The BLTS Archive- My Chakotay
#11: Violets Are . . .
by MaisieRita (MaisieRita@aol.com)

---

copyright 1998

The sequel to "My Chakotay", "As Only He Can", "First Night", "As It
Will", "Wraiths", "Shadows", "Voice So Soft", "Delusions", "Tremors",
and "Ghosts".

Disclaimer: Paramount owns them all. Well, all except for the demons.

Warning: m/m sex, of a sort.

Feedback: Please! All constructive comments will be seriously
considered. Grammar nits welcome. <g>

---

He wants to get up. I can't say I blame him. The four sets of
restraints are holding him effectively immobile. He can't even lift
his head. He hates it.

"Chakotay, *please*."

He's been pleading with me since he first opened his eyes, and his
voice is getting steadily more desperate. I am almost -- *almost* - -
tempted to release him. Whether it's the claustrophobia, the memory of
Tuvok's assault, or some other, older, fear, he's clearly terrified of
being tied down. If it weren't for his eyes . . .

Violet. Damn it, they're *violet*. Not a dull reddish blue, either.
This is a luminescent, almost incandescent purple. If I were to turn
out the lights, his eyes would be glowing in the darkness.
It's not human. Closer than before, but not close enough.

"Chakotay, for god's sake, please don't do this
. . . "

He's struggling as much as he can against the straps holding him down.
It's not much. Honestly, I find it comforting. When the demons had
full control over him, the straps were threatening to burst as he
strained against them.

Cautiously, I walk to his side. The towel I used to clean the evidence
of our encounter has been recycled, and I've already fixed his
clothing. I'm about ready to call Kathryn and the Doctor back in. I
just wish I had better news to report. "Tom."

It's the first word I've spoken since he opened his eyes five minutes
ago, and I can hear the edge of fear in my voice. He's rational now,
or at least he sounds that way, but those eyes! They're almost scarier
than they were when they were burning red. An old nonsensical rhyme
has been running through my head, and I can't get it to stop.

Roses are red Violets are blue . . .

Idiotic. If the flowers are blue, why would they be
called violets? Blue is the color of the sea, of the sky. Tom's eyes
should be blue. Violet is the color of what, exactly? The eyes of a
man possessed by demons?

"Chakotay?" There's a tinge of hysteria in his voice now. "Please let
me up."

"I can't. Not yet."

"Why? I'm okay." He pulls uselessly against the straps. "*Please*,
Chakotay."

I shake my head wordlessly and tap my comm badge, calling for Kathryn.
I know she's waiting right outside Sickbay so I'm not surprised when
it only takes her a few seconds to appear. She's trailed by the six
security guards she'd posted outside the door, and they've each got a
phaser at the ready. A few are even aimed at me.

Kathryn speaks hesitantly. "Chakotay?"

I turn and nod at her, and she relaxes visibly, presumably because I
am alive and well and not obviously possessed by demons. She's
clutching her own phaser tightly in her hand. "How's Tom?"

"Awake."

She takes a deep breath and walks over. I didn't warn her about his
eyes because I'm not sure she'll be able to see the color, but she
takes one look at his face and pales. "Oh my god. What happened?"

Tom's confused. "Captain?" His eyes flick quickly from me to her and
back to me again. "What's wrong?" When he doesn't get an immediate
answer he pulls uselessly at the restraints again. "At least tell me
what's the matter!"

I can't figure out what to tell him. He obviously doesn't realize, and
I can't bring myself to say that the demons haven't left him.

Kathryn is still staring at him, and her grip tightens around the
phaser she's got in her hand. The security guards have formed a
semicircle behind her, and they're staring at Tom and whispering among
themselves.

Tom's growing more panicked by the second and he's still struggling
against the restraints. Is it my imagination, or is the violet of his
eyes growing deeper, more reddish? I imagine I hear the straps
creaking and I take an involuntary step backwards.

He notices, of course, and his whole body starts to shake. "Why did
you wake me up?" he whispers hoarsely.

"I can't take being tied down, Chakotay. You should have left me
alone, if you weren't going to let me up . . ."

I finally get the presence of mind to reactivate the EMH, and explain
the situation to him in a few brief words, including my unorthodox
therapy and the less-than-ideal result. He nods briskly and approaches
Tom, tricorder in hand.

Tom flinches as the Doctor approaches. "You're not going to sedate me
again, are you?"

"No, Lieutenant," the Doctor says mildly. "I'm merely going to run a
few scans." The minutes drag on slowly as the Doctor waves the
tricorder back and forth over Tom's body. The only sound in the room
is Tom's harsh breathing and the quiet beeping of the tricorder as the
Doctor enters different scan parameters. When he's done, he snaps the
tricorder shut authoritatively.

"Despite appearances," he says, "Mr. Paris appears to be in full
command of his faculties. I can find no evidence of any suppression of
his neural patterns."

"Despite appearances?" Tom repeats instantly, with more than a little
fear running through his voice.

"*What* appearances? What the hell is going on?"

In response, I pull a surgical mirror off the instrument table and
hold it in front of Tom's face.

His eyes widen. "What . . . what happened to my eyes?" He searches our
faces for an answer, any answer, and finds none. The inhuman violet
gaze rests finally on my face and I see the fearful comprehension
dawning on him. "They're still in me," he whispers. "Damn it,
Chakotay, you said it would make them go away!"

"I thought it would." It sounds lame, even to me, and I'm at a loss to
explain why I thought this would make everything better. I mean, I
can't very well tell Kathryn and the Doctor that the ghosts of Tom's
dead friends told me this act would save him. At any rate, they never
promised it would. Which hadn't stopped me from hoping it would.

"What do we do now?" Kathryn says, staring nervously at Tom and still
fingering the phaser.

"Let me up," Tom answers urgently. "Please, just please let me up.
Captain, *please*, don't let them keep me tied down like this."

She flicks a glance at the Doctor who shrugs minutely.

"I see no reason to keep him restrained. As I said, his neural
functions are well within normal parameters."

She doesn't buy it. "What about his eyes?"

The Doctor shakes his head. "I don't have an explanation right now.
Perhaps they'll return to normal on their own."

"I'll take him to my quarters," I volunteer suddenly.

"He'll be safe there. They can't touch him there."
Kathryn is shaking her head and I see the panic growing in Tom's eyes
at the thought of continued confinement. A flash of red darkens the
violet of his eyes for an instant, and I know then that we can't keep
him here, not unless we keep him sedated the whole time. The longer
he's here, the more frightened and angry he'll become, and he'll lose
whatever tenuous ground he's gained against the demons. If that
happens, I already know that taking him as I did before won't work a
second time.

We have to get him out of here. There's no other choice. Not if we
want to have any chance of saving him. I'm convinced of it.

Unfortunately, it takes almost an hour to convince Kathryn.

---

I'm nervous. Hell, everyone we passed in the halls did a double- take
when they saw me. It's enough to give anyone the jitters. All those
people staring . . . the Maquis most of all.

Jerks.

Ayala, Dalby, all the rest; they just kept staring.
They looked . . . scared. Too bad. After all the shit they put me
through when we got on this fucking ship, they *deserve* to be scared.
Just thinking about it makes me angry . . . all those fights . . . all
the bruises . . . all the pain . . .

"What?" Chakotay's looking at me with a confused expression on his
face.

"Hmm?"

"I didn't hear what you said. You were mumbling."

I didn't realize I'd said anything at all. "Sorry, Chakotay. I must
have been thinking out loud. It wasn't important."

"Oh. All right." He doesn't even hold my gaze for an instant before he
drops his eyes. He's so very ill-at-ease. Even being here, in his
quarters, the one safe place on the ship, hasn't helped smooth away
the lines of worry in his face. He's afraid. Of me. Just like the
others.

I feel a little glow inside at the thought that anyone should be
afraid of me. *Especially* Chakotay. Maquis Captain, First Officer,
all-around good guy, fearless, confident, powerful . . . too perfect,
really, for words. And he's afraid of *me*. The rush of power that
sweeps through me is intoxicating.

Then I take another look at him, pacing nervously across the room, and
I feel ashamed. This is *Chakotay*. My savior. My lifeline. He's
rescued me from hell more times than I can count. I don't want him to
be afraid of me. I need him to keep me sane and grounded. I need him
to keep me whole.

"Tom?" He's staring at me, oddly.

"Yeah?"

"Your eyes. I think they're changing color."

I frown and cross to the mirror. Nothing's changed. I see that same
freaky violet color that I saw in Sickbay. It's so weird, I can't help
but stare at myself for a while.

When Chakotay joins me at the mirror, he shakes his head. "It's gone
now. When we were walking here, I was sure your eyes were getting
darker. Then, just now, it was like they were turning blue again."

I stare at my reflection for another few seconds before it gives me
the creeps and I have to turn away. "If they are changing color, what
do you suppose it means?"

He shrugs weakly. "I have no idea."

My voice sounds more hostile than I intend when I ask, "Are you sure
you're not just imagining it?"

He shrugs. "No."

His answer makes me unaccountably angry, and I turn away. Suddenly
this room is too small, too hot, too bright. I'm tense. Too tense. My
back is seizing up even as I'm standing here. It's the demons, I
realize suddenly. "*They're* making me feel this way. They're making
me hurt like this . . . or maybe this is my body's way of telling me
that I'm fighting them off? Maybe the strength Chakotay gave me will
be enough to banish the demons?

Or maybe he didn't give me anything at all. Maybe he weakened me. What
he did . . . it's not supposed to
happen. He's not supposed to do that for me. It's wrong. Dirty. It
made *me* dirty.

A cramp seizes my entire lower back and even gritting my teeth isn't
enough to stop the cry from escaping.
Chakotay's beside me instantly. "What's wrong?"

It comes out like a growl. "How the hell should I know?"

He takes a step back. "Tom, I know it's difficult--"

"You don't know *anything*," I spit back at him. "Why did you do it,
Chakotay? Wake me up to be like *this*? I'd have been better off if
you'd have just left me alone."

He takes an involuntary step backwards. "The demons had you."

"They still do!" Damn it, I'm furious at him at all of a sudden. Hazy
memories flash through my mind. Waking up a bit at a time in Sickbay,
strapped down to the biobed, with Chakotay leaning over me, tasting me
. . . it was wrong, completely wrong . . . I told him to stop, I
begged him to stop, but he didn't . . . and I couldn't move, it was
just like before, but worse because this was Chakotay, not one of the
others . . . I expected it from them, but not from him . . .

The demons were fighting for me, giving me their strength. God,
they're strong. I remember pulling against the straps that held me
down, hearing them give a little. If only Chakotay hadn't been there,
I'd have broken free. Then nothing they'd have done could have stopped
me! I know how to fight their phasers now. With the demons helping me,
I'd have been invincible. Then I'd show them. I'd show them all . . .
blinding rage pounds through my veins. I want to hurt them, all of
them, make them pay for what they've done . . .

"Tom?"

I have to blink to clear the red haze from my vision, but when I do, I
see Chakotay frozen in place, staring at me. I hear the fear in his
voice. I see it in his eyes. I can practically smell it in his sweat.
His terror captures me, surrounds me, and suddenly the rage is gone
and I can think again. "They're too strong, Chakotay," I whisper. I
sink to my knees and wrap my arms around myself. "They're making me
think things."

He swallows nervously. "What kind of things?"

"Bad things. I'm angry, Chakotay, they're making me be angry. At the
Maquis, at you, at everybody . . ." I drop my head into my hands,
because I don't want to see him looking at me with that expression on
his face. "You shouldn't have done it. Everything's wrong now. I told
you to stop. Why didn't you stop?"
His voice sounds defeated when he speaks. "It was the only way to help
you, Tom. I needed to give you the strength to fight them."

"You can't," I whisper, still afraid to look at him. "I'll never be
strong enough to fight them."

"You have to be," he whispers back. He grips my arm until I lift my
head to his. "I can't fight this battle for you."

"But I don't know *how* to fight them," I counter.
"Chakotay, I only know one way to hurt them, and I don't even know if
it will work anymore."

He gazes at me seriously for a few seconds, and I can see the wheels
turning in his brain. "We can try that, if you think it will help."

With anyone else, I'd think they were angling for a free blow job, but
Chakotay isn't like that. No matter what the demons are doing to me, I
know that he's not like that. I stare at him for a minute, even though
I can see it's making him uncomfortable. For some reason, the thought
of going through the ritual with him is making me nervous. But then I
think that I don't have any other choice; that this is really the only
weapon at our disposal, the only thing I *know* that hurts the demons.
Maybe, if we hurt them enough, it will force them out of me.

We can worry about the rest later.

I nod my head slowly, and Chakotay carefully nods back. He's nervous
too.

The funny feeling in my stomach intensifies as he slowly takes off his
uniform. It bothers me, because I've never been nervous before. I
suppose it's never been as important as this. I *have* to get them
out. I can't fight them when they're in me. I can barely think when
they're in me.

Chakotay's done removing his clothes and he's naked before me. I feel
none of the awe I usually do at the sight of his perfection. I feel
none of the urgency I usually do as I kneel before him. I only feel
apprehension. God, if this doesn't work, I don't know what we'll do .
. .

I have to force myself to stay still as he walks over to me. Then, as
he stands there, presenting himself to me, I have to force myself not
to turn away. The butterflies in my stomach are getting worse.

I lean in to taste him. The bile rises in my throat almost immediately
and I have to swallow hard to get it back down. It's difficult to
force myself to try it again, but I do it anyway. This time, I almost
gag and I'm sitting back on my heels, away from him, before I even
realize it.

Damn it.

I *have* to do this. It *has* to work. There isn't any other choice,
really.

He's looking down at me, concern etched in the lines of his face.
"Tom? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I lie. "My neck's just sore from being restrained, that's
all." To make it convincing, I rub at the back of my neck and stretch
out the muscles a little, hoping to relax myself at the same time as I
buy a few more seconds before I have to . . . before I have to . . .
damn. I can't even think it without my stomach clenching up.

I never should have let him take me in Sickbay. I knew it would ruin
everything. I *knew* it. Everything's wrong now. Tainted. And if I
don't have this one act left to me, if there's nothing sacred left in
my life, I might as well just stop fighting and let the demons have my
soul.

No! Somewhere deep inside, a little part of me isn't quite ready to
give in yet. The demons had me, utterly, and yet Chakotay brought me
back. There's hope, still. If I can only do this . . .

A deep breath, and then another, and I bow my head to my task. God,
the taste of him is so strong, so powerful; I'm almost overwhelmed.
The bile is rising, strong in my throat, and I'm starting to sweat.
But fuck it, I'm *not* stopping. This isn't like the other times,
Chakotay's not like the others . . . I *want* to do this for him. I
want to bring him pleasure . . .

I keep telling myself these things as I do what I've done so many
times before, and it's enough to allow me to keep going. Barely. God,
it's hard, it's never been this hard. Not even before. Not even the
first time. Of course, I wasn't sober then, so maybe it's not fair to
compare the two, but still, I do remember it, in a hazy nightmarish
sort of way, and it wasn't this bad.

It couldn't have been.

I'm physically forcing myself to continue, so before Chakotay can
notice and make me stop I do one of the things that I know he can't
resist. He moans. I feel it like a knife in the gut, just as vivid and
painful as when the Baneans implanted those memories in my head . . .
I don't cry out but it's only because my mouth is too busy doing other
things.

Another few minutes and I'm sure I'm going to be sick. This is worse
than when I was coming off the drugs. Shit, I'm sweating and shaking
and every time Chakotay utters a sound -- a gasp, a pant, a moan, my
name -- it's another knife in my side. I'm only holding on by sheer
force of will.

God, I want for him to come already, for this torture to be over. I
can't believe it's taking this long. I want this finished. I want this
to be *done*. I can't take it any more. I *can't*. God, it hurts . . .

He's close, and moaning all the time, and I've got my hands wrapped
around my stomach to hold my insides in, because if I wasn't I *know*
they'd be spilling out all over the floor. Chakotay moans again and
grabs my shoulder and my stomach contracts in that awful way it does
right before you lose your lunch. God knows how I manage not to vomit,
but there's no time to worry about it, because suddenly he's coming
and my world explodes into redness and pain.

---

I come back to myself slowly.

It always takes a while to get my heart rate back under control.

It always takes a few minutes to get my breathing back to normal.

It always takes a minute before I can open my eyes.

It takes a minute. Just a minute.

By the time I open my eyes, Tom's gone.

---

The End