The BLTS Archive- Needs V: Tuvok's Story
by Kelly (rather_be_reading@yahoo.com)

---

Archive: ASC/EM; others please ask

Date:  June 11, 2000

Disclaimer:  The Trek universe belongs to Paramount.

Note -- This story was written last August, but for various reasons I
never got around to posting it to the newsgroups.  I'm getting around to
it now.

---

The image is one that will remain with me for a long time.

I sat with Commander Chakotay and Ensign Paris in the Devoran
observation chamber, watching as Inspector Kashyk untied the Captain,
and she came to her knees to face him.

"I will kill you," she said.

Her gaze was locked with Kashyk's.  He looked away, turning abruptly
toward the door.

She reached out to brace herself against the wall, but otherwise was
motionless.  She was pale, naked, injured, and vulnerable.

But her eyes did not waver.  I have rarely had a greater sense of her
strength.

The moment ended as the transparent wall suddenly went dark, and the
three of us were left to ourselves.

After a brief silence, Mr. Paris began kicking the door.

Commander Chakotay roused himself and stood.  "Tom," he said.

"Shit!" shouted Paris, pushing the Commander.  Punctuating each phrase
with an additional shove, he yelled,  "Why didn't we do something?  Why
didn't *you* do something?  Huh?  You're the big fucking Maquis. . ."

"Ensign," I intervened, moving toward him.  "There was nothing we could
do."

"Get away from me, you freak!  Jesus, we just sat here!  And let him. .
.let him. . ."

The Commander touched the ensign's shoulder briefly.  "I know, Tom.  I
know.  But stop this now.  We have to get out of here."

I began to examine the wall.  If we were, in fact, in an observation
chamber, it would be logical to assume that this room would contain
controls for the viewscreen.  We could at least monitor the Captain's
movements.  But while I was looking, we heard a rattle at the door.

I exchanged glances with the others.  There was no need to speak.  If at
all possible, we would overpower the guards.

It was not possible.  There were four of them, carrying what looked like
phaser rifles.  One guard thrust a medkit into Mr. Paris's hands.
Another motioned us to follow him.  Inspector Kashyk was not among them.

They took us to the Captain.  She was still in the room next door,
alone, lying curled on the bed, her eyes closed.

At first Mr. Paris seemed reluctant to touch her, but then his medical
training took over.

It has often been observed that humans function best in a crisis if they
have some specific task to accomplish.  The Commander and Mr. Paris no
doubt experienced relief at being able to do something active to assist
the Captain after their earlier helplessness.  The sensation is not
unfamiliar to Vulcans.

We worked together to aid her as quickly as we could.  The medical
supplies were only basic, but we were able to address the worst of
Captain Janeway's wounds.

She spoke only once during the treatment.  When Commander Chakotay
reached to repair her torn wrists, she opened her eyes and stopped him
for a moment, placing her hands over his.

"I'm sorry," she said.

The Commander did not reply; he merely brought her hands to his lips.

---

When the guards saw that the Captain was resting as comfortably as she
could, they locked the door and left us for the night.

Mr. Paris was angry.  "She can't stay here," he said, gesturing at the
rumpled bed.  "Not where. . ."

"It is preferable to the floor," I reminded him.  The Commander said
nothing.

I suggested that I maintain a watch while the others slept, but the
Commander and Mr. Paris elected to remain awake.  We spent the night
listening to the Captain's breathing.

In the morning, her condition was improved.  She insisted upon donning
her uniform.  She was still not completely healed, but if the pressure
of the clothing hurt her, she never betrayed it to us.  Nor would I have
expected her to.

We were mostly silent.  I sensed that Mr. Paris and the Commander wanted
to speak with the Captain, reassure her in some way, but they did not
know how to begin.  She is the Captain; she sets the tone.  And she
seemed not to want any words.

When the Devorans came to unlock the door, I expected them to return us
to our former cell.  Instead, we were taken to a transporter room.

Seconds later, we stood on the bridge of Voyager.  Other crew members
were materializing all around us, questioning and talking excitedly.

Only the four of us were quiet.  Captain Janeway ran her hand along the
top of the command chair.

"Captain," called Ensign Kim.  "The Devorans are hailing us."

She slowly sat in her chair, then lifted her chin. "Onscreen."

"No visual, Captain.  Just audio."

The voice of Inspector Kashyk filled the bridge. "Federation Starship
Voyager.  You are cleared to leave Devoran Deep Space Outpost Number
15."

The Captain looked over at me, and I answered her unspoken query.  "All
crew members are on board and accounted for."

She took a breath.  When she spoke, she sounded as calm and impersonal
as if she were responding to a computer.

"Mr. Paris.  Set a course for the Alpha Quadrant.  Maximum warp.
Engage."

---

Four weeks have gone.  There is no sign of pursuit by the Devorans.
Overall, things appear to be back to normal.  Not long after Voyager was
under way again, the Commander asked the Captain if she wished to take
psychological leave.  She refused.  This decision has proven to be
correct; her performance of her duties has not suffered.  She and the
Commander work smoothly together as always.  Mr. Paris has resumed his
bantering manner.

Appearances are deceiving, of course.  A darkness shadows the bridge
that was not here before.  Thoughts come through to me as we go about
our daily routine.  Mr. Paris is still unsettled by the fact that the
only action he took during our enforced voyeurism was to become briefly
aroused.  It is a feeling he has not forgotten.  He cannot quite regard
the Captain in the way he used to.

Commander Chakotay sits quietly, but his mind is often chaotic.  Their
voices flash through his head:  "Just want me. . .Never without your
consent. . .Do it."  He cannot stop remembering and imagining, cannot
stop thinking about the Captain and Kashyk and consent and desire and
pain and wanting.  He resists sorting the tangle into explicit
questions, even though they torment him all the more for remaining
unasked.

From the Captain, I can sense little.

---

As far as I am aware, she did not discuss her experience with anyone in
the days that followed our return, although I know the Commander had
tried to encourage her to do so.  Since isolation of that sort is not
advisable for humans, I went to her quarters one evening to see if she
wished to talk.  She often finds it soothing to speak with me, as I have
come to do with her.  We are both of us solitary people who know how not
to encroach.

"Tuvok," she said when the door opened.  She did not seem surprised to
see me.

"Captain."

"Come in; sit."

Over the years, we have reached a point at which our conversations do
not require the indirection of small talk.  I began, "I have come hoping
you would be willing to discuss your recent conflict with Inspector
Kashyk."

After a moment, she nodded. "What's on your mind?"

In addition to her own well-being, I had been pondering several other
issues.  I started with perhaps the most puzzling.  "I have to confess,
Captain, that I did not believe we would escape so easily from the
Devorans.  In fact, it occurred to me more than once that we might not
escape at all."

"I think that idea occurred to every one of us, Tuvok."

"If I may say so, Captain, Inspector Kashyk seemed to have developed
something of an obsession with you.  Generally in such cases, the
obsessed individual does not readily relinquish the object of his
preoccupation.  I do not understand why the Inspector was willing to let
us -- let you -- go."

She drew her legs up on the couch and clasped her arms around her knees
while she considered her reply.  I could see that she almost smiled.
"He would not have had me find him predictable."

"Captain?"

She did not explain further.  Instead, she went on, "As you say, he let
us go.  It was *his* choice, his move.  Our leaving was a gift I had to
accept from him."

"This bothers you?"

She was quiet for so long that I thought she might not answer.  At last
she said, rather obscurely, "I am in his debt.  He would need that."

"You seem to have a clear understanding of the Inspector."

She did smile then.  "Oh, yes."

I turned my attention to her own status.  "You are well, Captain?"

She knew what I was asking.  "Yes, I think I'm well, Tuvok."

"It was a painful ordeal."

"I've endured worse."

The statement contained no self-pity or bravado.  Captain Janeway is not
without her personal delusions, but I had no sense that she was trying
to deny the effects of her encounter with Inspector Kashyk.  She was
merely voicing a truth, searching, perhaps, for perspective.

"Yes, you have, Captain," I agreed.  "If you don't mind, there is
something I would like to ask you along that line."

"Go ahead."

"When you told Inspector Kashyk you would kill him, I fully believed
you.  As did he."

She waited.

"Given that Inspector Kashyk's torture was not the most severe you have
known, I was curious as to why your reaction was so strong."

To give her time to gather her thoughts, I continued, "It was not as if
you had to prove anything to us; you did not know you were being
observed. . ."

She drew in her breath at that and looked away.  I paused, berating
myself.  I had not intended to hurt her.  I knew the Commander had made
her aware of our observation, but I had not known how she reacted.  I
know humans well and Captain Janeway particularly well, but I still find
that I am not always able to predict what will most wound them.

When she turned back to me, her eyes were intense.  "He had Voyager,
Tuvok.  He had Voyager, and he was *playing* -- He kept asking if I
wanted him. . .I . . .he. . .he didn't understand; it wasn't a game. .
.well, not one I could let him win. . .not the ship. . .I wouldn't. . ."

Her voice caught, and she stared at her feet, one hand tracing deep
grooves into the fabric of the couch.  She is better than most humans at
keeping her feeli