Chapter 2: Closeness
"Kathryn?" His voice rang out through the trees, but he heard no response. He was worried. She'd disappeared a few hours earlier without a word, and it wasn't like her. Not since the day Voyager took off had she gone without telling him first. He searched the river, the trees, and with every step grew more frantic, breaking into a jog.
He finally found her sitting on a rock in a clearing. It was about fifteen minutes from the house, and his breath was slightly ragged, partly from his search efforts, partly from fear. He was going to tell her that she'd worried him, but stopped when he took in her posture. Her shoulders slumped and her arms hung limp at her sides. Her back was to him, but he could tell by the gentle shaking that she was crying. He'd expected her to be upset today, but didn't anticipate this.
She felt his hands on her shoulders, and she tried to pull herself together. How had she not heard his foot steps? Had she the time, she would have found her command mask. She couldn't hide the evidence of her tears- she was sure she looked a mess- but she would force a smile on to her face and indifference into her eyes. She would tell him that she was fine, that whatever that upset her had passed. But now, she sat crying in front of him, her shoulders shaking under his hands.
He felt her shoulders tense, practically heard her mind racing to take control of the situation. "Don't," he said softly, "Just don't. It's okay." His arms wrapped loosely around her shoulders, and she felt the barest brush of his chest behind her head. After a few moments, she leaned her head back against him, her face slightly angled up. Her normally defiant chin and features were now stained by tears. She felt his hand gently wiping some of them away, a finger pushing hair back behind her ears. She continued to cry softly until her eyes would produce no more moisture. Eventually, she stilled but didn't move to get up.
"Sometimes this is all just too much," she said simply. They'd been on the planet for over two months now, and she was no closer to finding an answer to the virus. He saw her frustration melt slowly into despair, and neither of them spoke the name of their ship anymore. He knew, however, that this wasn't exactly what was bothering her this afternoon.
"I know," he responded, and his arms didn't move from around her shoulders. Though they'd grown comfortable with each other, affectionately familiar even, they rarely touched. He didn't want to invade her space, and she, though a tactile person, was trying to maintain some semblance of a barrier between them for her own sake. They woke up to each other every day, went to sleep at the same time every night, ate almost every meal together, and communicated their feelings wordlessly with a glance or shrug. Still, the only physical contact that exchanged between them was an occasional arm pat, or her standing behind him with her hand on his shoulder. It was what she had done on the bridge, and it never failed to make both of them feel better.
Now, she sat embraced by him, and was surprised to realize it didn't feel strange. Instead it felt safe, warm. She was continuously relieved when he didn't want or demand anymore than she gave. If he had pushed her, about their life here or about their relationship, she would have started drawing lines, defining parameters. But he didn't, and she trusted him completely. They were friends now, and she was starting to realize she couldn't imagine passing a day without him.
She sighed against him.
"You okay?" He didn't move, waiting for her to withdraw first. She didn't.
"Better."
"You scared the hell out of me." There was no accusation in his voice, only unmasked fear.
"I'm so sorry, Tom. I wasn't thinking."
"You don't have to be sorry. . . My mind just went to dark places." She angled her head farther back, looking up to his face. He was trying to force it away, to hide it, but she saw it just before it disappeared. The vulnerability, the fear of being alone. She found one of the hands that was draped gently over her arms, and gave it a squeeze.
"I'm not ever leaving you, Tom. I promise." It was a promise both knew they might not be able to keep, but it was what they each needed to hear.
"Right back at ya." Finally, she moved to get up and he drew back, waiting for her before they started to walk back to the house. He expected her to resume a comfortable distance, to put enough space between them as they walked that their shoulders wouldn't brush, even by accident. Instead, she threaded her arm through his as they plucked their way back to the house.
They were quiet all the way back to the shelter, but when they came through the door into the dining area she let out a gasp. Sitting on the table was a decorated blue cake, and a candle that had already burned its way to the end of its wick. She looked up at him with surprise.
"Happy birthday, Kathryn." Her eyes shown with tears, but they didn't fall.
"How did you know?" He shrugged.
"What matters is that it's your birthday, and there's a chocolate cake in front of us just waiting to be eaten."
They had the cake for dinner, and she realized tearing into it that the chocolate layers were separated by raspberry.
"Raspberry with chocolate is my favorite." She looked at him, an unreadable expression on her face.
"I'm aware." He glanced up at her from his cake.
"And blue is my favorite color."
"I know that, too." He dug his fork into this cake, and he heard her exhale sharply. "What? What's wrong?"
"I think you're making me look bad, Mr. Paris." Her face was still unreadable, and he wasn't sure where they were going.
"I don't have any idea what you mean."
"You built me a bathtub, and now you made me a birthday cake, and I haven't done much of anything for you." He put down his fork, still looking perplexed. He understood now exactly what she was saying, but couldn't wrap his mind around how woefully inaccurate her sentiments were.
"I find that statement ludicrous coming from the person who busted me out of jail and gave me my life back."
"I think you more than proved yourself before." 'Before' was how they now referred to their lives on Voyager, their existence before being trapped on the planet with each other. "You risked your life to expose a traitor, protected the crew despite that it cost you personally." His countenance darkened when she referred to Jonas and the events leading up to his death. They both knew that it had been easier for Tom to risk physical injury than to pretend to be insubordinate; to deliberately lose the trust of his coworkers and friends. She still couldn't believe he'd agreed to her request without a second thought the night that she called him to her quarters and proposed the plan. "Besides, I'm also the person who got you trapped in this quadrant, on this lovely planet. I'm not sure that I did you any favors." Her eyes were dark, and he realized that her mood from earlier hadn't improved. It had just festered into something more difficult to read. He looked at her.
"I'm not sure that one ever works off the debt of being given another chance at life." He wouldn't tell that it wasn't her fault that they were here, on this planet, on the other side of the galaxy. He knew better than to engage her occasional spirals of self-reproach. "Besides, we both know that the core of life has to do with how a person thinks about themselves, the self-respect they have. A person could have the entire universe to wander, and yet still imprisoned in their own mind. All things considered, I think that I'm objectively better off." He finished his statement with pain in his eyes, and her hand reached for his across the table.
"I'm sorry." She wasn't sure if she'd ever apologized as much as she did on this planet.
"Don't be." He held her hand, but picked up his fork again with his other. "I imagine you realize by now that I reach for big gestures, like cakes and bathtubs, because I'm not as comfortable as you are with smaller ones." She thought his statement was laughable. Maybe at one time it was true, but it hadn't been on the planet, just the two of them. She withdrew her hand, her eyes returning to her own cake.
"You know, don't you, that that's a load of bullshit." Her tone was light, but he looked at her with surprise. She shrugged, a habit she'd picked up from him, and went back to her own cake.
"Whatever you say. Katie. Katie cat. Captain Katie." A wide grin broke out on his face, and she suppressed a growl. He'd been using these nicknames on her for the last few weeks, but only when he thought her mood could use lifting. She wanted to hug him and kill him all at the same time.
"Don't think for a second that I won't drown you in the same bathtub you built."
"I would threaten to break the warp threshold and abduct you again, but it appears I'm not capable of flight at the moment." On Voyager, they'd both tried to pretend the incident never happened. It had been awkward the first few weeks; he'd avoided her, and she'd striven, despite her own discomforts, to put him at ease and return to their easy banter. Now he brought it up as though they talked about it all the time, and she didn't bat an eyelash.
"I find it hard to believe I mated with you on any planet, in any form. There's no way. I must have hit my head in the shuttle before I evolved. Been mentally impaired."
"Good to know that even though I'm quite literally the last man on the planet, you'll have nothing to do with me. I'm not sure my ego can withstand the blow, really." He laughed, and she smiled despite her bad mood.
. . . . . .
He was worried about her. The storm that destroyed her research equipment had come and gone, and she'd spent the last ten hours in bed. She never slept more than six hours, and he feared she wasn't even sleeping now. His own hopes drained from him during the storm, but he was more preoccupied now with Kathryn than with what this meant for his life.
"Kathryn." She didn't respond on the bed, her face angled to the wall instead of him. He'd tried this twice before, but now he was reaching his wit's end. "Kathryn," he repeated, though this time with frustration in his voice. He rubbed his head with his hand, and felt a wave of anger wash over him. Why did she sometimes act like this was happening only to her? He flopped down on the bed beside her. He didn't touch her, but was obviously invading her space. He didn't care. To get him up and off her bed, she was going to have to speak to him. She didn't move and didn't respond, and he felt his heart fall down into this stomach or perhaps his feet. He felt the urge to cry, but instead lay on the bed silently, his eyes on the shelter's ceiling. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep.
He woke up to something warm and soft against him. Blankets were over him, and though he was in the shelter, he couldn't quite figure out where he was lying. He turned his head, and realized that lying next to him was Kathryn. Her head was on his shoulder, her hand on his chest. The last thing he remembered was drifting off, but it appeared that she'd tucked both of them in at some point after that. He rested his chin against the side of her head, pressing a gentle kiss into her temple.
"I'm sorry I've been so selfish about all of this," her voice was more gravelly than normal, and he froze when he realized that she was awake. Her hand stretched across his chest, an act of comfort, and he settled back into her.
"I understand. You're losing your ship, your life's work. The chance of seeing your crew get home. It's a lot to take in." She angled her face into his neck, her breath disturbing the soft hairs that grew there. He controlled his body before it shuddered.
"You're losing a lot, too. This isn't happening to just me." Her voice was small, and though she was putting into words what he'd thought only hours earlier, he wanted to make her feel better.
"It's true." He sighed. "But it could be worse. I could be down here with Neelix. Or maybe Vorick. Neither of them seems like they'd be particularly good cuddlers." She laughed against his neck and he turned onto his side, wrapping his arm around.
"I don't know. Mr. Neelix may have proved you wrong. At the very least, he could keep you warm." She settled her face deeper into the pillow and Tom's neck. Being this close should feel horribly uncomfortable, she thought. But it didn't. She knew that neither of them would cross any lines, and that he was just as reassured by the contact as she was.
"Go to sleep, Kath." His chin again rested against her head, and they both fell into a deep and comfortable sleep.
When she finally woke, she felt groggy and her mouth was dry. She opened her eyes to find Tom sitting on the bed, running a medical tricorder over her.
"What's wrong?" She mumbled, closing her eyes again. She'd slept for over half a day. Why was she still so tired?
"You have a virus."
"So do you. Hence why we're both here." Janeway was never pleasant first thing in the morning, but Tom ignored her.
"It's a different virus. One that you may have had before we even got down here. It's probably asserting itself now that you're run down."
She mumbled something that Tom wasn't able to understand. She felt him get up off the bed, and had the irrational need to call for him, reach for him. Her head was swimming now, even though her eyes were shut. He returned to the bed with water and a hypospray. He forced her to sit up, and she gently sipped the water. He was eying her with concern, and it was starting to make her nervous.
"You're starting to remind me of my mother." She was being petulant, but didn't know why.
"I'll take that as a compliment." His tone was far too cheery for her liking and she grumbled. She tried to lay down again, but he stopped her.
"Tom, I'm tired." Her voice was somewhere between a plea and a whimper. It worried him more than the tricorder readings.
"I know. But I need you to finish your water. Then you can lay back down, I promise."
When she finally slumped back down, she fell immediately to sleep. Tom stayed on the bed monitoring her, suddenly grateful for the basic medic training he'd received before Voyager.
Hours later, she woke to find him laying next to her, a PADD in his hand. He was reading but his left arm was under her pillow, and she was pressed against him. She abruptly felt uncomfortable with absence of space between them, and inched over.
"Hey, you're awake," he said, smiling. She could barely make out this white teeth through her half-opened eyes.
"Yes, and I feel it was a tactical error. Tell me I'm not as bad off as I feel."
"No, you're going to be fine. Your system is attacking the virus, and you should be fully recovered within a day or so."
"Good," her voice was strange, distant. "What are you doing so. . . " Her voice trailed off, but her eyes looked to his arm stretched underneath her head, how close his body was to hers. He shifted uncomfortably, withdrawing his arm.
"I tried to get up a few times, but both times you woke up and grabbed at my arm. You kept saying something, but I didn't understand." She'd reached for him? She didn't remember that. Her eyes were closed now but she could feel the pressure of the bed shift as he got off it. She wasn't sure if she felt more relieved or bereft, but didn't want to examine either feeling. "You should rest. Your body needs to repair itself." She felt her head nodding, and then she fell back into sleep.
Hours later, she was awake and bored. She wanted to get up, but he was fighting her tooth and nail to stay in bed.
"So help me, Kathryn, I will tackle you if you try to get up." His tone didn't betray any humor and she tried not to get angry at him. Instead, she switched tactics. "You would physically assault the woman who saved you from prison, your only companion here on this planet?"
"In a heart beat, if you try to get off that bed." She huffed and he ignored it.
"What are you doing over there?" He was sitting where she could see him, his eyes trained on a PADD. She had to close her eyes again, as she felt painfully sensitive even in the low light of the shelter. She assumed it was a symptom.
"Reading."
"I can see that. What are you reading?"
"Honor On the River Th'lina." The novel was a Klingon classic; a story of betrayal and love, and a young man's quest to find himself after living with the dishonor of his father. He looked to her, and he could sense her boredom, her body starting to move restlessly beneath the covers. She was used to staying busy, even on the planet. He moved his chair near to her bed. "Do you want me to read to you?"
She rolled over and looked at him briefly, before her eyes closed again. "You don't have to."
He rolled his eyes. "Kathryn, I'm offering. I'm sure that you're bored. But if you don't want me to, that's fine. You just need to tell me." She sighed. He was going to make her say it.
"No, I'd like it if you read to me. . . Thank you."
He began reading, and she settled in to listen to the story. Tom was good at reading stories aloud. He didn't change his voice comically with the characters, but his inflection and voice tone were flawless. She forgot how bored she was, and became rapidly enthralled in the story.
"They were alone on the river, the mangled bodies around them. Blood colored the land like paint, and he looked at her, silently vowing he would never dishonor her in the way his father had dishonored him. She approached him, dropping her weapon, and he realized in that moment," he scrolled down the PADD, "that he had to posses her there, then." His voice grew stilted and he abruptly stopped, his eyes scanning the text below. She opened her eyes to look at him, the light hurt a little less now, and she saw that he was shifting in discomfort. She should have let it pass, but instead she smiled maliciously. She wanted payback for being held captive in her bed.
"What's the matter, Mr. Paris? Don't want to read tales of Klingon sex out loud to me?" She realized she shouldn't have said it, that she'd yet again challenged him. His discomfort shifted into resolve, a smirk now on his face. His eyes returned to the PADD, and he continued reading. Both of them colored as he read out lout the description of the frantic coupling. The anticipation; the fear and pleasure. The desperate need that would destroy them if they didn't realize it, and the feeling of flesh on flesh when they did.
Kathryn looked up at Tom, and his face was redder than his Starfleet uniform had been. She realized, too, that he was barely containing his urge to laugh. She closed her eyes, feeling a similar urge well up within her. She knew that they would both refuse to break, and so he kept reading. He continued on until the passage was over, keeping his eyes on the PADD even when he stopped speaking.
Her laughter broke the silence first. It was a genuine laughter, a kind that he'd heard only rarely since they came here. He began to laugh, too, and she covered her face with her hands, tears soon streaming down her face.
"Why do I try to best you, Tom?" She said between fits of laughter. "I know I'll never win. But I just keep doing it." He was crying as well now, as he bent over in the chair, clutching his sides.
"I don't know," he choked. "I also don't know why I keep letting you bait me. I almost always regret it." Before they stilled, their communicators chirped, and Chakotay's voice rang out inside their shelter.
. . . . .
Looking around outside the shelter, she felt bereft and then regret for feeling bereft in the first place. She and Tom were both back in Starfleet uniforms. He held himself up straight, a dutiful mask of professionalism sliding into place. It reassured her and broke her heart all at once.
"Tuvok to Janeway."
"Janeway here."
"We'll reach transporter range in five minutes, Captain."
"Understood. Janeway out."
She looked at Tom once the line had closed, but wasn't sure what to say. She needed to know that the working relationship would remain intact, but standing beside him in uniform, the last thing she was concerned about was their working relationship.
She opened her mouth to speak, but as she did, he pulled her into a hug. She should have pulled away, but she melted into him instead. She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and buried her face in his chest.
"We're going to be fine," he said, and she extracted himself from his embrace. He looked at her with complete seriousness. "And above all else, I promise not to tell anyone that you like Klingon porn."
When they materialized on Voyager, he could still feel the sting where she'd punched him.
. . . . .
Janeway sat on her couch in her robe, a cup off coffee in one hand. It was late and she was nominally reading the latest engineering report, but she hadn't been able to concentrate and spent most of the time looking out her window at the stars. It was her fourth day back on Voyager, and she had one more day before the Doctor would let her go back to duty. She'd talked him down from a full week, and suspected if it had just been her that she would have been able to get it down to three. But the Doctor couldn't set separate standards for the Captain and Lieutenant Paris, and so she'd been stuck with five days of recovery time.
When she woke up now, she knew where she was. She didn't feel panicked as she did the first two mornings, she no longer woke up desperate to find Tom. She got used to the hum of the engines and the fact that everyone addressed her as 'Captain'. She hadn't seen Tom since they were released form Sickbay. She told herself that she was giving him space, but really she was avoiding him. She didn't know how to transition their friendship back to a working relationship. More importantly, part of her didn't want to. It had been nice to have someone to have talk with, someone who saw her as a person. She suspected it came naturally for Tom with his background, but still, he'd been so kind with her, so patient. She missed him now, and fought the urge everyday that they were back to go and find him.
She was jostled form her thoughts by a chime on her door. She pulled the robe tighter around her. She suspected it was Chakotay, wanting to check on her but doing so under the cover of dropping off a report or duty roster. "Come."
She hadn't suspected it to be Tom, and when he stepped in, a dozen emotions fought for control of her body. He didn't move into the room much beyond the door, just far enough not to trip the door's sensors. She wasn't sure if he wasn't planning on staying, or he didn't think she would want him to stay. It was the latter. He struggled to find his voice.
"Hey." His tone attempted casualness, but it came out stilted.
"It's good to see you." It was the truth.
"I wasn't sure." He shifted, and she wished the lights weren't so low, so she could make out his expression. "You've been avoiding me." She sat up straighter, and tried not to feel like she'd just been caught.
"I thought you. . . Might want some space." It was only partly true. And she hoped he didn't know it.
"I don't recall filling out a request for space form. Perhaps it was when we were being released from Sickbay." His tone was light, non-accusing. She was grateful. "Either way, I don't want space. But if such a form exists, you should tell people. I might fill it out in regard to Neelix. . . . Chakotay might want to fill it out in regard to me."
She laughed and patted the couch beside her. "Sit down. Before you make me more nervous than I already am." He obeyed, but when he settled into the couch, neither of them looked at each other.
"I refuse to stop being your friend." The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them, but he felt himself going on. "I know who you are as a person, and I like you. And I'm not going to use your name on duty, or go running into your ready room when I think you're having a bad day, or question your orders when you decide to go on dangerous away missions- which, by the way, you should really stop doing. But I refuse to pretend that I don't know you and like you." His outburst surprised both of them, and she propped her head up with her hand on the back of the couch, her mouth turning up at the corners.
"Is that all?"
"I think so." His eyebrows knit together, as though he wasn't sure if he was done or not. His unguarded expression made her laugh.
"You know, you were much smoother down on the planet."
He smiled, a soft smile rather than his toothy grin. "I'd like to think you brought out the best of me." They were both silent. She looked at him intently.
"I don't want you to stop being my friend either. I just worry that it's going to be too difficult on you."
"Being friends with you is hardly difficult. Frustrating sometimes. Infuriating at others. But hardly difficult." She let out a heavy sigh.
"I'm being serious, Tom."
"So am I. What could be harder here than down there?"
"There are lines. You'll constantly have to be shifting back and forth from personal mode to professional mode. You won't have the same liberties, and even when you do have them, it won't be in the same way." Her eyes were narrowing as she spoke. She was desperate to make him understand and terrified of what would happen when he did.
"I know. I do. All of it. And as I somewhat hurriedly said earlier, I know where the lines are. I won't to make your job more difficult." She look chagrined when he said this, and he realized that he'd located her concerns perfectly. She wasn't worried about him. She was worried about being able to be a Captain if someone on board knew her as something more than that.
"So. . . Have you eaten anything?"
"No. And I won't bother to ask if you have either." She chuckled at his response, standing up.
"Tomato soup? Grilled cheese?" she prompted, looking at him and he smiled wildly.
"You, my dear, are my favorite person on this ship." He followed her into the dining area.
"Well. . . You did build me a bathtub. Even if it leaked more water than it held."
The replicator whirred, and they both sat down at the table, content to again pass the time together.
When he walked toward the door to leave, she followed him. He hadn't even left yet, and she was already missing him. She realized this was going to be even trickier than she anticipated. As if reading her thoughts, he turned around to look at her. She thought he was just going to say goodbye, but instead he pulled her into a hug. She went easily, conforming her tiny body to his larger one. After a few minutes, she realized she should pull away, but she couldn't find her resolve. He found it for her, but held onto her arm even after he broke their embrace.
"I'm not ever leaving you," he said, still holding on to her. It was what she'd said to him down on the planet.
They both still knew it was a promise they might not be able to keep, but it was what each of them needed to hear.