The BLTS Archive- Deft Touch
Second in the Touch series
by Azpou (azpou@aol.com)

---

Chakotay stood on his balcony, looking up at the stars.

Over the last five years, he seemed to do that an awful lot.

It was Harry's fault. Harry's fault that Voyager had crashed, Harry's
fault they were the only survivors. It was Harry's fault they hadn't
been able to locate Voyager in the allotted search time. Harry's
fault Chakotay had resigned from Starfleet. Harry's fault Chakotay
was standing out on the balcony, looking up at the stars and seeing
Kathryn's lips where he should have seen Orion's Belt. Kathryn's
lips, forever pursed in disapproval, at his inability to stand up to
her, to perform his duty as her first officer and  make her *listen*.
His inability to save Voyager, to save the crew. The stars marked his
failure, and he hated them for it.

And now . . . his inability to save himself. To save Harry. And what
would Kathryn say to that? Probably nothing, he admitted to himself.
During their years in the delta quadrant, she had become as awkward
with emotions as he had been in the Maquis.

She wouldn't appreciate being compared to terrorists, he thought,
although he had always regarded himself as a freedom fighter.
Semantics. The only difference was perception.

His hatred made him tired. It was odd. Five years ago, he'd been ready
to move on with his life. Ready to forgive himself for his failure,
if not forget it. Ready to let go of Kathryn and her Voyager, and
their journey together across the galaxy. Ready to do it all, and
unable to do any of it.

Because of Harry. Harry, the constant reminder of his failure, more so
even than the stars themselves. Harry, who had resigned from
Starfleet scant few days before Chakotay himself five years ago.
Harry, who followed Chakotay everywhere, carrying his work on the
phase variance with him on a tricorder and six datapadds, in a bag he
slung over his shoulder like a school child  with a rucksack. Harry,
who made Chakotay feel so damn guilty just by being alive, and who
had asked Chakotay to resign. Harry, who needed Chakotay's strength,
presence, support and guidance as nobody had needed Chakotay before.

Harry. The man who used Chakotay's body as a physical and temporary
fulfilment of that need.

Chakotay allowed it. Harry made him feel so guilty. Harry didn't give
him a choice. Chakotay hated Harry for that, and hated himself for
hating.

And his hatred made him tired.

At that moment, he hated that he was standing out on the balcony. At
Harry's place, not his own. Chakotay didn't have his own home
anymore. He had, five years ago, before Harry had turned him into a
broken down automaton, little more than a whore. But not now.

He hated Harry for making him stand out on the balcony. Not by force.
Harry hadn't locked him outside. But Harry made him do it, just by
the way he kept breathing down Chakotay's neck while Chakotay worked
on his next article. He got tired of Harry's constant presence.

Chakotay had spent the last five years painfully carving out a career
in the field of anthropology. He was respected. He was good at it,
and he was good because he needed it. Harry had tried to stop him,
tried to keep him focused on the search for Voyager, but Chakotay had
resisted. For once, the first time in a long time. It helped him to
stay in control. He sometimes found it hard to meditate, and it made
Harry angry in any case, that he could be so calm while Harry was so
consumed with unremitting rage. He didn't try to meditate as often as
he once did. Five years ago. Before Harry.

He shivered. It was winter. Harry lived in Chicago, and it was cold.
Chakotay sometimes longed for Arizona, the land of his forefathers,
to feel some connection with his life on Earth. He thought that he
might be able to feel a little happier, if he could only feel that.

He'd asked Harry, once, if they could go there. Harry had said no,
that there wasn't time, that they had to find Voyager. Chakotay,
chained with guilt, had acquiesced.

His work gave him control over Voyager, but he often wondered when
he'd lost control of his life to Harry Kim.

---

He started when a small, ice-covered pebble caught him on the neck.

"Hey! Chakotay!"

He smiled, and leaned over the balcony to look down. "Hey, Tessa."

She laughed up at him, dressed in cold weather gear, wrapped up in two
pairs  of gloves, a scarf, and a hat, with heavy leather boots on her
feet. "What are you doing up there without a coat? It's freezing out
here!"

He shrugged. "I guess I didn't notice. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," she said, laughing again. "I wanted to talk to you
about the article you're submitting to the Vulcan Science Review. I
figure that if I help out enough, I'll get a co-writer's credit."

"And why would you want that?" he asked, surprised, as he always was
around her, to hear genuine playfulness in his voice.

"Because it won't hurt my career to be known as your researcher," she
said, returning his teasing. "And it certainly won't hurt you to be
known as *mine*."

He'd met Tessa at a symposium he'd attended three years ago on Vallos
Five. She'd been lecturing on a recent trip she'd taken to Kaldos, a
small, hot planet on the very edge of the alpha quadrant, to observe
a developing  theocratic culture. The irreligious times of the
Federation made spiritual societies something of a curiosity among
the scientific community, along the  ines of freak-shows in the
twentieth century, but she'd displayed an uncommon understanding of
the hopes and desires that were the foundations of religion. Chakotay
had stayed behind once the lecture was over, long after everyone else
had left, in order to tell her that he appreciated her deftness of
touch. They'd been friends ever since.

"Well, in that case," Chakotay said, grinning outright, "you'd better
come up."

"Great." She stamped her feet and rubbed her hands together. "Hurry up
and get your ass down here. Let me in before I turn to ice!"

Chakotay laughed, and did as he was told. He hurried through Harry's
bedroom and down the stairs, ignoring Harry's questioning shout as he
moved down the hall. He opened the front door, happy to see her, and
with a wide smile on his face ushered her inside.

"Thanks," she said with relief. "I can't feel my feet."

"It isn't that cold," he said, shaking his head at her ruefully.

"It is too," she said, pulling off her hat and shaking out her hair.
He watched as she ran her hands through it roughly. "You know, you're
one hell of a weird Indian," she added as an afterthought.

"Really?" he asked, already amused. "In what way?"

"Well, you don't feel the heat, but you don't feel the cold, either,"
she said, staring up at him with something that looked like genuine
puzzlement, but he knew she was probably teasing him again.

"I'm an all-weather Indian," he said, very aware that his eyes were
shining with something close to adoration as he took her coat. "There
are very few of us around. Can I get you a coffee or something?"

"Mmmm. Hot chocolate would be good," she said without hesitation. The
way she said it made his heart thump. He was shocked to find that he
was growing aroused. It had been happening more and more often around
her of late; over  he last five years he'd come to believe that his
arousal was exclusive to Harry. Tessa was rapidly proving him wrong.

"Come on through," he said, hoping his voice didn't betray him, and
led her down the hallway to Harry's kitchen.

Harry was standing at the table, his arms folded across his chest and
an expression of mild curiosity on his face. Chakotay wasn't fooled.
Harry was angry, but he wasn't going to show it.

"Chakotay," Harry said cheerfully, smiling at Tessa. It didn't touch
his eyes. "Who's this?"

"Uh . . . yes," Chakotay said, cursing Harry his ability to throw him
off-balance. "Harry, this is Tessa Omond. Tessa, my . . . housemate,
Harry Kim. We met at an anthropology conference," he explained to
Harry, watching the younger man's eyes narrow slightly. "You
remember? On Kaldos? You came too."

Harry nodded slowly. "And you've been friends ever since," he said
quietly.

Chakotay shifted awkwardly in the brief silence that followed.

Then Harry laughed. "I hope Chakotay offered you a drink," he said,
gesturing lazily about the room. "It isn't his house, but since he
pays rent whenever I ask him to, I don't mind that he makes himself
at home."

Chakotay groaned internally, and glanced across at Tessa. He was
surprised to find that her eyes were as narrow as Harry's.

"He said he'd get me a hot chocolate," she said coldly. "But I think
on reflection I'll get it myself, if you don't mind."

"Please," Harry said, his voice dropping an octave, and the glare he
fixed on Chakotay was as hard as flint. "Help yourself to whatever I
have. I'm going out," he added. "I'll be back later. Chakotay, we'll
talk then about Voyager."

Chakotay watched him leave. He was never quite sure if Harry knew how
guilty he felt. Sometimes, he thought that Harry did know, and
Chakotay hated him more than ever.

He looked around when he heard Tessa banging a newly replicated mug of
hot chocolate onto the table. Her chair scraped over the floor as she
yanked it out viciously. She sat down with a bump, and shook her head
at Chakotay with an uncharacteristically morose expression on her
face.

"Why do you stay with him?" she asked sadly, making him wince.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Don't play coy with me, Chakotay," she snapped. "I'm not an idiot. I
can read between the lines;, I know what's going on."

Chakotay sat down opposite, toying with a datapadd Harry had left
behind. He considered her question carefully, searching for an
answer. About the only one he could come up with was that he felt
guilty. It occurred to him that it wasn't a very good answer.

"It was a rhetorical question," she said into the silence while he
struggled to reply. "I understand, Chakotay. I feel sorry for him,
too. Everybody does."

"Harry doesn't want anybody's pity," Chakotay said automatically. "And
he certainly doesn't have mine."

She frowned at him, confused, but with kindness in her eyes. She held
out her hand. "Then maybe I don't understand. Enlighten me?"

He smiled at her softly, and threaded his fingers through hers.
"You've never been in Starfleet, have you?"

She shook her head. "Strictly academic. Not a military bone in this
body, I'm afraid."

He chuckled softly, amazed, again, that he could do that while trying
to discuss Voyager. It was Tessa, he realised, and murmured, "It's a
big responsibility to be first officer. It's your job to safeguard
not only the  welfare of the crew, but also the captain. You're the
main port of call when the captain has problems, and you have to be
ready to step into the breach  should they become incapacitated."

"I can imagine that would be doubly hard without Starfleet to guide
you in difficult situations," she said sympathetically.

"Exactly." He nodded, grateful for her awareness, and continued,
stumbling slightly over the words. "When Kathryn decided to use the
slipstream drive .  . . . It was the wrong decision. I knew it. I
looked at Tom's and Harry's data, and I knew it wouldn't work. I knew
it, and . . . I should have made  her listen. I should have made her
listen, but I didn't, and now they're dead."

He stopped talking, and waited.

She didn't speak for some time, but eventually said quietly,
"Chakotay, everything you've told me about Kathryn Janeway tells me
that she was a very forceful woman. I think you and I both know that
once her mind was made up, nothing you said could have made her
change her course."

Chakotay felt a tiny flicker of hope in his heart. He had known that.
He'd known it so deeply, so intellectually, that he hadn't needed to
think about it. Five years ago. Before the search was cancelled, and
before Harry.

"That's not all," he blurted out, made outspoken by a sudden flash of
insight. "I feel guilty because I let Harry down. Harry . . . my life
revolves around him, and I had a chance, on Voyager to stop Kathryn
using the slipstream drive, but she went ahead and I didn't stop her
and I let Harry take on my responsibilities. If I'd been more
forceful," he finished painfully, his voice a whisper, "Harry
wouldn't be in the position he's in now. He was too young to have
that kind of responsibility . . . too damn young. And now he's . . .
he's all --"

"He's broken," Tessa said, her voice filled with the pity that Harry
didn't want. "He's broken, and he doesn't even realise it, so he
can't fix it and make himself well again."

"I think the only thing that will help Harry is finding Voyager,"
Chakotay  said, coldly amused by his own fatalism. When had he started
to think like that? When had he started to believe that certain
things were inevitable? He didn't think *that* was Harry's fault.
He'd started thinking like that years  ago, when he resigned from
Starfleet the first time, to fight in the Maquis.

Tessa watched him carefully, her expression curious. "I wonder," she
pondered  aloud, "if either of you have ever stopped to consider that
when a ship is lost, the captain always takes the fall."

Chakotay shook his head. "Of course not. In the delta quadrant, we
were all as responsible as each other --"

"Wrong," Tessa said firmly, a trace of anger in her voice. "You're
wrong, Chakotay. In the delta quadrant, Kathryn Janeway found it
necessary on a number of occasions, which *you* have detailed, by the
way, to bend the rules when necessary, and sometimes to make up her
own. *She* was responsible for her choice that day. If *she* had
chosen differently, Voyager would still be flying. *We* would never
have met," she added, smiling now, "but Voyager would still be
flying, and you *and* Harry would still be happy."

Chakotay gazed at their hands still twined together, and squeezed her
fingers tightly in his own. "I am glad we met, Tessa," he said,
meaning every word  with every fibre of his being. "You've been . . .
thank you."

"You're very welcome," she said warmly, lifting his hand and touching
her lips lightly to his knuckles. She glanced at him from beneath her
eyelashes. "Whatever I've been for you, *we* could be more . . . for
each other. If you  wanted to be. *I* would like to be," she added,
smiling. "I'd like to be more very much."

He shook his head, once again amazed by her. "I'd like that, too. But
what about Harry?"

"What about Harry?" she asked, frowning again. "He needs you,
Chakotay, but he doesn't care for you. *I* care, Chakotay, very much.
And I think you need a little caring." She leaned back in her chair,
regarding him thoughtfully.

Strangely, he felt as if he were being scrutinised by his father.
"Tessa," he began, ready to voice his concerns about Harry, but she
waved him quiet. Her eyes were very bright.

"I know," she said, her voice lower than he had ever heard it. "You're
too good, Chakotay. Too good for him. Too good for her," she added,
her tone briefly vicious. "Maybe too good for me as well," she
continued, voice growing soft again. "But I'll love you, so much, if
you'll let me. And I think you'll love me too . . . if you let
yourself move on."

"I will, Tessa," he said, pulling her hands to him and returning the
kiss to  her fingertips. "I will, but first . . . I need to talk to
Harry."

She nodded, her smile growing once again. "Soon. Please. I've wanted
you since we first met."

Chakotay laughed. "That long? And you kept quiet? Do you honestly
expect me to believe that?"

"Oh, yes," she replied, finishing her cooled chocolate in one and
standing up. She looked down at him, smiling happily. "I saw Harry,
and I knew you were hurting . . . but I also knew that I could wait
for you to realise it."

He smiled at her, feeling suddenly free, and stood and pulled her into
his arms. "I appreciate the deftness of your touch, Tessa Omond," he
murmured into her ear, delighted with her laugh and the way her hands
skimmed so gently over his shoulders.

A soft touch, he thought with pleasure, and began to think about
talking to Harry.

---

The End