The BLTS Archive- My Chakotay
#7: Voice So Soft
by MaisieRita (MaisieRita@aol.com)

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copyright 1998

Disclaimer: Yeah, whatever. I don't own any of these characters.
Paramount does. I'm borrowing them. I'll return 'em. Don't sue me.

Warning: Despite the NC-17 rating, the sex is not very blatant.
However, since it's m/m, I think it's more than R. Getting a little
mystical, here . . .

Feedback: Please!!!! Feed the craving!

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It's another two days before the Doc finally runs out of tests and
agrees to let me out of Sickbay. Two more days of poking and prodding,
two more days of answering personal and intimate questions, two more
days of trying to act as sane as I know how. I've been here for ten
days straight, and I'm bouncing off the walls. Thankfully, I'm finally
free to go as soon as the Doc finishes his report to the Captain.
They're in his office. Every once in a while, the Captain sends a
worried look in my direction. I know why she's worried. This last
round of tests has got me worried too.

The Doc's showing her some graphics. They're scans of my brain
activity, taken when I claimed to be looking at the demons, and they
show clearly that I was seeing *something*. Something our sensors
can't detect, something no one else can see.

Except Chakotay. I haven't told them about that, yet.
He hasn't come back since then. Not his fault; the Captain is still
mad at him and "suggested" he stay out of Sickbay while the Doc was
finishing these tests. Truthfully, I don't think he *wants* to come
back. He's pretty upset about seeing the demons.

I can't say I blame him. I'm pretty upset about him seeing the demons,
too. Okay, part of me is relieved that I'm not insane, but part of me
wishes I were -- or at least, that I still had that comforting fiction
available to me.

I mean, we're talking *demons* here.

I try not to think about them too much, but it's not easy with a cloud
of them hovering in the corner of Sickbay. They're getting restless,
agitated. I can read them a lot better now. When they first got out, I
was sure they were going to come for me right away. Then, when they
didn't, I figured they couldn't -- or wouldn't -- attack me directly.
I was wrong, then, but I've finally got it figured out. They're just
waiting until they're strong enough to take me. They will be, soon,
and if I don't get out of here and see Chakotay, get from him what
only he can give, I won't be strong enough to stop them. I wonder what
will happen then.

I've been watching them. I don't know if it's practice, sensitivity,
or something else, but they've become clearer to me. It's as if the
more I watch them, the better I get at seeing them. Even so, I still
can't see any distinguishing characteristics. Their eyes, if you can
call them that, are dark patches, barely distinguishable from the rest
of their indistinct bodies. No mouths that I can see, no ears, no arms
or legs. When they huddle together, I still can't tell where one ends
and the next begins.

They see that I'm looking at them now and so they look back at me. All
of a sudden they start to move towards me, from the corner of Sickbay
to the first biobed, and then to the next . . . Panic grips me and I'm
helpless. I can't move, can't turn away, can't escape them. They want
me, want me to become one of them, featureless, bodiless, soulless . 

"Lieutenant."

I swear I jump a kilometer.

"Mr. Paris?" It's the Doc. He's resting his hand on my shoulder,
looking at me with concern radiating from those holographic eyes. The
demons are back in the corner, and I thank whichever god happens to be
listening for the timely intervention. But still, they're glaring at
me out of their dark non-eyes, and I know I've only been granted a
temporary reprieve.

The Doc's hand feels heavy on my shoulder. It's an illusion. He's no
more real than the demons. He's as soulless as they are, an artificial
construct, nothing other than a trick of light. If the demons had
holographic projectors, I think wildly, they wouldn't even need to
possess the crew.

My breathing has quickened and my hands are trembling. Shit. The Doc
will *never* let me out of here at this rate. I think of Chakotay and
force myself to calm down. If I can get out of here, I can go to him,
kneel before him and take him within me. His strength will augment my
own. *If* I can get out of here. I take a deep breath. Another. "Doc,"
I answer finally.

"Are you all right, Mr. Paris?"

"I'm fine."

The Doc nods, suspiciously. "I'm sorry if I startled you."

"It's all right," I explain. "I was just distracted."

"You were watching the demons again," he says matter-of-factly.

I nod, and avoid looking at the Captain. No matter what the Doc says,
I get the feeling that she still thinks I'm crazy. I repress a fierce
impulse to run up to her and shout "boo."

"Well," the Doctor says, heaving a holographic sigh, "I've completely
run out of tests for you."

I'm already sliding off the biobed. "I can go?"

He's not happy about it, but, "Yes, I suppose so. For now."

The Captain takes a step closer. "What about his duty shift?"

The Doc's shaking his head before she's finished asking the question.
"I don't think it would be wise to have him on the Bridge, Captain.
Although I can't diagnose any particular illness, the fact remains
that he's seeing creatures that don't exist. I don't think it would be
wise for him to take the conn in this state."

The Captain nods and I can't possibly argue. From their perspective,
I'm a hop, skip, and a jump away from hearing imaginary voices, and
you don't want someone in that condition at the helm of a starship
traveling considerably faster than the speed of light.

It's all right. I don't want to be on the Bridge, anyway. There's only
one place I want to be right now, and as soon as the doors to Sickbay
shut behind me, I head over there.

Chakotay answers his door immediately. He doesn't look good. I'll bet
he hasn't been sleeping much. "Can I come in?"

He hesitates for only a second. "Of course."

When we get inside, I have to clench my fists to keep myself from
dropping to my knees. It's instinct, now. I've never come here to
talk. I don't particularly want to talk now. But Chakotay does, I can
see it in his face, and after all he's done for me the least I can do
is talk to him before I rip his clothes off and swallow his soul.

"The Doctor released you," he says unnecessarily.

"Yep. Turns out I'm sane after all."

He grins weakly, and collapses into the couch. "I never doubted it."

I raise an eyebrow. "Didn't you? I did."

He holds my gaze for a minute, seriously. "I never doubted you were
sane, Tom. Not even . . . before."

I'm still standing in the middle of the room, shifting uncomfortably
from one foot to the other. My back's a mess. Even as I stand there, I
can feel the muscles tightening, and an agonizing pain hits me just
beneath my left shoulder blade. I shift position again and
unconsciously start rotating my arm to loosen up the cramping muscle.
I force my attention back to
Chakotay, who's looking anywhere but at me. "Are you still seeing
them?"

"Yes."

"A lot?"

"No. I'm still not convinced you're right."

I sigh, and wince as another muscle spasms and cramps. I've never been
in his room this long without doing what I need to do. Not since the
first night. My body is protesting the delay. "If you have any other
explanation, I'm willing to listen."

His sigh rivals mine. "No."

"Are they any clearer to you?"

"A little. I still can't focus on them." He shifts gears slightly.
"What did the Doctor say?"

"That I'm seeing something. It's registering in my visual cortex." I
wince again, involuntarily, as my entire lower back seizes up. I have
to fight the almost uncontrollable urge to fall to my knees. God, why
am I here, if not for that? I belong in front of him; everything is
*right* when I'm there. No demons, no terrors, no pain, no nightmares
. . . just his pleasure and his passion.

Another cramp rips through me and I whimper and crash to my knees,
surrendering to the inevitable and my body's insistent call.
Chakotay's beside me in an instant, looking sorrowful and guilty.
"God, I'm sorry, Tom. I didn't realize you needed . . . "

He stops before he says it, obeying our unspoken rule never to give
words to what it is we do together. It's so like him to apologize, to
take the blame for something that's not at all his fault. "It's okay,"
I whisper, feeling calmer the instant his hand touches me. He starts
to knead my back with firm and practiced fingers. Finally, blessedly,
the tension eases and I begin to think I might survive without major
corrective surgery.

As soon as I can, I turn around to face him, getting reassurance from
his eyes that it's okay to do what I have to, that he understands and
doesn't begrudge me the necessity. I take it slowly tonight, focusing
entirely on his pleasure. I can't allow the slightest bit of pleasure
for myself, not even as he moans my name and reaches out to stroke my
hair. The important thing has always been *his* gratification, and
with the demons at our doorstep, it's more important than ever.
Accepting pleasure weakens me, and especially now, I have to be
strong.

I lick and suck slowly, carefully, using lips, teeth, and tongue. I
grip his legs as much for my balance as for his, feeling the tremors
rippling through his thighs as he allows himself to get lost in the
sensations. Tonight, as always, the memories come back to haunt me.
It's the pain that draws the demons to me. That much I know, and so I
use the joy of the present to battle the sorrow of the past. Or I try
to.
Something's wrong tonight.

I can't maintain my focus. Even as I struggle to place myself in these
quarters, on this ship, in this quadrant, my mind insists on taking me
back to other places from a lifetime ago. On my knees in front of the
others, all the sordid instances merging in my mind to one night of
misery, an eternal twilight that strips away my past and devours my
future.

No. I won't allow it to beat me. I *won't*. That's what the demons
want. It's what they're waiting for. The only thing that keeps me
together is the way Chakotay is calling my name. Softly, tenderly,
nothing like the way the others did. His voice is a gentle caress
where theirs were like whips. He accepts what they demanded. He cries
out in joy and thanks. They . . . laughed. I never got over the
laughter.

For the first time, when he comes, I gag as I swallow.
He notices, of course. Even at the height of passion, he notices
everything. "Tom?" His breathing is still unsteady, even as he's
lifting my chin to look in my eyes.

I can't answer his unspoken questions, so I rise to my feet and walk
to the bathroom for a towel. He doesn't really need any cleaning --
gag or no, I swallowed everything -- but it's part of the ritual and I
find it soothing. The tension in my back is lessening with every step
I take, and by the time I get back to where he's still kneeling on the
floor, it's almost gone. Almost. The remaining knots are signs that
things aren't quite right, that all we've done tonight is buy
ourselves a little more time to regroup. The demons are still out
there.

I wonder if taking him again, right now, would be enough to banish
them. His joy hurts them, somehow, in a way I can't figure out. I
wonder if I could run to Harry and take him; if my giving that to him
voluntarily would be enough to force the demons from him, or if those
that inhabit him would make him laugh and then glory in my
degradation.

I don't know if I give this gift to Chakotay because unconsciously I
know the demons can't touch him, or if the demons can't touch him
because I give this gift to him. Cause and effect, the chicken and the
egg . . . my mind reels. I'm dizzy, and I close my eyes to block the
sight of the floor swaying before me.

"Tom?"

His hand on my cheek calms and grounds me, and soon I'm strong enough
to open my eyes. "I'm all right. I just got lost for a minute."

He nods, slowly, never taking his eyes from my face. For the first
time, he's uncomfortable with all of this. "We need to talk."

"I know."

He pulls on his robe in one fluid movement and leads me to the couch.
When we're seated side by side, he looks at me intently and asks,
quite seriously, "Are we alone?"

He still doesn't trust his ability to see them. I wonder suddenly if
that's what's been keeping him awake, the fear that the real shadows
in his quarters are something other. "I don't think they can come in
here, Chakotay."

He nods but still looks uneasy, and I want to reassure him. I'm not
sure how I do it, but I extend my awareness outside of his cabin and
search. There are no demons anywhere nearby. I have a bizarre vision
of his orgasm being like a little anti-demon grenade, incinerating all
of them unfortunate enough to be nearby when he comes. My laugh is a
little hysterical, but I manage to stifle it when he looks at me in
concern.

"I'm all right," I choke out, for the second time in as many minutes.
"We're definitely alone."

He scans his quarters, still looking nervous. "I'm feeling a little
out of my depth, here," he admits. "I didn't think the demons were
really . . . real."

"You're not the only one."

He frowns. "You knew."

"Not for sure. Not until last week."

"When you saw them in the mess hall?"

"Yes."

"And before then?"

"Before then, I only ever saw them in dreams."

He exhales heavily. "How long has it been?"

"Since I started seeing them?" He nods and I have to think about it.
"I guess it was pretty soon after I saw the ghosts-"

He interrupts. "You keep saying that. You saw ghosts once before, but
these are demons."

"Right."

He shrugs helplessly. "What's the difference?"

"The ghosts were . . . ghosts," I explain lamely. "Haunted house kind
of ghosts. They looked human, they wore clothing, I could recognize
their faces . . ."

Only now does he realize. No reason for him to have known before,
unless he's read my psych file, which I'm pretty sure is classified.
We've certainly never talked about it. "You knew them." Less of a
question than a statement of dismal truth.

I nod and take a deep breath. "They were the ones I killed."

He flinches, presumably at the look on my face. "God. Tom, I'm sorry.
Those three cadets?"

Those three cadets. It's so impersonal that way, like they weren't
even people. Like the Academy defined them, like they didn't have
hopes and dreams of their own that were destroyed forever in one
blazing instant of heat and fear and fury. I nod slightly at him.

"Those three cadets. My best friend. Another friend, a good one. My
lover." Funny how much it still hurts to talk about them, even after
all this time. Almost as much as it hurt when they came back. The
horror of that night returns, the sick nausea and the paralyzing fear,
the desperate longing for death. I wrap my arms around myself and
deliberately move past it. "The demons showed up not long after that."

He's quiet for a long time, searching my eyes, sympathy I don't
deserve transparent in his eyes. When he does speak, it's in a voice
so soft I have to strain to hear him. "How long ago was that?"

"Almost ten years."

"Ten *years*?"

I nod. "When they first started coming, I was still on Earth. I
thought it was from the junk."

"The junk?"

"The drugs." I'm uncomfortable. Even now, when I've been clean for
ages, I'm embarrassed to admit how completely hooked I was back then.
"I couldn't always tell what was real. I mean, I'd be awake and things
would be so surreal, I thought I was dreaming." I'm staring at my
fingers. They're fascinating, suddenly.

"I was visiting some pretty weird places back then anyway, ancient
ruins and temples and stuff, with all this mystical shit on the walls.
Guess I was searching for something."

Softly, "Did you find it?"

"No."

He's silent for a while, but he picks up my hand and holds it, gently.
"So what happened?"

"I left Earth."

"Did you stop seeing the demons?"

I shudder, remembering. "No." It's a minute before I trust myself to
speak of these things I've never told anyone. "I couldn't figure out
if they were coming because I was having bad days, or if I was having
bad days because they were coming, but then all the days got to be so
bad, it didn't really matter . . . the demons were just there all the
time anyway. I thought it was the drugs. I still didn't think they
were real."

Chakotay's frowning fiercely, but when he squeezes my hand, it's for
comfort. "How long were you using drugs, Tom?"

"A long time. I don't really know." I'm whispering,
now. "It was the only way to make it through."

"You weren't using them when you joined the Maquis."

"No. When I came back to Earth, a friend helped me get clean." A
little white lie. He doesn't need to know how long it took, and how
much I fought it at first. "Relatively clean. I switched to alcohol.
It was cheaper, and had the advantage of being legal."

Chakotay speaks slowly, patiently. "Some drugs have lasting side
effects. They can cause permanent neurological damage, cause
flashbacks and seizures years later. Maybe the Doctor should check . .
. "

I snatch my hand back irritably. "He checked. For god's sake,
Chakotay, you might as well just accept it. I'm not hallucinating and
I'm not having flashbacks. The demons are *real*." He doesn't want to
believe it. "Look. You don't want to see them. Neither do I. But it's
not going to make them go away."

His voice is very small. "What do they want?"

I answer with the truth I feel in my bones. "Me." I look up at meet
his gaze, see the helplessness I know shines from my eyes reflected in
his. "They want me."

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The End