Chapter Text
“Lieutenant Torres reports that the gel packs are infected,” I said as I set the PADD down on my desk and leaned back in my chair, resisting the urge to rub my aching temples. “We need to find the source of the infection before it spreads any further.”
“Is the crew in any danger?” my first officer asked with a concerned frown.
I didn’t shake my head in response. The movement would have hurt too much. Instead I replied simply, “No.”
Chakotay, seated across from me, was waiting for some sort of elaboration. I could tell by the way his concern for the crew had morphed into bland passivity. But he didn’t prompt me. He knew that if there was information to relay, I would relay it in my own good time.
Chakotay was a man of few words on the best of days. But he’d become even more taciturn of late and it didn’t take any sort of bio scan or sensor sweep to figure out why. Four weeks ago, his ex-girlfriend had revealed her true nature, showing herself to be a spy amongst his ranks and him the fool who loved her for all the crew to see. We’d hardly spoken since. Not that we’d been exceptionally close before Seska had betrayed us, but the easy camaraderie we’d developed was not so easy anymore. Nearly losing Lieutenant Torres a few weeks later had only further chilled his disposition.
We spoke sparingly, conversations clipped and confined to ship-related matters, and only on duty. Off duty I was lucky to get a nod of acknowledgment, Chakotay avoided me so religiously. We were returned, it seemed, to those first few days of serving together only this time we did not have the merging of our crews to fill the silence between us. No, that’s not right. Even then Chakotay had looked at me differently than he did as we sat opposite each other in my ready room. There was a coldness there that hadn’t been before. Something callous and indifferent.
For all that he was by nature short of words, Chakotay was usually quick with a smile or a dry, humorous quip that put one on both our faces. But until two days ago when he joked with Tuvok about having the recalcitrant Maquis go easy on him, I had not seen Chakotay smile since before I had accused Seska of being a spy without proof.
And I… I missed my friend. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d come to consider him as such until he withdrew, and I’ll admit, his disregard hurt on a dangerously personal level.
As it so happens, there was more to say, but even the thought of talking was enough to send my head spinning, the migraine was so consuming. A month ago, Chakotay would have noticed. The man could usually read me like a book. If he noticed my distress then, he didn’t say anything. And that, more than anything, showed just how much Seska’s betrayal had affected us.
Coffee. I needed coffee.
Suppressing a grimace at the elevation change, I rose and rounded my desk. Chakotay stood when I did but didn’t step away from his chair as I moved up to the replicator to get a coffee.
“The Doctor and Kes haven’t found any sign of infection in the crew,” I explained.“Coffee, black. The Doctor suspects that it isn’t harmful to humanoids, though it’s extremely contagious.”
The drink materialized and I took a sip, censoring a groan of satisfaction as the caffeine hit my system. Waiting for the chastisement that would have normally come at my drinking coffee so late in the day, I slowly turned back to my first officer, careful not to move my head.
He said nothing. Not even a raised brow as I brought the cup to my lips once more and took several more sips.
“Would you like anything?” I asked, hiding the pain of his indifference with biting expectation.
“No, thank you.” His tone was devoid of any sort of inflection or emotion.
So I took another sip and continued. “We’ve quarantined the affected gel packs, but there’s no telling how far the infection spread. We may be in for more system’s failures.”
Chakotay nodded in acknowledgement.
“The Doctor and Kes are working to find a treatment,” I said around the rim of my mug which I hadn’t moved from my mouth, “and Lieutenant Torres is working to track the source.” I paused to take another gulp, not caring that the liquid was nearly hot enough to scald my mouth. I could feel the caffeine beginning to work its magic and knew that in a few minutes, my migraine would dull to a forgettable ache.
“I suggest having Ensign Kim work with Torres,” Chakotay said. “And we should cross check the transporter logs. Maybe something got through the environmental filters.”
I nodded slowly in agreement, happy that it didn’t cause me to clutch my head in agony. “Agreed.”
When he didn’t make to leave my ready room, I asked, “Was there something else, Commander?”
“You really don’t have anything to say about it?”
I didn’t need to ask what he was referring to. The whole ship was abuzz with what he’d done to Crewman Dalby; it had been the subject on every crewman’s wagging tongue this morning in the mess hall.
Was this perhaps the reason for his current standoffishness?
I suppressed an irritated sigh. I had hoped to return to my holonovel before this gel pack crisis had evolved from a simple malfunction into a vicious infection. I was just getting to the good part and the mystery was unfolding deliciously. I started the program a few weeks ago because I wanted to read the book, but Harry’s Beowulf program gave me the idea to participate in the story first. It sounded exciting at the time, and indeed I was loving the mystery surrounding the old house, its forbidden fourth floor, and its intriguing occupants.
I had planned on being there this evening, not crawling around in Jeffery’s tubes replacing infected gel packs and downgrading our circuitry to avoid a cascade failure. I was tired, dirty, and I was fairly certain I had grease on my nose. I did not want to have this conversation right now; I wanted a glass of wine and a bubble bath. But as I would have neither of those things, I set my mug on the coffee table and resigned myself to the impending argument.
Working with Chakotay was often like working with an extension of myself. I could hide nothing from him. He was unconventional at times—an instinct leftover from his time as a Maquis—but then so was I. His suggestions were always sound, and even if I disagreed with his logic, it added something to my own plan. He could often anticipate my orders before I gave voice to them, my needs before I even considered them. It made him invaluable as a first officer, but also annoying as hell to argue with. If working with Chakotay was smooth as glass, fighting with him was like walking barefoot over a mirror fractured into a million sharp pieces: beautiful; painful; maddening.
“About what?” I snapped once I had straightened, squaring off with him over the railing that divided the room. “About how you struck a subordinate in front of a dozen more, in the middle of the mess hall like some illicit Maquis fight club? You want to know if I have anything to say about that?”
He swallowed thickly, but didn’t respond. He just…continued to stare at me, waiting.
I sighed, deflating my faked outrage. “No.”
His eyebrows nearly reached his hairline. “You can’t be serious.”
I felt my own brows rise at his words. “Punishment for striking a fellow officer is the brig, Commander. Is that what you want?” I pretended to look pensive for a moment. “I suppose I could also court marshal you.”
His hands went to his hips either in confusion or frustration, or possibly both. “This sudden leniency wouldn’t have anything to do with you and Lieutenant Ayala showing up in sickbay last month, both looking like you’d gone twelve rounds with a Terrellian, would it?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “How did you…”
If anything, I’d have expected him to attribute that leniency to what had happened with Torres, or to Seska and what she’d done, considering I had, actually, consciously extended it to him and the other Maquis for weeks because of her. Seska’s betrayal had wounded us all, though she’d primarily been after Chakotay’s pride.
I did not think that my foray into the holodeck with Lieutenant Ayala was common knowledge. If Ayala had mentioned it to him, Chakotay would know that my leniency regarding Dalby had, in fact, everything to do with that. How could I punish him when I myself had done nearly the same thing?
I’d ordered Ayala into that holodeck to beat some respect into him. Or, rather, have it beaten into him. I’d spoken from experience when I told Tuvok that we needed to earn the Maquis’ respect. I’d known that from the beginning. So I’d called Ayala to the holodeck, thrust him unawares into a Cardassian prison of my own making, and met him at his level, solider to soldier.
Chakotay had asked me about the program later that day when he alerted me to the half-a-dozen complaints filed about the noise (combined with the ones Tuvok had brought to my attention, they totaled ten), but I had refused to say anything about it. Apparently, so had Ayala. And since Chakotay hadn’t mentioned my showing up in sickbay that day, I had figured Chakotay either didn’t know or was too wrapped up in Seska’s betrayal to care. The program itself was behind a level-ten security lock, so no one would know exactly what had been going on. And no one had been brave enough to intrude on the captain’s holodeck time.
So if I didn’t tell anyone, and neither had Ayala, that left… Ah. “Paris.”
“Paris,” Chakotay echoed.
Clearly, I’d just stumbled upon Paris’s reason for liking work in sickbay.
“Remind me to have a chat with Mister Paris about the definition of confidentiality.” It came out half-grumbled though I hadn’t meant it to be so. I took a breath before I continued. “And what exactly did our resident gossip have to say about that?”
“Not nearly enough.” Chakotay dropped his hands and took a step towards me before remembering himself and stepping back into a begrudging parade rest. “Nothing about why you ended up in sickbay, beaten to within an inch of your life.”
I snorted. “That’s a bit of an exaggeration.” But I didn’t miss his phrasing. Either Paris had neglected to mention Ayala’s substantial injuries, or Chakotay wasn’t concerned about them. I couldn’t tell which it was.
“Alright.” He shifted, hands going to his hips once more. “Do you want to tell me what you were doing?”
I felt my mouth open and close. How the hell had this conversation gotten so out of hand? When did this become an argument about me and my holodeck time rather than about his striking Mister Dalby? For that matter, why was he even fighting me? Hadn’t I just said that I would not punish him for his actions? Why did I suddenly have to justify mine?
Damn him for making me feel like a—
I swore to myself before I could finish that thought.
First my animal guide, now Chakotay. Was dragging Ayala into that holodeck program to prove a point really that childish?
Probably.
But we had a better chance of getting home tomorrow than he did of ever getting me to admit that out loud. Besides, it had worked. While Ayala wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to stand in my presence, the outright hostility was gone. Now, he regarded me with a respectful wariness, like a rescued dog kicked one too many times by a previous owner.
“Well?” Chakotay prompted at my silence.
Defiant, I crossed my arms. I owed him nothing. “That’s none of your business.”
“Isn’t it?” he challenged.
Something in his tone reminded me of what he’d said to me outside his new quarters that day we joined crews. As first officer, the captain’s well being is my responsibility. It wasn’t, and I couldn’t possibly fathom why he would want to give himself that much extra work.
The memory made me angry because that’s exactly what he had done for months, and now here he was, seemingly uncaring about my current state. He hadn’t cared about what losing Durst had done to me, what the prospect of losing Neelix had done to me. He had no right to suddenly be concerned about an incident that had happened four weeks ago.
“No,” I snapped. “And you and Dalby is none of mine.” I could feel the migraine returning with a vengeance. “Now get out before I decide to throw you in the brig after all.”
I was almost disappointed that my harsh words incited no reaction. Annoyed, I turned away. I needed to take a moment before I said something I’d truly regret.
“Should someone throw you in there?” he asked almost tentatively.
I looked at him over my shoulder. “I didn’t hit him.”
It was true. I hadn’t hit Ayala. I’d just let several dozen holographic Cardassians do it for me.
I waited to see what Chakotay would make of that piece of information, but he just stared back at me blankly. I wondered if he would go order Ayala to reveal what had happened, and what Ayala would say if he did. And I wondered if I even cared.
Finally, Chakotay stepped back and the tension between us loosened. With an emotionless “Goodnight, Captain,” he turned on his heel and left.
The moment the doors closed behind him, I groaned and dropped my head into my hands, futilely attempting to massage away the intensifying pain. It was going to be a long night.