"Come on, Chakotay, remember what I said in sickbay, they saved us from that cube, they let you go, that's got to mean something, don't you think? Let me get you some tea, you stay there, I'll join you, how does that sound?"
"Like you're trying too hard," he replied quietly, looking up at her forced smile, as she moved towards his replicator.
He felt bad immediately. He hadn't intended to snub her, but it was just so transparent. She was obviously still worried about him. He'd done nothing but be a source of worry to her lately. So much for making her burdens lighter.
When they'd left the planet where they'd found the Borg skeleton, they'd entered the desolate Necrit Expanse and there'd been nothing to do for days. The crew had been getting restless and bored, but he and Kathryn had finally spent some time together, shared a couple of meals. He'd been tentatively working back towards feeling more confident and relaxed around her, after the confusion he'd felt in the wake of the wonderful evening spent on Lake George and her sudden avoidance of him immediately afterwards.
She'd sent him and Ensign Caplan to scout for a faster route through the Necrit Expanse, and then she'd had to deal with all this.
He felt wretched. He had let her down again.
He couldn't stand knowing he was responsible for all that worry in her face, he could see it there now in her eyes. And now, now she was worried that she wouldn't be able to rely on him anymore. He could understand that. He was worried too.
He also knew now that she'd been on edge for three days, before she'd even found him on that planet. At the beginning of what had turned into a nightmare shuttle ride, B'Elanna had told him that the minute they'd located the Borg cube, Kathryn had decided to change course so they could rendezvous early with his shuttle. B'Elanna had said she'd been visibly stressed in the staff briefing and was clearly missing his support, his counsel.
And what had he done? Gone and got himself damn near assimilated, that's what. Great. And trashed another shuttle.
She put the tea down on the table and sat across from him, slender hands gripping the coffee cup. He looked at her. He didn't have much option; there was nowhere to hide here. Which was why she'd come, wasn't it? He'd have to tell her anything she wanted to know now. They both knew he was hopeless at hiding anything from her – or from anyone else for that matter it seemed.
Bloody open book.
"Chakotay, are you OK?"
"No, I'm not," he said, because he wasn't.
She looked kind of thrown, like she didn't know what to say. He felt bad again. He hadn't intended it to come out the way it had, he was actually glad she was here.
He wondered how long it'd be before she and Tuvok re-instated his command codes. He was pretty sure Tuvok hadn't been in sickbay for moral support. Guess it'd depend on the data the cortical monitor provided by 07.00. He decided not to ask her; he couldn't actually face acknowledging all that to her. Easier to pretend he hadn't realised.
It was probably just another 'wise precaution' anyway. He might well have done the same in her position. Let's face it, he was a goddamn liability.
He didn't want to take the risk that he might wake up and find himself on the bridge in his pyjamas, toting a phaser rifle and piloting Voyager back to that hell planet, any more than they did. He should probably ask her to lock him in when she left.
For once, he wouldn't actually mind being declared unfit for duty, just to have another day to get himself together before he had to face anyone but her. Bet even Grandfather, crazy old man that he was, couldn't hear the voices of a whole damn collective. Worst thing about it was that he could remember it all. Everything. Every word he'd said. Everything he'd done. He'd shot B'Elanna. B'Elanna of all people. It beggared belief.
She finally spoke, to try and reassure him that it could've happened to anyone, it wasn't anything to do with him. He listened, but she was asking a lot if she thought he could believe that right now, so he said so.
He watched her as she sat there, looking increasingly uncomfortable. There was something going on with her. He'd noticed it earlier in sickbay - like she'd wanted to ask something, but had stopped short. He figured they might as well get it over with, whatever it was. Perhaps she was actually going to suggest he step down as first officer for a few days? Just until they were sure he was completely in control again – and wasn't going to steal a shuttle and run off and reactivate a few more cubes.
So he bit the bullet. "Why don't you just ask?"
"Ask what?"
"You tell me. Whatever it is that you've been wanting to ask me since sickbay. I can see it in your eyes, Kathryn."
She paused for a few seconds, then it came. "Are you up to date with your boosters?"
He felt the colour rush to his face. Tried to school his features into a semblance of normality, and failed. He thought he'd been ready for anything, but he had underestimated her. He wasn't ready for that.
He took a deep breath and looked down. Eventually he raised his gaze to meet hers and nodded the confirmation she was after.
It was hard to believe he could sink any lower in her estimation, but apparently he could. He'd had no idea anyone knew about what had happened between him and Riley. Had no idea how she could possibly have found out; guess that didn't matter now anyway.
He prayed that at least she wouldn't ask him about it. He didn't think he had it in him right now to talk about it to her. To anyone. Not even to his spirit guide. He would need time – a lot of time – to come to terms with how he'd let that happen. He still hadn't made any sense of it. Whatever the truth was about the premeditation or the timing of Riley's decision to use him, he doubted whether there would ever be anything he could salvage from that experience.
Kathryn's voice brought him back to the present. She asked if the cortical monitor was making him uncomfortable, and he realised he'd been scratching at the place where the transceiver had been, as he still had such a strong sense memory in the skin there. It had been bugging him for hours. He knew the Doctor was right and there was nothing there, but his nervous system was still all over the place and it had other ideas.
He tried to explain and she asked to see.
As she got up and moved around behind him, he made a conscious effort to try and relax the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders.
She paused for a second or two behind him, and he wondered if she was reluctant to touch him now, had thought better of it perhaps? Didn't want to blur any boundaries that she needed to keep clear between them. Especially now, when she knew people had been messing around inside his head. But the moment passed and he felt her cool fingers brush against his skin. It was the lightest of touches, tentatively skimming across the skin where the transceiver had been. How she knew the exact spot he didn't know; guess his scratching must have left a mark.
She rubbed the area gently with her fingers in tiny circular movements, then he felt her other hand come up and rest on the other side of his neck below the cortical monitor.
The fingers of the hand that had been soothing his irritated skin moved to make slightly larger circles, pressing into his neck muscles and into his scalp in a delicious massaging movement. Her delicate fingers moved with confidence and were surprisingly strong; she knew how to apply exactly the right amount of pressure. The nerves all over his scalp tingled and he focused on the slow, rhythmical movements she was making. She couldn't possibly realise how good this felt for him.
Ever since he'd come round in sickbay he'd had a splitting headache. The analgesic the Doctor had given him earlier had barely touched it. He hadn't mentioned this to the Doctor, as he wanted to live with the ache in his head until it faded on its own. He wanted to know when he was back to normal, without any pharmaceuticals in his blood stream, masking from him what was really going on in his body.
Her simple touch was doing so much more to relieve the ache in his head than any drugs could have done. As she stimulated the nerves in his scalp, it sent waves of electricity down his neck, across his shoulders and down into the nerves and muscles in his back.
As she increased the pressure slightly again, it felt so good that he let out a low, involuntary groan. Felt like heaven. All he could think was that he didn't want her to stop, not ever actually. This was exactly what he needed. He closed his eyes and leant his head back gently against her body. She was using both hands now, and her fingers were exploring and pressing into all the uneven dips and planes of his scalp, weaving through his hair, keeping his nerves alight.
Nothing else existed for him other than the touch of her healing hands. He felt so absurdly grateful to her. Grateful for her care right now. He didn't have the words to tell her. Hoped she knew. He felt like she was letting him know she still trusted him and it meant everything to him in that moment.
He leant back a little further against her and relaxed into her touch a little more, and finally felt some of the tension start to leave his body.
"You have healing hands, Kathryn." he managed to get out.
"I hope so," came the husky response. He loved that voice. He could hear the smile in it.
Despite how drained and exhausted he had been feeling before she'd started this, he could feel that if she carried on much longer she was going to get a different kind of a reaction from him than she was aiming for. His nervous system was still in some kind of weird overdrive and he hadn't yet regained the level of control he would normally have had.
He had no illusions as to her intentions here. She was offering comfort and support. His body told him otherwise and he didn't try to fight it. He didn't think he could've done even if he'd wanted to, so he let it all wash over him. He'd always suspected that if she ever touched him in a prolonged or intimate fashion, and this felt very intimate, his head in her hands, his very thoughts taking shape just beneath her fingers, she would arouse every part of him that could be aroused. His body was just responding as he'd always known it would. The fact that this wasn't her intention didn't negate the effect her touch had on him. It didn't matter anyway. It wasn't like he was about to act on any of it and pounce on her. Even if he had been convinced that she was intending her touch to be sensual and erotic rather than therapeutic, at that precise moment he had been left with so little faith in his own judgment that he wouldn't have trusted his own conviction.
One thing was for sure, however he felt about her, there was no way she was going to want to add her name to the list if his recent bedfellows; Ex-Cardassian, Ex-Borg, he really knew how to pick them. Wonder where he'd find himself next? Wake up in bed with some Delta Quadrant nightmare alien with six legs and a tail probably.
Damn it man, stop wallowing. Let it go.
Her touch was working as the perfect antidote. It was already driving out the memory of other fingers on his skin.
Quite some time later, she finally stopped the heavenly massage; she smoothed one hand in one long continuous movement from his hairline over the back of his head and then round to press her hand to his cheek. She rested her hand there for a moment and then patted his cheek as she told him he should turn in for the night. Then she moved round to stand beside him.
Still seated, he slowly pushed himself back from the table and turned the chair slightly so he could face her where she stood. He looked up at her and he felt the urge to reach out and lift her onto his lap to straddle him, connect with those precious lips, kiss her long, hard, thoroughly and communicate everything he felt for her, everything he hadn't said, everything he couldn't say, everything he'd kept in check for months. Run his hands up and down her body and press her to him and keep her there. All that, and more.
She held his gaze for a few moments and he finally succeeded in suppressing those thoughts and the responses that accompanied them. He wondered if she had any idea how much her coming here tonight meant to him. He doubted it.
Eventually, he stood up slowly. "Thank you, Kathryn," he offered.
She looked up into his eyes and smiled again. He felt like she was his whole world right now; he didn't care about anyone's opinion of him half as much as he did hers. The Vulcan be damned. He could block his command codes for a week for all he cared at that moment, as long as she forgave him.
He reached for her, gently pulled her to him and wrapped his arms tightly around her shoulders, enveloping her slight frame. He kissed the top of her head and then buried his face in her hair. Her beautiful hair. The feel of it, the smell of it eradicating the memory of other, too blonde, synthetic strands. He felt her arms come around his torso and she returned the embrace with almost equal force. He felt her cheek press against the skin just above his collarbone, which the loose t-shirt left exposed.
As the moment stretched on, he felt a contentment seeping into his soul, the like of which he hadn't felt since lying by her side in that little boat. Finally, he felt her pull back and he released her reluctantly.
"You should go to bed now, I need you back on the bridge tomorrow, fully rested."
He smiled down at her; the first time he'd smiled all day. "Aye aye, Captain."
"Sleep well, Chakotay."
He took her hand and squeezed it gently just before he finally let go of her completely.
He had felt the connection between them again, still vibrant and alive, and hoped that this meant she had forgiven him, or would forgive him, for all of it – the whole goddamn mess. He needed her to do that. Maybe then he could work on forgiving himself.
He swore to himself that he would never allow anything like this to happen again. The next time a stranger showed a sudden interest in him, there was no way he would be taken in. He would be alert to the possibility of a hidden agenda. He wouldn't be the one who nearly cost them everything again.
He would do better. She would help him.