The BLTS Archive - This Present Darkness
Second in the Nemesis series
by Suzanne Finn (yatokahc@aol.com)

---

Hi!

Okay... another epilogue. This one is dark... but bear with it. It is
not a stand-alone story as most of my epilogues are. This one leaves
you  hanging and not feeling too great. I intend to continue the story
thread in this week's episode epilogue... and then a subsequent story
(in lieu of next  weeks re-run :P).

Remember children... there is always light at the end of the tunnel.

---

Disclaimer: You know the drill... Paramount owns everything except my
mind and what little there is up there that escapes out my fingers!

Note-Text falling between asterisks (*) indicate thoughts.

Feel free to pass this along to anyone else you think may enjoy it...
but please keep all the preamble attached!

This is an epilogue. Remember... unless otherwise specified, he/him
and she/her refer to Chakotay and Kathryn, respectively.

---

I am continuing the thread I started with The Passions Of The Soul
(the Nemesis epilogue)... namely, the aftermath of Chakotay's
experience. I've decided not let him overcome the experience as
quickly as TPTB have allowed. Life isn't as neat and tidy as they
like to pretend it is. Of course, it's not always as melodramatic as
I like to make it either. <BG>

Also, this epilogue ends strangely... kind of leaves you hanging. (Oh
no! Shades of Caveat Emptor!) I intend to weave the aftermath thread 
through upcoming epilogues and use it to rebuild some of the trust
between J and C that TPTB have wantonly destroyed. :P (Hey... I like
tension... but not the way they serve it up!)

This one is a bit dark at times. Warning! Warning! Danger Will
Robinson!

---

I just love stealing titles! This one was stolen from Frank Peretti's
book.

---

The room stank of violence. So sickly sweet, stagnant, thick, he could
almost taste it. In the few breaths taken since appearing in the
chamber, he  felt about to suffocate. He willed his eyes to adjust to
the eerie lighting... squinting, searching the dimness, attempting to
survey his surroundings. The room in which he found himself was
without window, without door. The walls were splattered, the floor
was slick, with a thick dark substance...  blood.

Gagging on the stench, he forced himself to remain still, leave the
scene undisturbed. He scanned the perimeter of the cell, seeking out
the  source of light... a way out. There was no aperture, no fixture,
no flame. The  light merely existed. Unnatural.

A groan.

His head snapped to his left toward the sound, his body crouching
slightly, instinctively defensive. His eyes narrowed as he again
scanned the  chamber. He was met only with dark emptiness. Had he
imagined the sound? He  stepped hesitantly in the direction from which
the noise had emanated. Bare  skin met sticky warmth. His weight
shifted unexpectedly as the thick substance  under foot offered no
resistance. He lost his balance. His legs flew from  beneath him, as
he tumbled backward. The impact against moist stone forced  the breath
from his lungs. As he attempted to regain his breath, the room grew
imperceptibly darker... colder.

"Chakotay." A hoarse whisper.

Again, his head snapped to his left. "Father."

The old man lay prostrate on the ground, covered in blood. His wrists
and ankles were bound to metal stakes bored into the stone floor
concealed  beneath crimson, his neck extended by a rope drawn taut
under his chin and  secured at the stakes to which his wrists were
leashed. Desecration. Face up.  *Kradin monsters.*

His mind reeled. This wasn't right. His father was dead. The Kradin
had not killed him; an equally abhorrent species was responsible for
the death  of his father. *Cardassian bastards.* And yet, here lay his
father:  prostrate, an unmistakable victim of Kradin atrocities,
bleeding... *Dying.* This  wasn't right.

He rolled to his left, onto his stomach, pushed himself to his hands
and knees, clambered to his feet... and froze. The walls of the
chamber came  alive. Crimson and shadow shifted, advanced, took form.
His head snapped  around, following the perimeter of the cell,
watching as dark masses stepped  from the walls, and converged. The
face of the devil stepped forward, wearing  a Cardassian mask.

Before he could react, hands grabbed his arms. He attempted to twist
away, but he was held firm. His arms were pulled up high behind his
back as he  was driven to his knees. Hands grabbed his hair, jerked
his head back,  his chin up. Cardassian breath struck his face... hot,
rancid, stifling.  Menacing eyes behind gray skin hung centimeters
from his own. A sneer met ashen  lips. "Glimpses open." it rasped.

The Cardassian moved to stand over the helpless man prostrate and
bound on the floor. It laughed derisively as it withdrew its weapon
from the  waistband of its pants.

This wasn't right.

It leveled its weapon at his fathers chest.

"No." he screamed as he pitched forward, a futile attempt to free
himself, to save his father.

The Cardassians head snapped toward him. It looked over his left
shoulder, and nodded.

His wrists were lashed to a rope. He was hauled into the air,
suspended helplessly... shoulders and arms burning white fire,
blinding him. His  world flashed white. He shut his eyes tight against
the blinding  brightness, against the pain screaming through his body.
His stomach lurched at the  sudden sensation of momentary
weightlessness. Then... he felt himself  falling. He braced himself
for the inevitable impact of flesh and bone against  unforgiving
stone. Again, air was forced from his lungs as his body hit the 
floor. As his breath returned and evened out, he tentatively opened
his eyes. He  found himself supine in near darkness. Alone. He exhaled
heavily, expelling  tension.

"Resistance is futile." Droning. Dead.

Cold anxiety raced through his heart. *Shit.* This wasn't right...
this wasn't right.

Before he could push himself upright, clamps closed over his arms,
legs, torso, hips, head. Immobilized. He bucked against the
restraints; resistance  was futile. A figure stepped into his
peripheral vision, knelt at his  side, extended the hand of death. His
eyes shot to the face of his ravager.  Brown met icy blueness as metal
prongs pierced skin...

---

He bolted upright, pushing his way through the contemptuously horrific
layers of the lingering nightmare... his body pushing its way through
the  tangle of sheets restraining arms and legs. His eyes flew open,
were met with  starlight and shadow. Sweat ran into his eyes, blurred
them like tears. He  quickly ran a hand over his face, clearing his
vision. His chest heaved as he  sucked in the familiar coolness of
Starfleet-issue recycled air. He slid to the  foot of the bed, perched
himself precariously on the edge of the mattress,  dropped his elbows
to his knees. He willed his breath to slow, the labor of his  heart to
ease, as he buried his face in his trembling hands.

A nightmare... it had been a nightmare; the subconscious merging of
events and imagination. Nightmares were not new to him. He'd suffered
at the hand  of invidious dreams for weeks after joining the Maquis.
Only when his  heart and mind had grown numb to the actions of his
life, only when his body  had been ruled by complete exhaustion, did
the ordeals experienced within the  confines of sleep lessen.

It had been a very long time since he had been chased from sleep...
since he had awakened sweat-soaked, heart pounding, disoriented, cold.
He was  becoming reacquainted with the experience. The last three
nights were telling  evidence.

With a shudder, he ran his hands over his face and rose, the sheet
that had trailed him to the edge of the bed, falling in a pool at his
feet. He  knew that sleep would elude him for the remainder of the
night. There was  no point in even attempting to find it. He moved
into the bathroom, into the  shower. He opted for a real shower. He
stood unmoving for several long minutes,  facing the stream of
water... eyes closed, head lowered... hands splayed on  the wall of
the tiny cell, simultaneously supporting and resting his body.  He'd
hoped the warmth of the water, pulsing against tired muscles, would
relax  him. It did not. His body was slave to his mind; his mind could
not shake the  images of the dream. Reluctantly, he pushed himself
away from the wall,  extracting the soap from its recess. He washed
the remnants of the nightmare  from his body, dried himself, and
dressed.

Perhaps he would find relief... release... on the holodeck.

---

She sat at the desk in her ready room, reviewing departmental reports.
Endless. A job never completed. She sighed. Had they been in the Alpha 
Quadrant, their life on board Voyager would have progressed in
discrete chunks,  dispersed between personal leaves, vacations,
spacedock for regular maintenance  and repairs, and much more. They...
she... would have led two distinct  lives. Separable. Now, however,
those two lives had been forcibly  intertwined... merged. The luxury
of a respite from the Starfleet persona was no  longer afforded. It
had become her life... it had become her. Endless. At  times, it
seemed a heavy burden. At times, she grew weary. Her only escape, the 
confines of her quarters... or a solitary visit to the holodeck.
Alone. She  mentally shook herself. It was a weight she could bear...
must bear. She  forced her attention back to the report in hand.

The ready room door chime sounded. "Come in." she said, not diverting
her attention from the data PADD in her hand.

He entered. "Captain."

She smiled at the sound of his voice, looking up from the PADD to
watch him approach. "Commander."

He nodded slightly. "I have another report to add to your collection."
His eyes meet hers only briefly, as he placed the PADD on her desk.
"Harry and  Seven's schematics for the Astrometrics Lab."

She lifted her face to him, surprise flooding her features. "That was
quick."

He shrugged. "Seven seems to be highly efficient and productive. She
also has a lot of time on her hands." His eyes met hers. "I've taken
the liberty  of assigning Harry to oversee the construction of the
lab. Seven will be  working with him. You'll find my report appended
to the schematics."

"Very good, Commander." She paused, studied him quietly. He looked
exhausted. She'd first noticed the edge of fatigue two days prior.
She'd watched  with mild concern as it became more apparent that he
wasn't sleeping. She  could only guess as to the reason behind his
sleepless nights; an educated  guess, but a guess nonetheless. That
guess couldn't be substantiated. He  wasn't talking... to anyone. She
hadn't offered to listen. Somehow, the  offer... the invasion...
seemed too personal. If her suspicions were correct, his  dreams were
plagued. Dreams... nightmares. The demons that haunted his  dreams
were the subconscious manipulations of very real and very private
passions  and events.

Besides, there was still tension between them. Their relationship
remained tenuous... broken. What might at one time have been easy to
offer, had  become difficult to extend. What might at one time have
been easy to ask,  had become impossible to give voice to. Their
footing had become unsure.

His performance, while on duty, was in no way affected. If it had 
been, she could confront him on a command level. Despite the Doctor's
report  regarding last night's... incident... she couldn't, wouldn't,
pull rank. She  had few options. "Have a seat, Chakotay." she said as
she turned her chair to  face him squarely, never moving her eyes from
his face.

He glanced at the chair behind him, considering whether or not to
accept the invitation. It was a request, not a command... she had used
his name,  not his rank. He hesitated only slightly before he seated
himself in the  chair, folding his hands... settling them in his lap
as his elbows rested on  the arms of the chair. He stared impassively
at her... waiting.

She folded her own hands, resting her forearms on the desk in front of
her. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes." he answered... forced... quick. "Why do you ask?"

Her brow furrowed. "You look a little tired." His face was drawn,
circles were starting to form under his eyes. Tired was an
understatement.

He didn't respond.

She bit the inside corner of her mouth... measured the risk of pushing
the issue. Risk was not a deterrent. She'd faced far worse. "Are you 
having trouble sleeping?"

He sighed quietly, dropped his gaze to his hands. "A bit." he allowed.
He ventured a glance, caught her concerned look, smiled. "I'm fine."

She pushed her tongue into her cheek... met his gaze evenly, directly.
"Chakotay..."

"Kathryn." he interrupted. "I'm fine."

She sighed... moistened her lips. He was going to make this difficult;
she'd have to ease it out of him. She stood up and walked around the
edge of  the desk, stopping to stand next to him. "Would you like some
coffee?  I'll buy."

He sighed inwardly. She wasn't going to let it drop. "No... thank
you."

She walked over to the replicator. "Coffee... blend Janeway alpha
three. Black." She turned her head to watch him. "How's the shoulder?"

He cursed silently through his teeth. He didn't like where the
conversation was heading. He turned his head slightly, glancing at her
out of the  corner of his eyes. He quirked an eyebrow.

She flashed him a knowing smile... allowed it to fade. "The Doctor is
merely following orders, Commander. I am informed when any crewmember
is  injured... especially one of my senior officers. A policy you are
well aware  of." She retrieved her coffee from the replicator,
returned to her chair, and  sat down. "What happened?" she pressed.

He hadn't missed the use of his rank. He stiffened imperceptibly...
found himself growing mildly angry at the offer of Kathryn, the
reappearance  of the Captain. He found himself growing mildly angry
that he'd allowed one  to pull him in only to have the other set upon
him. In all likelihood, she  wasn't even aware of the transition. He
smothered his ire. *It's just the fatigue  talking. Damn it... let it
go.* He shrugged slightly. "I was running through a  training
exercise."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "A training exercise... at... 0230
hours?"

"I had some energy to burn." He flashed her a faintly boyish grin. "I
guess I got a little over-zealous."

Over-zealous. It was more than that. He knew it; she knew it. He was
still deeply embroiled in the aftermath of his experience with the
Kradin  and the Vori. He'd opened up to her shortly after the
encounter, but had not  spoken of it since. "Perhaps you should talk
to the Doctor."

He lowered his eyes, stared thoughtfully at his hands, still folded,
unmoving in his lap. She would have confronted him eventually, he knew
that... regardless of the Doctor's report. But, he wasn't ready to
discuss  it... not with his Captain... not with Kathryn... and
certainly not with the  Doctor. He shook his head. "I appreciate your
concern, but..."

"Chakotay." she interrupted. She didn't want to hear the stoic
response she expected... that he could handle it himself. Alone. He
wasn't alone.  "If there's a problem... it needs to be addressed."

His eyes lifted and locked with hers. The line of his jaw set. He
leaned forward in his chair, rested his hands on his thighs. "And I'll 
address it." His tone was harsher than he intended. He exhaled
heavily. His  expression softened. "Look, Kathryn... I'm simply having
some... disturbing  dreams." He paused. "It's a private matter,
Kathryn. Allow me to handle this  privately."

She considered her response. He was right. As long as his performance
and rapport with the crew were not impacted, it was a private matter.
She  could not force him to discuss it. She'd pushed him too far
already.  Heartbeats later, she nodded. "Alright." She'd allow him
time to resolve this on  his own, in his own way. She slid forward,
sat perched on the edge of her  chair, rested her hands on the edge of
her desk. "I want you to know... if you need  to talk, I'm here. Any
time... day or night."

He smiled faintly... a hint of that smile reaching his eyes. "I'll
keep that in  mind." He rose from his seat. "Was there anything else?"

"No."

He nodded slightly and left.

Her eyes followed him as he left her ready room. As she distractedly
lifted the mug of now lukewarm coffee to her lips, she wondered what
wisdom the woman warrior could impart... to heal... to bring peace.

---

The End