SMALL SACRIFICES

Title: Small Sacrifices, 2/5 
Author: Jaye (Copyright April 2002)
Codes: C/P NC-17

Disclaimer: Star Trek, Voyager and all related characters and
concepts are the property of Paramount. No infringement is
intended or profit made. This has m/m sex and implied violence.
If you aren't interested (or aren't old enough), don't read it.

Archive: Drop me a note first so I know where it's going. Please
keep the text (especially the disclaimer) intact.

Feedback: Sure but be kind, or at least constructive. E-mail to:
Reader8901@fastmail.fm

Summary: The real reason Devore Inspector Kashyk didn't arrest
Voyager's telepaths at the end of "Counterpoint."

Note: I'll admit I don't recall the episode too clearly, but I
wondered how Voyager was able to leave Devore space without
being stopped for hiding their *own* telepaths. Kashyk met
Tuvok, and probably the others, while he was seeking asylum on
the ship. Even if he lost the shuttles full of refugees,
wouldn't he have tried to save face by bringing in Voyager? Why
was Voyager just able to go merrily on its way?

***************

PART TWO

SUPPLEMENTAL PRIVATE LOG OF ENS. THOMAS EUGENE PARIS, FEDERATION
STARSHIP VOYAGER

/I feel like I'm going to explode. Every day on the bridge the
scream builds inside me, clawing at my throat for release. I
want to jump out of my chair and yell at the top of my lungs,
tell them all what happened. Make them *see*./

/It's been two weeks and Chakotay hasn't called. I know he
hasn't gone to anyone else; he's been in crowds or locked alone
in his cabin every night. I think he's avoiding me; we haven't
had any contact except during shift. And even then I've only
seen "the Commander"./

/He's so cool and professional. Fulfilling his duties with his
usual aplomb. Uniform and calm command mask perfectly in place.
I know it sounds crazy, but that makes me even more angry---with
everyone else./

/Why don't they *look* at him? I never realized how much we take
him for granted. Assume he's nothing more than the quiet, steady
presence that anchors us. On the surface Chakotay pretends to be
as serene and unruffled as ever. The man is a consummate actor.
Now that he knows I'm looking for it, even that hint of pain is
gone from his eyes. That small chink in his armor now perfectly
patched and smooth./

/And nobody bothers to look any closer. They just dump their
professional and personal problems in his lap like so many data
padds and merrily go on their way, knowing that he'll make
everything right again. And he does---bastard. It would give me
an opening if he'd at least start slacking off, or slipping up.
Instead he goes along, reliable as always. And nobody but me
notices how different he is. After Kashyk./

/His eyes are dead. I never understood before that they spoke to
me. Of laughter, or a rueful commiseration on days when the
Delta Quadrant seemed out to get us. Sometimes even of respect
and friendship. Right now I crave any little sign, the rare
flash of anger, or even that elusive echo of pain. Those eyes
are lifeless now, but no one notices because his mouth still
smiles and says all the right things./

/He moves differently too. He's so much more cautious, as if his
body isn't convinced that it's healed. He sits with his back to
the wall, and spins to see who's behind him as soon as he hears
footsteps. He doesn't touch anyone. True, you'd never accuse
Chakotay of being "Mr. Touchy-Feely," but a quick pat of that
warm hand never failed to raise your spirits or calm your
fears./

/It hurts me to watch when people touch him. He doesn't flinch,
or freeze, or try to pull away. He just goes still. Like an
animal caught in the hunter's grip, trapped, simply waiting to
be released or have its throat slit./

/I'm beginning to hate the Captain. Yeah, the Captain: the one
who got me out of Auckland, gave me my commission, trusts me
with her ship. I can't help it. She won't stop talking about
that *bastard* Kashyk. Congratulating herself on her
oh-so-clever plan. Her ability to 'distract' him. The way *she*
bested the Inspector. How charming he was. What a pity he turned
out to be such a bad boy. And all the while Chakotay sits there
with a grin like the rictus of a corpse and those dead, dead
eyes. That's when the scream crawls up into my mouth and bangs
against my clenched teeth, desperate to be freed./

/I'm dreaming about him. Chakotay's eyes are alive again and
laughing up at me; his head is in my lap and I stroke his soft
dark hair. That's it; nothing else. Just his eyes and my hand
and the sun warm on my back./

END LOG

************************************************************
************************************************************

B'Elanna Torres tapped her foot against Sandrine's photonic
hardwood floor, impatiently awaiting her lover. Tom was late.
Again. When she first noticed him rushing in at the last minute
for their dates, she put it down to a kind of unconscious
revenge for all the occasions she'd abandoned him for her
engines. But now she was really worried.

She couldn't pinpoint exactly when it started, but Tom had
become...distracted. Sometimes in the middle of a conversation
his eyes would lose focus as he drifted off to a world of his
own. Or they would roam whatever room the two of them were in as
if searching for something. Perhaps someone.

Worst of all, they hadn't made love in weeks, even though they'd
finally left the knife edge known as Devore space. Sex had
always been the one constant in their relationship. It didn't
matter if they were flirting, fussing, or fighting, Tom was
*always* ready to jump into bed. In quiet, solitary moments deep
in the night, B'Elanna sometimes wondered if that was all they
had. If she and Tom were really lovers, or just friends who
fucked.

The half-Klingon gritted her teeth and resisted asking the
computer for the time. It would just emphasize the fact that she
no longer seemed to be a priority in her lover's life. B'Elanna
sipped her beer and let her gaze drift around the bar,
cataloging all the admiring glances, male and female. Just in
case.

****************

Tom sat at his terminal, busily hacking his way through
replicator records. He had watched Chakotay---strategically
placed at a table with a bunch from the Science Division---pick
at his dinner, leaving almost half of it on the plate. He wanted
to see if Chakotay was supplementing his diet with some comfort
food. While the fact that he replicated the meals didn't
guarantee he ate them, it would bring some measure of
reassurance.

Tom was also making sure that nothing else was being crafted in
the older man's cabin. Alcohol or drugs. He knew the Commander
wouldn't take the chance of actually acquiring contraband from
another crewmember. But Tom understood the lure of oblivion,
especially right now when Chakotay's mental and emotional wounds
were still so raw.

He felt like he could use a drink himself. He had spent days
tracking Chakotay's movements, trying to figure out a way to get
him one on one. He also spent time attempting to convince
himself that he *could* help Chakotay on his own. Though Tom had
been willing to compromise Tuvok's privacy when he thought the
Vulcan needed help, he was loath to betray Chakotay's trust.
Which meant Tom couldn't even call the doctor for advice, since
Chakotay had covered up Tom's accidental reading of the report.
Anyway, he doubted the EMH was having any better luck getting
the Commander to talk. Chakotay was avoiding Sickbay as adroitly
as the Captain usually did.

As the computer cycled through his commands, he happened to
glance at the chronometer on the desk. He was late meeting
B'Elanna on the holodeck. Again. Tom put his head in his hands
briefly and sighed, then dashed out the door, leaving the
display still scrolling.

*****************

At first the Doctor thought there was a glitch in his
programming. He'd felt compelled to check the padd every few
hours. That it was still in Sickbay, that the encryption was in
place, that the text hadn't been accessed or altered in some
way. The morbid nature of his obsession was unnerving.

He debated asking Lt. Torres or another engineer to check his
matrix, but couldn't figure out a way of explaining his problem
without involving the Commander. Besides, his self-diagnostics
came up clean.

He realized his actual problem by accident. The hologram had
decided to review his own counseling and psychological
subroutines to be prepared in case Chakotay came to him for
advice, or just to talk to someone who knew what he'd been
through. Of course, the EMH was acutely aware that he could
never understand the experiences or their impact. He was
slightly ashamed to be glad he'd never know such pain. But he'd
finally figured out that his primary motivation...emotion...was
guilt. The Doctor still hadn't come to terms with his own
failure to stop Chakotay from that second, devastating trip to
Kashyk's cabin.

He'd been stymied in his attempts to get the First Officer into
Sickbay for some real conversation. And because the Commander
wouldn't make any official record or request, the Doctor
couldn't force him into counseling. Or even assuage his own
sense of responsibility by dumping the whole situation on the
Captain.

He finally decided to check the encryption on the report one
last time, put the padd in the back of a drawer, and hope
someone *did* access it. Until that occurred or Chakotay
relented, all the Doc could do was wait. And try to forget.

*****************

Chakotay came out of his meditation and asked himself why he
still bothered. His spirit guide couldn't offer any balm to ease
his mind or soul. Just time. But he could measure the time
passing in each scream that freed him from his nightmares, in
every star whizzing by as Voyager left Devore space behind. And
as time passed, he could feel himself slipping further and
further away from the man he used to be. Before Kashyk.

He sighed and gathered his medicine bundle, carefully putting it
in the bedside cabinet. He touched it a moment, remembering the
silence on the spirit plane. The she-wolf didn't speak, simply
gazed at him with her fathomless eyes. She waited for him to
tell her of his sorrows.

But Chakotay had no words, just a vague, mute grayness that kept
him safe, blanketed in its numbing embrace. He liked it, for
when the fog shrouded his mind he could forget about everything
except the space between one breath and the next. There was no
past, no future, and the present was lived behind the serene
façade of the Commander. He knew as long as the work got done
and people heard what they wanted to hear, they would see what
they wanted to see. And no one wanted to see the truth. Even
him.

Chakotay frowned as some small contrary part of his spirit
nudged him, pointing out the lie. The Doctor knew the truth. So
did Tom. They were both willing to help. He just shook his head,
shooing away the disruptive thoughts like gnats. He looked at
the bed, swallowed, and hoped that tonight the grayness would
save him from dark dreams.

***************************************************
***************************************************

Tom was so full of conflicting emotions he could hardly keep
still. Finally, after a month, he received a summons to
Chakotay's office. He was on edge, silently urging time to pass
faster as he waited in his cabin until he could be on his way.

He was relieved that the Commander had overcome his reticence
and was ready to let someone in. He'd seen very few other signs
of improvement. Chakotay had dropped just a little bit of
weight, probably because he still wasn't eating very well.
Occasionally Tom thought he caught the faintest glimmer of
cosmetics, possibly hiding dark circles.

And while things had gotten easier on the bridge since the
Captain had finally shut up about Kashyk, Chakotay's dark gaze
was as lifeless as ever. Tom had stopped expecting other people
to notice; it had simply been too long now for them to recognize
the difference.

He hopped up from his sofa, walking around the cabin and
drumming his fingers on pieces of furniture as he passed them.
He was grateful that things were finally going to break; the
tension of waiting had started to affect other parts of his
life.

Harry had started giving him strange looks. He'd been asking a
few pointed questions, too. The Ops officer wasn't aware of the
changes in the First Officer, but he had noticed his best
friend's lack of concentration and rather subdued manner of
late. He'd even offered a friendly ear if Tom wanted to talk
about his romantic troubles.

Tom's relationship with B'Elanna was in a shambles. He knew she
was at her wits' end. He couldn't explain why he kept forgetting
their dates, or why he sometimes wasn't "all there". There'd
been a couple of close calls when he'd accidentally forgotten to
hide the results of his illicit computer investigations.

Worse yet, they weren't sleeping together anymore. Or really
connecting at all. Most of the time it was due to scheduling
conflicts. B'Elanna was reacting to his distraction by spending
more time with her engines---and her engineering staff.
Sometimes he'd enter Sandrine's to meet B'Elanna only to find
her comfortably ensconced at a table full of gold-and-black
uniforms. Once he'd even spied her at the resort in a daring new
swimsuit. She couldn't have worn it for him---he'd been
scheduled to work in Sickbay when the Doc had let him off early.

Tom was surprised B'Elanna had held her tongue and temper for so
long. She hadn't asked him outright if there was anyone else, or
if things were over between them. But he figured time was
running out.

Now it didn't matter. Tom knew that if he could just help
Chakotay, then everything would go back to normal. He'd patch
things up with B'Elanna, and his life would get back on track.
There was an eagerness in his steps as he headed for the
Commander's office.

*****************

Chakotay dreaded this meeting. He'd been avoiding Tom Paris
since the night the pilot revealed he'd read the report. The
Commander still didn't know what possessed him to contact the
doctor right then; he could just as easily have lied to the
younger man and said he'd talk to Tuvok about it. Spirits knew
he was good at pretending these days.

He pulled out a small hand mirror and carefully checked his
appearance. It was surprising the skills that came in handy
later in life; his brief stint in the Academy theater group had
served him well. In several ways, including the application of
makeup. Just a hint of highlighter and concealer, and no one
would guess he was still securely in the grip of his nightmares.

He wished he could sleep undisturbed. Chakotay sighed and stuck
the mirror in a drawer. He could wish for many things,
time-travel among them, but wishing would not make his life any
better. Or his meeting with Tom Paris any easier.

The chime sounded. Chakotay straightened his back, clasped his
hands, composed his features and called, "Enter."

*****************

Tom's eyes immediately flew to Chakotay as he walked into the
office. The Commander was seated behind his desk, as
professional as always. The blond hovered in the middle of the
room, uncertain where to settle.

He watched Chakotay rise with his now-customary care, and walk
to the small sofa and chairs. "If you'd have a seat, Ensign."

The tone was not what he expected. Still cool, detached. Tom
warily made his way over and found a seat. "You wanted to see
me, Sir?"

Chakotay settled into a chair, uncomfortably aware of the last
time they'd been face to face. "Yes, Tom. It's been brought to
my attention that you haven't been yourself lately."

Tom was stunned. "You want to talk about *me*?"

Chakotay stood and put the sofa between them. "Several of your
friends are concerned about your behavior. They've tried
speaking to you about it but you've blown them off." He paused.
"While these aberrations haven't impacted your bridge
performance, they are affecting your off-duty life."

"And what would you suggest I do about it, *Commander*?" Tom was
more than a little angry, and very disappointed. He'd been so
sure Chakotay would open up to him.

"Mind your own business. Stay out of things that don't concern
you. Get back to living your life." The orders were staccato,
reflecting the tightness of Chakotay's voice.

"But I am concerned, Chakotay. Very concerned. About you." Tom
stood as well; he decided to go on the offensive. "And since
you're not talking to the Doc and I'm the only other person who
knows what happened with Kashyk, I'd say that makes me
involved."

"You don't know anything, Paris, and you are most definitely not
involved. So I'd appreciate it if you just forgot you ever read
that damn report." There was the faintest hint of anger in the
even tones.

"No."

"No? Consider it an order."

"No, Sir." Tom was encouraged by that tiny spark of annoyance.
"What will you do, charge me with insubordination? How would you
explain it to the Captain?" Tom took a step forward, chin tilted
in defiance. "You can pretend all you want, but I *am* involved,
Chakotay, and I will be until I know you're okay."

"Even if it costs you B'Elanna?" Chakotay saw the blue eyes
widen; he pounced. "That's right, Tom. She's angry and confused
and, yes, *concerned* about you. First she just wanted to vent
to a friend, but now she's officially approached me as a
counselor. She doesn't understand what's going on."

The older man's gestures were abrupt, lacking their usual grace.
"You make dates, then you're late or fail to show up at all. You
barely pay attention to her when the two of you finally do get
together. Your mind wanders---so do your eyes. You're lacking
your usual bounce, you don't make stupid jokes anymore, you've
stopped complaining about Neelix's cooking."

He pressed his advantage while Tom struggled with a response.
"But there's more, right? I didn't tell her about your forays
into the logs, or the location checks you've been running on me.
She might get the wrong idea."

Chakotay stopped and the emotion faded from his face. His voice
quieted. "You don't touch B'Elanna anymore. You don't kiss, or
cuddle, or make love. She thinks it's over between you and she's
not even sure how it happened. Or why."

He continued after a beat. "You have a woman who loves you, Tom,
whom you're supposed to love in return. That's something
special, something that you *can't* throw away out of some
misplaced sense of responsibility or guilt. Just walk away.
Forget about all this, go to B'Elanna, and work things out."

Sincerity rang through the younger man's urgent tones. "How can
I forget about it when I know you can't? Why haven't you asked
me for help, or at least gone to the Doc? We can't go backward,
Chakotay. I can't pretend I never picked up that padd. I don't
want to."

"You have to." The soft voice roughened as Chakotay looked away.
"Please, Tom. You have to do this now. While there's still a
chance. Don't make your relationship with B'Elanna another
casualty of...him."

"Kashyk. You can't even say his name." Tom moved to capture the
dark gaze. "How about the changes in you, Chakotay? You hide
yourself in the shadows, you don't eat right, or sleep well. You
move like you're still hurting. And you are, inside and out. You
have to be feeling so much, but you wouldn't know it to look in
your eyes."

Tom lifted his hands in appeal. "Why can't you talk to me,
Chakotay? If I knew you were all right I could let this go. I
could patch things up with B'Elanna and laugh with Harry and be
the carefree Flyboy everybody seems to miss. But right now, I'm
not carefree. Because I care about you. Please, trust me."

"It's not going to happen." Chakotay could feel the edges of the
fog dissipating, burned off by the younger man's honesty. He was
afraid; he wasn't sure he could cope without that security
blanket. He had to get away, or get Tom out of there. "Not
today, not tomorrow. Maybe not ever."

Chakotay decided to change tactics; he gave a derisive snort.
"You should give me a break, Paris. It took you almost two years
to trust me enough for counseling, and even then you spent six
months dithering until you finally got around to talking about
what happened to you."

Tom felt his back stiffen in a defensive stance; he saw the ploy
and was determined to keep his cool. "Maybe so, but I was a
cynical, immature brat then. And it took a lot for me to reveal
my secrets. That isn't the situation here; I already know what
happened."

"So what? You're not a counselor. Hell, neither am I. At least,
not a very good one."

Tom was confused; he couldn't sense where this was heading.
"What are you talking about? You helped me to heal, to reclaim
my sense of self. Thanks to you I'm a better man."

"Oh, please. *You* can pretend all you want, Paris, but we both
know that isn't true. You've never really come to terms with
your past. Think back to the man you were in the Maquis. I'm
sure you remember."

The full lips twisted in self-derision. "Though I did let Tuvok
and Seska aboard, even I couldn't be *that* blind. You had so
many men in your bed that you barely qualified as bi." He
paused, meeting Tom's eyes. "Since Auckland you haven't let
another man touch you. You probably never will. So much for the
benefits of counseling."

The words burst from Tom, "Maybe that's because the only man
whose touch I want never gave me the slightest hint he was
interested." He ended with a gasp, stunned by his own
revelation. Tom looked for Chakotay's reaction; his heart ached
as he watched the bronze features contort with grief.

Chakotay was swamped by a despair so black it even obscured the
grayness. He staggered under its weight. His voice was hoarse.
"If that's true, then I'm sorry for both of us. You're a few
weeks too late, and a lifetime. That man no longer exists."

"Yes, he does. I'm sure of it. You just can't see that right now
because of the rape and---"

"Rape?" Chakotay startled Tom with a brittle laugh. His eyes
were too bright. "You just don't get it, do you Paris? There was
no rape. It was just sex that got a little out of hand.
Everything that happened, I agreed to. He had my consent."
Chakotay stepped closer, forcing the point home. He was
desperate to push Tom away so the fog would return. "I said Yes.
Every step of the way."

Tom swayed. His limbs felt frozen, his head thick as all the
words and emotions that had passed between them this night
rolled around his stunned mind.

Chakotay moved toward the door. When he reached it, he turned to
look at the silent blond, voice calm and armor in place once
more. "So you see, while I can understand and accept your
disgust, I am tired of dealing with your pity. I don't need it.
I don't want it. I'll be fine."

He spun and triggered the door, but didn't look back. "Do what
you want about B'Elanna. Get back together, or break clean. It's
your life. Stay out of mine." Then he was gone.

Tom sank to his knees in the silent room.

TBC