Cat’s-eye

By Morticia

Part Ten 

(Tom's literary endeavors again graciously provided by Ellison Wonderland)


"You okay?" Greg asked, glancing at him worriedly from across the table.

Chakotay tried to give him a reassuring smile, but the expression slid uncomfortably beneath his haunted eyes.

"I really am willing to stay with you, Captain, you know," Greg said softly. "I know the idea scares you. It scares me too, but there are worse fates I can imagine than spending eternity with you. You don't have a choice, do you? You're not even bothered about sacrificing yourself, you just can't face the idea of choosing another victim."

Chakotay nodded glumly.

"So, by accepting me, you don't have to choose anyone else. You don't have to feel guilty because I'm volunteering," Greg said quietly.

"Except that I have no idea whether it's you volunteering or the symbiont inside you," Chakotay replied, dropping his gaze to his plate and pushing the vegetables around half-heartedly. "Any of you hosts would offer to be my companion, and think you want to do it."

"So you think it makes more sense to choose someone who doesn't want to join the wall? What difference does it make *why* I'm volunteering? Even if I only think I don't mind, isn't that better than you choosing someone who finds the idea terrifying?"

"I'm not prepared to choose anyone at all," Chakotay growled. "Why the hell am I even bothering to try to discuss this with you?"

"You mean you don't feel safe discussing it with me, because you think my symbiont will only allow me to tell you the Grrchek's point of view," Greg stated sadly.

Chakotay looked up in surprise.

Greg shrugged and gave a rueful smile.

"I don't blame you, Captain. I know I'm hot-wired to the Grrchek. You can't say anything to me without the Grrchek knowing about it, but I can see the pressure building inside you. You need to talk to *someone*, and I'm here. I'll listen. So what if the Grrchek can hear? What can it do? You can choose to disregard anything I say, but at least I'm a sounding board for you to throw ideas at."

"You sound so normal now, Greg, and you're right, I do need to talk this through with someone. But not you."

/Tuvok/ Chakotay decided, /I need to talk to Tuvok/

"Maybe if you sleep on it Captain, it'll be clearer in the morning," Greg suggested. "It's never a good idea to make decisions when you are tired. Get some rest, try and put it out of your mind until tomorrow."

Chakotay sighed and stretched. It was barely mid-afternoon, but Greg was right, he was exhausted. He suspected that even if he did sleep his dreams would be traumatic, yet Greg's words made sense. Unless it was just an excuse to get him back into bed, of course.

"Sleep?" he asked Greg suspiciously.

Greg grinned as though he could read Chakotay's mind. He raised his hands in a gesture of innocence.

"Sleep, Chakotay. That's all. I swear I'll keep my hands off you. Tonight, anyway. Why don't you go take a bath, then get into bed and I'll read you some more of Tom's poems? They'll either send you to sleep or make you laugh so much that you'll feel better anyway."

~~~

"Here's a good one," Greg laughed, as he sat on the edge of the bed with a data padd in his hands.

"Oh Chak, you've gone and done it now with Greg
You pretty man with mighty arm and leg
I'm fucked off though that you would fuck with Gregor
When I on hands and knees have been your beggar
I know that you could never love a traitor
And in the past you've been my biggest hater
But now I see you more as inspirator
While I am filthy like a carburetor
With me you can indulge your manly passions
I'm flush, you see, with replicator rations
The beer's on me if you bring the erection
I'll lick and suck it like it's a confection
And then you'll shove it up my needy ass
Oh please Chakotay, make it come to pass." 

Chakotay choked as the feeling of tired contentment that the bath had inspired was driven abruptly away by the mental images that accompanied Greg's recitation of Tom's latest literary endeavor. Chakotay wasn't sure whether the poem wanted to make him laugh or cry, but there was no denying the effect it had inspired beneath the thankful concealment of his bed-covers.

"Go on, just laugh, it'll make you feel better," Greg smirked.

"It's not funny Greg, I told you. It's sad. You just don't understand do you? The problem is, I'm not sure where you end and the symbiont begins. Which one of you is incapable of seeing the truth?"

"Let's assume it's both of us, Chakotay. Try to explain. What *is* the truth?"

"I don't want to talk about Tom with you," Chakotay snapped.

"Try. You never know, it might help. Can't hurt, can it?" Greg wheedled.

"No, I guess not," Chakotay admitted reluctantly. He really did feel like he might explode if he didn't release some of the confusion that was building like a pressure valve in his head. Yet how could he explain to anyone what he couldn't even put into words in his own mind? Chakotay felt as though he was living a nightmare. The very Spirits themselves were surely playing with him, taunting him by dangling the temptation of Tom Paris in front of his face like a forbidden fruit.

Chakotay had an insane urge to scream out that it just wasn't fair, but since life rarely *was* fair it seemed an immature complaint to make. Still, there was no escaping the fact that the most fiendish villain couldn't have come up with a more hurtful torture than this - to constantly thrust Tom in his face when he had long abandoned any hope of touching him. It seemed too cruel a fate to be mere coincidence and although he knew the idea was paranoid, Chakotay couldn't escape the feeling that the whole situation with the Grrchek had been designed as a test of his own personal morals.

His own people believed that life was a Mystery Walk in which the forces of good and evil were constantly embattled. Chakotay's selfless decision to support his best friend in her pursuit of his only true love was now being thrown back in his face. It felt like a test to him, a trial by suffering to see how strong his resolve was to deny himself the only thing he truly wanted.

The worst thing was that daily, as Tom's attempts to seduce him became more insistent and his poems became more desperate and anguished, Chakotay was beginning to feel the walls of his own self-control crumbling.

To be completely honest with himself, the decision to continue spurning Tom's affections was becoming less based in his own moral strength than in the knowledge that by giving in to his own desires he would be condemning Tom to eternity in the Grrchek's wall.

"I won't allow Tom to be the one who joins me in the wall," Chakotay said slowly. "Whatever happens, that isn't an option. I will willingly sacrifice myself for this ship, I might even, Spirits forgive me, allow another member of the crew to be sacrificed to save the rest, but I may as well be honest with you, Greg. I'd rather sacrifice everyone than allow any harm to come to Tom."

He saw the shock and surprise in Greg's face at his words and knew that the expression was as much the honest reaction of his old friend as it was the Grrchek's.

Chakotay smiled ruefully.

"See," he told Greg quietly. "It's never a good idea to play with someone's heart like this. The results aren't always what you anticipate. A week ago I would have refused to let my own feelings for Tom overrule my responsibility to the rest of the crew, but now I'm too raw to pretend any more. You've forced me to face up to how I really feel about him. I've seen more of the real Tom Paris in those pathetic poems than I ever dreamt of seeing, and the truth is that I *like* what I see.

"Tom wasn't real to me before. He was just a fantasy, a pretty face that haunted my dreams. I didn't know him, not really. I imagined that the reality of Tom would be so much less than my fantasy that the having of him would destroy my illusion and it was easier to leave him alone than risk losing the small comfort I gained from my dreams. You've changed all that. Now I know that he's even more than I dreamt he might be, and that's your real mistake."

Greg's eyes flashed, revealing the internal conversation between himself and his symbiont, then he gave Chakotay a slow, lazy smile. 

"Then explain why you won't even consider accepting his offer? He's literally begging you to fuck him. Why not give the poor bastard a break? Just forget about the wall, about the long term, about the Grrchek. I've already offered to be the one who stays with you. In the meantime, why won't you just fuck him and get him out of your system? Do you really want to spend the rest of eternity wondering what it would have been like to touch him?"

Chakotay flinched as he felt his groin respond eagerly to Greg's words. There was no denying the temptation he had to do just that. Yet, still, his love for Tom was surely more than just brute desire, he told himself desperately. There might be comfort in having the memory of touching the object of his love, but what if Tom looked back on the same moment with self-loathing and regret?

He couldn't allow himself to forget was that Tom Paris was straight, so there was absolutely no chance at all that Tom's current feelings were real. 

"He loves Kathryn," Chakotay pronounced finally because, when all was said and done, that was the real truth and he couldn't deceive himself otherwise.

"So? He hardly went to her a virgin, did he? What's another fuck between friends?"

"Fuck you. Now I know I'm talking to the Grrchek. Greg Ayala understands decency and you obviously have no idea of the concept at all," Chakotay growled.

"Bullshit. Just because I don't agree with you, doesn't mean my opinion doesn't count. I don't deny I've got the symbiont, but this is me talking. Me, Greg. It's not a matter of decency, it's the fact that my perception of Tom Paris isn't clouded by the same fucked-up idea that he and the Captain are going to live happily ever after whether you sleep with him or not."

"Tom and Kathryn love each other. That's something special, something sacred. I won't be responsible for ruining the relationship of my best friend and the man I love."

"There's nothing to ruin, Chakotay. Want to know WHY?"

Chakotay just grunted.

"Because she's no good for him."

Chakotay gave a tired sigh.

"You're wasting your time on this argument. Kathryn's my friend, Greg. I love and respect her, and Tom adores her. He deserves the best and that's what she is. She loves him and that in itself is enough reason for me to leave him alone."

"Bullshit. She loves Voyager. She loves the crew. She loves being a Captain. She's not capable of loving a single individual the way one needs to be loved. Her love is cold, Chakotay. Who was the first person she sacrificed to gain the Grrchek's help?" Greg demanded.

"Herself!"

"And then?"

Chakotay was silent.

"I said, 'and then?'" Greg snarled.

"It's the way she is. She loves him as much as she is capable of loving anyone," Chakotay replied defensively.

"But it's not enough for Tom," Greg said softly. "He spent his childhood playing second fiddle to Starfleet for the affection of his parents, and look how fucked up he turned out. If he stays with Kathryn, he'll spend the rest of his life STILL playing second fiddle to Starfleet."

"I know," Chakotay admitted sadly.

"That's why I wasn't really lying about the poetry. Well, I was, but I wasn't. Maybe Tom isn't in love with *you*, but he's sure as hell in love with the idea of being 'in love'. I know I take the piss out of his poems, but they prove one thing, Chakotay."

"What?"

"That despite his lack of literary talent, he's got a genuinely romantic soul."

"I know," Chakotay whispered.

"I can't see the Captain appreciating that side of him, can you? Try and imagine what it's like for Tom in that relationship. No spontaneous affection allowed, no PDA's, nothing that might undermine the Captain's authority. No romantic holoprograms, no late-night walks on the observation deck."

"Tom loves Kathryn," Chakotay insisted.

"No," Greg replied sadly. "Tom's just in love with the idea that someone finally seems to care about him. He can't possibly be really happy. He just accepted the first bone that was thrown him because he was so fucking lonely."

"Lonely? Tom? He's so popular that people hang around him like bees around a honey pot."

"Shit, Captain. You're so dense, sometimes. Tom doesn't fit in here, never has. He plays the fool, makes himself the centre of attention because it's better to have people laughing with him than at him. He feels alienated from the Maquis because he was fleet, and from the fleet because he was Maquis. He feels inadequate. He thinks his rank was only because of the Captain's relationship with his father, that the only reason the Maquis didn't space him was because he saved your life."

"Tom's rank was given to him because he's the best damned pilot on the ship," Chakotay argued.

"Ah, yes. His flying ability. Which he, himself, believes is a fluke."

Chakotay stiffened.

"I applaud your efforts to sound as though you know Tom, Greg. But I've already heard all this from Tom himself, in virtually the same language, so I know perfectly well that this isn't Tom Paris according to Greg Ayala. This is your symbiont drawing information directly out of Tom's, isn't it?"

Greg shrugged.

"So what? Doesn't that just make it more likely to be the truth?"

"I'm tired, Greg. Too tired to think. I need to sleep," Chakotay mumbled.

"Okay, I'm sorry. Try and get some rest. Tomorrow you'll have a new perspective on all of this."

As Chakotay slipped into sleep, a small voice niggled at the back of his mind, telling him there was some danger here that he was missing, but the voice of warning was muffled by his own exhaustion.

Instead of escaping into oblivion, Chakotay found himself running through endless dreamscapes, an endless hell through which Tom Paris pursued him relentlessly, swearing his undying love and devotion in a series of increasingly disjointed poems.

~~~

#The transport has to be simultaneous, or Tuvok will sense the swap# Greg warned.

#B'Elanna has initiated a riot in the Sandrine's program,# Tom replied.

#It's one hell of a party# B'Elanna confirmed. 

#Is Tuvok there?# Greg asked.

#The entire Security team are occupied,# Harry interrupted. #Megan just hit Tuvok with a pool cue.#

#snigger#

#Pay attention, Tom Paris. It is crucial that the timing is precise,# Seven warned.

#Shit, I'm too excited to think what I'm doing,# Tom confessed.

#If you are inadequate to the task, a substitute can be arranged,# Kathryn snarled.

A bolt of white-hot fire raced through the link, sending thirty-six hosts to their knees in agony. 

#What's going on?# Tom called into the sudden silence in his head.

#It appears a substitute can *not* be arranged,# Seven replied dryly. #Prepare for transport#

~~~


"Chakotay I've been reading up on Balzac,
To talk about 'twixt licking on your ball sac,
I'm gonna coat your cock with salad dressing,
But lube won't slip my tongue from Doris Lessing,
And if you fuck me pounding deep within me,
You'll hear me moan analyses of Kinsey," Tom cried passionately.

"No more," Chakotay begged, his sweat-drenched head tossing deliriously on his pillow. 

Tom faltered uncertainly, bit his lower lip, then gathered his courage.

"You'll like the next bit, honest," he promised. "Listen: 

"I'm smarter now, plunge balls-deep in my asshole,
Go deeper than a painting by Picasso,
If I could talk and suck you to explosion,
I'd suck and lecture you on soil erosion,
So Chak please do me hard you big bronzed bruiser,
Cos I'm no more a dummy traitor loser."

Chakotay jerked fully awake and gaped in complete horrified disbelief at Tom Paris, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, inches from his own *naked* body, with a sappy, inane smile on his face.

"See, it rhymes this time," Tom said with happy pride.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Chakotay roared.

"Don't you like it?" Tom asked plaintively. "I worked really hard on it."

Chakotay swallowed heavily. He had to be dreaming still. Had to be. Because there was no way in hell Tuvok would have let Tom Paris into his quarters.

"Greg?" he called out tentatively.

Tom's happy smile faltered a little.

"It's me," he said slowly, as though to an idiot. "Tom. Tom Paris."

Chakotay groaned and closed his eyes in despair. The Grrchek. The fucking Grrchek had obviously decided to up the stakes of the game. But where the hell was Tuvok?

"Tom," Chakotay said softly. "What are you doing in my quarters?"

Tom gave a wide, happy smile.

"Greg said you wanted *me*," he gushed. "I couldn't believe it. Thought he was teasing me. I mean, I know you could have anyone on the ship, and there was no way you'd pick me. But you did," his ecstatic beam dimmed a little. "Why did you pick me?" he asked cautiously.

"I didn't," Chakotay snarled. "So get the fuck out of my quarters."

Tom's whole body rocked as though he'd been slapped. His large blue eyes filled with shock and a flush of mortified shame raced up his neck and flooded his cheekbones.

"He said, he said you wanted me," Tom choked. Then tears began to sparkle in his eyes, and his expression twisted into a tragic look of betrayal and hurt. "It was just a joke, wasn't it? You two set me up. You must hate me. Really hate me. How could you do this to me?" He wiped frantically at the tears of rejection that had begun to roll down his face.

Chakotay instinctively tried to rise to comfort him and assure Tom that whoever had played this joke, it certainly wasn't him. Yet as soon as he tried to rise, his wrists snagged above his head and he realized he'd been tied to the bed with the same restraints he'd used on Greg earlier.

"You tied me up?" he yelled.

"I didn't do it," Tom sobbed miserably. "Greg did. He said you liked being tied up, liked playing games in bed."

"I'll just bet he did," Chakotay snarled. "Let me go, Lieutenant or you'll spend the rest of the journey in the brig."

"But I, but I…" Tom gasped, then erupted into a fresh flood of gulping sobs.

Chakotay took a deep breath. This wasn't Tom's fault, he reminded himself, and shouting at him was obviously just making the situation worse.

"Tom, please, don't cry. Just let me go and we'll discuss this properly," he said, in a softer soothing voice.

Tom bit his trembling lower lip, managing to regain a little self control now the man he adored was no longer screaming abuse at him. He bent forward to untie the restraints, deciding the best thing was to do as he was told and pray Chakotay's apparent rejection was just one of the games that Greg had assured him Chakotay*did* like to play.

His fingers were shaking too much for him to manage the tight knots that Greg had fastened.

"I can't untie them," he whimpered.

Chakotay bit back his irritation.

"Then go get something to cut them with," he suggested.

Tom gave him a relieved smile and jumped to his feet, only to instantly freeze, his body shuddering. When he finally looked up Tom's tear-filled blue eyes had changed, his pupils elongated into elliptic slits.

"You're testing me, seeing if I'm serious," Tom said, the previous look of devastation on his face slowly being replaced by cautious hope.

"No," Chakotay replied coldly. "That's your symbiont talking to you, not me. I want you to get the fuck out of my quarters."

"But, but, I love you," Tom whimpered.

"Well, I don't love you. Now get out."

"It's cos I'm not good enough for you, isn't it?" Tom spat bitterly. "I know that. Don't you think I fucking know that?"

"Tom, I…."

"But you're wrong, Chak. I'm different now. I'm smart. I told you. You'll like me now, if you give me a chance."

"Tom, please.."

"Look, I'll prove it to you…" Tom said eagerly. "The spatial distance measured by two observers in relative motion is a projection of an underlying four dimensional spacetime distance onto the three-dimensional space that they can sense; and the temporal distance between two events is a projection of the four-dimensional spacetime distance onto their own timeline."

"What?"

"I understand it now, see. I told you I'm smart," Tom grinned proudly.

Chakotay blinked back tears but he forced his voice to emerge with the icy frost of complete rejection.

"And since you are so 'smart', perhaps you'd like to demonstrate your ability to understand a simple order, Mr. Paris. LET ME GO!"

Go to Part Eleven