin into his mouth, drawing blood with his teeth, permanently marking her, or at least until she could get her hands on a dermal regenerator.
She cursed out his name the moment his teeth sunk into her neck, and while sharp nails disappeared underneath what was left of his shirt, he made a mental note to destroy each and every dermal regenerator he could get his hands on the moment they got back to Voyager. Let her pay for one with her precious replicator rations, let her live with scars for as long as he'd be forced to live with his.
Her nails drew a trail down his back, breaking skin and drawing blood in kind. And though he'd expected it, he still cried out loudly, slammed her frame into the wall with renewed vigour. She lost her grip on impact. He grinned against her tattered skin, and with one hand swiftly ripped her panties to shreds and thrust his cock inside of her.
She gasped in surprise, choked on a whimper as he slammed in and out of her, not waiting for permission, selfishly claiming pleasure as his right
"No," she wept, unprepared for an intrusion on this scale; wrought to claim her violently, in jest, and with scorn, and would most likely brand her for life before expending her like waste on an afterthought the instant he was done. She feebly struggled against him, pain and fear splicing through her as he rammed into her cervix over and over.
"Chakotay, stop," she choked. "Please," her body quivered and her head fell to his shoulders, the fight completely draining out of her as fresh sobs quaked through her.
"Not like this," she whispered, small, fragile.
Shame flooded his senses as soon as the sound of her voice registered. Jesus. Wincing he pulled out of her, realization wrapping itself around his throat, sucking the breath from his lungs
He hadn't meant it. He had been caught up in anger, riding the wave, utterly blinded by a feverish rage that coursed through his veins like a virus, out of control in a way he hadn't been since he was a young and foolish man, looking for meaningless fights on dark street corners.
"Fuck!" he cried, driving his fist into the wall next to her head.
She flinched.
Tangled with sorrow, he slid to the floor, dragging her with him like a ragdoll.
He gathered her in his arms, choking out words of comfort and regret, rocking her back and forth in his arms; the first waves of guilt crashing over him. "I've got you," he assured. "I've got you."
She wept silently, holding onto him with as much strength as she could muster, and he was grateful. Grateful she let him. Broken, but still willing.
"I'm sorry," she choked. "I'm so sorry."
=/\=
Voyager: Present day
She pinched the bridge of her nose, a headache forming behind her eyes, growing more demanding the longer she tried to ignore it. She squeezed her eyes shut, mentally distracted with only half a mind left to resist the urge to get up and order another cup of coffee.
Spending tedious hours in her ready room wasn't exactly stimulating to the brain, but even mind numbing efficiency reports had to be read, and also, who was she kidding? She leapt at every chance that allotted her to drink more coffee than was technically necessary, or good for her.
The doorbell chimed.
"Come," she absentmindedly spoke, examining a particularly challenging section of numbers and calculations that revealed the current status of the plasma injectors. Invigorating stuff, her thoughts supplied.
The doors swished open and her chief of security stepped inside.
"Captain," Tuvok inclined his head, coming to a halt in front of her desk, arms at his side.
"Mister Tuvok," she reciprocated. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
He raised an eyebrow, and wasting no time he ever so uncharacteristically sat down in the vacant chair in front of her desk, installed more for decorative purposes if anything.
"This must be bad," she teased.
For as long as she'd known the man he'd hardly ever sat down before revealing his intentions.
"Bad is merely a matter of subjectivity," the Vulcan replied, logically. "But I do wish to broach a subject that might, in more human terms, be considered 'sensitive'"," he finished.
"Go on."
"I've come to express a concern."
"Concern?" she narrowed her eyes. "Regarding?"
"I believe that certain officers on this ship might have been seriously compromised," he wasted no time.
A knot formed in her stomach. The last time they'd had a conversation like this it had led to Jonas burning up in a plasma fire in engineering, no thanks to mister Neelix.
"Please don't tell me we've got another Judas on board," or Judases; he had used the plural.
Tuvok frowned.
"No," he simply stated, surprisingly familiar with Earth's biblical metaphors. "I do not believe so."
"Then what are we talking about?"
"We are talking about officers whose actions are starting to border on the radical," he spoke seriously. "Tactical and unprofessional choices have recently been made, and executed impulsively. While performing their duties they have exhibited erratic, uncalculated and irritable behaviour, and certain crewmembers have since disclosed that they themselves have been treated with downright hostility, as well as those who serve directly under them. All of which has led to an outpouring of complaints that I can no longer ignore."
"This sounds very serious," she crossed her arms in front of her chest.
"Indeed," the Vulcan agreed.
"One question," she leaned forward. "Why am I hearing about this from you and not my first officer?"
They both knew very well that Tuvok was not responsible for crew complaints. If it had been a matter of security then his observations and voicing thereof would not have filled her with as much trepidation, but this was something Chakotay should be on top of.
Unless…
She studied his face. Tuvok remained stoic, patiently waiting for the pieces to fall into place.
"This is about Commander Chakotay."
He inclined his head, waiting.
"And me," she finished.
Another nod.
She bit her lower lip, nodding defensively. Erratic? Unprofessional? Those weren't words she'd normally ascribe to.
"And you agree?" she bit out, strained anger bubbling to the surface.
He considered the question carefully, estimating what words best befitted his own objective thoughts.
"I can only attest to what I have witnessed myself," he chose to say.
"And what have you witnessed, Tuvok?" she challenged.
"A friend in pain," he replied.
She swallowed hard, not quite prepared for the jolt of sorrow that shot through her at his honest admission. It wasn't poignant, not laced with command verdicts and comprehensive accusations. It was just Tuvok, piercing through her armour with sound logic and kind understanding.
"What do you suggest I do about these complaints?" she inquired, a friend asking another friend for advice.
He stood, and handed her the PADD he'd been holding.
"Commander Chakotay has just informed me that he wishes to be relieved of duty effective immediately."
"He what?!"
She took the PADD, critically scrutinizing the request.
"He kindly asked me to notify you of this matter, and while regulations dictate otherwise, I could not help but be sympathetic to his situation. I agreed to notify you myself instead," Tuvok clasped his hands behind him, straightening his back. "In all of my years as your friend and colleague, I've come to think of you as a strong and capable officer, a fine captain and a dependable friend. It has only been on rare occasions that I have observed you so overcome with emotion that it infringed upon your abilities to carry out your command duties effectively," he inhaled pensively. "It grieves me to admit, but I do believe that this situation falls into that category."
She slowly rose and stepped around the desk, facing Tuvok with a type of apprehension she'd only ever felt once before. She'd been a young captain on the USS Bonestell, and he'd been quite ruthless with her, criticizing her lack of attention to tactical and security matters, dressing her down as if she was nothing more than a juvenile cadet, had skinned her with the most rational words and soundest logic she'd ever heard put together in a sentence.
"You believe I should step down," more of a statement than a question.
"Only until such time you have come to terms with the emotions that are responsible for your current lack of focus and impaired judgement."
She looked away.
"These are some heavy accusations, Tuvok," she said. "What if I disagree?"
He coaxed an eyebrow.
"Based on current events, logic would seem to dictate that it will only be a matter of time before the crew will break under the strain of what could be considered an inconsistent pattern of command decisions and orders. They will see fit to retaliate. Subsequently, a change in authority would call for the most logical progression of events, the consequences of which could potentially turn out to be much more severe than if you were to act now. Provided, of course, that circumstances from here on out will change."
"So let me get this straight," she said as she leaned against the edge of her desk. "What you're actually presuming here," she motioned. "And keep in mind that this entire situation is incredibly circumstantial. Honestly, I'm a little surprised that you're alerting me to such a chance scenario, it's highly uncharacteristic of a Vulcan. But assumptions aside, according to your estimations, I'd be taking a tremendous risk. If, I were to ignore your advice" she paused and shifted through her thoughts for a moment. "And on top of that, I might also lose my ship, if I don't change my erratic behaviour, as you so callously put it. All of this is assuming, of course, that everything you've just told me isn't just some sign that the crew is in dire need of long overdue shore leave and are now lashing out at their commanding officers."
"It is possible," he agreed. "Had I not already investigated that line of reasoning."
"You have," she snapped, bitterly. Of course, he had.
He retrieved the PADD from her desk, pressing a few buttons before handing it back to her.
"Mister Hogan received a formal reprimand for forgetting to wear his pips on duty for the first time in two years. Lieutenant Carey received a two-day suspension after he was caught biting his nails in the corridors on deck seven. Lieutenant Vorik was pulled out of engineering to scrub all of the plasma conduits on deck three, after he'd accidentally blew out a gel-pack on the same deck. Do I need to continue, Captain?"
She said nothing.
At the time she thought her punishments had seemed rational, fitting the rage that motivated her to lash out at them in the first place. But hearing it all out loud now, "crimes" set against punishments. It didn't sound right.
"This is all very one-sided," she argued half heartily, somewhat testy.
"That is why I have come," Tuvok said.
She started pacing back and forth between her desk and the viewport couch, torn between duty and reason. She'd been trying to push it down so hard, hide it with all of her might, but it hadn't mattered. Tuvok was right. She'd been irritable, snappy and mean. Allowing her agitations to determine punishments for behaviour that should not even have been remarked upon. She'd been withdrawn too, hardly ever spent any of her time in the mess hall, avoiding Neelix and his chipper outburst like the plague. Nor did she ever dwell beyond the confines of the bridge, her ready room, anymore. On top of that, the thought of visiting the holodeck and Sandrine's only filled her with anguish. What was the point?
She sighed, stopped pacing.
"I cannot deny that in hindsight, these punishments don't seem to fit the crime. I admit, I have not been feeling like myself lately," she finally confessed.
"You are conflicted," Tuvok supplied.
She nodded.
"Over your feelings for Commander Chakotay," he finished the thought.
Her eyes shot back to his. Did everyone know?!
"I must remind you that I have seen you in a similar state before," he seemed to read her mind. "It is the most straightforward conclusion. Before we came back for you, you spend a significant amount of time alone with the commander on an uninhabited planet. It is only natural that you would have formed some type of a roma–"
"Stop," she held up her hand, slicing him with silence. "Yes," she swallowed. "It is true that the commander and I grew closer. Maybe, closer than either of us intended," had they, though? There'd always been something between them, whether she liked to admit it or not. Even before New Earth, they'd always stood a little too close, stared a little too long, flirted a little bit too much.
"But it wouldn't be proper," she emphasised. "And there is nothing to it now. It's done," she said, the hole in heart contracting painfully.
"Yet," Tuvok challenged. "You are conflicted," he repeated. "Your logic appears to be flawed, captain. You do not desire for it to be done."
Her eyebrows shot up. Of all people she never thought it would be Tuvok she'd ever have a conversation with about the intricacies, and incredibly irrational workings of human emotions.
"I do not claim to understand the interior workings of the human psyche. To this day it puzzles me how beings as emotionally driven as yourselves can make any rational decisions that border on logical. But you can, and you have proved me wrong in that regard many times yourself. However, experience has also taught me that humans are not well adapt at suppressing their emotions like Vulcans. If one does attempt it, the consequences are usually disastrous. I have been witness to it many times. Your psyche demands that you confront your pain, and make peace with any inner struggles you might have. You cannot function properly otherwise," he paused for a moment and fully turned to her. "In this case, you are not allowing yourself to process the loss of your relationship with commander Chakotay. You are lashing out, you are behaving irrationally, and until such time you have dealt with these emotions, it is my duty as your chief of security to be frank with you and express my concerns. Your emotions have become a safety hazard, captain. They've effectively rendered you unfit for duty."
She swallowed hard. He'd spoken frankly, had pushed more words into one breath than she'd ever heard him say before, and even though "worry" wasn't part of his Vulcan vocabulary, she could palpably see the concern for this ship and its crew rise in his stance.
He was right. She was emotionally compromised. Any decisions she might take from her on out could potentially work against her in the future. Might lead to hard to answer questions, and expose her to difficult truths that might become her undoing.
"Very well," she said, reality yanking her back to the present. "I'll pay the Doctor a visit," she forced a smile.
If Tuvok's anatomy was capable of displaying any sort of emotion other than neutral stoicism she would have read sympathy in his eyes.
