tampered | And if you trust in me

Entry tags:

And if you trust in me

When; September 24
Rating; PG-13? TBA
Characters; Chakotay and anyone who wants to come across him today.
Summary; Chakotay is shriveling away and someone needs to fix it. (Already have someone lined up for him to fall to, but anyone else is welcome to bother him!)
Log;

In some ways, Chakotay felt as though he'd already been through this. There was that one time his DNA had been stimulated and he'd suddenly found his body looking and feeling as though he were over a hundred years old. Forming arthritis when he wasn't anywhere near an age that something like that would usually happen to hadn't been the nicest thing to suddenly be assaulted with. He'd hoped he would never experience anything like that again.

Apparently, the City seemed to have other ideas. At first, Chakotay couldn't quite tell if this was some recurrence of that or something else entirely. The beginning stages had him itching and scratching skin that flaked off like it was dust. Worrisome, to say the least. Later on, as he walked around the City proper, it seemed to get worse. Part of him was tempted to take a trip to the hospital to see if Doctor McCoy could figure out what was going, but at the same time, he wasn't sure if it was anything too serious.

Instead, he decided to head back to the lab or wherever else he has to go to find Kathryn. Maybe she might know. He wasn't expecting to run into anyone while walking around the City, but he wouldn't mind a little company at any point in his day.

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Surprisingly, Kathryn isn't at the lab today. She's locked away in her room back at the apartment, working on some preliminaries for something she refuses to share with anyone just yet. In all likelihood, her first officer already suspects she's up to something, that she's slowly piecing together something she won't share with the class until she's ready -- she knows that, though it's debatable whether she'll deny or confirm if asked. Even if it's the latter, confirmation is all he'll receive. She won't share what that something is until she's ready, if at all. Woman was a veritable Fort Knox when she wanted to be.

A veritable Fort Knox that was currently unaware of Chakotay's ailments.

So it takes him a bit longer than usual to find her, and by then, he's very obviously starting to flake. He still isn't that worried, not worried enough to make the trek to the hospital at any rate. It's still a little disconcerting by the time he knocks on her door, unsure if she's actually in there or not.

"Kathryn?" Even his voice is a little scratchy. He hopes that is just the day's air and not whatever this is. If she isn't here, he supposes he'll just have to suck it up and go to McCoy.

To her credit, it only takes her a few minutes to put everything up and drag something else out, the configurations for a chronometric monitoring system that Chekov's been helping her with laid out on the table in place of what she'd actually been working on. Now isn't the time to clue him in to what she's been doing; him nor anyone.

She opens the door, startled by his appearance. "You look like hell, Chakotay."

Which wasn't terribly unusual for any of them back aboard Voyager with the various scrapes they'd been through, but here? It was rare. Perhaps he'd contracted something... But shouldn't they be immune to most diseases of the 21st Century? Inoculations in their time prevented that, and she knew he'd had all of his.

He never suspects a thing. Sure, he knows she could be working on something, but if she is, it's her prerogative what she works on and who she wants to tell. And besides, his current situation is much more alarming than whether or not his captain has a secret project going.

"I feel like it," he answers honestly. "I'm beginning to wonder if our scientist friends are up to their old tricks." Meaning the ones they'd run into who had decided to make a game of messing with his DNA to make him age considerably before his time. It almost feels like that time... only a little different, but he won't rule out something similar happening.

"Considering I don't have a migraine the size of Bolarus IX, I highly doubt that's the case. Unless my piloting stunt through that pair of binary pulsars is making them think twice about crossing me again."

Which, to be honest, wouldn't surprise her -- but this has nothing to do with the enemies she's made and the tactics she carried out while making them.

She brushes by him, disappears around the corner into the living room, and reappears with her tricorder. "At the very least, the tricorder's reading you as the age you should be, 100% Human. And I know I made damn sure I didn't bring back a member of Species 8472."

A joke, though the underlying suspicion is there. It's not an insult or even a sign of distrust. This is just the way Kathryn Janeway operates. It's in her nature to be suspicious, to be calculating and questioning, to look at every possible angle -- even though she doesn't enjoy seeing. And unfortunately, this is a possibility. Maybe the Doctor's scans weren't so accurate after all. Maybe she did bring back one of Species 8472 and left the real Chakotay back on those faux Starfleet training grounds. Maybe this was his genetically altered body's way of reacting to being away from Fluidic Space for so long...

Well it's good to know she's not suffering for this, whatever it is. Better one of them deal with it than both. He stands still for the tricorder scan, his expression turned downward in a frown as he tries to figure out what could be causing this and how to fix it. Her suspicion isn't entirely unwarranted. After all, he had spent a good deal of time in that false version of Earth.

"If you end up getting worried about my identity again, you could ask me questions again, but I would have thought I'd passed any test you could have come up with when I first arrived in this City."

He'd answered her grilling then by giving her the end to the story only the two of them knew. No one else had been near them when he'd told her that story. No one else knew what had happened between them while they were stuck on that planet. No one else could have answered the way he had.

"Unless you're content to toss me back into Fluidic Space when we open up another singularity. I'm sure I could learn to work with that."

She makes a face at him, one full of warning and irritation for daring to reference that, even if he does have a point. A valid point at that. Species 8472 would have no way of knowing about what transpired on that planet, would've answered incorrectly when she prompted him to give her an answer only he was capable of. One couldn't blame her, however, for entertaining thoughts of the possibility, for they'd both seen stranger things in their day. Both in the Alpha Quadrant and away from it. (Especially away from it.)

"I'd need a means to open a singularity first, and even with the means, only Seven ever had the know how."

Kathryn circles around him, continuing to scan him with the tricorder, as if drawing closer and taking readings from different angles will provide her with alternate answers. It doesn't, and she's left with the inconclusive results that aren't exactly a bill of clean health, but not displaying any indications of what might be wrong with him. She closes it, discards it on her dresser just inside the threshold of her room.

"As much as I'd hate to subject you to 21st Century medical technology being wielded by a 23rd Century physician, I may just have to order you to Doctor McCoy."

In other words: Why did you come here instead of going to him? She knows he was out, and knows he's smarter than that. Chakotay doesn't need to check in with her to see a doctor, especially when something's genuinely wrong with him. Inform her at some point, yes, but not come to her first. As much as the woman loathes to take herself to sickbay, it's medical attention first and talk to the captain later where her crew is concerned.

The only reason he referenced that was because she had asked him a question pertaining to the time they'd spent on that planet in order to be sure he was really himself and not an impostor. Having answered it correctly, he had assumed she would be certain he was who he said he was. Of course, he could hardly blame her for being suspicious at all. Their lives had been anything but normal in the Delta Quadrant and something like this would be well within what they saw on a daily basis.

"Somehow I think you could manage it if you set your mind to it."

Her actions don't go unnoticed and he stands still as she examines him. It's a little disconcerting that she can't seem to find anything wrong. Anywhere else, that would be a good thing, but with their lives, an unexplained disease is never a good thing. As for her question, he pauses for a moment. Why had he looked for her first? He couldn't quite explain it. All he knew was that something in him had wanted to come to her because he needed her expertise. Or something like that.

"I don't think that's what I need here." But what does he need? "If this isn't due to the scientists, maybe it's a curse."

That didn't explain why he's here instead of the hospital, though.

She crosses her arms and leans against the door frame. "And you needed to report to your captain instead of seeking out medical attention from the best-equipped Starfleet doctor in this bubble?"

"No." He frowns at the words seem to fall of their own volition. "I felt like I need to see you." Kathryn, not his captain. "It's just a feeling I had. I can't explain it."

Of course, the longer they stand here and debate the issue, the worse off he's getting.

Her eyebrows shoot up. "Me? Why? I'm a scientist, not a doctor -- and not the kind with any sort of specialization in communicable diseases, outbreaks, or anything of that nature, not to mention curses. I can't do anything to help you."

Except order him to McCoy, of course. She's holding back on that for now, willing to hear him out before she points to the door and sends him off in the direction of the hospital.

"I'm not sure. But I have a feeling that maybe we're going about this the wrong way. If it is a curse, maybe its cure isn't of the traditional variety."

In other words, ordering him to McCoy might not end very well. And if they're to judge the amount of time he has by how flaky he's getting, they might not have much time to debate the issue.

Again, he had a point. This was most likely a curse, and having experienced one herself recently, she knew there was no fighting it, which wasn't for a lack of a desire to do so. When she'd been cursed, she'd had no knowledge of the woman she was supposed to be outside of what Chakotay had told her and if he did anything to try and reverse the effects, he was unsuccessful. The curse ended once it had ran it's due course -- and others, she'd witnessed, had only concluded once necessary steps had been performed.

The means to this end may not be conventional ones.

"Alright," she concedes, pushing away from the door frame and gently taking hold of his arm to pull him into her room. "Come. Sit." Kathryn ushers him in the direction of a chair, releasing him once he's settled into it.

It's the "necessary steps" part of the equation that he's not so sure he wants to deal with. Regardless, he simply nods in response to her order, allowing her to pull him into her room and gesture him towards a chair. Her touch leaves him with a strange sensation. He's no stranger to a distinct preference for being in Kathryn's company and being touched by her in any way is never a bad thing, but this... this is different. Something about her touch feels right, as though for the barest of moments, he was getting better. But then she releases him and he's back to feeling worse.

A frown crosses his face as he sits down and looks at her, studying her as he thinks on this.

"That felt strange, your hand on my arm."

"Bad strange or good strange?"

Bad, her mind hopes for in spite of the implications that hoping for as much means she wants this sickness to prolong itself. She doesn't, but a good strange would mean that whatever is ailing him is somehow tied to human touch or comfort in general. It was an unorthodox cure, but not entirely unheard of. There were psychological afflictions suffered by telepathic races that were healed by such means. But Chakotay isn't a telepath, and neither is she.

He frowns for a moment as he considers the memory of what had just happened. "Good strange," is all he can come up with right away. "Like a doctor's healing touch to an injured patient."

It's the best way he can think of to describe it right now, though he's considering it a little further. For a moment, he'd felt as though his arm had been healed. It was the strangest sensation, bad strange in a way, but good in the way that she had asked. If his train of thought is correct in this instance, she might just be his cure somehow and that thought is just as nice as it is unsettling.

Instinct dominates, taking over her higher, more analytical brain functions. "I'm not a doctor," she declares as she takes a healthy step back, recoiling rigidly as she is prone to do in situations in which she's set up to get closer to her first officer than she's presently comfortable with. She can't and she won't--

But this isn't about her and the lines she carved into Voyager's hull years ago, ruts in the duranium that grew deeper and deeper with time. They weren't on Voyager, and she knew firsthand that curses weren't dissolved through conventional means. And the last thing she wanted was to see him suffer or worse.

So instead of recoiling further, she advanced, placing both her hands experimentally on his shoulders. "How's that?"

Chakotay had expected that response, had known as soon as they words were out of his mouth that this would be her reaction. That was how she worked, what he had come to expect out of her. Even so, it stings a bit and he rubs his hands over his face as he tries to figure out a way around it, a way to fix this without breaking any more of her barriers.

But then her hands are on his shoulders and he slowly lets his hands fall so he can gaze up at her. His shoulders feel better, as though she's placing an old-fashioned salve on them, a cream to heal them. "Better," he answers slowly. "I'm not sure how this is going to help all of it... but it seems I was right about trusting you."

Her steel-faced facade contradicts her gentle actions as she runs her hands down his arms and back up again, coming to rest on either side of his neck.

"Always."

He watches her, taking note of how smooth her touch is, how calming. It's as though this is exactly what he needs, or at least a very close match. The fact that she's leaving her hands against his neck instead of on his arms, where there's definitely a thick layer of fabric between them, is surprising. Not unwelcome, just very surprising.

He hates this place, he's decided. He hates the way the City can just decree things, pass judgment on them or force a particular frame of mind or condition of their bodies on them without so much as a millimeter of consideration for their personal difficulties. It's as though the City or whatever runs it -- as he's convinced that the Anonymous Movement isn't in any more control than the rest of them and maybe the deities weren't, either -- takes pleasure in offering them the worst situations. He isn't sure if it would be better or worse on Voyager should this situation arise in the Delta Quadrant and isn't keen on finding out.

Were they anywhere else, anywhere they might have even the tiniest sliver of hope about becoming something else, he would welcome something like this. But here or even on Voyager there's nothing for them. Nothing that he can see, anyway. She won't allow it. She never has and never will. And aside from that, he's almost certain she has something going on with James T. Kirk, something Chakotay would never be able to give her. Kirk is a fellow captain, someone she can be more herself with and less the strict, confident, no-nonsense captain, the face she holds to him and the rest of the crew. The idea hurts, yes, but at the same time, he's glad she has someone. That was really why he'd gone to see Kirk a while ago, to get the measure of him and let him know what kind of woman Kathryn is so he could be prepared.

He's on his way to letting her go and then this crops up, bringing everything crashing back like a beach at high tide. His feelings for her will never change and he hates that this curse is forcing her to act on something she likely will never give him. He hates that it's teasing them both.

So in a show of great willpower, he moves to stand. "I should go to Dr. McCoy." His eyes are soft as he tries to repress the emotions this whole thing is bringing up in him. The last thing he wants is to push something on her and if he has to sacrifice himself for her peace of mind, then that's how it will end.

There is nothing going on with Kirk. Nothing outside of the freedom of ease being around someone of equal rank allows her or the flirtatiousness she indulges in with him, because he knows it's nothing more than just harmless flirting. That's not something she can do often (or at all) with people back on Voyager, as it would send people tripping over themselves in a panic over what the appropriate response would be, because even out of uniform, she was still The Captain. She was a lot more frivolous under those pips than Chakotay knew, she just didn't have the luxury of indulging any of those whims, too sensible to do anything but reign them in and focus on what she needed to do versus what she wanted to do.

Which is exactly why she pushes back down on his shoulders when he tries to stand, pinning him to the chair. "And what? Tell him that the only thing that seems to make you feel any better is your captain's touch? What do you think he's going to tell you -- or me? It's a curse, and I sure as hell don't need to get into a battle of wills with Leonard McCoy again, or be told to do what I'm already doing."

His captain's touch. Words that only cemented what he'd been trying to tell himself for a long time. She was his captain. That was all she would ever be and this curse, if that's really what it is, is pushing boundaries she's never let him push. He sighs tiredly.

"Then what are we supposed to do about it, run your hands over me until we figure out how to stop this? The only thing I know is that I came to you because I trust you. I don't know how to break this."

Or rather, he doesn't know how to break the curse in a way that will keep their relationship, both friendship and command relationship, intact. And that's what's bothering him the most.

She doesn't regret how she worded that, because she needed to word it that way to draw an invisible line between what this was and what it could be interpreted as. It's what she needs to do in order to see this through however far it has to go in order to free him of this curse, to cure him of this baffling sickness. She'd do the same for Tom, Tuvok, or Neelix -- but of course, she wouldn't have to remind those three of what this was and what it couldn't be. Chakotay, as always, had to be handled differently because of things they never discussed, thoughts she never entertained, and things she's unaware the near entirety of Kirk's crew can see. (On his end, anyway. She's forever harder to read when it comes to everything, not just her relationship with him.)

"If that's what needs to be done, but you keep bringing up trust. I think this is less about a comforting touch -- though that's certainly part of it -- and more the trust that comes with it, that is the foundation of that comfort." Her expression softens. "I don't need to ask you if you trust me, Chakotay. I already know you do."

And she isn't bringing up the Borg. Not now. Not when they've put that disagreement behind them and have mended the damage their opposing views did to their friendship.

The line was drawn perfectly, as though an invisible barrier had suddenly been erected between them. No matter what happened, that wall would stand tall. He sighs inwardly and returns to analyzing this whole situation. What would trust have to do with the feeling of wilting away like a flower or leaf? He isn't about to ask her if she trusts him. On some level, he knows she does. On another, he doubts she trusts him as completely as he trusts her.

"I feel like a flower, slowly wilting in the heat, but I don't know how that translates to our situation now." He also doesn't really know a whole lot about curses and their cures. This one feels pretty new to him. New, strange, and completely unwanted. "If it's an issue of trust, is the solution to put me in a situation in which I have to trust you fully?"

Trusting him while not trusting him completely isn't an insult, merely a part of what makes her a good captain. She meant what she said at the start of this year when they were trapped in the void and she'd been ready to go on a suicide mission to ensure her crew's safety. There was no one she trusted more than him, not even Tuvok, and that was a high compliment coming from someone who was suspicious by nature, who made it her business to question everything and consider all the possibilities, up to and including being betrayed by those close to her.

"I don't know. I didn't design the curse. If I did, I would've made the solution a hell of a lot more complicated." A bad joke, but one nonetheless. She's not one to make things easy for someone. Be thankful she's not a deity or part of the anonymous regime. "Stand up."

The fact that she trusted him at all meant a lot, especially back then, and he understands why she would be suspicious after so long in the Delta Quadrant. He tilts his head at her order, but obeys it, wondering what she might have in mind. The joke may be bad, but it's appreciated, even if he doesn't show it just yet. His curiosity and confusion are overriding any potential amusement.

"All right."

What now?

"If I have to give you lessons on how to reciprocate a hug, I may just have to order you to accompany Seven on her next humanity lesson with the Doctor."

That's all the warning he's going to receive before she closes the gap between them and does just that, hoping some full body contact will improve his symptoms at a more rapid pace.

Chakotay could have used a little more warning about the hug. In all honesty, this is nothing like what he was expecting. So, for a brief moment, he's a little stiff in accepting it. Stiff, by his standards means slightly awkward by anyone else's, but soon enough he's wrapped his arms around her. The contact certainly does ease the 'flaking,' for lack of a better term, but he's not focusing on that right now. His mind is entirely on the fact that his captain is hugging him. She's never before given him anything close to this and it's startling him how much he wants this. And yet it hurts to know that a curse had to elicit such an event first.

It takes him a few minutes to be able to gather his thoughts and emotions enough to respond. "I think I'd rather skip out on the humanity lessons, if you don't mind." Seven can have those all to herself. "I think this is helping, but I don't think it's fixed the entire problem."

This curse is, ironically (or perhaps, unironically) both a blessing and a curse in that regard. It's forcing her to cross lines she likely never would've stepped over of her own accord, has her forgoing her own boundaries in favor of ensuring the safety and well being of her first officer, of the person she trusts most in the world. While most of the curses seemed to vanish with time, to step back and not assist him when there was something she could to do ease his pain and rid of the curse more quickly would've been cruel -- crueler than what she knows she's doing to him now.

Crueler than what she's doing to herself, as she finds she doesn't entirely mind being held like this. She rests her cheek against his chest, relaxing. "At least you're no longer in danger of crumbling."

"So if we stay like this, you won't have to sweep up the pieces."

The question now is how long they would have to keep this up. Curses could be so unpredictable, who even knew if this would keep it from spreading at all? It might be temporary, it might not even work at all, or something else might be the cure. He's really starting to dislike this place.

"Better this than putting me back together like a puzzle."

"And all the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty together again."

It was easier to joke and quote ancient nursery rhymes than to address anything about their current situation that didn't relate to the curse.

"I guess they didn't have dermal regenerators back in the day."

He rests his arms loosely around her. As much as he's enjoying this, he's beginning to wonder if maybe finding the actual cure, assuming there is one, would be better than standing around like this. Not that he's complaining, exactly. But like everything involving the two of them, it's complicated.

She snorts at his joke, both in amusement and at how easily he could tie something so tethered to Earth's old days to something from a time they might never see again. Although she hated entertaining such thoughts, she couldn't help but give them an audience from time to time, to think about all the things she was leaving behind and that which she'd never get to accomplish -- this version of herself, anyway. She'd done that song and dance before, been ready to hand off everything to another Kathryn Janeway and let herself go, but that had been different. It had been a Janeway she'd seen and spoke to, a situation she'd been witness to and part of, something she had a choice in.

This is not a choice, this is fate delivered without even being given the option of walking down one path or another. It was too similar to Voyager's initial stranding in the Delta Quadrant for her to be comfortable with, and it was highly doubtful that she'd ever grow to like the City. Tolerate it and flourish within it? Oh, most definitely. But she'll never like it.

...but she likes this. It's been so long since Kathryn's been held by someone real, solid, and flesh instead of a projection of photons and force fields. She enjoys it more than she should, more than she's allowed to or okay with. Yet, a part of her is secretly alright with these turn of events, almost grateful for the opportunity to get close within valid reason without breaking protocol. No matter what happens, she can write it off as being in the line of duty. It sounds so impersonal, but it needs to be as impersonal as possible.

At least on ~~PADD~~ paper.

Her hands move up his back, up, down, up, down, and up again until she's resting her palms against his shoulder blades. "Feeling any better?"

If he knew what she was thinking about the City, he would agree. However, where she might focus on how trapped they are and the fact that they are here against their will, he would focus on the good that's come out of their situation, the friends they've made and the lessons they're learning here. It isn't a great place, hardly good by any standards, but it isn't the worst they've ever experienced, either.

"Much. Thank you."

He can't tell if this is fixing the problem, but it's certainly alleviating his discomfort. They won't know for sure until they release each other and he's loathe to do that too soon when he knows he'll never get this chance again, but he's fairly certain they won't have much of an excuse to continue it soon enough. His skin is starting to feel less flaky and painful, which is both good and bad. It means he's on the mend, but it also means he'll have to let go soon, whether he wants to or not.

With more reluctance that she's willing to admit to, she experimentally draws back, pulling away and putting a good half a meter's distance between them. She stands back, watching, waiting to see what happens to him without her immediate presence.

"And now?"

It seems to have worked. Chakotay drops his arms reluctantly as well, letting his hands slide away from her and fall back to his sides as she takes a few steps away from him. He feels empty again, but in a different way. This time there's no worry about falling apart, the hug seems to have patched his skin back together perfectly, but he finds he misses that embrace. It isn't something he ever expects to experience again and knows better than to hope for. So he'll simply have to enjoy the memory and hope they don't worry each other like this again.

"Fine. That seems to have worked. I guess it was a matter of trial, error, and faith that someone else could help."

It's a small joke, one that rings hollow in his ears, and he hopes she won't pick up on that.

Edited 2013-10-05 15:23 (UTC)

"Well, it's certainly not the most ridiculous situation we've found ourselves in."

It didn't rank as high on her awkward list as Q asking her to mate with him, that's for sure. And they've both been through far worse than a couple of curses that demand physical comfort, trust, faith, and revert them back to a near adolescent state.

"I don't know about you, but I could use a cup of coffee."

She's right, of course. It could be the dream-like state they'd experienced, the macrovirus, or the telepathic pitcher plant. Or it could be Q. Times he's glad Q isn't here: right now. But he manages to slide into a relaxed smile at her words, glad that this curse hasn't thrown another wedge between them.

"I think I'll join you."

And he moves to see if they'll need to make another pot of coffee.

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And if you trust in me

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