Okay, you asked
7 February 2004 19:58![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mandragoraOn your heads be it.
The ST:Voy story was meant to be a rewriting of the entire third season. Back when Voyager was actually still worth watching. However, I only got so far and then lost interest. Part of it was that Voyager was sucking badly at the time and it was hard to keep the enthusiasm going. In addition, I knew that if I was going to finish the story it would need some heavy rewriting.
The first part of the story, which some of you have seen before, badly needs tightening up to incorporate editorial comments. Also, Tom is rather pathetic in this and needs a spinal cord injection. And, can we say cliche alert? *g* I think you'll all know when.
Oh, and it doesn't have a title. I never got round to thinking of one.
C/P Command story
Chapter One
Chakotay sat, hunched over the desk, pondering his options. The Captain's Ready Room looked bare; the walls had been stripped of the decorations Kathryn Janeway had added, leaving just the stark, military bones. But the room's appearance matched his mood, was in perfect sympathy with the dull, fierce ache at the back of his mind, that sucked all life, all joy from him. And had done for three days now. Straightening up, wincing at the protest from abused muscles, he called on the self-discipline of years. Voyager needed him, that was that. Later, there would be time to mourn.
He sighed deeply and ran a hand over his face then examined the computer screen once again, blinking heavy lids at the bright monitor, hoping that what it showed him would be different this time. A vain hope. Paris, it had to be Paris. He'd known that, of course, right from the beginning. There really wasn't any other choice, although he'd carefully examined all the other possibilities. B'Elanna Torres lacked the proper training, and in any event was possibly not temperamentally well suited to the position. Not to mention being far too valuable in Engineering. Carey was a fine number two and a very competent engineer, but lacked B'Elanna's brilliance and innovative flair, both of which had saved the ship many times. As for Harry Kim...Chakotay regretted intensely the fact that the man was so young and inexperienced. If he were a little older, he would have been ideally suited for the position. Chakotay had no doubt that in the future, Kim would prove to be exemplary in such a post, but probably not on Voyager. However, as it was, the leap from ensign was a little too big to make, plus both Paris and Torres had seniority over him in any event.
And that was it for the senior staff. Neelix held a type of de facto position on the senior staff, but wasn't up for consideration, as he wasn't even remotely qualified.
No, there was no choice. Paris was it. He commed the lieutenant and asked him to come to the Ready Room. There was a slight hesitation, then Paris acknowledged the order quietly. Seconds later the door beeped for admittance.
He didn't look too good, Chakotay thought, as Paris walked with his usual graceful glide towards the desk. Chakotay noted the dark shadows, so deep they looked as if they were imprinted on the pale skin, under the red laced eyes of the younger man. Give him his due, he too was grieving. Not even Chakotay could doubt his devotion to the Captain. Kathryn... Chakotay closed his eyes for a second, as his grief welled up once more, threatening to overwhelm his self-control.
"Sit down Lieutenant," he ordered as Paris stood at parade rest in front of him. Might as well try to get onto a more cordial footing with the man, seeing as they would have to work together closely in the future. The younger man silently complied.
"I've been considering what best to do, how to fill the vacancies that have arisen." He hesitated. Paris still hadn't said a word. Chakotay found this unfamiliar silence unnerving. "You'll be First Officer," he said abruptly. "You're promoted to full lieutenant as of now."
The expression that flickered across Paris' face was almost unreadable, but Chakotay wondered angrily if he detected dismay and reluctance, before the expression smoothed, leaving the lieutenant's face a mask of polite neutrality. Fine. Looked as if Paris wasn't looking forward to working with him either.
"I see," Paris said. "I suppose I should be thanking you, but I can't be happy about it. Not under the circumstances."
"No," Chakotay agreed, thinking privately that not under any circumstances would *he* ever be happy about it. Paris as his executive officer. If ever he'd needed proof that whatever entity ruled the universe had a perverse sense of humour, this was it. Even Tuvok would have been better than Paris.
Tuvok, who, three days ago, had been on the shuttle Darwin, which had been carrying him, Captain Janeway and Ensign Batehart, who had been piloting the shuttle, back from a trading mission with a people known as the Yyprix. He could still hear Janeway's exasperated tone, at the realisation that the Yyprix wouldn't negotiate with anyone but her, as she'd been in the middle of getting her teeth into analysing some scientific data they'd picked up from a recent nebula. But Voyager really needed the sarium the Yyprixians had to offer and this was the only possible source for many light years. She'd still been grumbling about having to go, he recalled, even when she'd boarded the shuttle, pithy remarks about hide bound bureaucracies spilling from her lips. Tuvok had looked resigned, but then he'd been the one to insist on accompanying her.
They'd known, of course, that the Yyprix were at war with their neighbours, the Bramel. That was why Janeway had decided to take a shuttle down, so as not to risk Voyager in a war zone, notwithstanding the Yyprix' assurances that the ship would be safe, that the Bramel wouldn't dream of firing on any neutral visitors. Chakotay thought, as his gaze examined the man sitting quietly, for once, in front of him, that Paris must be glad that Janeway had refused his offer to pilot the shuttle, telling him she wanted him at Voyager's helm, "Just in case."
He didn't think that he would ever be able to forget those nightmare moments on the bridge, after Kim had reported that the Bramel were bombarding the very area the shuttle was traversing. He could still picture vividly the sick expression on Harry's face when he'd reported the explosion. There were then those frantic minutes spent trying to raise the Darwin, searching for a sign, anything, that the shuttle was still intact, that it hadn't been hit. It wasn't until hours later that Chakotay was forced to admit the reality of the shuttle's destruction; it had been so thoroughly destroyed that any debris was of microscopic size. The shuttle's occupants had never stood a chance; they were all dead.
He'd taken over as Captain, of course. The obvious choice for First Officer was Paris, who was - or had been before the disaster - in any event, fourth in seniority. Chakotay sighed, thinking that he really should have informed Paris of his new position before this, but that would have meant having to acknowledge the reality of the loss of Janeway and the others. He forced a tired smile to his face. "I wanted to discuss your taking up your new duties with you. As I understand it, you were de facto First Officer serving under Tuvok, when the Cap...Kathryn and I were stranded on New Earth, but you didn't actually assume most of the duties."
Paris nodded. "That's right. You know, what Tuvok's like..." He hesitated. "Was like." He stopped for a moment, swallowed and then continued. "He took on the duties of both roles, on a temporary basis, until he thought I was ready. But we'd got to the point where he was making noises about me being 'fit for the position'." He imitated Tuvok's tone, out of habit, as he spoke, then realised what he was doing, stopped and cleared his throat. "Anyway, I guess he must have felt okay with it, because he was about to hand over most of the First Officer stuff to me when he was persuaded to contact the Vidiians."
"Good," Chakotay said briskly. "Then I'll expect you to start right away. The first thing we need to discuss is the new crew positions. As you'll be responsible for the crew, it's as well if we're in agreement, if possible. How about meeting after your shift at 18.00 hours in the Captain's -- my Ready Room, go over them then?"
"Okay with me. I guess I should make the most of the rest of the shift, huh, seeing as I won't be doing much piloting any more." Paris ended the latter sentence in a questioning tone.
Chakotay tried to summon up a sympathetic expression. "I'm afraid so." He thought that he had a pretty good idea how much flying meant to Paris and, if anyone else, he would have felt sorry for them. As it was.... Although, in truth, it would be a loss to the ship, not having Paris at the helm on a regular basis. Not one of the other pilots, undoubtedly competent though they all were, was anywhere near Paris' league. "Dismissed, Lieutenant." Paris nodded and left for the bridge, Chakotay's eyes following him with unconscious fascination.
~~~~~~~
Later that evening, Tom, at last, escaped back to his quarters. He ordered a synthale from the replicator, aware that he probably shouldn't be having even this much synthetic alcohol, but in the circumstances...It had been a long, and stressful, day. He slumped on the couch, staring moodily into the drink, tracing swirling sparks of amber with his eyes, absently sipping at the cool fluid. He let his eyes travel over the interior of the room, not bad, standard issue quarters, decorated with a few items he'd picked up in the Delta Quadrant. There was that red, curled plant that was a gift from Kes, for example, and there the picture of a jagged, mountainous range he'd picked up in the Sramac'n system and there was the odd shaped, violet shell that had been a present from Harry. Not the most welcoming place, but *his*; although not for much longer. Chakotay had suggested that he should take over Chakotay's quarters, as he in his turn would be moving into the Captain's. No, into Captain *Janeway's* quarters.
He blinked back the now familiar tears at the remembrance of her death. And that of Tuvok, of course, who, much though the Vulcan might protest, Tom had come to think of as some sort of friend. Not a buddy, but someone you could rely on when the going got tough, so long as it fit in with Tuvok's inexorable logic of course. And Pablo Batehart, one of *his* officers, a pilot. They'd not been close, exactly, but he'd liked the man, missed him now he was gone. But most of all he missed the Cap--Captain Janeway. God. He realised, now that she was gone, the full extent of his...well, he guessed that love wasn't too strong a word to use, for her. She was his saviour, the one person, besides Harry, who, when Voyager had first been stranded in the Delta Quadrant, had been prepared to do more than tolerate him. Even if she hadn't liked him much at first. He missed her crisp presence on the bridge, her understated humour, hell, he missed the fact that never again would he be able to say 'Yes Ma'am', knowing that she appreciated the undertone in his voice, even got a kick out of it.
She'd been one hell of a captain, not that he'd served with many, but he'd certainly met enough Starfleet captains and admirals in his time to be able to pick out the good ones. And she'd definitely fit that category. Would Chakotay be half the leader she'd been? He really didn't know. Although, he'd probably be a decent enough captain, all things considered. It wasn't as if he didn't have prior experience after all. He'd do his best, no doubt and it might even be enough.
He swigged an overlarge swallow of synthale, choking a little as he contemplated the still unbelievable reality that it was now *his* job to support Chakotay, advise him, challenge him if necessary. That wasn't going to be easy. Particularly when all he really wanted was Janeway back again, with Chakotay back in his old position by her side and him at the conn.
But, he couldn't doubt it, not when he'd spent the past several hours closeted with Chakotay going over crew rosters, discussing promotions and the logistics of their new roles. He'd said that he was happy with his present quarters, intimated that it was too much hassle to move, but Chakotay had looked at him disapprovingly, stated that he should assume both the duties and the rights of his new position, that the crew would expect it. Hell, you'd have thought that he was trying to get out of doing something, rather than simply... wanting to stay with what was familiar. Where he felt safe. He cursed. This wasn't good, clinging to the familiar like this. After all wasn't he a go where the wind blows type of guy? Chakotay was probably right. Plus, his quarters weren't suitable for a first officer. And really, what was he complaining about? Bigger quarters. A real bath.
But it was that way Chakotay had said it that didn't sit right with him. Okay, so he didn't need to be a telepath to guess that Chakotay was less than happy at having him as new first officer to his captain. Give him his due, he was probably not happy at having *anyone* as his first officer, at having someone by his side other than Kathryn Janeway. Chakotay's feelings for her were pretty damn obvious for anyone with eyes to see, after all. He looked like shit now, kind of closed in on himself, maybe even a little smaller, as if her death had diminished him.
He shook his head impatiently, knowing that he was brooding in an attempt to avoid admitting that he was scared. God. Was he ever. Because although he'd always *known* that he was the best pilot Voyager could have, hadn't been shy in telling that to Captain Janeway, or anyone else for that matter, he was also damn sure that he wasn't the best first officer Voyager could have. No way.
Aware that he was about to embark on yet another self-indulgent wallow in misery, he tried to direct his thoughts in a more positive direction. He finally drained the glass, setting it down on the table; he'd clean it up in the morning. He got up, fumbling at the fastenings of his uniform, but stopped when he heard his father's voice admonishing him to always keep his room neat, clean and tidy. His father had seemed to think that this was the sure sign of a good officer. On the other hand, his father was full of shit. Nevertheless, absently, he rose and placed the glass into the recycler, before turning to the sleeping area.
He was over tired, knew that his body was in desperate need of sleep which looked like it would be a long time coming, the way he was feeling tonight. Okay, so the prospect of being first officer, possibly forever - no, don't think like that Paris - until Voyager got back to the Alpha Quadrant - when he might end up back in prison... 'Fuck it! Stop feeling sorry for yourself, you pathetic shit! You could be dead after all.' Like the Captain. And Tuvok and Batehart. So, yeah, so it didn't look like he'd be doing very much flying, at least for a while, but, really, tonight's discussion with Chakotay hadn't been that bad. At least they'd been pretty much in agreement about who should replace Tuvok and himself at the conn. And some of the promotions had been a pleasant surprise; he couldn't fault Chakotay for those. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all, maybe he and Chakotay would be able to work okay together.
~~~~~
Captain's Log Stardate: 50126.4
Today I have had the task of making new appointments in view of the deaths of Captain Janeway and Lieutenant Tuvok. I regret that, under the circumstances, promotions that would normally be a pleasure to announce should, instead, be an occasion of regret. I have carefully considered who would be the most appropriate and best-qualified officers to fill the vacancies that have arisen.
Lieutenant Paris is now First Officer. I have also granted him a field promotion to full lieutenant, in view of his increased responsibilities and duties.
Lieutenant Rollins has been promoted to Security Chief. He too has been promoted to full lieutenant. Ensign Ayala will be his Deputy and has been promoted to lieutenant j.g.
Lieutenant Hamilton is to be the new Chief Pilot.
I have also promoted Lieutenant Torres to full lieutenant and Ensign Kim to lieutenant j.g, which I consider to be appropriate in view of the other promotions made today. May I say that in my opinion both promotions are thoroughly well deserved.
End Captain's Log
~~~~~
Captain's Personal Log Stardate: 50126.4
I finally made the necessary appointments to fill the vacancies left by Captain Janeway and Tuvok's deaths today. I've seldom had to face a task I wished to undertake less and had put off making the announcements, partially, I think, because I haven't wanted to accept the fact that my dear friend Kathryn Janeway, and a man I had grown to respect, Tuvok, are gone. However, I have no doubts as to any of the appointments, although I have to admit to a certain reluctance at the thought of having to work closely with Tom Paris as first officer. However, I am determined to at least give him a fair chance. He's done some good work while on the ship and, having recently reviewed his records, the general trend in his performance has been an encouraging improvement. Although, I do have certain doubts about his maturity.
Working with him this evening in order to determine the other new appointments today turned out to be less onerous than I expected. I was pleasantly surprised by his willingness to discuss the various options with me, also by his insight into the abilities and personalities of those involved, together with the fact that we were in agreement as to all the promotions and new appointments. He was obviously pleased by Harry Kim and B'Elanna's promotions, far more so, I suspect, than his own.
Maybe this will work better than I expected and Paris and I will actually forge a decent working relationship. After all, we do have at least one thing in common, we're both former Starfleet *and* Maquis. Although, I can't really compare Paris' times with the Maquis to my own. Even when I recruited him, I wondered if I was making a mistake. For a while I thought that I had, that he'd betrayed us at the first opportunity he had. I still thought that when we were first stranded out here in the Delta Quadrant; it wasn't until after Paris had saved my life and I realised I owed him that I wondered. If he was what I thought him to be, why did he risk his life to save mine? Then, I had to review his records as part of my duties as first officer and realised he'd deliberately given himself up to that Starfleet patrol, to let us get away. And yet, after all that, he betrayed us when he joined up with Starfleet in order to hunt us down. I wonder why.
But the irony of the fact that the two officers in charge of Voyager are both former Maquis, and yet, here we are, following Starfleet rules and regulations, hasn't escaped me. I remember when Kathryn and I first discussed the regime we'd follow on Voyager, we both agreed that this would be a Starfleet ship. I can see no reason to change this now as the same reasons still prevail; most of the crew are Starfleet and I think my former, Maquis, crew have largely grown used to the Starfleet way of doing things. Plus, I want to minimise the disruption to the crew caused by the change in command. I think...I hope, that by now the crew really is one crew, that who was Starfleet and who was Maquis is, in the light of our situation, unimportant, at least at present. I don't anticipate any resentment from the Starfleet crew at myself being in command, as I was once Starfleet, after all. I don't know whether there'll be any resentment at Paris' promotion, given his past, but his position is strengthened, I think, by the fact that he recently brought back the ship to us after we were stranded by the Kazon, with only limited assistance, from the Doctor and Suder, together with our Talaxian allies. But the plan to retake Voyager was Paris'. From what I can gather most of the crew are well aware of the part he played and what he risked and I hope that they are all mature and experienced enough to appreciate that.
End entry
*******
First Officer's Personal Log Stardate: 50132.5
I'm an idiot. How could I possibly have thought there was even a chance Chakotay and I could work together. He just won't give me a break. I guess the honeymoon period didn't last long, yeah, about two days! This first week has been hell! That's the only word for it. Everywhere I look, there he is, judging me, looking at me, waiting for me to fuck up. Everyone must be able to see it. If I have to hear him one more time saying something isn't in accordance with protocol, I'll...well, I don't know what I'll do, scream maybe? And if I have to admit I don't know something, something that a first officer should know, he's pleased. He tries to hide it, but he's not that good an actor!
Trouble is, I feel guilty, when I'm ignorant of some of the basics. Maybe I shouldn't, because I'm new at this, after all and I'm sure I'll get better at it. Eventually. Fuck! I guess I'm feeling sorry for myself.
But still, how could I have been stupid enough to think he'd give me a chance? Take today, okay I didn't pick up on that damage report properly, gave the all clear before I should have, but, it's not like Harry missed it. It's his job, after all, and he's damn good at it. And yeah, I know I should have been on it too, and I swear I will be next time, but he *knows* I'm new at this. So, couldn't he let it go this first time, and pick it up if it happened again? But no, he *had* to reprimand me, didn't he! Okay, he called me in to the Ready Room, but after the way he glared at me and his tone of voice when he said "You missed it?!" it was frigging obvious what he was going to do. He could have waited till the end of shift, asked for a word to discuss ship's business then, but no! Calls me in straight afterwards. So, I went in there in front of the whole bridge crew, and they all know what's going to happen. God! Did he ever enjoy himself, tearing a strip off me. I suspected he'd been waiting for me to screw up, and this proves it. All I could do was stand there and take it, pretend I didn't care. I wish I didn't, but unfortunately I do. Dammit! And after that, he expects me to have some sort of authority over the crew, for them to respect me. No chance, not when it's so obvious I don't rate in his eyes.
Fuck him anyway!
Shit!
Computer - delete this entry.
~~~~~~
Captain's Personal Log Stardate: 50132.5
It's worse than I thought it would be, working with Paris. Today, he missed that internal damage report, and if we'd gone to warp just then, it could have been disastrous. Luckily Harry spotted it. However, I'd decided not to make a big issue of it, as Paris is new to his position and I have to make allowances for that. But it was the way Paris looked afterwards that really got to me, when we were in my Ready Room. I summoned him to discuss with him where he went wrong, but he just stood there, arms folded, with that smirk on his face, the one I used to see all the time back in the Maquis. It never failed to infuriate me then, and unfortunately, it still does. That arrogant look of his... If I'm honest, I wanted to smack it off his face, like I always have. I know I shouldn't let him get to me. I *know* that, but he makes me so angry! I don't have this problem with any other member of the crew, not even those like Dalby, or Henley, who, even when they deliberately set out to be annoying, aren't anywhere near as bad as Paris is, without even trying.
But as it is, all I did was reprimand him. Which he deserved.
I'm going to try another meditation session, see if I can calm myself sufficiently to let Paris' manner wash over me. I have to stay calm and focussed as it's my responsibility to get this ship and crew home. I understand so much more now about the burden Kathryn was under, the terrible weight of responsibility she carried. Although I captained my own ship in the Maquis, that doesn't really compare to the experience of being the captain of a Federation starship, faced with a 65 year journey to get back to the Alpha Quadrant. With the wisdom of hindsight, I regret any time Kathryn may have felt I wasn't there for her 100%, although I always tried to support her to the best of my ability and I think... I hope... that she knew that. I miss her so much, her stalwart presence, her sharp intelligence, the jokes we used to share, the chat over a cup of her favourite coffee. I kept her in touch with the crew, stopped her from feeling isolated, helped her shoulder the burden. Or at least I hope that I did.
I can't summon up any real enthusiasm for anything, but I know that the crew is relying on me and I must do my best not to let them down. So, I go through the motions, socialise with the crew, make myself visible to them, so that they know I'm there for them. Even though, all I want to do is relax in private, maybe with a few close friends, go back to being simply Chakotay again, instead of being 'the Captain'. But I can't do that now; I have to carry on the mission that meant everything to Kathryn, to get us home. But all I feel now is alone. And tired.
B'Elanna tries to help. She eats with me, spends time with me. But as I'm captain, the gap between us has widened. Although she's chief engineer, she's not a command officer and simply cannot comprehend all that means. Normally, the captain of a Starfleet vessel relies on the company of other captains, but of course that isn't possible out here. And, try as I might, I can't ever imagine a time when Paris can be to me anything near what I used to be to Kathryn. Friends, that above anything else. We were almost lovers. Would have been, I think, if we'd stayed on New Earth. I regret that I didn't press her harder on this, even though I understood and respected her reasons for holding that a physical relationship was inappropriate. And, after a time, I grew to accept it, even though I didn't agree with it and my feelings for her never died. We still used to flirt. She enjoyed that I think. But, the friendship, the companionship was, I think, for her at least, the most important aspect. When she was with me, she could relax a little, stop being so much Captain Janeway, allow more of Kathryn to come out. Now I have to be 'Captain Chakotay' and I don't think I'll ever be able to rely on my first officer for companionship like she did with me. With Paris, the most I can expect will be a workable relationship, nothing more. I can't imagine ever calling him a friend.
I miss Kathryn so much.
End entry.
*******
Lieutenant Margaret Hamilton sat at her position at conn on the bridge. She shifted slightly, trying to loosen up tense muscles. Her backside ached, even with the deep cushioning of the chair and she could feel the long thigh muscles twinge as she moved. What she needed was a long soak in a hot, aromatic bath, or a massage, but she was unlikely to receive either, being short of rations. It was going to be the sonic shower for her again tonight.
"Ants in your pants, Marge?" a light tenor voice said behind her. Hamilton turned round. Dark brown eyes glared into innocent blue. She hated it when Paris called her Marge. He knew it, of course, that was why he did it.
"Just trying to get comfortable, sir!" she said pointedly. "Someone seems to have bent this chair out of shape, must be all that squirming around he used to do."
Paris raised an eyebrow at her, acknowledging the hit. One corner of his mouth quirked up in an excuse for a smile. He didn't look good, Hamilton thought critically, very pale, with circles under his eyes. And Chakotay by his side didn't look much better. Which didn't exactly induce confidence in those who had to serve under them, or it didn't in her case, at least.
When no further comment was forthcoming, she turned back to her console and inhaled deeply, trying to release the tension, but without success. It didn't help that she was always conscious that Tom Paris was sitting there behind her, from where he could be critiquing her every move. He probably wasn't, of course, but knowing that he was there didn't help her confidence. It wasn't that she wasn't a good pilot, she was, she knew that. It was just that Tom Paris was the best she'd seen. He had been nothing but warm and congratulatory when Captain Chakotay had announced her appointment as chief pilot, but she knew how much he loved to fly, figured that he couldn't be happy at the fact that he wouldn't be doing much flying from now on. She stifled a sigh. Would this shift never end?
From behind her, she could hear the Captain ask Paris something about the weekly crew administration report and why hadn't he filed it yet. There was an edged, almost accusatory, undertone to his voice that Hamilton had heard recently all too often, invariably directed at Tom Paris. She sighed inwardly; here it comes. Sure enough, Tom's reply, when it came, was delivered in a manner that she, from her position at conn, knew was practically guaranteed to annoy Chakotay. She didn't need to turn round to picture Paris' posture, he would be sprawled in his chair, in the least formal posture he could manage and still remain sitting. His drawled response was to the effect that he was waiting on a report from the maintenance crew, didn't think that it would be worth filing an incomplete report. Of course, if the Captain wanted him to file an incomplete report... His tone suggested astonishment at such an extraordinary suggestion.
She edged her chair round slightly, to a position where she could look at captain and first officer out of the corner of her eye. Dabo! She'd been right on the latinum when she'd pictured Tom in her mind's eye. She didn't miss the black scowl on Chakotay's expression as he snorted to Paris, "Don't be ridiculous. You should have let me know, that's all."
Paris smiled at him brightly, disingenuously. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I didn't realise that you wanted me to keep you abreast of my every movement, when I anticipate I'll be ready to file a report, for instance. But I'll make a note for future reference."
"Paris." Chakotay growled a warning. "If a report is going to be late, I want to know."
Paris was nodding sagely. "Of course, Captain. Er, does that include when we're in the middle of an emergency, say?"
Hamilton closed her eyes and winced. It was all so predictable. Not to mention childish. Paris *had* to know how much his habit of sarcasm annoyed Chakotay. So, why didn't he stop it, act like a senior officer, let alone a first officer, should? She knew that he was capable of dealing with ship's business on a businesslike level, because she'd seen him do it, when chairing meetings of his former department, especially when time had been at a premium. Was it that on some level he enjoyed baiting the Captain?
She didn't miss the way Chakotay's eyes narrowed as he fought to contain his expression, saying only, again, tersely, "Don't be ridiculous. Just use your discretion. You *can* do that, I take it?"
Not that he was any better, she thought in disgust. He seemed to actually enjoy finding fault with his first officer. It wasn't that noticeable, maybe, but there was an indefinable note in his voice every time he pointed out to Paris that he'd made a mistake, or when he would send an edged glance Tom's way when he was slow at collecting reports. This was unlike Chakotay too, as he normally tried hard to be fair, in her experience anyway. Except, it seemed, when it came to Paris.
She didn't doubt Chakotay's ability as captain; his usual air of reassuringly calm competency hadn't changed with his assumption of the captain's position. And it wasn't like he didn't have prior experience. What she did doubt was the ability of the Captain to work effectively with his first officer. And that was frightening. It would be bad enough in the Alpha Quadrant; here in the Delta Quadrant where their survival hung on a thread, it could be disastrous. Why was it, that Captain Janeway and the then Commander Chakotay had worked together better right from the beginning, even though they'd only just stopped being adversaries, than Captain Chakotay and Paris did now, after over two years together on the same ship, fighting for survival?
The all too frequent times when the two of them acted like this never failed to get to her, when the hostility between captain and first officer permeated the air. No matter how many times she told herself just to relax, inevitably she'd find thin coils of unease winding around her, tightening, until she'd get to the point when she had to move in her seat - or scream. The relaxed atmosphere that she'd been used to when serving on the bridge under the command of Kathryn Janeway had disappeared. Not that she'd served at the same time as the Captain that often, Paris as chief pilot was normally at the conn when the Captain took the bridge. But on the ship as a whole, there had been a feeling of...she wasn't quite certain how to describe it, but missed it now that it had gone. Now, at the end of her shifts she often felt tired and drained, every muscle tense, her spine aching. She waited with apprehension for Paris' reply, relaxing slightly when he merely nodded and stated quietly, "Understood."
For a while there was silence, broken only by a low hum of conversation from the direction of Ops where Harry Kim was discussing a slight variation in the monitor readings with B'Elanna Torres. It looked like the days of relaxed conversation on the bridge, at least on Alpha shift, were a thing of the past. Although, come to think of it, many of those had been initiated by Paris, as she'd had occasion to observe during their hand-overs. Looked like he wasn't doing much of that nowadays.
She blinked tired eyes and stifled a yawn; aware that if Paris saw her, he would undoubtedly send some crack her way. Although, it could be worse, she could be in a staff meeting. Senior staff briefings were a nightmare in which the underlying tension between Chakotay and Tom Paris was far too noticeable to ignore. When she had been on duty on the bridge under Janeway's command, she had frequently observed the senior staff as they came out of the morning briefing, before being relieved by Paris. Often, they'd appeared to be jovial, almost carefree. But she could honestly say that she'd never come out of a morning meeting feeling that way.
She glanced up, seeing her replacement Ensign Lo standing there. At last, shift end. She quickly briefed her replacement and caught Jonathon Rollins' eye. He nodded and the two of them left for the messhall, to brave Neelix' cooking together, as they often did, feeling a sense of camaraderie, that came from being the 'new kids on the block'. That was a Paris expression, she wasn't quite sure what it meant when he'd used that about the two of them, but had a fair idea. There would be no prizes for guessing what the likely topic of conversation she would be having with Jon over dinner; they'd spent entirely too much time discussing the new command team logistics as it was. And she suspected, from the uneasy glances she intercepted between Kim and Torres, that they too were troubled. Not least by the detrimental effect on morale in the crew as a whole. As a member of the senior staff, she loyally tried to pretend that there was no problem, but the crewmembers weren't fools, they couldn't help but have noticed the attitude of captain and first officer. Of course, it didn't help that morale was so low anyway, with the dead members of staff still being mourned, particularly the Captain, of course, but also Tuvok, who had been a fair, if demanding, taskmaster for his security department. She suspected that Rollins missed him a great deal. Then there'd been Pablo; Batehart had been a good friend of hers.
She heaved a sigh of relief, at being off the bridge, even with the thought of the meal that awaited her.
~~~~~
Tom lounged in the First Officer's office, in *his* office, feet up on the desk, chair tipped back. Contrary to his casual appearance, he was working, going over the latest round of administrative reports that had come his way. He hated this, this feeling of being bogged down in trivia, even knowing as he did that this same trivia could, if analysed correctly, be important. But really, was it necessary for Ensign Boretski to go into quite so much detail about the latest finds from astrophysics? Hmm, maybe he should have a word with the Ensign, let him know he appreciated brevity. It couldn't hurt, right? He massaged at his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. Maybe he should just call it a night? But then, glancing at the stack of padds still waiting for his attention, he thought better of it, knowing that if he didn't deal with them now, there'd be a bigger pile tomorrow. He pushed down the now familiar feeling of panic that welled up, the knowledge that he wasn't up to the task, that he was inadequate as first officer. Shit, how had Chakotay dealt with all of this stuff?
His commbadge beeped. "Kim to Paris."
"Paris here Harry. What's up?"
"I was wondering if you'd like a game of pool in Sandrine's."
Tom closed his eyes briefly, severely tempted, but, summoning up his will power, said, "Thanks Harry, but not just now. Maybe later?"
"Sure. You want to fix a time?"
"How about if I call you?"
"Okay. See you later. Kim out."
In Sandrine's, Harry looked at B'Elanna and shrugged.
"Is he coming?" she asked.
"Not right now. He said he'd call."
Her expression was sceptical, wrinkling further the pronounced ridges of her forehead. "Uh huh." Tom hadn't set foot in Sandrine's since his promotion, in fact to her knowledge, and she'd checked the records, he hadn't set foot on the holodeck either. She had to admit that she was a bit worried about him as it was unlike Tom not to grab what relaxation time he could. On the face of it, he appeared to be coping quite well with his new position, all things considered, but she wondered whether this was really the case. His non appearance in his beloved Sandrine's certainly didn't bode well.
She spotted Chakotay entering the bar and called to him, challenging him to a game of pool, once Chell and Dalby finished their game. She looked at him carefully as he approached her table, noting the unhealthy greyish tinge to the normally brown skin and that the strong Amerindian features were drawn, with lines of strain bracketing his mouth. But then, he hadn't looked really well since the deaths, almost three weeks ago now. It was probably hardest on him, she thought sympathetically, knowing full well that Janeway had been his friend, almost more than that, as well as his captain. She did what she could to help him, but a friend could only do so much, faced with the loss of a loved one. He was doing his best to be the captain that Voyager needed, but it was obvious to her that he took little joy in the position.
"Where's Paris?" Chakotay asked, glancing around, expecting to see the lieutenant hanging around somewhere in the room, as he so often used to be when Sandrine's was running.
Kim sighed. "In his office."
"Working? At this hour?" Chakotay didn't bother to hide his disbelief.
"Well, that's normally what one does in an office isn't it?" Chakotay looked taken aback, even more so as Harry continued," He's been working late every night since... since he was promoted." Kim stopped and sighed. "I'm..." he began, then hesitated, not sure if he should say this, bearing in mind the fact that there was no love lost between captain and first officer.
"What?" Chakotay asked.
"I'm worried about him," Kim said, having decided to say his piece. "He hasn't set foot in Sandrine's for weeks."
"Or any holodeck programme," B'Elanna added.
"I see," Chakotay said, slowly. "I think I'd better have a word with him about this later."
As he spoke Chell came over to tell Torres that the pool table was free and captain and chief engineer began a game of pool. It was not until much later that Chakotay remembered about Paris. He found it hard to believe that the young lieutenant was working so hard, as this certainly wasn't in keeping with what Chakotay knew of his usual habits. But, as captain, it behove him to check it out. He asked the computer where Paris was and his brows rose when he found he was still in his office, as it was now very late. He detoured there, rather annoyed, as all he really wanted to do was to at least try to get some sleep, although that had been in short supply for the past few weeks. There was no reply to his requests for admittance, until, eventually, he overrode the lock.
He walked in, to find Paris asleep, slumped on his desk, head pillowed on his folded arms. Chakotay felt irritated, why hadn't he gone to bed if he was that tired? He went over to the sleeping figure and shook his shoulder, none too gently.
"Paris. Paris, wake up!"
"Huh. What?" Paris opened bleary eyes, to find his Captain frowning down at him. He blinked, seemingly confused. "What're you doing here?"
"Waking you up," was the dry reply.
"Oh, um, I must have fallen asleep."
"Obviously."
Paris started to get to his feet, but Chakotay stopped him, pressing a hand down on his shoulder. "It's late," the Captain said. "Why are you still here?"
Tom sighed. "I didn't mean to be, but the excitement of reading Ensign Galloway's reports obviously got to me."
Chakotay suppressed a smile. Ensign Galloway was a born bureaucrat, her reports were probably the most boring he'd ever read. "Exciting, huh?" he said, with a wry smile, which Paris returned. For a brief moment, there was amity between the two men. "Get to bed, Paris. I need you alert on the bridge tomorrow."
Paris stiffened, his smile faded, as a cold, withdrawn expression took its place. "Yeah, right." His tone was anything but respectful. "If I may be excused, *sir*!" At that, he got to his feet and stalked out of the room, without waiting for Chakotay's response.
The captain stared after him, bewilderment turning to anger. What the hell was *that* about? He stormed after the other man, calling after him, "Stop right there Paris!"
Tom halted, standing stiffly still in the corridor, but didn't turn round, remaining with his back to the captain. "You are out of line, Lieutenant," Chakotay said angrily, as he drew level with Paris and came to a halt in front of the younger man, who said nothing, although his expression was cast in stone. "I don't know what you think I said," Chakotay continued, "but I will *not* tolerate disrespect from you, is that clear?"
"Perfectly, sir!" Paris spat. "If I may be excused, sir?"
"Go!"
Paris carefully walked round Chakotay and continued on his way, his stride fast, but measured and as graceful as ever. Chakotay pivoted on his heels, still angry, wondering just what had set Paris off this time? Although, the man had a propensity to be disrespectful. Maybe that was it? He turned and walked to his quarters, trying to calm himself as he walked.
By contrast, Tom stormed into his quarters; fatigue banished by anger, for the moment anyway. Fuck Chakotay! The man never gave him a break. Even when he'd been working so hard, he'd fallen asleep in his office, Chakotay *still* had to make a crack about that incident in which he'd missed the damage report. "I need you alert on the bridge tomorrow," he muttered to himself furiously, as he stalked into the bedroom, and started undoing his uniform in short, savage, jerks. So far as the Captain was concerned, he just couldn't do anything right. Never had. Okay, maybe in the beginning when they'd first met, back in the Maquis, it'd been his fault that they didn't get on, but you'd have thought, after he'd saved the guy's life, tried his best to fit in on Voyager, that Chakotay would cut him a little slack. But no. Not once had he ever let up. Tom had always been aware of Chakotay's subliminal hostility towards him, simmering away beneath the man's calm exterior. That had been one of the things that had actually made him enjoy winding Chakotay up, when he'd been playing the role of a discontented malcontent, trying to flush out the spy on Voyager.
Had Chakotay ever, even once, attempted to find out just what had happened when he'd been captured by the Federation, during his time with the Maquis? Not to his knowledge. So, Chakotay *still* saw him as, at least, a deserter, at worst a traitor, didn't know that he'd been captured leading the Federation pursuers away from the rest of the Maquis. And you'd have thought that Chakotay would have made an attempt to find out, probably would have done, if it had been anyone else but Tom Paris. Why was it, with every other crewmember, Chakotay was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, investigate their background, try to help them fit in. With everyone else but him. Well screw him.
For a few moments, Tom actually entertained a fantasy of telling Chakotay that, right before he left the ship, never to return. But then he sobered, remembering what he had on this ship, a life, friends, and a future. Okay, along with those came a captain who couldn't stand him and a crew many of whom still despised him, but, on balance, the good outweighed the bad. Probably. And besides, somehow he felt that he'd be letting Captain Janeway down, if he didn't stick it out. Even though she was dead, he still owed her, always would, for all she'd given him. He bit his lip, as a picture of her smiling at him, telling him he'd done a good job flashed into his mind. At that, he felt his anger drain away, to be replaced by fatigue. God, he was tired. He really had to try and get some sleep, as he owed it to Kathryn Janeway, and the crew, to try to do the best job he could, which didn't include trying to carry out his duties befuddled by lack of sleep. Even though he in no way actually wanted those particular duties, would give almost anything for his old job back and Janeway at the comm. But, as that wasn't going to happen, he should try and get on with it and stop wishing for might have beens, stop dwelling on 'if onlies'. Because he knew from bitter experience what a waste of time that was.
He had to try and relax. It was just that being in these new quarters...well, he was sure that once he adjusted to them he'd sleep okay. Really he would.
******
End Chapter One
more in next post.
The ST:Voy story was meant to be a rewriting of the entire third season. Back when Voyager was actually still worth watching. However, I only got so far and then lost interest. Part of it was that Voyager was sucking badly at the time and it was hard to keep the enthusiasm going. In addition, I knew that if I was going to finish the story it would need some heavy rewriting.
The first part of the story, which some of you have seen before, badly needs tightening up to incorporate editorial comments. Also, Tom is rather pathetic in this and needs a spinal cord injection. And, can we say cliche alert? *g* I think you'll all know when.
Oh, and it doesn't have a title. I never got round to thinking of one.
C/P Command story
Chapter One
Chakotay sat, hunched over the desk, pondering his options. The Captain's Ready Room looked bare; the walls had been stripped of the decorations Kathryn Janeway had added, leaving just the stark, military bones. But the room's appearance matched his mood, was in perfect sympathy with the dull, fierce ache at the back of his mind, that sucked all life, all joy from him. And had done for three days now. Straightening up, wincing at the protest from abused muscles, he called on the self-discipline of years. Voyager needed him, that was that. Later, there would be time to mourn.
He sighed deeply and ran a hand over his face then examined the computer screen once again, blinking heavy lids at the bright monitor, hoping that what it showed him would be different this time. A vain hope. Paris, it had to be Paris. He'd known that, of course, right from the beginning. There really wasn't any other choice, although he'd carefully examined all the other possibilities. B'Elanna Torres lacked the proper training, and in any event was possibly not temperamentally well suited to the position. Not to mention being far too valuable in Engineering. Carey was a fine number two and a very competent engineer, but lacked B'Elanna's brilliance and innovative flair, both of which had saved the ship many times. As for Harry Kim...Chakotay regretted intensely the fact that the man was so young and inexperienced. If he were a little older, he would have been ideally suited for the position. Chakotay had no doubt that in the future, Kim would prove to be exemplary in such a post, but probably not on Voyager. However, as it was, the leap from ensign was a little too big to make, plus both Paris and Torres had seniority over him in any event.
And that was it for the senior staff. Neelix held a type of de facto position on the senior staff, but wasn't up for consideration, as he wasn't even remotely qualified.
No, there was no choice. Paris was it. He commed the lieutenant and asked him to come to the Ready Room. There was a slight hesitation, then Paris acknowledged the order quietly. Seconds later the door beeped for admittance.
He didn't look too good, Chakotay thought, as Paris walked with his usual graceful glide towards the desk. Chakotay noted the dark shadows, so deep they looked as if they were imprinted on the pale skin, under the red laced eyes of the younger man. Give him his due, he too was grieving. Not even Chakotay could doubt his devotion to the Captain. Kathryn... Chakotay closed his eyes for a second, as his grief welled up once more, threatening to overwhelm his self-control.
"Sit down Lieutenant," he ordered as Paris stood at parade rest in front of him. Might as well try to get onto a more cordial footing with the man, seeing as they would have to work together closely in the future. The younger man silently complied.
"I've been considering what best to do, how to fill the vacancies that have arisen." He hesitated. Paris still hadn't said a word. Chakotay found this unfamiliar silence unnerving. "You'll be First Officer," he said abruptly. "You're promoted to full lieutenant as of now."
The expression that flickered across Paris' face was almost unreadable, but Chakotay wondered angrily if he detected dismay and reluctance, before the expression smoothed, leaving the lieutenant's face a mask of polite neutrality. Fine. Looked as if Paris wasn't looking forward to working with him either.
"I see," Paris said. "I suppose I should be thanking you, but I can't be happy about it. Not under the circumstances."
"No," Chakotay agreed, thinking privately that not under any circumstances would *he* ever be happy about it. Paris as his executive officer. If ever he'd needed proof that whatever entity ruled the universe had a perverse sense of humour, this was it. Even Tuvok would have been better than Paris.
Tuvok, who, three days ago, had been on the shuttle Darwin, which had been carrying him, Captain Janeway and Ensign Batehart, who had been piloting the shuttle, back from a trading mission with a people known as the Yyprix. He could still hear Janeway's exasperated tone, at the realisation that the Yyprix wouldn't negotiate with anyone but her, as she'd been in the middle of getting her teeth into analysing some scientific data they'd picked up from a recent nebula. But Voyager really needed the sarium the Yyprixians had to offer and this was the only possible source for many light years. She'd still been grumbling about having to go, he recalled, even when she'd boarded the shuttle, pithy remarks about hide bound bureaucracies spilling from her lips. Tuvok had looked resigned, but then he'd been the one to insist on accompanying her.
They'd known, of course, that the Yyprix were at war with their neighbours, the Bramel. That was why Janeway had decided to take a shuttle down, so as not to risk Voyager in a war zone, notwithstanding the Yyprix' assurances that the ship would be safe, that the Bramel wouldn't dream of firing on any neutral visitors. Chakotay thought, as his gaze examined the man sitting quietly, for once, in front of him, that Paris must be glad that Janeway had refused his offer to pilot the shuttle, telling him she wanted him at Voyager's helm, "Just in case."
He didn't think that he would ever be able to forget those nightmare moments on the bridge, after Kim had reported that the Bramel were bombarding the very area the shuttle was traversing. He could still picture vividly the sick expression on Harry's face when he'd reported the explosion. There were then those frantic minutes spent trying to raise the Darwin, searching for a sign, anything, that the shuttle was still intact, that it hadn't been hit. It wasn't until hours later that Chakotay was forced to admit the reality of the shuttle's destruction; it had been so thoroughly destroyed that any debris was of microscopic size. The shuttle's occupants had never stood a chance; they were all dead.
He'd taken over as Captain, of course. The obvious choice for First Officer was Paris, who was - or had been before the disaster - in any event, fourth in seniority. Chakotay sighed, thinking that he really should have informed Paris of his new position before this, but that would have meant having to acknowledge the reality of the loss of Janeway and the others. He forced a tired smile to his face. "I wanted to discuss your taking up your new duties with you. As I understand it, you were de facto First Officer serving under Tuvok, when the Cap...Kathryn and I were stranded on New Earth, but you didn't actually assume most of the duties."
Paris nodded. "That's right. You know, what Tuvok's like..." He hesitated. "Was like." He stopped for a moment, swallowed and then continued. "He took on the duties of both roles, on a temporary basis, until he thought I was ready. But we'd got to the point where he was making noises about me being 'fit for the position'." He imitated Tuvok's tone, out of habit, as he spoke, then realised what he was doing, stopped and cleared his throat. "Anyway, I guess he must have felt okay with it, because he was about to hand over most of the First Officer stuff to me when he was persuaded to contact the Vidiians."
"Good," Chakotay said briskly. "Then I'll expect you to start right away. The first thing we need to discuss is the new crew positions. As you'll be responsible for the crew, it's as well if we're in agreement, if possible. How about meeting after your shift at 18.00 hours in the Captain's -- my Ready Room, go over them then?"
"Okay with me. I guess I should make the most of the rest of the shift, huh, seeing as I won't be doing much piloting any more." Paris ended the latter sentence in a questioning tone.
Chakotay tried to summon up a sympathetic expression. "I'm afraid so." He thought that he had a pretty good idea how much flying meant to Paris and, if anyone else, he would have felt sorry for them. As it was.... Although, in truth, it would be a loss to the ship, not having Paris at the helm on a regular basis. Not one of the other pilots, undoubtedly competent though they all were, was anywhere near Paris' league. "Dismissed, Lieutenant." Paris nodded and left for the bridge, Chakotay's eyes following him with unconscious fascination.
~~~~~~~
Later that evening, Tom, at last, escaped back to his quarters. He ordered a synthale from the replicator, aware that he probably shouldn't be having even this much synthetic alcohol, but in the circumstances...It had been a long, and stressful, day. He slumped on the couch, staring moodily into the drink, tracing swirling sparks of amber with his eyes, absently sipping at the cool fluid. He let his eyes travel over the interior of the room, not bad, standard issue quarters, decorated with a few items he'd picked up in the Delta Quadrant. There was that red, curled plant that was a gift from Kes, for example, and there the picture of a jagged, mountainous range he'd picked up in the Sramac'n system and there was the odd shaped, violet shell that had been a present from Harry. Not the most welcoming place, but *his*; although not for much longer. Chakotay had suggested that he should take over Chakotay's quarters, as he in his turn would be moving into the Captain's. No, into Captain *Janeway's* quarters.
He blinked back the now familiar tears at the remembrance of her death. And that of Tuvok, of course, who, much though the Vulcan might protest, Tom had come to think of as some sort of friend. Not a buddy, but someone you could rely on when the going got tough, so long as it fit in with Tuvok's inexorable logic of course. And Pablo Batehart, one of *his* officers, a pilot. They'd not been close, exactly, but he'd liked the man, missed him now he was gone. But most of all he missed the Cap--Captain Janeway. God. He realised, now that she was gone, the full extent of his...well, he guessed that love wasn't too strong a word to use, for her. She was his saviour, the one person, besides Harry, who, when Voyager had first been stranded in the Delta Quadrant, had been prepared to do more than tolerate him. Even if she hadn't liked him much at first. He missed her crisp presence on the bridge, her understated humour, hell, he missed the fact that never again would he be able to say 'Yes Ma'am', knowing that she appreciated the undertone in his voice, even got a kick out of it.
She'd been one hell of a captain, not that he'd served with many, but he'd certainly met enough Starfleet captains and admirals in his time to be able to pick out the good ones. And she'd definitely fit that category. Would Chakotay be half the leader she'd been? He really didn't know. Although, he'd probably be a decent enough captain, all things considered. It wasn't as if he didn't have prior experience after all. He'd do his best, no doubt and it might even be enough.
He swigged an overlarge swallow of synthale, choking a little as he contemplated the still unbelievable reality that it was now *his* job to support Chakotay, advise him, challenge him if necessary. That wasn't going to be easy. Particularly when all he really wanted was Janeway back again, with Chakotay back in his old position by her side and him at the conn.
But, he couldn't doubt it, not when he'd spent the past several hours closeted with Chakotay going over crew rosters, discussing promotions and the logistics of their new roles. He'd said that he was happy with his present quarters, intimated that it was too much hassle to move, but Chakotay had looked at him disapprovingly, stated that he should assume both the duties and the rights of his new position, that the crew would expect it. Hell, you'd have thought that he was trying to get out of doing something, rather than simply... wanting to stay with what was familiar. Where he felt safe. He cursed. This wasn't good, clinging to the familiar like this. After all wasn't he a go where the wind blows type of guy? Chakotay was probably right. Plus, his quarters weren't suitable for a first officer. And really, what was he complaining about? Bigger quarters. A real bath.
But it was that way Chakotay had said it that didn't sit right with him. Okay, so he didn't need to be a telepath to guess that Chakotay was less than happy at having him as new first officer to his captain. Give him his due, he was probably not happy at having *anyone* as his first officer, at having someone by his side other than Kathryn Janeway. Chakotay's feelings for her were pretty damn obvious for anyone with eyes to see, after all. He looked like shit now, kind of closed in on himself, maybe even a little smaller, as if her death had diminished him.
He shook his head impatiently, knowing that he was brooding in an attempt to avoid admitting that he was scared. God. Was he ever. Because although he'd always *known* that he was the best pilot Voyager could have, hadn't been shy in telling that to Captain Janeway, or anyone else for that matter, he was also damn sure that he wasn't the best first officer Voyager could have. No way.
Aware that he was about to embark on yet another self-indulgent wallow in misery, he tried to direct his thoughts in a more positive direction. He finally drained the glass, setting it down on the table; he'd clean it up in the morning. He got up, fumbling at the fastenings of his uniform, but stopped when he heard his father's voice admonishing him to always keep his room neat, clean and tidy. His father had seemed to think that this was the sure sign of a good officer. On the other hand, his father was full of shit. Nevertheless, absently, he rose and placed the glass into the recycler, before turning to the sleeping area.
He was over tired, knew that his body was in desperate need of sleep which looked like it would be a long time coming, the way he was feeling tonight. Okay, so the prospect of being first officer, possibly forever - no, don't think like that Paris - until Voyager got back to the Alpha Quadrant - when he might end up back in prison... 'Fuck it! Stop feeling sorry for yourself, you pathetic shit! You could be dead after all.' Like the Captain. And Tuvok and Batehart. So, yeah, so it didn't look like he'd be doing very much flying, at least for a while, but, really, tonight's discussion with Chakotay hadn't been that bad. At least they'd been pretty much in agreement about who should replace Tuvok and himself at the conn. And some of the promotions had been a pleasant surprise; he couldn't fault Chakotay for those. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all, maybe he and Chakotay would be able to work okay together.
~~~~~
Captain's Log Stardate: 50126.4
Today I have had the task of making new appointments in view of the deaths of Captain Janeway and Lieutenant Tuvok. I regret that, under the circumstances, promotions that would normally be a pleasure to announce should, instead, be an occasion of regret. I have carefully considered who would be the most appropriate and best-qualified officers to fill the vacancies that have arisen.
Lieutenant Paris is now First Officer. I have also granted him a field promotion to full lieutenant, in view of his increased responsibilities and duties.
Lieutenant Rollins has been promoted to Security Chief. He too has been promoted to full lieutenant. Ensign Ayala will be his Deputy and has been promoted to lieutenant j.g.
Lieutenant Hamilton is to be the new Chief Pilot.
I have also promoted Lieutenant Torres to full lieutenant and Ensign Kim to lieutenant j.g, which I consider to be appropriate in view of the other promotions made today. May I say that in my opinion both promotions are thoroughly well deserved.
End Captain's Log
~~~~~
Captain's Personal Log Stardate: 50126.4
I finally made the necessary appointments to fill the vacancies left by Captain Janeway and Tuvok's deaths today. I've seldom had to face a task I wished to undertake less and had put off making the announcements, partially, I think, because I haven't wanted to accept the fact that my dear friend Kathryn Janeway, and a man I had grown to respect, Tuvok, are gone. However, I have no doubts as to any of the appointments, although I have to admit to a certain reluctance at the thought of having to work closely with Tom Paris as first officer. However, I am determined to at least give him a fair chance. He's done some good work while on the ship and, having recently reviewed his records, the general trend in his performance has been an encouraging improvement. Although, I do have certain doubts about his maturity.
Working with him this evening in order to determine the other new appointments today turned out to be less onerous than I expected. I was pleasantly surprised by his willingness to discuss the various options with me, also by his insight into the abilities and personalities of those involved, together with the fact that we were in agreement as to all the promotions and new appointments. He was obviously pleased by Harry Kim and B'Elanna's promotions, far more so, I suspect, than his own.
Maybe this will work better than I expected and Paris and I will actually forge a decent working relationship. After all, we do have at least one thing in common, we're both former Starfleet *and* Maquis. Although, I can't really compare Paris' times with the Maquis to my own. Even when I recruited him, I wondered if I was making a mistake. For a while I thought that I had, that he'd betrayed us at the first opportunity he had. I still thought that when we were first stranded out here in the Delta Quadrant; it wasn't until after Paris had saved my life and I realised I owed him that I wondered. If he was what I thought him to be, why did he risk his life to save mine? Then, I had to review his records as part of my duties as first officer and realised he'd deliberately given himself up to that Starfleet patrol, to let us get away. And yet, after all that, he betrayed us when he joined up with Starfleet in order to hunt us down. I wonder why.
But the irony of the fact that the two officers in charge of Voyager are both former Maquis, and yet, here we are, following Starfleet rules and regulations, hasn't escaped me. I remember when Kathryn and I first discussed the regime we'd follow on Voyager, we both agreed that this would be a Starfleet ship. I can see no reason to change this now as the same reasons still prevail; most of the crew are Starfleet and I think my former, Maquis, crew have largely grown used to the Starfleet way of doing things. Plus, I want to minimise the disruption to the crew caused by the change in command. I think...I hope, that by now the crew really is one crew, that who was Starfleet and who was Maquis is, in the light of our situation, unimportant, at least at present. I don't anticipate any resentment from the Starfleet crew at myself being in command, as I was once Starfleet, after all. I don't know whether there'll be any resentment at Paris' promotion, given his past, but his position is strengthened, I think, by the fact that he recently brought back the ship to us after we were stranded by the Kazon, with only limited assistance, from the Doctor and Suder, together with our Talaxian allies. But the plan to retake Voyager was Paris'. From what I can gather most of the crew are well aware of the part he played and what he risked and I hope that they are all mature and experienced enough to appreciate that.
End entry
*******
First Officer's Personal Log Stardate: 50132.5
I'm an idiot. How could I possibly have thought there was even a chance Chakotay and I could work together. He just won't give me a break. I guess the honeymoon period didn't last long, yeah, about two days! This first week has been hell! That's the only word for it. Everywhere I look, there he is, judging me, looking at me, waiting for me to fuck up. Everyone must be able to see it. If I have to hear him one more time saying something isn't in accordance with protocol, I'll...well, I don't know what I'll do, scream maybe? And if I have to admit I don't know something, something that a first officer should know, he's pleased. He tries to hide it, but he's not that good an actor!
Trouble is, I feel guilty, when I'm ignorant of some of the basics. Maybe I shouldn't, because I'm new at this, after all and I'm sure I'll get better at it. Eventually. Fuck! I guess I'm feeling sorry for myself.
But still, how could I have been stupid enough to think he'd give me a chance? Take today, okay I didn't pick up on that damage report properly, gave the all clear before I should have, but, it's not like Harry missed it. It's his job, after all, and he's damn good at it. And yeah, I know I should have been on it too, and I swear I will be next time, but he *knows* I'm new at this. So, couldn't he let it go this first time, and pick it up if it happened again? But no, he *had* to reprimand me, didn't he! Okay, he called me in to the Ready Room, but after the way he glared at me and his tone of voice when he said "You missed it?!" it was frigging obvious what he was going to do. He could have waited till the end of shift, asked for a word to discuss ship's business then, but no! Calls me in straight afterwards. So, I went in there in front of the whole bridge crew, and they all know what's going to happen. God! Did he ever enjoy himself, tearing a strip off me. I suspected he'd been waiting for me to screw up, and this proves it. All I could do was stand there and take it, pretend I didn't care. I wish I didn't, but unfortunately I do. Dammit! And after that, he expects me to have some sort of authority over the crew, for them to respect me. No chance, not when it's so obvious I don't rate in his eyes.
Fuck him anyway!
Shit!
Computer - delete this entry.
~~~~~~
Captain's Personal Log Stardate: 50132.5
It's worse than I thought it would be, working with Paris. Today, he missed that internal damage report, and if we'd gone to warp just then, it could have been disastrous. Luckily Harry spotted it. However, I'd decided not to make a big issue of it, as Paris is new to his position and I have to make allowances for that. But it was the way Paris looked afterwards that really got to me, when we were in my Ready Room. I summoned him to discuss with him where he went wrong, but he just stood there, arms folded, with that smirk on his face, the one I used to see all the time back in the Maquis. It never failed to infuriate me then, and unfortunately, it still does. That arrogant look of his... If I'm honest, I wanted to smack it off his face, like I always have. I know I shouldn't let him get to me. I *know* that, but he makes me so angry! I don't have this problem with any other member of the crew, not even those like Dalby, or Henley, who, even when they deliberately set out to be annoying, aren't anywhere near as bad as Paris is, without even trying.
But as it is, all I did was reprimand him. Which he deserved.
I'm going to try another meditation session, see if I can calm myself sufficiently to let Paris' manner wash over me. I have to stay calm and focussed as it's my responsibility to get this ship and crew home. I understand so much more now about the burden Kathryn was under, the terrible weight of responsibility she carried. Although I captained my own ship in the Maquis, that doesn't really compare to the experience of being the captain of a Federation starship, faced with a 65 year journey to get back to the Alpha Quadrant. With the wisdom of hindsight, I regret any time Kathryn may have felt I wasn't there for her 100%, although I always tried to support her to the best of my ability and I think... I hope... that she knew that. I miss her so much, her stalwart presence, her sharp intelligence, the jokes we used to share, the chat over a cup of her favourite coffee. I kept her in touch with the crew, stopped her from feeling isolated, helped her shoulder the burden. Or at least I hope that I did.
I can't summon up any real enthusiasm for anything, but I know that the crew is relying on me and I must do my best not to let them down. So, I go through the motions, socialise with the crew, make myself visible to them, so that they know I'm there for them. Even though, all I want to do is relax in private, maybe with a few close friends, go back to being simply Chakotay again, instead of being 'the Captain'. But I can't do that now; I have to carry on the mission that meant everything to Kathryn, to get us home. But all I feel now is alone. And tired.
B'Elanna tries to help. She eats with me, spends time with me. But as I'm captain, the gap between us has widened. Although she's chief engineer, she's not a command officer and simply cannot comprehend all that means. Normally, the captain of a Starfleet vessel relies on the company of other captains, but of course that isn't possible out here. And, try as I might, I can't ever imagine a time when Paris can be to me anything near what I used to be to Kathryn. Friends, that above anything else. We were almost lovers. Would have been, I think, if we'd stayed on New Earth. I regret that I didn't press her harder on this, even though I understood and respected her reasons for holding that a physical relationship was inappropriate. And, after a time, I grew to accept it, even though I didn't agree with it and my feelings for her never died. We still used to flirt. She enjoyed that I think. But, the friendship, the companionship was, I think, for her at least, the most important aspect. When she was with me, she could relax a little, stop being so much Captain Janeway, allow more of Kathryn to come out. Now I have to be 'Captain Chakotay' and I don't think I'll ever be able to rely on my first officer for companionship like she did with me. With Paris, the most I can expect will be a workable relationship, nothing more. I can't imagine ever calling him a friend.
I miss Kathryn so much.
End entry.
*******
Lieutenant Margaret Hamilton sat at her position at conn on the bridge. She shifted slightly, trying to loosen up tense muscles. Her backside ached, even with the deep cushioning of the chair and she could feel the long thigh muscles twinge as she moved. What she needed was a long soak in a hot, aromatic bath, or a massage, but she was unlikely to receive either, being short of rations. It was going to be the sonic shower for her again tonight.
"Ants in your pants, Marge?" a light tenor voice said behind her. Hamilton turned round. Dark brown eyes glared into innocent blue. She hated it when Paris called her Marge. He knew it, of course, that was why he did it.
"Just trying to get comfortable, sir!" she said pointedly. "Someone seems to have bent this chair out of shape, must be all that squirming around he used to do."
Paris raised an eyebrow at her, acknowledging the hit. One corner of his mouth quirked up in an excuse for a smile. He didn't look good, Hamilton thought critically, very pale, with circles under his eyes. And Chakotay by his side didn't look much better. Which didn't exactly induce confidence in those who had to serve under them, or it didn't in her case, at least.
When no further comment was forthcoming, she turned back to her console and inhaled deeply, trying to release the tension, but without success. It didn't help that she was always conscious that Tom Paris was sitting there behind her, from where he could be critiquing her every move. He probably wasn't, of course, but knowing that he was there didn't help her confidence. It wasn't that she wasn't a good pilot, she was, she knew that. It was just that Tom Paris was the best she'd seen. He had been nothing but warm and congratulatory when Captain Chakotay had announced her appointment as chief pilot, but she knew how much he loved to fly, figured that he couldn't be happy at the fact that he wouldn't be doing much flying from now on. She stifled a sigh. Would this shift never end?
From behind her, she could hear the Captain ask Paris something about the weekly crew administration report and why hadn't he filed it yet. There was an edged, almost accusatory, undertone to his voice that Hamilton had heard recently all too often, invariably directed at Tom Paris. She sighed inwardly; here it comes. Sure enough, Tom's reply, when it came, was delivered in a manner that she, from her position at conn, knew was practically guaranteed to annoy Chakotay. She didn't need to turn round to picture Paris' posture, he would be sprawled in his chair, in the least formal posture he could manage and still remain sitting. His drawled response was to the effect that he was waiting on a report from the maintenance crew, didn't think that it would be worth filing an incomplete report. Of course, if the Captain wanted him to file an incomplete report... His tone suggested astonishment at such an extraordinary suggestion.
She edged her chair round slightly, to a position where she could look at captain and first officer out of the corner of her eye. Dabo! She'd been right on the latinum when she'd pictured Tom in her mind's eye. She didn't miss the black scowl on Chakotay's expression as he snorted to Paris, "Don't be ridiculous. You should have let me know, that's all."
Paris smiled at him brightly, disingenuously. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I didn't realise that you wanted me to keep you abreast of my every movement, when I anticipate I'll be ready to file a report, for instance. But I'll make a note for future reference."
"Paris." Chakotay growled a warning. "If a report is going to be late, I want to know."
Paris was nodding sagely. "Of course, Captain. Er, does that include when we're in the middle of an emergency, say?"
Hamilton closed her eyes and winced. It was all so predictable. Not to mention childish. Paris *had* to know how much his habit of sarcasm annoyed Chakotay. So, why didn't he stop it, act like a senior officer, let alone a first officer, should? She knew that he was capable of dealing with ship's business on a businesslike level, because she'd seen him do it, when chairing meetings of his former department, especially when time had been at a premium. Was it that on some level he enjoyed baiting the Captain?
She didn't miss the way Chakotay's eyes narrowed as he fought to contain his expression, saying only, again, tersely, "Don't be ridiculous. Just use your discretion. You *can* do that, I take it?"
Not that he was any better, she thought in disgust. He seemed to actually enjoy finding fault with his first officer. It wasn't that noticeable, maybe, but there was an indefinable note in his voice every time he pointed out to Paris that he'd made a mistake, or when he would send an edged glance Tom's way when he was slow at collecting reports. This was unlike Chakotay too, as he normally tried hard to be fair, in her experience anyway. Except, it seemed, when it came to Paris.
She didn't doubt Chakotay's ability as captain; his usual air of reassuringly calm competency hadn't changed with his assumption of the captain's position. And it wasn't like he didn't have prior experience. What she did doubt was the ability of the Captain to work effectively with his first officer. And that was frightening. It would be bad enough in the Alpha Quadrant; here in the Delta Quadrant where their survival hung on a thread, it could be disastrous. Why was it, that Captain Janeway and the then Commander Chakotay had worked together better right from the beginning, even though they'd only just stopped being adversaries, than Captain Chakotay and Paris did now, after over two years together on the same ship, fighting for survival?
The all too frequent times when the two of them acted like this never failed to get to her, when the hostility between captain and first officer permeated the air. No matter how many times she told herself just to relax, inevitably she'd find thin coils of unease winding around her, tightening, until she'd get to the point when she had to move in her seat - or scream. The relaxed atmosphere that she'd been used to when serving on the bridge under the command of Kathryn Janeway had disappeared. Not that she'd served at the same time as the Captain that often, Paris as chief pilot was normally at the conn when the Captain took the bridge. But on the ship as a whole, there had been a feeling of...she wasn't quite certain how to describe it, but missed it now that it had gone. Now, at the end of her shifts she often felt tired and drained, every muscle tense, her spine aching. She waited with apprehension for Paris' reply, relaxing slightly when he merely nodded and stated quietly, "Understood."
For a while there was silence, broken only by a low hum of conversation from the direction of Ops where Harry Kim was discussing a slight variation in the monitor readings with B'Elanna Torres. It looked like the days of relaxed conversation on the bridge, at least on Alpha shift, were a thing of the past. Although, come to think of it, many of those had been initiated by Paris, as she'd had occasion to observe during their hand-overs. Looked like he wasn't doing much of that nowadays.
She blinked tired eyes and stifled a yawn; aware that if Paris saw her, he would undoubtedly send some crack her way. Although, it could be worse, she could be in a staff meeting. Senior staff briefings were a nightmare in which the underlying tension between Chakotay and Tom Paris was far too noticeable to ignore. When she had been on duty on the bridge under Janeway's command, she had frequently observed the senior staff as they came out of the morning briefing, before being relieved by Paris. Often, they'd appeared to be jovial, almost carefree. But she could honestly say that she'd never come out of a morning meeting feeling that way.
She glanced up, seeing her replacement Ensign Lo standing there. At last, shift end. She quickly briefed her replacement and caught Jonathon Rollins' eye. He nodded and the two of them left for the messhall, to brave Neelix' cooking together, as they often did, feeling a sense of camaraderie, that came from being the 'new kids on the block'. That was a Paris expression, she wasn't quite sure what it meant when he'd used that about the two of them, but had a fair idea. There would be no prizes for guessing what the likely topic of conversation she would be having with Jon over dinner; they'd spent entirely too much time discussing the new command team logistics as it was. And she suspected, from the uneasy glances she intercepted between Kim and Torres, that they too were troubled. Not least by the detrimental effect on morale in the crew as a whole. As a member of the senior staff, she loyally tried to pretend that there was no problem, but the crewmembers weren't fools, they couldn't help but have noticed the attitude of captain and first officer. Of course, it didn't help that morale was so low anyway, with the dead members of staff still being mourned, particularly the Captain, of course, but also Tuvok, who had been a fair, if demanding, taskmaster for his security department. She suspected that Rollins missed him a great deal. Then there'd been Pablo; Batehart had been a good friend of hers.
She heaved a sigh of relief, at being off the bridge, even with the thought of the meal that awaited her.
~~~~~
Tom lounged in the First Officer's office, in *his* office, feet up on the desk, chair tipped back. Contrary to his casual appearance, he was working, going over the latest round of administrative reports that had come his way. He hated this, this feeling of being bogged down in trivia, even knowing as he did that this same trivia could, if analysed correctly, be important. But really, was it necessary for Ensign Boretski to go into quite so much detail about the latest finds from astrophysics? Hmm, maybe he should have a word with the Ensign, let him know he appreciated brevity. It couldn't hurt, right? He massaged at his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. Maybe he should just call it a night? But then, glancing at the stack of padds still waiting for his attention, he thought better of it, knowing that if he didn't deal with them now, there'd be a bigger pile tomorrow. He pushed down the now familiar feeling of panic that welled up, the knowledge that he wasn't up to the task, that he was inadequate as first officer. Shit, how had Chakotay dealt with all of this stuff?
His commbadge beeped. "Kim to Paris."
"Paris here Harry. What's up?"
"I was wondering if you'd like a game of pool in Sandrine's."
Tom closed his eyes briefly, severely tempted, but, summoning up his will power, said, "Thanks Harry, but not just now. Maybe later?"
"Sure. You want to fix a time?"
"How about if I call you?"
"Okay. See you later. Kim out."
In Sandrine's, Harry looked at B'Elanna and shrugged.
"Is he coming?" she asked.
"Not right now. He said he'd call."
Her expression was sceptical, wrinkling further the pronounced ridges of her forehead. "Uh huh." Tom hadn't set foot in Sandrine's since his promotion, in fact to her knowledge, and she'd checked the records, he hadn't set foot on the holodeck either. She had to admit that she was a bit worried about him as it was unlike Tom not to grab what relaxation time he could. On the face of it, he appeared to be coping quite well with his new position, all things considered, but she wondered whether this was really the case. His non appearance in his beloved Sandrine's certainly didn't bode well.
She spotted Chakotay entering the bar and called to him, challenging him to a game of pool, once Chell and Dalby finished their game. She looked at him carefully as he approached her table, noting the unhealthy greyish tinge to the normally brown skin and that the strong Amerindian features were drawn, with lines of strain bracketing his mouth. But then, he hadn't looked really well since the deaths, almost three weeks ago now. It was probably hardest on him, she thought sympathetically, knowing full well that Janeway had been his friend, almost more than that, as well as his captain. She did what she could to help him, but a friend could only do so much, faced with the loss of a loved one. He was doing his best to be the captain that Voyager needed, but it was obvious to her that he took little joy in the position.
"Where's Paris?" Chakotay asked, glancing around, expecting to see the lieutenant hanging around somewhere in the room, as he so often used to be when Sandrine's was running.
Kim sighed. "In his office."
"Working? At this hour?" Chakotay didn't bother to hide his disbelief.
"Well, that's normally what one does in an office isn't it?" Chakotay looked taken aback, even more so as Harry continued," He's been working late every night since... since he was promoted." Kim stopped and sighed. "I'm..." he began, then hesitated, not sure if he should say this, bearing in mind the fact that there was no love lost between captain and first officer.
"What?" Chakotay asked.
"I'm worried about him," Kim said, having decided to say his piece. "He hasn't set foot in Sandrine's for weeks."
"Or any holodeck programme," B'Elanna added.
"I see," Chakotay said, slowly. "I think I'd better have a word with him about this later."
As he spoke Chell came over to tell Torres that the pool table was free and captain and chief engineer began a game of pool. It was not until much later that Chakotay remembered about Paris. He found it hard to believe that the young lieutenant was working so hard, as this certainly wasn't in keeping with what Chakotay knew of his usual habits. But, as captain, it behove him to check it out. He asked the computer where Paris was and his brows rose when he found he was still in his office, as it was now very late. He detoured there, rather annoyed, as all he really wanted to do was to at least try to get some sleep, although that had been in short supply for the past few weeks. There was no reply to his requests for admittance, until, eventually, he overrode the lock.
He walked in, to find Paris asleep, slumped on his desk, head pillowed on his folded arms. Chakotay felt irritated, why hadn't he gone to bed if he was that tired? He went over to the sleeping figure and shook his shoulder, none too gently.
"Paris. Paris, wake up!"
"Huh. What?" Paris opened bleary eyes, to find his Captain frowning down at him. He blinked, seemingly confused. "What're you doing here?"
"Waking you up," was the dry reply.
"Oh, um, I must have fallen asleep."
"Obviously."
Paris started to get to his feet, but Chakotay stopped him, pressing a hand down on his shoulder. "It's late," the Captain said. "Why are you still here?"
Tom sighed. "I didn't mean to be, but the excitement of reading Ensign Galloway's reports obviously got to me."
Chakotay suppressed a smile. Ensign Galloway was a born bureaucrat, her reports were probably the most boring he'd ever read. "Exciting, huh?" he said, with a wry smile, which Paris returned. For a brief moment, there was amity between the two men. "Get to bed, Paris. I need you alert on the bridge tomorrow."
Paris stiffened, his smile faded, as a cold, withdrawn expression took its place. "Yeah, right." His tone was anything but respectful. "If I may be excused, *sir*!" At that, he got to his feet and stalked out of the room, without waiting for Chakotay's response.
The captain stared after him, bewilderment turning to anger. What the hell was *that* about? He stormed after the other man, calling after him, "Stop right there Paris!"
Tom halted, standing stiffly still in the corridor, but didn't turn round, remaining with his back to the captain. "You are out of line, Lieutenant," Chakotay said angrily, as he drew level with Paris and came to a halt in front of the younger man, who said nothing, although his expression was cast in stone. "I don't know what you think I said," Chakotay continued, "but I will *not* tolerate disrespect from you, is that clear?"
"Perfectly, sir!" Paris spat. "If I may be excused, sir?"
"Go!"
Paris carefully walked round Chakotay and continued on his way, his stride fast, but measured and as graceful as ever. Chakotay pivoted on his heels, still angry, wondering just what had set Paris off this time? Although, the man had a propensity to be disrespectful. Maybe that was it? He turned and walked to his quarters, trying to calm himself as he walked.
By contrast, Tom stormed into his quarters; fatigue banished by anger, for the moment anyway. Fuck Chakotay! The man never gave him a break. Even when he'd been working so hard, he'd fallen asleep in his office, Chakotay *still* had to make a crack about that incident in which he'd missed the damage report. "I need you alert on the bridge tomorrow," he muttered to himself furiously, as he stalked into the bedroom, and started undoing his uniform in short, savage, jerks. So far as the Captain was concerned, he just couldn't do anything right. Never had. Okay, maybe in the beginning when they'd first met, back in the Maquis, it'd been his fault that they didn't get on, but you'd have thought, after he'd saved the guy's life, tried his best to fit in on Voyager, that Chakotay would cut him a little slack. But no. Not once had he ever let up. Tom had always been aware of Chakotay's subliminal hostility towards him, simmering away beneath the man's calm exterior. That had been one of the things that had actually made him enjoy winding Chakotay up, when he'd been playing the role of a discontented malcontent, trying to flush out the spy on Voyager.
Had Chakotay ever, even once, attempted to find out just what had happened when he'd been captured by the Federation, during his time with the Maquis? Not to his knowledge. So, Chakotay *still* saw him as, at least, a deserter, at worst a traitor, didn't know that he'd been captured leading the Federation pursuers away from the rest of the Maquis. And you'd have thought that Chakotay would have made an attempt to find out, probably would have done, if it had been anyone else but Tom Paris. Why was it, with every other crewmember, Chakotay was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, investigate their background, try to help them fit in. With everyone else but him. Well screw him.
For a few moments, Tom actually entertained a fantasy of telling Chakotay that, right before he left the ship, never to return. But then he sobered, remembering what he had on this ship, a life, friends, and a future. Okay, along with those came a captain who couldn't stand him and a crew many of whom still despised him, but, on balance, the good outweighed the bad. Probably. And besides, somehow he felt that he'd be letting Captain Janeway down, if he didn't stick it out. Even though she was dead, he still owed her, always would, for all she'd given him. He bit his lip, as a picture of her smiling at him, telling him he'd done a good job flashed into his mind. At that, he felt his anger drain away, to be replaced by fatigue. God, he was tired. He really had to try and get some sleep, as he owed it to Kathryn Janeway, and the crew, to try to do the best job he could, which didn't include trying to carry out his duties befuddled by lack of sleep. Even though he in no way actually wanted those particular duties, would give almost anything for his old job back and Janeway at the comm. But, as that wasn't going to happen, he should try and get on with it and stop wishing for might have beens, stop dwelling on 'if onlies'. Because he knew from bitter experience what a waste of time that was.
He had to try and relax. It was just that being in these new quarters...well, he was sure that once he adjusted to them he'd sleep okay. Really he would.
******
End Chapter One
more in next post.
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no subject
Date: 7 February 2004 12:36 (UTC)Speaking of, Helen's got a long Piccadily Line journey ahead of her tomorrow, so I'm coming over on my own, so I'll be over arund 2ish, if that's okay *g*
Re:
Date: 7 February 2004 12:49 (UTC)2ish tomorrow is fine. See you then.
PS: Trust me, the story really isn't worth staying up for.
Mem'ries
Date: 7 February 2004 15:05 (UTC)Sigh -- those were the good old days, a single fandom. Two lists.
What did we ever do with our time???
Re: Mem'ries
Date: 8 February 2004 01:13 (UTC)Yeah. I wish that list culture hadn't degenerated like it did. I suspect that the proliferation of lists is one reason why LJ took off as it did. Too many damn lists to keep up with. I know that even a small fandom like ST:Voy now has at least 6 lists. And that's just the slash.
What did we ever do with our time???
Er, write? Something I'm doing precious little of nowadays.