Spirit of the Earth, Spirit of the Sky

“Of course I don’t mind,” Katherine said, with an understanding smile. She pressed her fingerprint against the amended duty roster with a deliberate flourish. 

“Thank you,” Chakotay said, not even trying to hide his relief at her easy acceptance of his request. “I really appreciate this.”

“Chakotay, you’re my First Officer and Tom’s my Chief Pilot. Under the circumstances this isn’t a favor as much as a command decision. Though how the hell I ended up with two such stupid men as Senior Officers is beyond me.” 

She grinned to soften her words and was relieved to see a sheepish smile flicker over Chakotay’s face in response.

“Well, I’m hoping this is going to do the trick,” he sighed. “Nothing else seems to be working .I'm hoping he's got enough belief in my integrity to believe what I say in public, even if he doesn't believe what I say to him in our Quarters.”

Katherine arched a brow in surprise. “I thought things were definitely improving between the pair of you,” she argued. “Tom has definitely been looking a lot happier these last few weeks.”

“He isn’t as tired,” Chakotay admitted, his face creased in thought. “Since you put your foot down about all the extra shifts he was working, he’s been a lot steadier. Getting some decent sleep every night seems to have calmed his nerves considerably. Thanks for that, by the way. I don’t think he’d have taken the order as well if he thought it had come from me.”

“It’s just common sense. I can’t have my pilot falling asleep at the Helm,” Katherine said, with a shrug. “Is he eating properly again?”

“He finally seems to have accepted I’ve got no issue with him eating meat,” Chakotay confirmed. 

“That’s probably why he’s got more color in his cheeks. I know there’s nothing unhealthy about a vegetarian diet if it’s done *properly* but, considering his finicky palate, I don’t think there’s a chance in hell of Tom eating a balanced diet that doesn’t include meat.”

Chakotay nodded his agreement. 

“I really wish you’d confided in me sooner,” Katherine continued and, though her tone was mild, her expression made her displeasure at the situation clear.

“It wasn’t easy to admit I’d made such a mess of my personal life,” Chakotay said, with a wry smile. “Besides, considering all the *real* problems you’re dealing with on a day-to-day basis, it seemed pretty self-indulgent for me to burden you with such a private issue.”

“Like I said, Chakotay, you and Tom are two of my Senior Officers. Like it or not, your personal lives *are* my business,” she snapped. Then she let her face relax into a smile again. “And you’re also my friends. Maybe the Captain can’t *order* the pair of you to sort out your problems, but your *friend* can do everything in her power to try and help.”

Chakotay gave her a grateful nod and tapped the duty roster significantly. “This *is* a real help, Katherine. Thank you.”

Katherine nodded then reached into a drawer, withdrew a credit chip and pushed it over the desk towards Chakotay. “This might come in handy too,” she said.

Chakotay’s eyes bugged at the offering. “This…um…this…well, it isn’t necessary, Captain,” he mumbled, with uncharacteristic embarrassment.

She smiled. “I know it isn’t *necessary*, but it’s my pleasure. How are you going to throw Tom a decent anniversary party without extra credit rations? *I’m* certainly not attending if Neelix is doing the catering.”

Chakotay gave a soft chuff of laughter and accepted the credit strip. “I really appreciate this.”

Katherine made a shooing gesture with her hands. “Go sort everything out. I’m expecting something pretty spectacular,” she warned.

“Considering you’ve given me a five-hour holodec slot, changed the duty roster to make sure all Tom’s friends can attend and given me enough credits to feed the entire crew for a week, I wouldn’t dare do anything less than spectacular,” he agreed, with a wry grin. 

“Just don’t expect this *every* three months, Chakotay,” she laughed. “The next party you arrange for Tom had damned well better be a Wedding, Mister.”

***

“Count on it,” he’d replied and fortunately she’d seemed satisfied by the intensity of his promise if not totally convinced of his ability to keep it.

Which was fair enough, since he wasn’t totally convinced himself.

It wasn’t that he doubted Tom would agree to marry him if he said the words. He just wasn’t sure their relationship would ever reach a point where he could ask the question and believe Tom was agreeing for the *right* reason.

Tomorrow it was going to be their three-month anniversary. It had been eleven weeks and five days since he and Tom had struck their ‘deal’. It had been four weeks and three days since he’d started his campaign to *really* convince Tom that he loved him. It had been five hours and thirty-six minutes since he’d faced the fact that *nothing* he’d been doing seemed to be making the slightest bit of difference.

No, scratch that. Like Katherine had said, Tom *was* looking happier so his efforts weren’t totally going to waste. They just weren’t achieving the desired objective.

Tom still didn’t believe that he loved him. No matter what he did or said, Tom still thought their relationship was temporary. Regardless of his efforts to put Tom at ease, it was clear the younger man was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. The situation was so crazy that Chakotay didn’t know whether to laugh or cry about it.

In every other way, Tom was a self-confident, independent man. After a rocky start at the beginning of their Voyage, he’d gradually become one of the most popular crewmembers on board. His bravery, bright personality, caustic wit and genuine sense of irreverent fun had won over all but his most die-hard detractors to his side. Fleet and Maquis alike had grown to enjoy and value his company. 

But inside the privacy of their own relationship, Tom had shown himself to be so vulnerable and wounded that Chakotay felt he was constantly trying to walk on broken glass.

The fault wasn’t Tom’s. It was his own. *He* was the one who had inadvertently dulled the bright colors of Tom’s spirit into a dull, monochrome aura of abject defeat. *He* was the man who had spent nine years rejecting Tom’s love only to then stupidly turn around and say he’d ‘try’ to love Tom in return.

If only he’d kept silent a few minutes longer, until his head had listened to what his heart had been trying to tell him. If only he’d said ‘I love you too’ instead of “Maybe I can *learn* to love you”. If only he’d…

But ‘if onlys’ were pointless. 

He couldn’t turn back the clock and relive his bumbling acceptance of Tom’s avowal of love. All he could do was put things right between them.

If they *could* be put right.

For a moment, earlier that morning, he’d been suddenly convinced that *nothing* could ever repair the gaping fissure in their relationship. 

He’d woken up with Tom in his arms and had responded to a soft, hopeful nuzzling of his neck with a slow, thorough investigation of Tom’s body. They’d made gentle, luxurious love for almost forty-five minutes, before the alarm had driven them out of bed to get ready for shift, and he’d spent every one of those minutes conscious not of the delicious shivering pleasure in his own body, as Tom had kissed and licked and sucked him to completion, but of his lover’s lack of arousal.

He hadn’t mentioned it, of course, though from the terrified look on Tom's face he suspected his feelings of hurt were all too evident on his face. He’d learned weeks back that even the gentlest comment about Tom’s impotence always reduced the younger man to panicked tears. Night after endless night, for several weeks, he’d kept his own council, understanding that the pleasure Tom showed in their bed *was* genuine. Tom obviously and sincerely gained true satisfaction from bringing *him* to orgasm, regardless of Tom’s own failure to achieve the same pleasure. 

If he were a selfish man, if he didn’t *love* Tom, it wouldn’t matter. He’d never had such an eager lover. Tom didn’t just touch him, he *worshipped* him with his mouth and hands. Chakotay had never felt so loved and adored. He couldn’t even honestly say he felt as though he was ‘using’ Tom. It was patently clear that Tom wanted to touch him as much as he wanted to be touched. Tom didn’t seem to *care* about his own physical needs, except when he took Chakotay’s worried comments to be criticism.

But, that morning, Chakotay had finally decided he’d had enough. Their relationship couldn’t continue in that way for any longer. He’d tried flowers, candle-lit meals, romantic evenings on the holodec and long intense avowals of his undying affection and hadn’t achieved anything. Tom’s inability to relax in their bed proved he *still* thought Chakotay was just playing at being in love. 

So it was time to throw a photon torpedo into the situation and pray that if they were both still standing afterwards, he might finally have broken through Tom’s carefully constructed self-protective defenses.

***

“Well?” Tom demanded, his mouth curled in a pugnacious sneer.

“There’s nothing *physically* wrong with you,” The Doctor replied, his tone and expression carefully bland.

Tom looked less than relieved to hear the confirmation of the Doctor’s extensive tests. “Great,” he said, clearly meaning it was anything but.

“Have you spoken to the Commander about this ‘problem’?” The Doctor asked, carefully using subroutine 342 – fatherly concern – in the hope of concealing his personal irritation at what he saw as being a classic example of human stupidity. 

Tom rolled his eyes dramatically, his sneer twisting into an expression that *might* have been described as a smile if not for its total absence of humor. “Sure, Doc,” he snarled. “That’d *really* help, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it would,” The Doctor said, deliberately ignoring Tom’s sarcasm.

Tom gave him a look of sheer disbelief. “You don’t understand anything, do you? God, why the hell am I even trying to have this conversation with you?” He sprang to his feet and started towards the door.

“Because you need to speak to someone, and you know our conversations are confidential?” The Doctor suggested mildly to Tom’s retreating back.

For a moment he thought Tom was simply going to ignore him and storm out of the Sickbay in a temper, but then the pilot sighed, turned around, and sat back down.

“I thought…well, I thought things were getting better, you know?” Tom said, his cheeks flushing with color. “He stopped mentioning it and he seemed, well, I really thought the last few weeks… I dunno…it’s been *almost* believable, you know?” He gave a bitter, humorless laugh. “Like he’s getting into the habit of having me around…no, more than that…like he’s actually managing to *train* himself to love me.”

“Why’s it so impossible to believe that he might *actually* be falling in love with you, Tom?” The Doctor asked – subroutine 253 ‘the compassionate friend’.

“Because I’m me?” Tom quipped bitterly, then sighed at the hologram’s frown of concern. “Because it doesn’t work that way, Doc. I should know. You can’t *make* yourself love someone any more than you can make yourself *stop* loving someone. God knows, I’d be the first queuing up for a ‘cure’ if I thought there was any way to get rid of this fucking disease.”

“That’s how you see your love for the Commander? A disease?”

“Don’t you?” Tom countered. “I could describe the same symptoms for an addiction to Stims, couldn’t I? And you certainly wouldn’t think *that* would be a good thing.”

The Doctor contemplated Tom’s comment. The pilot was right. His obsession with Chakotay was little different than an addiction. The relationship gave him the same irresistible highs and terrible lows. Love *was* an emotion that could affect the chemicals of someone’s brain in much the same way as recreational drugs. 

“Everyone’s different, Tom,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “You’re an intense, passionate man. You throw yourself recklessly into situations without ever stopping to count the personal cost of your decisions. You never hesitate to put your life on the line, you never shy from real or perceived dangers, and you always let your gut instincts govern your behavior.”

“So this is just another Paris fuck-up, huh?” Tom interrupted, his eyes darkening with hurt and self-loathing. “I jumped feet first into this without looking, so now I deserve the consequences?”

“That isn’t what I said,” The Doctor snapped impatiently. “I was merely pointing out that the intensity of your love for the Commander is completely in character for you. You *never* do things half-heartedly, Tom. You aren’t capable of being shallow in your affections. Your obsessions are always absolute. Take your love of flying, as an example. How many times have you dragged yourself out of this Sickbay, completely disregarding my medical advice, just so you can sit at the Helm and do something that most other crewmembers see as a chore? Then there’s your loyalty to the Captain. Once you gave her your loyalty, it was given forever, wasn’t it? Time and again you’ve proved your willingness to die for her or for any other member of this crew.”

“What’s your point?” Tom demanded, flushing with obvious embarrassment at the unexpected praise.

“My point, Tom, is that I know you well enough that if you *weren’t* one hundred percent obsessed with the Commander, I’d sincerely doubt you loved him at all. You’re an all or nothing kind of person.”

“Yeah,” Tom agreed miserably. “It sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Does it? Tell me something, Tom. Why do you love Chakotay?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you so attracted to him?”

“Well, duh,” Tom drawled, rolling his eyes. “He’s fucking sex on legs, isn’t he?”

“I’ll have to take your word on that,” The Doctor replied dryly. “But considering the *reason* we started this conversation, let’s leave sexual attraction out of this for a moment. What specifically draws you to him? What is it about his *personality* that attracts you.”

Tom frowned uncertainly. “It’s the whole package, Doc. I never try to analyze the parts that make him such an irresistible whole. Truth is, the only times I give it any thought is when he does things I *don’t* like and the only way I can deal with *those* occasions is by reminding myself I love the entire man.”

“Tell me about him,” The Doctor suggested.

Tom just blinked at him stupidly.

“Pretend I don’t know him,” The Doctor clarified. “Describe Chakotay’s character to me.”

Tom gave a huff of clear irritation, his expression making it clear that he thought the exercise was a pointless waste of his time, but eventually he sighed and gave in.

“He’s strong, honest, steady, loyal,” Tom began thoughtfully, his eyes glazing slightly as he looked inside himself for the answer. “He’s like a rock in the center of a storm. Calm, protective, unshakeable. He has this almost unbelievable capacity to stay calm under pressure. He’s a great diplomat. He’s so good at absorbing aggression that someone who didn’t know him might think him passive or even weak. It takes a hell of a lot to get him angry. But when he *does* lose his temper, everyone runs for cover.” He laughed softly and offered The Doctor a wry smile. “He’s pretty damned terrifying when he snaps into ‘Maquis Warrior” mode.”

“He frightens you?” The Doctor asked quietly.

Tom looked both stunned and shocked at the interruption. “Not me,” he corrected quickly. “Well, maybe once or twice in the past he might have made me wish I’d thought first and engaged mouth later,” he admitted. “But, even then, I knew he’d never actually raise his hand to me because no matter how irritating I was, he never considered me an enemy. In his own way, he’s as much an ‘all or nothing’ guy as I am. It takes him a hell of a lot longer to decide who to call enemy and who to call friend, but when the decision’s made he sticks with it.”

The Doctor smiled complacently.

“What?” Tom demanded, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at The Doctor’s satisfied smirk.

“Think about what you just said to me, Tom. Think about the significant difference you just pointed out between the way you react to other people and the way Chakotay does. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

Tom just shrugged irritably, clearly not understanding what he was trying to say. The Doctor sighed internally and tried a different tack.

“When you drink to excess, Tom, and don’t bother denying it occasionally happens, how does the alcohol effect you? Does it change your personality?”

Tom blushed a little, but shook his head. “Nah. I guess it makes me more reckless, more likely to act without considering the consequences.”

“What about the Commander?”

“He doesn’t drink much.”

“But when he does?”

“He just gets mellow. A bit less uptight, maybe, but on the whole he gets even more introspective. He gets all deep and spouts his spiritual mumbo-jumbo as though he’s finding the meaning of life at the bottom of his glass,” Tom laughed and gave a fond but wry smile. “It’s amusing sometimes, but not *fun*, if you know what I mean. I’ve come to the conclusion that getting Chakotay pissed is a waste of good alcohol.”

The Doctor didn’t answer, he just offered Tom another complacent smile and waited for the Pilot to work it out for himself.

It took a few minutes of confused frowns before the blue eyes suddenly widened and brightened.

“I get it,” Tom announced excitedly, his expression flooding with wary hope. 

“About time,” The Doctor muttered irritably.

“I’m so fucking stupid, aren’t I?” 

“You’re not stupid, Tom. It’s perfectly natural to judge the actions of other people against your own behavior. But everyone’s different. It wouldn’t matter how much Chakotay had to drink, *he’d* never end up in the brig after deciding it would be ‘fun’ to reprogram the Captain’s replicator to dispense a dildo when she requested her morning coffee, would he?”

Tom blushed furiously and dipped his eyes from the hologram’s amused face.

“No external stimuli,” The Doctor continued smugly, “whether it’s drugs or alcohol or hypnosis or *love* changes someone’s basic personality to *that* extent. So while I agree wholeheartedly that a personality like yours would find the notion of gradually falling in love with someone impossible, I equally doubt that someone like the Commander could impulsively *leap* into such a huge emotional commitment. How can you accept that it takes him so long to lose his temper with someone, without accepting it’s only natural that he’d be just as resistant to losing his heart?”

“So you don’t think he’s just…well…pretending to love me ‘cos he’s a nice guy and wants to let me down easy?” Tom asked hesitantly.

“As much as I think he’s *pretending* to give the Captain his full support. As much as he’s ‘pretending’ to wear his uniform seriously. As much as I think he’s ‘pretend…”

“Okay, okay,” Tom snapped. “I get the point.”

“So it probably is *really* hurting him, that you’re being so distrustful of his motives, Tom,” The Doctor pointed out. “Although your doubts are understandable, given the history between the two of you, I think it’s time you started giving him the benefit of the doubt. Otherwise you’re going to destroy the relationship before it ever gets a chance to start, aren’t you?”

“Oh fuck,” Tom breathed, his eyes filling with tears. “I’ve blown it, haven’t I? *That’s* why he was so weird this morning. He’s finally gotten pissed off with trying to convince me he’s serious. He’s spent the last four weeks acting like some kind of romantic idiot and I just assumed it was all just an act. I thought the only reason he was trying so hard was to convince *himself* it was more than just sex between us. A way to salve his own conscience.”

“I don’t think you’ve ‘blown it’ yet, but you’re certainly heading down that path, Tom. You’re not the only person in the relationship that’s entitled to feel insecure. It can’t be easy for the Commander to sleep with a man who *appears* to be sexually disinterested in him.”

“I’m not,” Tom protested. “He just has to walk into the room and I’m hard for him. It’s just…well, I don’t know *what* it is. The minute he touches me, I just lose it.”

“It’s a natural, and perfectly understandable, expression of your anxiety,” The Doctor replied sympathetically. “You fear that every time he touches you will be the last, and that fear overwhelms you.”

“So I’ll be okay? I mean, if I accept he isn’t going to leave me I’ll be able to…um…”

“It’s not as easy as that. It won’t just magically correct itself,” The Doctor interrupted. “Psychological impotence is no less of a medical problem than physiological impotence. It’s going to take time for you to subconsciously accept what you, hopefully, have finally consciously understood. That’s why I think it’s imperative that you discuss the situation with Chakotay *properly*. Explain your fears, apologize for your distrust, ask him to help you get over your fear of rejection. This is something you should *both* deal with. It can only make your relationship stronger. If he loves you, he’ll do everything he can to get you past this temporary problem.”

“If he loves me,” Tom pointed out.

“See?” The Doctor said, with a sigh. “You still don’t want to really believe it, do you?”

“Oh, I want to,” Tom corrected. “I’m just too damned scared of being wrong.”

The Doctor picked up a hypospray and pressed it against Tom’s neck.

“What’s that?” Tom demanded, though he made no attempt to avoid the injection.

“Something to calm you down a little. Your anxiety levels aren’t helping you to consider the situation rationally. Neither are they conducive to solving your sexual problem. I’m going to prescribe a course of mild anti-depressants. They won’t affect your performance on the Bridge. Actually, balancing your emotional state will probably enhance your performance in *both* areas of your life.”

Despite his blush, Tom managed to offer the hologram a sincere, if slightly wavery smile.

###

Chakotay had been concerned to arrive on the Bridge and find Henderson sitting at the helm. Finding a note on his console from the Doctor, advising him that Tom would be late for shift because he was having a 'routine' medical hadn't made him feel any better. A quick check of his records had quickly confirmed that Tom's annual medical wasn't due for another six months.

But Tom had arrived to relieve Henderson mid-morning, and had greeted him with professionalism so he'd had no excuse to pull the pilot aside for a personal word.  Then a small altercation with an alien ship that had taken exception to their decision to fly a little too closely past an inhabited planet had prevented him from taking Tom to lunch and finding out why he'd gone to sickbay.

He suspected Tom had finally decided to seek help over his 'problem', though he was sure the only reason Tom would have taken such drastic, and potentially embarrassing, action was a result of *his* concern rather than Tom's.  He'd obviously been more transparent in his dismay that morning than he'd realized.

It hurt to accept the probability that, yet again, Tom was convinced he was about to end their relationship, although he accepted the blame for that misunderstanding was *his* rather than Tom's.

So when the shift finally ended and Tom paused long enough at the Command chair to whisper, "We need to talk, Chakotay", it took all his self-control not to bounce out of his seat and follow his lover into the turbolift. They *did* need to talk. Even if he had to physically tie Tom into a seat until the stupid, stubborn man finally actually *listened* to what he had to say.

But he forced himself to apologetically whisper back, "It'll have to be tomorrow, Tom. I've got a stack of reports waiting for me in my office. I doubt I'll get home before midnight. Don't wait up for me."

The look of hurt and rejection on Tom's face was almost enough to convince Chakotay that he was making a mistake. He didn't need to be a mind-reader to know that Tom believed he was deliberately avoiding their bed after that morning's debacle.

"I'm really sorry, Tom," he said. "I promise I'll finish early tomorrow and we can spend the whole evening together."

Tom gave him a short, slightly mollified, even possibly relieved, nod and left the Bridge.

Chakotay spent the next four hours rushing frantically around the ship, making arrangements for the 'anniversary' party, issuing personal invitations to people and trying very hard not to wonder what Tom wanted to 'talk' to him about.

He had a horrible gut feeling that all of his efforts were going to be in vain.

Maybe all Tom wanted to tell him was their relationship was over.

To be concluded in Part Six