The BLTS Archive- My Chakotay
#5: Wraiths
by MaisieRita (MaisieRita@aol.com)
---

copyright 1998
Disclaimer: Disclaim disclaim Paramount disclaim. Yadda yadda yadda.

Warning: Weird pyschological stuff. No sex in this one.

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

---

It's three days before she'll look at me, and almost a week before she
finally agrees to talk about it. When she does, I have to sit in her
quarters for almost two hours while she yells at me and tells me what
a shit I am.

I take it, partly because I know I deserve it and partly because I'm
petrified that if I don't let her take out her frustration on me,
she'll take it out by telling someone else what happened. As it is,
I'm thankful the walls to her quarters are soundproofed.

When she's run out steam, she collapses into a chair across the room
from me and stares at me silently for a while. I can't meet her eyes
and so I study the floor while I wait for her to speak.

"You said you loved me," she says finally, sadly.

"I know."

"Were you lying?"

Yes. "No." God, I'm more of a shit than she thought I was. I feel
slightly nauseous and shift on the couch.

"Then Chakotay . . . ?"

"Was a mistake. I should have ended it a long time ago."

Her forehead crinkles as she absorbs the implications. "You were
seeing him *before* you were seeing me?"

I fidget. I can only force so many lies out of my mouth in one night,
and I've already passed my quota for the evening. So, uncomfortably, I
admit, "Chakotay and I were never dating, B'Elanna."

"You were just sleeping together?"

"Not really."

"Not really?"

"We never actually slept together."

"Stop debating semantics with me. You were having sex."

It's getting worse and worse, but I knew coming here tonight that I'd
have to go through this with her.
"Not really."

She's getting angry again. "Not really? Tom, I walked into that room,
it reeked of sex, Chakotay was in his bathrobe and you were wearing a
towel! Don't tell me you weren't having sex!"

"We weren't."

She explodes. "Then what the hell were you doing?"

"I can't explain it."

"You'd better."

"I *can't*. B'Elanna, you have to trust me on this."
She's shaking her head slowly. "I can't."

I wince and say miserably, "It wasn't what you think."
She shakes her head and looks at the floor, the wall, the ceiling . .
. at anything but me. We sit there silently for a long time. My
heart's pounding. I don't know if I'm more afraid of losing her or
keeping her.

Finally, she takes a deep breath. "I won't share you with him. If it's
not me you want to be with, tell me now so we can end it before it
gets any worse."

I cross the room and kneel in front of her. "I want to be with you,
B'Elanna." I'm not lying. I *do* want to be with her. At least, I want
to *want* to be with her. B'Elanna and I, together . . . I think we
could be normal. I've never had normal, before.

She's searching my eyes and I can tell from the expression on her face
that she's reading the uncertainty I'm feeling. She shakes her head.
"It's not good enough, Tom. You don't really mean it."

I close my eyes and drop my head so it's resting on her clenched
fists. "I want to mean it."

She curses under her breath. "Is it just me, or are you not attracted
to women at all?"

My head jerks up and I stare at her, offended. "What?"

"Am I just a front for you, so no one knows that Tom Paris the ladies'
man really prefers men?"

Now *I'm* mad. I pull back and sit on my heels. "How can you even ask
that? You think this was all an act?"

"Wasn't it?"

"*No*. Christ, B'Elanna, I love your body. I love making love to you.
I love the way you wrap yourself around me and I love the way you bite
when you get excited."

"If you love it so much, why were you screwing around with Chakotay?"

I'm frustrated. This is impossible. There aren't any words that will
make it all right. "I don't know how to explain this to you. Chakotay
and I weren't screwing around. We never . . . it wasn't about sex."

She's shaking her head and I know I've blown it. I'm waiting for the
ax to fall. "You'll have to give him up."

I stare at her for a minute before I get it. "What?"

"I told you, I won't share. If you want us to have a chance together,
you'll have to give him up."

The thought of it knocks me for a loop. Give him up?

"No more visits to his quarters, Tom. I don't care *what* you claim
you were doing in there. It has to stop."

I'm quiet for so long, she gets off the chair and kneels on the floor
next to me. I wrap my arms around her and cling to her in silence for
a while.

Before I work up the nerve to speak, she does, softly. "I don't know
if we can make this work any more, Tom, but . . . " She pauses and
takes a deep breath. "I'm willing to try because I love you. It's no
good if I think you're still going to be with him, though. You have to
promise me you won't see him anymore. Give me your word, and I'll
believe you."

I open my mouth to answer but the words catch in my throat. I bury my
head in her hair. I don't want to lose her, but god help me, I don't
know if I can do what she's asking. When I feel her tense and try to
pull away, I realize that I owe it to her to at least try, so I
tighten my hold on her and whisper a promise into her hair. She
relaxes into my touch and we stay that way for a while. "B'Elanna?" I
whisper, finally.
"Yes?"

"There are some things . . . "

"Things?"

"I'm going to need your help." I leave it vague on purpose, because
I've never articulated this and I don't know that I can. I never had
to, with Chakotay. He just knew.

Her arms tighten around me and I realize that this is what she wanted
all along. "I'll help you, Tom. I promise."

Now all I have to do is tell Chakotay.

---

He comes to see me in the evening this time. I'm not sure what to
expect when I open the door. He's nervous, fidgeting. He doesn't take
his clothes off and he doesn't drop to his knees. He stands just
inside the doorway, twisting his fingers around each other and running
them through his hair. "Chakotay," he says, finally, when I'm about to
shatter from the tension.

"Tom."

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I . . . "
He stops and I see him take another deep breath, a focusing breath.
He's centering himself. "We have to stop."

It's not entirely a surprise. I've been watching him closely since
that night last week, and I've seen the way he's been looking at
B'Elanna. He wants to love her; I just don't know if he can. This, it
seems, is the price he'll have to pay for trying. I want to make it as
easy on him as possible, because I suspect it will only get harder as
time goes on. "All right."

He frowns. "All right?"

"All right. I won't argue with you, Tom. If that's what you want,
we'll stop."

He's a bit taken aback. "Oh. I thought you'd be upset."

"No. Do what you need to do."

He nods, jerkily, and I see him glance around my quarters as if trying
to memorize them. He's so tense, it's radiating off him in waves. I
cross the room to him and put my hand on his shoulder. Even that light
touch is enough to calm him somewhat. "Tom, if you ever need me . . .
if your monsters come back . . . I'll be here for you. Whenever you
need it."

He nods again and his breath catches. "Thanks."

Another deep breath. I get the feeling that he's forcing himself to
breathe naturally, that if he wasn't paying attention he'd be
hyperventilating.

"Thanks, but B'Elanna said she'll help me. I'll be all right."

I say, "Okay," even though I don't mean it. I don't believe B'Elanna
can help him the way he needs to be helped. It's not just sex. It
never has been. It's this particular kind of sex and no matter how
much she loves him, B'Elanna's not going to be able to do this for
him.

He stands there for a minute, then silently turns and heads for the
door. I watch him go with a sinking feeling in my stomach, and wonder
how long it will be before he's back.

---

Being a medical assistant has its advantages. The hypo that I take in
the morning has the same medicine they give to anorexics to make them
eat. A smaller dose, of course. I'm not actually starving myself, but
my appetite needs a boost. The hypo I take at night lets me sleep
without dreams. It keeps the demons at bay.

I haven't told B'Elanna about the medicine.

I haven't told Chakotay either, but I think he knows. I see him
watching me sometimes, and on those days it's all I can do not to run
to his quarters when I get off duty and wait for him on my knees. It
would destroy everything I've worked so hard for with B'Elanna, but .
. . sometimes I think it would be worth it just to have him one more
time, to make the demons go away.

I feel like I'm fighting them all the time now. It's so hard just to
*be*.

Another cramp seizes my back and I grit my teeth to keep from
groaning. I wait in silent agony until the muscles relax and the pain
fades a bit. I risk a breath, grateful when the movement of my chest
doesn't prompt a recurrence of the cramp.

God, I feel like shit.

It took me a while to recognize the signs of withdrawal. I've been
through that before, once voluntarily and once involuntarily, and
these symptoms are the same. When it's drink or drugs, though, there
are things you can do, ways to fool your body into thinking it's
getting what it needs.

There's no way I can fool my body now. There's nothing I can replicate
which will make me feel like I do when I'm on my knees in front of him
and he's giving himself to me. There's no drug I can take which can
give me the same rush I get when he calls out my name

---

Shit. I'm shaking, again. Damn it, I should know better than to be
thinking about it, it only makes it worse, it only makes me need him
more . . .

"Relax, Tom."

The cool cloth on my forehead calms me even as B'Elanna digs her
fingers into my shoulders in an effort to ease some of the tension
stored there. She's been so good about this. She doesn't really
understand what's wrong with me but she's sticking to her promise and
trying her hardest to help me through it. She massages me to ease the
tension, she replicates me soup so I can eat, she holds me at night
when I can't sleep. Over and over, she tells me that she loves me and
that we'll make it through this together.

Another tremor runs through me, stronger now. I can almost see the
demons. They're gathering outside the viewport, preparing to take me
when I weaken . . . I hear myself whimper and it sounds pathetic,
childlike.

"Tom?" She's so concerned. "Are you in pain?"

"No," I whisper, chalking up another lie. "Can we turn off the
lights?"

"Turn them off?"

"Please." I need the darkness, need the illusion that they won't be
able to find me if they can't see me.
The lights are off and she's hugging me gently, trying to will away
the cramps which are gripping my muscles and turning my back to steel.
"I think you should see the Doctor," she suggests softly, not for the
first time.

"No." There's no point. I've got my own medical tricorder, and I know
damn well I'm not sick. He'll run a scan on me and when he doesn't
find anything wrong physically, he'll have to do a psychological
evaluation. I've had them before, when the ghosts came. They ran test
after test, and in the end they told me I wasn't crazy.

It's no comfort being told you're completely sane when you're seeing
ghosts.

These aren't ghosts. Ghosts look like people; they're covered in
blood, they're missing limbs, they stare at you in silent accusation
... but they still look like the friends and lovers you once knew.

These aren't ghosts. They're demons.

Wraiths. Like gray smoke, they creep into rooms through cracks in the
door and under the walls. They're vaguely shaped like people, like
men. Large men. They have no faces, and yet I can tell when they're
looking at me. I know what they want.

They come for me in my dreams. My dreams, not my nightmares. My
nightmares are reserved for hellish memories of looming asteroids and
collisions, of fire and smoke and explosions, of frightened voices
suddenly cut eternally silent. They're for hazy memories of drunken
years spent lost and stoned and alone. They're for vivid prison
memories I wish I could forget. My nightmares are pretty full. There's
no room in them for demons.

And yet they come for me when I'm asleep, when I'm dreaming regular
dreams, the kind everybody dreams about picnics and swimming and shore
leave. When I'm relaxed, when I let my guard down . . . that's when
the demons come to find me. That's when I wake up screaming.

I used to be able to fight them off. One night with Chakotay, fifteen
minutes on my knees in front of him, drinking in his scent and his
strength -- that would be enough to banish them. But now that I don't
see him anymore, they've gotten stronger. I'm not a coward, but the
demons . . . they're waiting for me and I'm scared.

The panic triggers another cramp, and when it passes I'm assaulted by
a wave of nausea. The only reason I don't throw up is that I haven't
eaten since the morning. B'Elanna gets up to refresh the cloth she's
using on my forehead, and I close my eyes and try to imagine for a
minute that I'm somewhere else, with someone else. One visit to him, a
quarter hour, and all of this would end. I'd be whole again, strong.
In control. It's impossibly tempting, and I'm already halfway out of
bed before the sound of the water running in the bathroom forces me
back down on the bed. I promised her I'd try. It's only been two
weeks.

I force myself to breathe and start counting backwards from 500 by
threes. When I was coming off the junk -- the coke, meth, sparks, ice,
and all the other crap I took to get through the day -- I wouldn't get
down past 425 before I'd lose track and have to start over.
I was pretty messed up back then. Now, I make it down to 239 before
B'Elanna comes back and I lose my concentration.

It's not a real addiction. It's not physical. I can get past it. I've
done it before. I can do it again.

I have to.

---

He doesn't look right. His smiles are too bright. Fake. Forced.

He's eating too much at breakfast, and not enough at dinner.

They don't go out much. Every time I check on them, they're holed up
in Tom's quarters. Alone.

His flying is better than ever. I worry about it. It's as if he's
focused on the helm to the exclusion of all else. It's not natural.

Damn.

When I try to talk to him, he folds within himself, as if he's afraid
to get too close. I get . . . I get the feeling that he's afraid to
touch me, even a little, even by accident.

Something's wrong. I'm worried about him.

I wish he'd talk to me.

---

I'm staring at the oddly-colored food on my plate when Harry's voice
breaks into my thoughts. "Tom?"

I blink. I've completely lost track of the
conversation. "I'm sorry, Harry. I was just thinking."

"Daydreaming is more like it," he says lightly, but I can't miss the
concern in his eyes. This isn't the first time it's happened. It's
getting harder for me to concentrate lately and people are starting to
notice. "I asked B'Elanna if you two were coming to the recital
tonight."

I glance sideways at her but she's not talking. "What did she say?"

He smiles, but it doesn't quite mask the worry. "She said to ask you."

"Oh. Sorry." I shoot both of them an apologetic grin and shrug my
shoulders. "Sure we'll come. What time is it?"

"2100 hours," he says, and I nod and try to force down some more of
the glop Neelix is serving for dinner. As I lift my fork, a shadow
catches at the corner of my eyes. I turn to look at it, but it's
already gone.

It's irritating, and it's been happening for days. I'm almost tempted
to go to the Doc to have him check it out, but I don't want him
catching any sign of the medications I've been taking.

Harry is still chatting, talking about the pieces he's decided to play
tonight, when another shadow dashes across my field of vision. This
time it stays there long enough for me to see what it is.

I nearly drop my drink.

It can't be. They don't come for me here. Not when I'm awake, not when
I'm with other people. Oh god, they *can't* be here.

Now that I've seen one, I can see them all, hovering around the edges
of the room. Like dark clouds, when they're near each other their
edges blur together so I can't see where one ends and the next begins.
But then they separate, and I can see each one. Large and dark and
ominous. Demons.

God, I never knew there were so many.

They're moving into the room now, and only the fact that I'm not
screaming convinces me that this is *not* a dream. They head straight
for the Maquis. Ayala, Dalby, Chell, Jackson, T'Rel . . . all the ones
from before, the ones I still avoid, the ones who left bruises the
lousy regenerators couldn't heal. The demons hover behind them, beside
them, and then one by one, they slip inside.

I can barely breathe.

One demon for every male Maquis, and there are still so many left!
They're swirling around and around, now heading for the Starfleet
crew. Joe Carey first, then Tuvok, Rollins . . . when one merges with
Harry, I can't help the panicked cry from escaping.

"Tom?"

He looks concerned, even reaching across the table, but I'm not
fooled. I can see that look in his eye. *Harry* doesn't look at me
like that, he'd never look at me like that . . . Do they think I won't
notice? That I can't tell when it's Harry and when it's not? I flinch
back from his touch.

B'Elanna grabs my hand and I clutch her back so hard, if she weren't
half Klingon I'd probably be breaking bones. I watch, terrified and
helpless as the demons surround Chakotay. He's the only one left. When
they get him, it will all be over. I'll have no way to fight them, no
way out, no way to escape. One gets close to him and closer still . .
. and then it dies. I can see it happen; as soon as it touches him, it
starts writhing and twisting like it's in agony. If it had a mouth, it
would be screaming. Then it vanishes.
I think I whisper his name.

---

I don't know what's happening. I was watching him, casually. I always
watch him now. He was fine. Eating with B'Elanna and Harry, keeping up
his end of the conversation. Not his normal self but close enough so
that no one notices. Except me.

I looked away for just a minute, to check out a report Kathryn wanted
to show me, and when I looked back up, he'd gone completely pale. His
eyes are wide and panicked and he's staring at the corners of the
room, watching . . . something.

Reflexively, I turn around to see what he's looking at but there's
nothing to see. Just the crew, hovering around the mess hall. I turn
back to Tom and I see Harry reach across the table to him.

Tom flinches like he's been shot, and his face pales impossibly
further. Whatever it is he's seeing, it's got him terrified. His eyes
land on me now, and even across the room I can see the desperation
written there. He looks like he's going to faint, and then as he
watches me, his eyes widen in obvious disbelief. He mouths something,
maybe my name, maybe a prayer.

I'm moving before another second has passed and I make it to their
table before anyone else has noticed that something's wrong. Harry's
staring at Tom and
B'Elanna's trying to pull her hand out of the death-grip Tom has on
it.

"Tom?" I whisper.

"Chakotay?" His breathing is uneven. He's panicked, and I panic with
him.

"What's wrong?" I place a gentle hand on his shoulder and feel nothing
but solid rock beneath my fingers.
It takes him a minute to answer. He can't drag his eyes away from
scanning the rest of the room, looking at something none of the rest
of us can see. When he finally does look at me, I see more fear in his
eyes than I've ever seen before. His voice is barely louder than a
whisper. "They're here, Chakotay. The demons. They're *here*."

Oh, shit.

I didn't know. I never knew they were real.

I place my hand on his arm. "Come on," I say softly.

"Let me help you."

B'Elanna's eyes flash to mine, angrily, possessively and she grips
Tom's other arm. "Chakotay--" she
begins, but I cut her off with a look.

"You can't help him with this," I say simply, and wait until her hand
falls away before I pull him to his feet. She looks defeated, and I
hurt for her, but there's no time for that now. Right now, the only
one that matters is Tom.

Silently, I lead him out of the mess hall and back to my quarters. I
only hope it's not too late to help him.

---

The End