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

---

copyright 1998

Disclaimer: Etc, etc, etc. I'm sick of them already. Paramount owns
everyone. I'm borrowing them. Please don't sue.

Warning: An implied m/m physical relationship, but no explicit sex.
Weird mystical stuff. .

Feedback: Please, please, pretty please!

---

He's so calm.

I can't figure it out. The longer this goes on, the calmer Tom
becomes. Me, on the other hand . . . I'm a nervous wreck. I'm jumping
at shadows now, *real* shadows, the kind that are cast by lights when
you walk beneath them, the kind that Wendy stitched on for Peter Pan.
And when I talk to the crew . . . half the time I see them, the
demons, hovering over their heads. The other half of the time I don't
see them, and that worries me more because I know they're there . . .
they've got all the crew. All the male crew. Tom told me so, and I
believe him, now.

He's so calm.

No, that's not right. He's not calm. He's just . . . resigned. The
demons are here. There doesn't seem to be anything we can do about it
anymore. They're just waiting, and so are we. For what, we don't know.
For Tom's guard to slip, for the demons' strength to grow, for some
sort of direct or indirect attack. We wait for them to try to take
him. At least he's sleeping.
I wasn't. Ever since that day in Sickbay, ever since Tom told me the
flashing shadows I'd been seeing were something other than tricks of
light, I wasn't able to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I panicked,
and nothing I did or told myself seemed to help. Even Tom's
reassurances that the demons couldn't touch me did nothing to calm my
shattered nerves.

He sleeps here now. Not in bed with me, but on the couch, like he did
that first night. We have never been, and may never be, lovers. Yet
somehow, having him in my quarters is enough to let me get some rest.
He laughs, says if anything I'm *less* safe with him here, that the
demons are out for him, after all. That they're afraid to come near me
now, but that they might later, if they get strong enough and
desperate enough to have him.

I don't care what he says. I feel safer with him here. He sees them,
all of them. If he tells me they're not in the room, I can sleep.
Otherwise, I stare at the dark shadows behind the chairs and beneath
the bed and wonder if they're sentient.

They're aware of me. Of that, I have no doubt. Even if I can't see
them as clearly as he does, even if I can't make out eyes or mouths or
limbs, I can *feel* their hostility emanating outwards. They hate me.
I think, if they could, they'd kill me.

They can't.

Tom has told me a hundred times that the demons can't touch me. I kill
them, he says. He claims he's lost count of how often he's seen a
demon risk approaching me, only to be burned up in invisible flame,
uttering inaudible screams. They leave me alone now, he says. I want
to believe him. I'm afraid.

He loved me again last night. It's almost every night now. Tom says it
helps him fight them. He's always said that. From the beginning, I
knew that those times he came to me strengthened him, helped him fight
the shapeless terrors that held him captive at night. I had it all
wrong, though. It was memories, I thought. Memories of abuse at
someone's hands, from the lost years after the accident, from prison,
or even from those first awful months on board Voyager . . . I thought
there were memories holding him hostage. I thought he couldn't move
past them without taking this act and making it clean again.

I was wrong.

Not entirely. There *are* things he remembers, bad things, from times
Tom won't discuss with me, not even now, and I know they hurt him
because I hear him crying out in his sleep. And yes, when Tom takes me
and loves me the way he needs to, it *does* help him fight the
memories. But more importantly, it helps him fight the demons.

How, we don't know.

I've questioned him on it, but haven't been able to come to any
satisfactory conclusion. Tom shrugs, and says that after he'd come to
my quarters, the demons would leave him alone for a few weeks. My joy,
he believes, strengthens him and enables him to resist them. I don't
know if he's right -- how can I? -- but it costs me nothing to help
him in this.

Costs me nothing? God. I *enjoy* it. He's so good at what he does . .
. when he takes me within him, I forget everything: the demons, the
fears, the ship, even my name . . . all that exists is Tom and the
sensations he can draw from me. That my body should be capable of
feeling this way is miraculous. That Tom enjoys doing this for me is
like a gift from the gods.
If only the circumstances weren't so terrible, I'd think I was a lucky
man.

And yet . . . the circumstances *are* this terrible.
Everything has changed, now, after four years of secret assignations.
Through all of Tom's relationships -- the casual ones with one or the
other of the Delaneys, the serious one with B'Elanna -- Tom and I met
in secret. No one knew. No one. I never told Kathryn, not even on
those nights I'd be late to her bed because Tom had been to see me.
Tom, of course, told no one either. Not even Harry or B'Elanna.

Especially not Harry or B'Elanna.

B'Elanna finding us out a few months ago -- god, is that all it was?
-- was just the first step. I don't know if she would have kept the
secret had she and Tom been able to resolve things, but as the
situation stood afterwards. . . she had no particular desire to spare
his feelings. Or mine. To her credit, she only told a few people.
Maybe they were even people she trusted to keep quiet. Nonetheless . .
.

It was all over the ship in days. Not about the demons . . . but about
Tom and me.

Not that we could have hidden it for much longer, anyway. If people
hadn't figured out something was up before, they certainly would have
realized it once he started spending his nights here. The hostility is
awful. My crew, my *former* crew, is furious. All the feelings I'd
thought long since buried have re-emerged. "Paris is a traitor," they
yell at me. A coward. A mercenary. A murderer.

I want to yell back, but it's not worth the effort. I can't be sure
it's *them* speaking. I see shadows above them, shadows in their eyes,
and I can't help but wonder . . . am I really hearing their voices? Or
am I hearing something else entirely?

---

Tom's not on duty, and hasn't been since the day he saw the demons for
the first time. I'm not so lucky. We still haven't told anyone that I
can see the demons, too.

Tom says he doesn't see the point. He says they already know he's not
crazy; that my validating what he's seeing is only going to confuse
things, especially because I can't see the demons as well or as
reliably as he can. They've already run every sensor sweep they can
think of and haven't turned up anything. At best, he figures, they'll
run more useless sensor sweeps. At worst, they'll say the two of us
are having convergent delusions, and take us both off duty. He's
afraid they might even separate us, and that's all the demons will
need to win.

So I'm keeping quiet, at least until we can figure out some sort of
plan of attack. For starters, Tom's trying to get a count of the
demons. It's not encouraging. He thinks he might be overestimating,
that maybe they tend to congregate where he is, but his best guess is
that there are over a thousand of them.

A thousand.

Roughly 150 people on this ship, and only two of us can see the
demons. It's less than encouraging.

I leave him sleeping in my quarters and head for the Bridge, where I
spend a long, tense, uncomfortable morning shift watching the gray
shadows swirl around Baytart's head. They're particularly clear to me
today.

I ask Kathryn to lunch, but she demurs uncomfortably. Things haven't
been right between us for a while, ever since we decided we were
better off as friends than lovers. Now I think she's wondering whether
I chose Tom over her. Trying to explain to her that Tom and I are
*not* lovers is about as effective as trying to explain it to
B'Elanna.

I eat lunch with Ensign Wildman, instead. Let the crew wonder about
*that*. I won't, under any circumstances, eat with any of the men. Not
anymore.

Kathryn comes into the Mess Hall with Tuvok, but they take their food
and leave. Probably a working lunch in her office, going over security
reports and the like. Dry. Dull. I *hate* working through lunch.
Kathryn doesn't mind it. It's one of the reasons we didn't work out.
Just one, of so many.

I make it a short lunch today, and get back to the Bridge before Tuvok
comes out of Kathryn's office and crosses to the turbolift. Kathryn
stays behind closed doors, as she often does after lunch. When there's
not much going on, she prefers to work at her desk to clear up the
mundane details of her captaincy. She comms me 45 minutes later and
asks me to come in and talk.

I go in there, braced for another lecture about how I abused my
position and abused Tom, but find her staring out the window with her
hands clasped behind her back. It's a familiar pose, and it means
she's lost in thought.

"Kathryn?"

She starts, and turns. "Chakotay." She walks to the couch and sits,
patting the cushion next to her, but speaking before I've had a chance
to take my seat. "How's Tom?"

I shrug. "All right, I suppose."

"He's still seeing those demons?"

"Yes."

She's quiet. "Do you think he really sees them?"

I control my voice and answer neutrally, "I think he believes he's
seeing them, yes."

"The Doctor says he's not crazy."

"I've read the reports."

"We've scanned for aliens," she muses. "None."

"I know."

"If he's not crazy, and they're not aliens . . . " She trails off and
leans back, running her hand over her eyes. "I don't know what to do."

I nod, silently agreeing.

She purses her lips. "Tuvok had a suggestion," she mentions off-
handedly.

"Really?"

"He suggested a mind-meld. He thought that if he could see what Tom's
seeing, it might be useful."

I shake my head. "Tom would never agree to that. He hated it the first
time, even if it did save his life."

"I know," she says wearily. "That's what I told Tuvok. He said if it
was in the best interest of the ship, he could do it without Tom's
consent."

I'm a bit taken aback. "That's a bit drastic, don't you think? A
forced mind-meld?"

She's quick to reassure me. "Don't worry, Chakotay. I told him that
under no circumstances would we permit such an action. I honestly
can't believe he even suggested it."

"Me neither," I say slowly. I try to reason away the cold knot of fear
slowly forming in my belly. "He *did* agree not to do it, right?"

"Of course," she says, dismissing my concerns.

"However, I told him he could speak to Tom about it, so he might stop
by after his duty shift this afternoon."

I frown. "Tuvok's not on duty this afternoon."

"Yes, he is," she says instantly, frowning back at me.

"He left the Bridge," I say. "When he came out of here, he left the
Bridge." I sound like an idiot, but I suppose I should be grateful I
can speak at all. The fear spreads through me instantly, practically
paralyzing in its intensity.

Kathryn taps her comm badge. "Janeway to Tuvok," she calls, repeating
it a minute later when there is no response. "Computer, location of
Commander Tuvok."

"Commander Tuvok is in Sickbay."

I hit my own comm badge. "Chakotay to Paris." I already know there
will be no answer. When there isn't, I call for Tom's location and am
already reaching into the hidden compartment on Kathryn's desk by the
time the computer informs me Lieutenant Paris is in Sickbay as well. I
pick up Kathryn's emergency phaser, fully charged and armed, and
before she can protest I call for an emergency transport to Sickbay.

I materialize there an instant later. The room is dim and for an
instant I think the lights are malfunctioning, but then I realize to
my horror that it's the demons. Hundreds of them, god, countless
numbers, swirling around the ceiling in a frantic, restless dance. For
the first time, I see them as Tom sees them, clearly, in focus,
separate and distinct and terrifying.

I can barely make out Tuvok for the dark clouds that surround him.
Hundreds of them, whipping furiously around him, so fast that I can't
see when one leaves his body and another enters. His motions are
deliberate and unhurried as he makes his preparations, leaning over
the struggling figure strapped down to the biobed.

Tom. His eyes are wide and panicked, and he's pulling against the
intractable restraints that pin him to the bed.

My heart leaps into my throat and I pray I'm not too late, knowing
somehow that if the demons residing in Tuvok gain access to Tom's
mind, the battle will be over and the war will be lost. "Tuvok!" Even
to my own ears, my voice sounds harsh and desperate.

All I accomplish is to make the demons aware of my presence. A cloud
of them rushes towards me and I brace myself against an expected
assault. Nothing happens. I hear a distant keening wail and the cloud
around me thins. It gives me confidence and I call out Tuvok's name
again, more insistently this time.

He ignores me. I'm not even sure he hears me. I see his fingers spread
out in that peculiar Vulcan way, and he leans down a little further
over the bed. Tom flinches away as much as he can, and I breathe a
silent prayer of thanks that's he's still capable of this, even as my
fingers tighten around the phaser.

"Tuvok!" My voice is louder this time, and yet again he ignores me.
His hands are close to Tom's face. So close. Too close.

The phaser's set on heavy stun and I fire it with no further
hesitation.

The first blast jerks him backwards slightly, but in an instant he's
recovered, and I fire again, and again, and again. He should have been
unconscious three shots ago. All I'm doing is slowing him down. I do
the only thing I can. I keep firing.

It's only as the doors to Sickbay slide open and the Security team
rushes in -- two women, I notice gratefully -- that the phaser finally
does its work and Tuvok slumps to the floor. The demons fly away from
him in that instant, and I can almost feel the burst of air as they
speed past me and out of Sickbay. I'm trembling so hard the phaser
slips from my fingers as soon as I release my grip on the trigger.

Kathryn's at my side as I rush towards Tom. I only spare a instant to
acknowledge that she's there at all before I'm fumbling to undo the
straps. Tom's trembling more violently than I am, and he's fighting
the restraints even as I try to release him from them.

He whispers my name under his breath, and as soon as I slide him off
the biobed he collapses into my embrace. We sink to the floor and I
rock him until the tremors ease a bit, even though his heart is still
pounding in a terrified rhythm.

Kathryn lets us be for a minute before she touches Tom gently on the
arm and asks, "What happened?"

"Tuvok-" Tom says, face completely white. "The demons. They were going
to-" He can't even say it, and I feel the shaking start up again. He's
trembling so hard, I wonder that he's not falling apart.

Kathryn sits back on her heels, frowning ferociously.
Idly, she examines the power charge on the phaser. It takes her a few
seconds to make the connection.

"Commander," she says slowly, "how many times did you fire this
phaser?"

I shake my head. "A lot."

She examines the walls for marks of phaser fire and finds none. She
knows I'm an expert marksman. I rarely miss a target, and certainly
not at close range. "One shot," Kathryn whispers, looking at me with
widening eyes. "You should have been able to drop him with one shot."

"It wasn't just Tuvok," I answer, whispering as softly as she did. "It
was the demons."

Kathryn stares at me, stares at Tom, pale and trembling in my arms,
then stares the longest at the almost depleted phaser she holds in her
hand. When she raises her eyes to mine again, I see something in them
I've never seen there before.

Fear.

---

The End