Fan Fiction
TITLE: Inventing Silences
AUTHOR: Kate
RATING: PG
CODES: C, T
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A great big thank you to Briana, who not only beta-ed this piece, but inspired it with challenges and archived it at the lovely revamped
Light & Dark! Also, thanks to the CT Yahoo group! Some of my ideas about nicknames for B�Elanna came from a poll that we had over the summer.
DISCLAIMER: I don�t own the characters or situations. I�m not making a profit by writing or sharing the story. I am in no way legally affiliated with Paramount or Voyager. I just sneak into their sandbox to play when no one�s looking.
SUMMARY: Response to two challenges, 1) Write a fic that begins and ends with the line �the silence is easy' and 2) Explain what Chakotay was thinking at the
ending of the episode Faces. Strong C/T friendship, read into it however you choose. 2157 words.
The silence is easy. Easier, anyway. Easier than the truth, which would run something like �You�ve literally been ripped apart, and I can�t promise that you�ll ever be whole again.� Who can even say that truth is better than the silence? The pause he makes allows her space to think and exist, without being crowded from her self-assessment to attend to mundane realities.
Besides, what mundane realities is she equipped to handle? He knows that in most situations, not making a decision leaves a leader in a less tenable position than a wrong choice, but he cannot seem to do anything to disturb the stasis of the moment.
Silence is easier than comforting a woman he cannot even name. The smooth forehead of the female on the bed mocks the �B�Elanna� that threatens to trip off his tongue. Being human, perhaps this half of his best friend would call herself �Torres?� But he does not -- never has -- called her by her surname. There is no need for such formalities in their friendship. For this reason he also rejects �Lieutenant,� since that word is used in the rare occasions when she has disappointed or disobeyed her commander. He will not invent a name to use now, for this situation. He doesn�t want to call her attention to the fact that he can�t even speak to her without awkwardness
He won�t call her Lanna -- that was her mother�s word for her, and no one else�s. He thinks that she reacts so negatively to �B�Ela� because her father called her �Bella,� which meant �beauty.� The half-Klingon girl had construed it as mockery. The child couldn�t understand why the father abandoned her, and she decided to blame the ugly Klingon side of her nature. �Bella� rubbed salt in that wound; he definitely plans to avoid that name today.
He heard Bendera call her �BLT� a few times, but he doesn�t think that it would feel right to assign such sounds to this person. He believes in the power of names. To him, choosing a special name for a being indicates enduring attachment. He has trouble doing that now, because this woman is going to disappear in a few short hours and days.
So the silence hangs. Perhaps it waits for a wordsmith to come and forge it into a thing of beauty or use. Silence is a medium, formless as a lump of clay, as full of possibilities as a blank page or screen, as open to influence as the canvas before Van Gogh and the marble before Michelangelo. Silence is the negative space surrounding speech. It lends words meaning and fills the gaps that words can�t touch. So he waits for words, but the moments are flying away and he cannot think of anything intelligent or important to say.
He thinks of a musician or maybe just a character in an Oscar Wilde play, who once said that greatness came not from the accuracy of notes, but from the exquisite pauses and silences used to separate them. Or, as Chakotay thinks of it �timing is everything.� But unfortunately, the muse who whispers in his ear and helps him smooth ruffled feathers and wounded egos has deserted him at a crucial moment.
He wishes that he could comfort her with words, because he is holding himself rigidly from offering another kind of comfort. He knows too well where an arm around her small shoulders, a dry shoulder for her tears, and a compassionate ear could lead. At the Academy, more than one coed had discovered that vulnerability and tears softened his heart until casual touches could heat and lead them to his bed. As a young man, he had difficulty remaining objective when a friend -- particularly a pretty young woman with large sad eyes -- brought her problems to him. It was one reason he went on the command track rather than becoming a counselor.
With the wisdom of years, he regretted almost every embrace that began platonically for comfort but ended romantically. In this situation he doesn�t know if he could stay distant after he touched her. So he stays across the room. This woman, whatever she calls herself, deserves more from him than grandstanding. If he gathered her up in his arms, he knows that the encounter would be about him. He refuses to allow either of them to lose themselves that way. Besides, when she is herself again, she will remember every moment of this. He doesn�t want her to think that he took advantage of her moment of weakness, but maybe more importantly, he doesn�t want to live with taking advantage of her.
And so the silence vibrates. It becomes less easy, more painful. He could break it with empty words, clog the air with sounds, just to say something. But that isn�t his style. He�s an artist of words, so he�ll wait for good ones rather than using whatever comes to mind first.
He considers distracting her from her loss by appealing to her intellect. He could describe Harry�s struggle to manipulate the �breadcrumbs� and the eventual success, which triggered a shield disruption long enough to grab a bunch of prisoners with a transporter. Maybe it would interest her to know that Tom Paris and Kes convinced Neelix to give his ship to the prisoners, since Janeway didn�t want Federation technology to fall into the hands of the Vidiians. Tom had finally promised Neelix a new ship out of Paris�s own replicator rations, if only the Talaxian would help Tom help the Talaxian veteran prisoner who had helped him and Torres.
Neelix had insisted initially that cooperating and snitching to the guards who was too weak to work was the only way a prisoner survived a Vidiian work camp intact. But when Kes chided him for cynicism, the little Talaxian relented. He could deny his �Sweeting� nothing, and since Paris was offering him something better than he currently possessed, Neelix could accept with good grace. Almost. He harbored jealous suspicions about Paris�s intentions, but there was nothing to gain from that line of thought. And if Neelix gained a little prestige as a philanthropist in the meantime, what harm, so long as the gains were mostly painless?
But as Chakotay imagines speaking of these things to the fractured woman on the bed, he realizes that such chatter would trivialize her wish for privacy. Why should she care about the fates of other prisoners, when half of her was dead, but would wake again soon? He pays tribute to her dignity in silence.
He refuses to fill the air with empty, silly declarations like, �You�ll be yourself again before you know it� or �In the morning it�ll all go back to normal� or �No one is going to treat you differently.� He burns with sympathy, because it�s just all too much. She felt fear, paralyzing and gut wrenching, for the first time today. Will it give her new sympathy for her staff when they must confess to her that they made a mistake? Or will she feel only contempt? How will this experience change his friend and their friendship?
In the past, when she referred to �my Klingon temper� or �my human conscience� she was speaking metaphorically. The two halves were inextricably tangled together, as impossible to separate as milk from mashed potatoes. You can talk about components, but in the end the unit is the sum of its parts.
Will she develop some kind of mental disorder? Schizophrenia, multiple personalities? Torres already said she will struggle with B�Elanna for the rest of her life. Chakotay will watch closely, but how can he voice these concerns without insulting her? Healing takes time, and a day is scant time to assess the wound, let alone sew it up and recover from it.
He can�t bear looking at her for another minute. She is such a familiar stranger, but she will not be able to interpret the moods of his silence through her own turmoil. He turns abruptly, steps through the clean swish of the doors without giving her a decent goodbye. He leans against the wall outside, resenting the bright lights that beat against his eyes. He walks to his quarters without passing anyone he needs to exchange words with. It�s such a quiet night, and the silence presses on him like a weight on his chest.
He shucks his uniform and pulls on a more comfortable shirt and brown pants. He sits down to write his report on the rescue, but he cannot concentrate. He replicates a cup of tea, but the silence of his quarters deafens him. He imagines how much worse it is for her, alone and afraid. Finally, he stands and walks to her quarters. No one answers his hails. He asks the computer to tell him who is inside the quarters assigned to B�Elanna Torres. On receiving the answer that no one is inside, he keys in, gathers her favorite civvies and returns to sickbay.
She hasn�t moved from her slightly hunched position on the bed. Tears have left her cheeks wet, but her eyes are no longer producing liquid. She looks like she might be in shock. He feels a flash of anger -- why is she alone? Where are Kes and the Doctor and Paris and Kim and her other friends? Surely there�s someone more equipped to speak to her than him! But then he remembers that he is her best friend.
He holds out the clothing to her, still wordlessly. She takes the green fabric, but she doesn�t meet his eyes. He catches her chin in two fingers and raises her face so they can get a proper look at one another. �We�ve been friends too long for you to be shy,� He reprimands gently. �Go put those on and we�ll get some food before you take a nap. You need to keep up your strength.�
She protests, �Doc said the treatments will probably nauseate me. I shouldn�t put too much in my stomach.�
He scoffs, because here he is on firmer footing, �I know that they didn�t feed you. Paris ate most of a meatloaf and a loaf of bread as soon as the physical ended.�
Torres turns green. �She -- the Klingon me -- roasted a rodent. I ate.�
The commander evaluates her pallor, then responds with a note of sarcasm, �I�m sure it was very satisfying. Now why are you really refusing?�
She shrugs with one shoulder, and lets silence speak for her.
�We don�t have to go to the mess hall,� he tries again. �We can go to your quarters, or mine, if you don�t want to remember anything tonight.� She looks more interested so he continues. �I�ll treat. Mexican hot chocolate, made from milk and blocks of dry cocoa. I�ll add sugar and sprinkle cinnamon on the froth, just like you like.� He tempts. �It�s not even technically food.�
Her lips curve and she touches the back of her hand to her eyes to wipe away moisture. �Okay.� He takes her other hand and she stands up, holding the bundle of clothing in her other hand. �I�ll be ready in a minute.� She says, slipping into a screened area that affords patients some privacy.
He leads her to his quarters, since she has lowered her head again in order to avoid the eyes of her crewmates. Her hair falls across her face and he thinks that it�s an interesting reversal for her to conceal a smooth forehead. She sits down on his couch and tucks her feet under herself. She watches him plug in a hot plate and replicate milk and cocoa and sugar and cinnamon and a hint of chili powder. There is something soothing in the ritual of heating the milk in a copper saucepan, cutting the block of chocolate, stirring and testing for heat and proper melting. Her eyelids droop. He pours two cups and replicates some biscuits and cookies. He hands a mug to her. She meets his eyes and nods. Her lips quirk at the edges and he understands that she means �I�m glad you care.�
They sip the rich chocolate together. They allow silence to fill the room. It�s so easy to be together that he can�t believe how frightened he was of silence. This experience might change her in ways he can�t predict, but so far he believes that she is essentially the same woman he has grown to depend on. It�s an easy moment and he�s grateful for the moment of peace in the chaos. He�s grateful for the friendship, grateful that something in this quadrant is as easy as friendly silence after a long day. He smiles when she dunks a hard cookie in the chocolate. He follows suit and begins to gnaw at the tough biscuit, setting aside the dignity of company manners. Their eyes meet and they grin. Praise the Sky Spirits, he thinks. The silence is easy.
