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I can always tell when Captain Kathryn Janeway is mad at a situation that she cannot easily punish. Like when a crewmember or officer defies her orders or takes matters into his own hands. Punishment for that sort of crime is easy: Lock the offender’s heels, berate him, counsel her, throw him in the brig, or bust her back a rank.
But when Kathryn’s cheeks have small red spots on them, right under her incredibly blue eyes, then I know that the entire crew has messed up. Or she has no idea who the perpetrator is.
As she walks past Tuvok’s console I can see those red spots, as if they were actually made of neon instead of enlarged blood vessels. They are beacons in the night for weary travelers, a way out, a sign to get the hell out of her path. Tuvok obviously has learned the meaning of those red spots too…he almost recoils as she passes him. For a Vulcan. She doesn’t say a word until she’s at the end of railing, just at the top of the stairs leading to our command chairs. She has two options at this point: Turn left and take her seat, making our shift miserable, or she can turn right and go into her ready room. A large part of me is praying to my Spirit Guide for a right turn. Mostly because I have too many things on my mind to deal with an unidentifiable problem. Partly because that particular view of my captain is an enjoyable one.
“Commander, you have the bridge. I’ll be in my ready room.”
She answers my prayers and turns away from me. I want to enjoy the sight of that shapely rear clad in black jumpsuit, but her words have thrown me for a loop.
She spoke in the code that has taken me years to figure out. If she had just said “I’ll be in my ready room,” I would have left her alone to stew over her problem. It might have taken a few hours, but she would have figured everything out by herself, come to the only logical solution (in her mind) and eventually she would have let me know the problem in hindsight.
But instead she had clearly said ‘Commander, you have the bridge.’ That was the dead giveaway that my assistance was desperately needed. I already had the bridge, had had the bridge hours before she even arrived, so there was no need to restate what was clearly obvious to everyone on the Delta shift, which amounts to about 12 people, give or take. Breaks are a necessary evil when monotony is a hazard. People leave, others take their place. It’s a well-oiled process.
So, my job now is to wait approximately ten minutes. This gives her time to set up her ready room for my arrival and our inevitable conversation. First, she will sit in the chair behind her desk for about two minutes, her hand on her chin and her finger rubbing the area just under lip ever so gently. I’ve seen her do this gesture so many times that I can’t believe she doesn’t have a worn spot there. Maybe she does and she covers it with makeup. Or maybe she spends time in sickbay, allowing The Doctor to perform some minor plastic surgery.
After she thinks about what she’s going to do, even though she subconsciously already knows what’s going to happen, she will stand, cross her ready room, go to the replicator and ask for a steaming pot of coffee. Only she will also request two mugs: One for herself and one for the First Officer she knows will be ringing her door in about 7 minutes, 11 seconds. But she won’t drink the coffee; she will just place it on the coffee table and pace, carefully selecting the words that she will say when I arrive. She will pause about every third sentence or so and gaze out the windows that bank her ready room, as if to ask the stars for their opinion. But she would never do that…giving the opinion is my job. One hand will be placed on her hip, which is cocked at an angle that turns me on more than any nude picture. The other will be in its usual place…under her chin, finger working under her lip.
I glance at my chronometer. It’s time. I don’t want to keep her waiting. Even though she doesn’t realize she’s waiting, it will still be a black mark on my record if I don’t show up on time.
I stand and say the obligatory “I need to confer with the captain on some crew evaluations. Tuvok, you have the bridge.”
Tuvok nods his answer to me. If he weren’t a Vulcan, I would swear that his expression was one of pity. One that says (loudly) ‘glad it’s you and not me, buddy!’
I press the chimes on her ready room door and it opens immediately. I don’t even bother to look behind her desk because I know damn well that she’s not sitting there. Her back is to me and she’s gazing out of the middle window, her hand under her chin, her finger rubbing just under her lip. Her left hand is on her hip, which is cocked at that angle that turns me on more than any nude picture. The steaming pot of coffee is on the table, my cup sitting next to hers, much like our chairs on the bridge.
Everything is right with the universe.
But wait. Something is different. The left hand on the left hip has something in it: A small black rectangle. A PADD. I swallow hard. Usually the easily identifiable and swiftly punished problems are logged onto a PADD. But this is the wrong scenario.
All is not right with the universe.
“Have a seat, Chakotay. Coffee?”
She bows towards the coffee pot, giving me a glance at her shapely rear. She really doesn’t have much of a rear. In fact, it’s almost flat. But when she bends over it curves out quite nicely and reminds me that yes, she’s tough as nails, but under that uniform she’s a damned attractive woman.
“Please. What’s up, Kathryn? You look perturbed about something.”
She sits down next to me and takes a sip of her coffee. I like my coffee a bit lukewarm so I will let it sit for at least five minutes before sipping.
“This is what’s wrong.”
As she speaks, she holds up the PADD and waves it in the air. I have one of those First Office Should-I-Or-Shouldn’t-I? dilemmas now: Do I wait for her to actually show me the contents of the PADD , which would be the logical chain of events, since she asked me? Or do I actually ask her to let me see it? Sometimes Starfleet officers get so caught up in the big things that they forget some of the little things. I decide that five minutes is too long. I pick up my coffee mug because it gives me something to do while she works out my dilemma. She’s smart, she’ll catch on.
“Did you know that there is a huge lottery sort of thing on this ship that Seven and I are lovers?”
Her words are stated so casually, so matter-of-fact that I almost miss them.
She hands me the PADD. There are lots of numbers and names on it. Of course the names are in some sort of code: Santa Claus, Kahless, Cochran, and Enterprise. Gambler-speak in a sense. No reasonable and sane person aboard Voyager would ever make such a bet using his or her real name. Voyager is still 30,000 light years from the Alpha Quadrant. That’s a long time to spend in the brig.
“Where did you get this?”
“I found it on the floor in the mess hall this morning. I guess someone was in a hurry to get to work and dropped it.”
Her words are tinged with anger but ever so lightly. If those words were cookies, then that anger would be a light dusting of confectioner’s sugar. But definitely not as sweet.
“Honestly, Kathryn, I had absolutely no idea that such a…rumor…was so rampant on the ship. I would figure any sexual rumors involving you would also involve me.”
I added the last sentence because I’m so caught off guard. I did always assume that the crew heartily believed that Kathryn and I were lovers. To be usurped once again by that damned Borg has made me a little angry. Ever since Seven of Nine came aboard Voyager she has taken over so much of our daily routines. In some ways we have all gotten used to it and accepted her presence at our consoles, on our away teams, and in the middle of our problems. But to have her replace me in the ship’s grapevine concerning sex with the captain really hurts. But I do understand where the idea comes from.
“Why would anyone create such a fantasy in their mind?”
I have to bite my tongue to keep from smiling at her use of the word fantasy. Two beautiful women together, lapping at each other, using fingers where men like to go. It must be a man thing. I myself have jerked off once or twice in the last month thinking about two heads of red hair peeking out between two pairs of thighs, each in direct opposition of the other. While sucking on one of Seven’s tits has often helped me get hard, the orgasm doesn’t usually happen until I have a vision of Kathryn sucking on one of Seven’s tits.
I’m in another one of those First Officer Should-I-or-Shouldn’t-I? dilemmas again. Damn, that’s twice in one conversation. Do I keep my First Officer costume on and let her know what the crew thinks about her and that damned Borg, or do I slip into my Friend of Kathryn costume, feign innocent and sooth her ruffled feathers? Do I say things that have been building up inside of me for over two years, or do I turn the other way, hoping that she’ll get over this situation herself?
“Chakotay, I don’t understand. I’ve never given any indication that I was…sexually involved with anyone, much less Seven of Nine.”
She looks at me with such a befuddled look on her face that the First Officer suit is going to win first place in this costume contest. She is my commanding officer. I must set the record straight or stop expecting her to be fair with Seven and the rest of the crew.
Kathryn runs her fingers through her hair and tilts her head back just a bit. The overhead lights add a small glare to her face and I quickly glance at her chin to see if there is indeed some sort of a mark there. Nothing. But then again, she does have a lot of freckles on her face that, at the moment, I cannot see either.
“Kathryn,” I start, in as calm of voice as I can muster. “It’s not that hard to see where this is coming from.”
The silence between us is filled with…well, I’m not sure what. She looks at me like a child attending the funeral of her very first goldfish. Obviously this rumor has shaken her and, all kidding and visions of loveliness aside, I must set the record straight.
She leans forward and crosses her legs, as if to hide that part of her that I often imagine Seven’s face poking into.
“Explain it to me, Chakotay. I don’t understand. She and I have never been affectionate in public or crept out of each other’s quarters in the dead of night. We’ve never been caught in the Holodeck doing things without our clothes on.”
I set my coffee mug down and lean into her space.
“It’s not those sort of clues that has the crew thinking you’re involved with her. It’s a different perception that the crew has, Kathryn. I mean, if they were going to base a sexual rumor on such obvious actions, then that would be you and I frolicking in the pages of that PADD. We do spend a lot of time behind closed doors in a non-professional environment. And I have crept out of your quarters in the dead of night because I fell asleep after one of your dinners.”
“What is the different perception, Chakotay?”
“It’s because you treat Seven differently than anyone else on this crew.”
Her body language tells me that I have hit a major nerve with her. She instantly leans back and puts her arms to her sides. But they are rigid and supporting her weight, pushing her upper torso higher and stretching her uniform over her chest.
“I do not.”
I do laugh out loud now.
“Yes, you do Kathryn. You treat her very differently. You treat Seven with kid gloves and you let her get away with things that have cost others rank and personal time.”
“Chakotay, she’s trying to learn and…”
“I’m not saying that what you’re doing is wrong, Kathryn. I think it’s wonderful that you’re teaching Seven so much about humanity,” It’s not often that I interrupt the captain when we’re not arguing about aliens attacking the ship or an anomaly about to swallow us whole. But she is so wrong. “But the favoritism you show towards her makes the crew believe that there is something else going on between the two of you.”
Kathryn leans forward and takes a sip of her coffee. I am trying to read the emotions on her face, but there isn’t anything there. It’s her bluff face, the one she shows aliens when she’s stating emphatically that Voyager is about to blow their ship out of space when, in reality, there isn’t a weapon within a deck’s reach that actually works. It scares aliens into submission and it’s about to scare me right out of this ready room.
She sets the cup down and sighs.
“Kathryn, I guess I should just go ahead and spill all these beans. We’ve started, we might as well finish.
I get up to pace because it’s easier to turn my back on her under the pretense of nervous energy than it is to sit so closely to her and face those incredibly blue eyes, even if they are filled with a mixture of anger and confusion.
“Tom Paris gets thirty days in the brig and loses rank because he disobeys your orders. B’Elanna gets punished because she doesn’t want a holographic recreation of a mass murderer operating on her. Seven of Nine disobeys your orders all the time, including blatantly breaking the Prime Directive and starting intergalactic wars, and she suffers no repercussions. Well, none that anyone can actually see.”
I turn back to her to gauge her expressions at the words I am saying. Still nothing. She’s good. But then again, in the Delta Quadrant she’s had plenty of practice staring down rogue aliens.
I decide to continue the monologue that I have already begun, in the hopes of making her understand what has been happening in her own little circle the past two years.
“Seven of Nine goes into other sections, overrides the team chief, does what she wants to ship’s systems, and you don’t do anything about it. And worse yet, I’m afraid to punish her because I know that she is your pet project.”
“But she often has the right idea, Chakotay. She only wants to help.”
“Very true. I couldn’t agree with you more. But how do you expect people to show up for their shift and do a good job if they know that someone who doesn’t even wear a Starfleet uniform can come in at will and take over their job? Not only does your preferential treatment fuel rumors, but it breaks morale in the sections that Seven helps herself to.”
She nods ever so slightly but I get the impression that she is only half listening to me. I’d like to believe that she is lost in her own thoughts, reliving the events that I am mentioning, and wondering if she should have handled things differently.
“Isn’t the correct protocol for a suggestion by a crewperson outside of his own department to ask for a meeting between you, me, and the team chief and present the idea for discussion? What would you do to Harry Kim if he went into sickbay and started rewriting The Doctor’s program without your permission?”
She thinks for a full two minutes before she answers me and then it’s so softly that I almost lean towards her to her what she is saying.
“I see your point, Chakotay. I had no idea.”
She slumps down into the sofa, my words sinking slowly into her porcelain skin. I never meant to discourage her like this; I only meant to explain what it is the crew might see in the relationship between the captain and the newest crewmember.
I sit back down next to her and pick up my coffee. The temperature is just right and I truly enjoy the blend that Kathryn has programmed into the replicator. There are many more words to say, many more occasions where Seven has received preferential treatment, but I think that Captain Kathryn Janeway has gotten the point.
“You’re right. The crew is right. How could I have not seen this, Chakotay?”
“Kathryn, you always try to do right by this crew. But your determination to mold Seven back into a human being has just…clouded your judgment towards her.”
“Perhaps in the future I should leave Seven’s punishment to you, as I do the other minor infractions of the crew. The major ones, and I hope that there are only a few more, I will handle, and handle with a blind eye.”
She looks up at me then picks up her coffee cup and swirls the dark liquid around her mug a few times.
“Thank you, Chakotay. I appreciate your honesty with me. You are a wonderful friend to set me straight so, well, bluntly.”
Friend? Wait a minute…couldn’t she see the clearly obvious First Officer costume that I have had on during this whole conversation? Not once have I even leaned towards the Friend costume, the one I often have to wear when she and I are alone and not discussing business. My sudden epiphany at her mistaken identity is almost as bright as the tetryon beam that brought both of our ships to this damnable quadrant: She can’t tell the difference between my Friend and my First Officer personalities.
That does explain a lot, mostly why she and I have never connected on a truly intimate level. When I am doing the Friend, but I want to be more, routine, she thinks that I am being her devoted First Officer. Or maybe I am not letting the Friend show through enough. I will always be her First Officer, no matter how relaxed we are, how much wine we’ve consumed, or how many layers of our uniforms we have removed in the name of comfort. Perhaps I need to let the Friend come through a bit stronger. And now would be a good time. Especially since I know for sure that she isn’t involved with Seven of Nine.
“So, tell me about these rumors that you and I are lovers.” She pulls her legs up underneath her and rubs the back of my hand with her fingers. She’s almost purring the words at me. She is changing the subject, the sneaky woman, but I think that she has realized what has happened. I see no reason to continue when the lesson has been learned.
“Well,” I purr back at her, “Ever since we came back from New Earth, you and I have been lovers…madly and passionately most times.”
“Is this true? I mean I realize that the crew isn’t stupid and we were alone for over four months, but we’ve never…”
“Never given them reason to suspect? Hmmm, like the aforementioned public displays of affection or getting caught with our britches down in the holodeck?”
“Something like that.”
She’s still caressing the back of my hand. Perhaps I am wrong and she can see the Friend persona that I have summoned from deep inside my psyche. If I am going to begin my seduction, now is as good as time as any.
I take her hand in mine and bring it to my lips, gently kissing the back of her knuckles.
“Now, if I did something like this on, say, the bridge, that might take some of the heat off of you and Seven.”
“Possibly.”
I can’t tell if she approves or disapproves by the tone of her voice, but the fact that she hasn’t pulled her hand away from my lips leads me to believe that I can continue.
“Or, if I took your face into my hands like this during a staff meeting, that would definitely start a rumor or two.” I do so, cupping her jawbones in my hands, caressing the sides of her creamy white skin with my brown, slightly callused thumbs.
For about five minutes neither of us moves. Friend is unsure what Captain wants. I am desperately searching her blue eyes, looking for signs of amusement at my practical joke, or a sign of acceptance of the intimacy that I so desperately crave with her. I see nothing. Perhaps she hasn’t decided yet what she wants.
Perhaps I will help her decide.
“And, I’d be willing to bet that if I did this,” I lean towards her and place my lips gently on hers, enjoying the warmth I feel against my skin. It’s a light kiss, tender and gentle and ready to be just another funny thing that the First Officer has whipped out of his pocket if she disapproves. I move my lips back and forth just a bit but in no way attempt to put my tongue into her mouth, much as I would like to.
“If I did this in the middle of the mess hall during the lunchtime rush, you would never have to worry about any kind of rumors again.”
She pulls away from me and places her hands on my cheeks, caressing my rough skin as gently as my lips just caressed her.
“Kiss me again.”
For a moment I thought she had said ‘kiss me again’ so I wait for her to repeat her words so I can truly understand what it is she wants from me.
“Chakotay, kiss me again.”
Smart woman, she really can read my mind.
So, I oblige, obedient First Officer/Friend that I am. I take her face into my hands again and pull her towards me. My lips are against hers and, after a moment or two, I do go for my tongue in her mouth. She allows the intrusion and returns the favor. Our gentleness gains a little more passion and eventually becomes a bit frantic, as we both search for a new part of the other’s mouth to caress.
After an eternity we pull apart, panting and gasping for much needed air.
“You’re right. If we did that on the bridge, or any other part of the ship where crewmembers are present, I’d never have to worry about any rumors with Seven of Nine again.”
Her smile is warm, her voice is throaty. It’s her sexy voice, a voice I have learned to identify over the past five years. She is happy. Content. For now I haven’t crossed any impenetrable barriers, although I know better than to ask her to show up in my quarters tonight dressed in nothing but garters, silk stockings, and a commbadge.
I haven’t realized it, lost in my sexual fantasies of screwing her into a gasping puddle of woman, that she is now standing and extending her hand to me.
“Back to the bridge, Chakotay. If we stay in here much longer then the crew might start some incredibly sexy rumors about us that we might have to live up to.”
I sit still, willing to live up to some crew-generated rumors involving whipped cream and silk scarves. But she shakes her hand at me, telling me in sign language to get up off the couch.
“Okay Kathryn.”
We both head towards the door, she in the lead and me following, admiring the view.
“Dinner with me tonight?”
“Of course. And if I fall asleep, do I have to sneak out of your quarters in the dead of night, or should I be spied leaving the next morning, a bit sleepy and with a big smile on my face?”
“Whatever you want, Commander.”
Her use of my rank informs me subtly that we have to become professionals again.
That’s okay.
This conversation is over.