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

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copyright 1998

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I *do* own the demons

Warning: m/m sex but it's not particularly explicit.
Weird mystical stuff and nasty demons.

Feedback: Please, please, pretty please!

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I can't stop shaking.

I'm here, in his quarters, the only place I feel safe anymore, and yet
I can't stop shaking.

He's here. Thank god. The Captain is here too. They're both scared.

God, so am I.

I've never seen the Captain like this. She's restless, agitated,
nervous. She's fighting something she can't see and that we can't
describe in other than vague generalities. She wants so badly for this
not to be real. The scientist in her wants a tangible, logical,
coherent explanation. I wish we had one to offer her.

It's the phaser that keeps getting her. She hasn't put it down since
we left Sickbay. She's clutching it like a security blanket, and every
once in a while she checks the charge, just to confirm that the power
source is almost depleted. She looks surprised every time she checks
and it still is. Like if she could check and find the phaser fully
charged, it would mean Chakotay had only fired one shot to stun Tuvok,
and everything would make sense again.

The charge *is* almost depleted though, and she's verified --
repeatedly -- that it was full when Chakotay ran into Sickbay. It
would take at least fifteen shots to wear down the charge, even
assuming Chakotay increased the setting from light to heavy stun after
the first shot failed to work. So it took fifteen or more shots to
drop one Vulcan, and that's not possible. It just isn't.

Now the Captain wants to know everything, all of it, from the
beginning. Chakotay's telling her as much as he can. He doesn't gloss
over any of it, and I can't help but cringe when he covers the part
about the drinking and the drugs. It was a long time ago, and I'm
honest-to-god clean now, but hearing myself described as a drunk and
an addict still hurts. Even when it's the truth. The Captain's eyes
flick quickly to me, and I *know* she wants to believe that this demon
business is just a side-effect of all the substance abuse, but she
can't get past the hard evidence of the phaser in her hand.

Neither can I. If it wasn't for Chakotay and that phaser . . . I can't
stop thinking about how close it was. It's just that I wasn't
expecting the attack to be like this. I wasn't expecting anything so
subtle.

Until today, the demons hadn't actually *done* anything yet, except
hover around and scare the shit out of me, so when the call came from
Tuvok to meet him in Sickbay, I didn't think twice about it. I never
thought they'd attack me there; Sickbay's about as public a place as
you can get, except for the mess hall, and I knew the Doctor would be
there checking up on Ensign LaRue's fractured ribs.

Except that the Doctor wasn't there when I got there, and LaRue wasn't
there either, and before I knew what hit me Tuvok had come up from
behind and put his fingers on my neck
and . . .

I woke up already strapped down to the biobed. Tuvok was there,
waiting for me to wake up, and he explained very calmly why it was
necessary for him to perform a mind-meld. He was so damn logical about
it, for a second I thought I'd be able to reason him out of it, but
nothing I said seemed to make a difference to him, and the fact that
he'd had to tie me down didn't faze him in the slightest. In that
instant, I realized what they'd done, that they weren't content to sit
around and be passive anymore. All of Tuvok's mannerisms were his own,
properly Vulcan, but his actions were so wrong . . . and I couldn't
even count the shadows that were crowded around him, buzzing around
like bees, swirling around him so thick that I could barely make out
his face. I've never been so scared in my entire life. When he started
reaching his hands towards my face . . .

Shit.

I can't stop shaking. It's been a constant thing since we left Sickbay
three hours ago. A warm shower and two bowls of soup and a wool
blanket aren't enough to keep me warm, even here. Chakotay insisted we
come back to his quarters, and since I was too out of it to offer any
alternatives, the Captain agreed. So we're here now. There aren't any
demons in here with us, of course -- they still can't, or won't, come
in here -- but they're gathered outside in the hall. A lot of them.
They're communicating with each other somehow. I can't quite hear them
. . . and yet I can get a sense of what they're saying. Just a bit,
like when I hear people from the colony on New Quebec speak their
version of French and I can pick out enough words to follow the thread
of the conversation, but not enough to pick up any of the nuances.

That's what this is like, except the demons aren't really speaking to
each other and I can't really hear them and I can't even pick out a
few words. I just get a feeling of anger and frustration that their
careful plan failed to work, that Chakotay has gotten in their way
again.

For the first time, I fear for his life. The demons want me -- for
what, I don't know -- but they want me and I think they want me alive.
Chakotay, on the other hand . . . I think they'd kill him if they
could.

It makes me shake a little more.

Chakotay's finished now. He's told her everything; or rather, he's
told her as much as he knows. Which isn't nearly everything, but it's
enough. It's enough to convince her that we're not crazy. It's enough
to convince her that the threat is real and serious and deadly. It's
more than enough. After all, she's still got that phaser.

It only takes a minute after Chakotay stops speaking for the Captain
to digest everything, and then she's shooting questions at both of us,
rapid-fire, one after the other with barely a pause for breath in the
middle. Her questions only serve to heighten my fear because we don't
have any answers to them, and I know that right now knowledge is the
only weapon we have at our disposal. Well, knowledge and Chakotay.
He's a weapon too.

The Captain is trying to formulate a defense against something she
can't see. It's impossible, and I feel overwhelmed with the
hopelessness of it all. I still can't stop shaking, but now my teeth
are chattering, too. Chakotay stops talking in the middle of a
sentence. He asks me with a look if I'm all right, and I answer back
with a shaky nod. I'm not, but there's only one thing that's going to
make me better, and I'm not doing *that* with the Captain here. Even
if Chakotay would let me.

I guess I look pretty desperate though, or else Chakotay is
telepathic, because he asks if she wouldn't mind excusing us for a
little while.
I have the grace to blush when she shoots a calculating glance in my
direction. To be honest, I don't know why I'm embarrassed; the Captain
already knows all the sordid details of what Chakotay and I do
together, and she's too sharp not to understand the reason for
Chakotay's sudden request for privacy. But still, her knowing what we
do is not the same as her knowing that we're doing it *now*.

"I'd like to talk to you later," she says. It's not a request.

"Of course," Chakotay answers. He looks at me and I feel the blush
creep higher when he says, "Give us an hour or so. We'll meet you in
the mess hall for dinner." God, I don't understand how he can be so
calm about it. To me it's holy, and to him it's . . . I guess I don't
know, exactly . . . but to the Captain surely it's nothing more than a
sordid little blow job.

All she does is nod. "I know we've run all the standard sensor sweeps,
but maybe the sensors can be modified to pick up these . . . " She
pauses. "Demons. I'll get Harry and B'Elanna working on it."

"Not Harry," I say immediately. "Captain, you can't trust any of the
men any more."

She blanches, but nods. "I'll have B'Elanna work on it with Seven.
I'll make sure they keep it to themselves." She rises. "Meanwhile, I
think I'll go have a talk with Tuvok and see what he remembers."

---

He can't stop shaking. I feel so helpless. He's wrapped up in the
warmest blanket I have and yet the tremors are still running through
him. I can't stand to see him like this. Afraid like this. As soon as
the door shuts behind Kathryn I open my arms and invite him inside.

He dives for me and I wrap my arms around him, startled to feel how
strong the trembling really is. It's tearing through his whole body. I
have to ask, "Are you all right?"

"I can't get warm," he says, shivering again. "Ever since we left
Sickbay I've been so cold . . . "

I panic for a second, wondering what Tuvok might have done to him
before I got there. "Did Tuvok do something to you?"

"I don't think so. I'm just afraid."

"I won't let them hurt you, Tom."

He laughs weakly and burrows in a little closer. "I'm not afraid for
me, Chakotay. I'm afraid for you."

I blink. "For me?"

"Yes." He's almost whispering. "They're going to try to kill you. You
keep getting in their way. The only thing they can do is to kill you,
and then they can get to me."

"Tom." I'm patient. "They can't even touch me. You told me so
yourself."

"I know," he whispers miserably. "But they're getting stronger,
Chakotay." He takes a deep breath. "I'm afraid."

I hug him and caress him and try to soothe the shaking. When he's
calmed down a little bit I take his face between my hands and look
into his eyes, waiting for his nod before standing up and stripping.
We don't say another word, simply go through the ritual like we've
gone through it a hundred times before.

I can feel the tension in his shoulders as I grip him to keep my
balance. I can feel his fingers trembling as he strokes and caresses
me. I can feel his breath, warm but shaky, as he takes me in his mouth
and strips away all thought from my mind.

God, even now, I'm still completely helpless before him. He's a master
at this, and he knows me so well by now . . . I can't possibly keep a
coherent thought in my brain. I can't possibly be worrying about
demons. I can't possibly . . . can't possibly . . . can't poss-

I scream and shake and come back to myself a few minutes later,
sprawled on the couch in a completely undignified manner. The only
word I can manage is, "whew".

Tom grins, and the first thing I notice is how relaxed he looks. The
second thing I notice is that the shaking has finally stopped. "I
tried to make it a little better today."

I can't do anything except repeat it, stupidly. "Better?"

"For you," he says simply. "It hurts them, you know. Your orgasm. And
the better I make it for you--"

"The more it hurts them?"

One shoulder raises in a half a shrug. "Yeah. Strange, huh?"

I can't help but nod because it really *is* strange.
Tom furrows his brow and concentrates for a minute, then looks at me
with a relieved smile. "They're gone. At least for now." With his
usual effortless grace, he rises to his feet and grabs a damp cloth
from the bathroom to clean me up. I wait until he's done before rising
myself and heading to the shower. No matter how completely sated and
lethargic I feel right now, I need to wash with more than just a damp
cloth. We've got a meeting with the Captain in a little while and
although she may know what just went on here, she doesn't need to
smell it.

We make it to the mess hall before she does, and claim a table in the
corner. It's between shifts right now and the place is pretty
deserted, although we're by no means the only people in here. I'm
starving, and I know Tom hasn't eaten since last night, so I load up
two trays with Neelix's best and bring them back to the table.

The Captain shows up when we're halfway through our meal, and grabs
only a mug of coffee to bring with her to the table. She looks shaken,
and I wonder how the interview with Tuvok went. I can't wait to hear
what he had to say. While I'm absently tracking Kathryn's progress
across the room, something nags at me, but I can't put my finger on
it, so I let my subconscious go to work on it instead.

Just as Kathryn is about to sit down Ensign Mulcahey stands up from
the table next to us. He's got his back to the door and while I can
see the impending collision I can't really do anything about it. It's
nothing more serious than a bump, and Kathyn's coffee is the only real
casualty. Some of it splatters on her uniform and the rest splashes on
the floor.

Ignoring the flutter of nervous apologies from Mulcahey, I hand
Kathryn a pile of napkins for her uniform. I hand another pile to Tom
so he can clean up the mess on the floor, and grab the empty mug,
heading back to the front of the room to refill it with fresh coffee.
It's only when I'm up there that my subconscious decides to tell me
what's been bothering me for the past few minutes. The room is filled
with men.

Ever since we got here they've been coming into the mess hall in small
groups, one or two or three at a time, laughing, talking, getting
food. And yet . . . surely some of them should be on shift right now.
The crew is less than 130 people, and yet there must be 50 male crew
members in here, not including Tom and myself.

I meet Tom's eyes across the mess hall, and slowly let my gaze drift
across the sea of male figures casually relaxing in this suddenly
too-small room. Tom blinks and flinches as he follows the path of my
eyes. I can see the fear growing in his face as he looks at the crew,
one by one, letting his gaze settle on the air just above their heads.

I do the same, forcing myself to focus on the gray shadows that are
drifting in and out of my field of view. It's still difficult for me
to see them without concentrating. If I ignore them hard enough, I can
almost convince myself they're not there . . . but not tonight.
Tonight I concentrate on seeing them as best as I can, and they come
into focus slowly.

Shit.

There are hundreds of them. Thousands. As many as I've ever seen. A
dark cloud hangs suspended over each and every man in the room save
for Tom and myself. The cloud over Mulcahey is teeming and I suddenly
wonder how accidental his collision with the Captain was. As I stare
at the shadows, I realize suddenly that despite the seeming randomness
with which the crew arranged themselves in the room, it's not random
at all. The shadows above their heads make it easier to see the
pattern. It's an attack formation, similar to ones used throughout the
ages in countless wars, and it's centered around . . .

Me.

Tom comes to the same conclusion I do, at the same instant, and I see
him whispering frantically to Kathryn. I remember his hushed words to
me earlier, how he feared for my life, and I could kick myself for not
taking him more seriously. If the demons could influence Tuvok to
perform a mind-meld on Tom against his will, how much more difficult
would it be for them to convince one of the crew to kill me? They'd
just need to find a man who resented me, or held a grudge, or perhaps
simply didn't like me, and their work would be half
finished . . .

I'm scanning the crowds already, searching for a way out of here. I
can't risk calling for an emergency beam-out because I'm not sure
who's on duty and I know if it's a man that I'll never beam back in.
There is no way out. Both doors are blocked, the kitchen is crowded,
and the tables around me are filled with crew members who are eyeing
me with expressions suddenly turned stony.

I look across the room again and see Tom frozen in place, eyes wide
and filled with terror. Something's about to happen. He's said he can
hear the demons talking sometimes, and I wish for once that I could
hear them also. Kathryn's talking into her comm badge but I already
know it's too late. Surely the demons have made sure it's not going to
be that easy to stop them this time . . .

And then my path is blocked by Ayala and Chell and Carey. I see the
glint of metal in their hands and wonder for a delirious instant which
one of them is actually going to plunge the knife into my heart, or if
it's going to be all three at the same time.

"No!" It's Tom. All eyes in the room turn to him, human and demon
alike. He's shaking, but right now I can't tell whether it's from the
cold, or from fear, or from fury. "Leave him alone!" he shouts. "If
you want me so badly, take me!"

A brave challenge.

A stupid dare.

I know immediately that all the demons ever needed was an invitation.

With a thunderous roar they rise into the air, pouring out of the men
in furious streams of pure blackness and evil. There are more than I
could have imagined. I'd been misled by the small clouds I'd seen
above each of them men. I'd assumed there were ten or twenty per male
crewmember. Not even close. I was off by several orders of magnitude.
I see thousands rise out of Chell, thousands rise out of Ayala. Dalby
and Carey and Rollins and Baytart . . . each of them host to thousands
of the demons. Fifty miniature tornadoes coalesce into one whirling
storm of darkness, whipping and whirling around the room so fiercely
that even
Kathryn hears the noise.

It only takes an instant.

One second the demons are storming around the ceiling.
The next second, they're heading straight for Tom. They slam into him,
one after the other after the other, so fast I lose count almost
immediately, so violently that he's thrown against the wall. He
doesn't even have time to scream.

I see the female security teams rushing into the mess hall even as the
men next to me are shaking their heads and looking at the knives in
their hands in utter confusion. I ignore all of them. My only concern
is for Tom. It seems to take forever to cross the room to his side.

He's struggling to his feet and for a second I allow myself to hope
that he's all right, that he was strong enough to defeat the demons on
his own.

But then he opens his eyes.

They're red. Burning, like coals. Like the eyes of every demon in
every horror vid I've ever seen. No pupils. Just pure flame.
Terrifying. Inhuman.

It takes eight phasers and six security guards to bring him down.

---

The End