CHAPTER THREE

 

 

The EMH had a busy day. It started early the morning when he had finally managed to repair the Commander's optical nerves. He was still waiting for Tom Paris to arrive so that he could explain the procedure that he devised while he had been searching his database on the work done on one Geordi La Forge who was the sight-impaired engineer of the USS enterprise on which Jean-Luc Picard served as its Captain. The revolutionary work done on La Forge when he had finally been able to move about without his V.I.S.O.R. had given him the ideas he needed to work on repairing the damage done to Commander Chakotay's eyes.

 

The Commander would, when he regained consciousness, be able to have vision, although it would take several days before it was restored fully. The EMH took pride in perfecting medical procedures which required original thinking and creativity, and he knew with an immodest feeling, that much of what he's done in the last six years on Voyager could be regarded as revolutionary and landmark work that would be used as forerunners in medical technology once Voyager has reached the Alpha Quadrant. He hoped that would happen soon.

 

At the moment, however, the Commander, although comatose, required his attention. The doctor was optimistic that sometime during the day the Commander would regain consciousness. Right through the night the Commander had slept, although the stirring and moaning had continued. He had not wanted to disturb Captain Janeway's much needed rest. The Captain had been in sick bay the first two days, going without sleep and tending at the same time to her small baby. Fortunately the crew had rallied magnificently, making the Captain's life easier by taking care of Tara, while her mother kept a vigil at Commander Chakotay's bedside.

 

When Tom Paris arrived after his duty shift on the bridge, it was afternoon, and the Commander's condition only marginally changed.

 

"Ah, Mr Paris, just the person I need to tend to the hypochondriacs," he said with relief as he rushed between beds to tend to the other crew who had been dripping into sick bay all morning.

 

"Good day to you, too, Doc. How's our patient?"

 

"He should regain consciousness soon, Mr Paris. I've repaired the damage to his optical nerves. You must study the procedure, Mr Paris, for future reference."

 

"Thanks, Doc," Paris replied as he grabbed vials and the hypospray and set about treating the crew who had come in with their unimportant ailments. "I guess Neelix has been generous with his condiments, right, Ensign Lomax?" The queasy ensign nodded just before the hypospray hit home in his neck. "There, that should do the trick. Now, get out," Tom said, smiling at the ensign, who just shook her head before sliding of the bed and headed for the exit.

 

The EMH gave an exaggerated sigh. He was convinced they could have treated themselves instead of coming in to sick bay and waste his time. Even Lieutenant Paris had been irritable after treating the tenth case of diarrhoea and queasiness. Neelix had overdone the dressing for the salad the crew. The doctor was inclined to think that their ailments were superficial, borne out of curiosity to see how Commander Chakotay was doing, since all of them marched over to the Commander's bed first just to look at him, shake their heads before they settled on one of the other beds to think up their bogus ailments.

 

He had to give them their due. Not a crewmember was there on board Voyager who had not expressed concern for the Commander and the Captain. The Captain had been too tired last night, the  shadows under her eyes deepening as she refused to leave his bedside. Last night he had successfully managed to get her to rest. Chakotay was not going anywhere.

 

That officer was still lying motionless, but earlier, when there had been a lull in the traffic in sick bay, there had been a slight stirring. He could see it in the way the Commander's eyeballs appeared to move under his closed eyelids. That indicated that the officer would very likely become conscious soon. By which time, hopefully, the doctor would he able to get rid of the hypochondriac crew and work with a patient who was still on his critical list and in need of critical high care.

 

"Ah, Mr Paris, so glad to see we've managed to clear the sick bay for the really sick..."

 

"I guess so, Doc. They just want to wish Commander Chakotay well, Doc. Can't blame them. They want to see the Warrior recover and give them hell like they're used to. Why, even Dalby is wishing to be decked again! It's been almost four days and not a stirring from Chakotay. It's time he woke up, don't you think?"

 

"I think, Mr Paris. I also think that despite modern medicine, and the fact that I could get him out of his

comatose state with a hypospray, he should regain consciousness naturally. While he is sleeping, his body heals, and that is what the Commander needs at this time."

 

The doctor had been moving about briskly between monitors and the main biobed and kept an eagle eye on the Commander's condition.

 

"He's suffered excruciating pain, I know, Doc. It must be hell for the Commander."

 

"I guarantee you, Mr Paris, that ordinarily the Commander is not a squeamish man, never given to complain of pain, but the fact that we've heard him constantly moaning while in a state of deep unconsciousness shows just how severe his trauma must be....

"I know! Down there in the tunnels of Ocampa he had broken his leg and he continued to talk as if he didn't experience a major fracture."

 

"You saved his life that day, Mr Paris, even as I understand that the Commander, as a Maquis, was ill disposed towards you - "

 

"I...er, well," Paris coughed and cleared his throat, "I had not been a very noble man up until that time, Doc."

 

"That is certainly a matter of perspective, Lieutenant. I'll not go into that. I can see you're somewhat embarrassed. But heroic deeds are not always seen as outwards manifestation of physical gallantry, such as you've done with the Commander on Ocampa, but a small decision, one that could ultimately land you in jail, could be personally heroic."

 

"Ah, yes, I guess so," Paris said, glad that the embarrassing moment was over. He had not wanted to rake up Caldik Prime, and that was all water under the bridge. He had done something wrong and atoned. He believed his debt was paid in full. Now, being married to B'Elanna, with a small baby to care for as well, he felt he life was rewarded. He had no need to be reminded of the past. That belonged where it was: in the past.

 

"Mr Paris..."

 

"Doc?"

 

"Look!" The doctor's eyes were on the patient and Paris followed his gaze. They saw Chakotay's fingers move, they saw the way his eyeballs shifted under his closed eyelids. Chakotay moaned deeply, moved his head in the direction where the sounds of voices came from.

 

The doctor immediately hit his commbadge: "Sick bay to the Captain."

 

"Yes, Doctor?" Kathryn Janeway's voice sounded agitated as she responded, as if she had been waiting all afternoon for the Doctor's hail.

 

"I think you had better come down to sick bay, Captain. I have reason to think the Commander is about to regain consciousness....

 

***

 

Kathryn Janeway found the empty chair next to her on the bridge too much to bear. Every time her gaze had stolen there; every time she half expected him to say: "you have a ship to run, Kathryn" whenever she was deep in thought. His absence had become an ache in her. Why was it so different when he had gone on short missions, away for several days at a time? Was it because there had always been constant contact between them? Was it because every time he vowed "I'll be back in your arms, my love," that she had found the sustenance that could keep her going until he materialised on the transporter pad where'd she be standing waiting for him? On those occasions she had given little attention to the transporter chief and allowed Chakotay to hug her so tightly to him that she'd hardly be able to breathe. Then his next words would be, always: "Has Tara been good this time, Kathryn?"

 

It was always his primary concern: his wife and baby daughter. She knew, especially since Tara's birth when... She closed her thoughts off that harrowing period, but since Tara's birth, mother and baby had meant the world to a man who had once been so rugged, a strong and courageous warrior who lived for them. She had come to him late, admitted her feelings for him late, and when she did, she tasted such freedom as she had never done before. And Chakotay, he had been there, every step of the thorny way when she had been so full of pride, when she had put duty before love and personal happiness. He taught her to be unafraid; he taught her that she could be herself. It had been wonderful the way she had blossomed, her old fear that the crew might think her weak or lacking on control, flying away in the wind when she realised that they supported her. She had given away her reserve and tasted first hand the love of a man who was willing to wait for her.

 

She missed him. The last few nights her bed had been empty, and most of the time she had woken in the middle of the night with a gasp, her hand going instinctively to his side, feeling the empty space, the undented pillow. She'd lie there and let the tears seep through her fingers into the bedding. Then she'd get up, made sure Tara was sleeping soundly, activated the baby transponder that monitored Tara's breathing and headed for the sick bay. There Chakotay would lie, his condition unchanged, but she would sit and hold his hand. She had been too stunned, too robbed of any kind of words to comfort him, except hold his hand and hoping that her touch would help calm the torturous fire that plagued his body.

 

The night before he left on his short mission they had lain in each other's arms, sated after their lovemaking.

 

"When I get back, Kathryn, we'll do more of this, understand?"

 

His voice had been gruff  with emotion. She responded by kissing him, a kiss that deepened until she broke off, gasping. Then she smiled at him and nodded. They hadn't been intimate for more than a week because Tara had taken to waking up in the middle of the night, demanding her Daddy play with her. Kathryn had spent several nights in a row working on reports till very late. Besides, she had been unwell and somehow, the days had just gone by when they had been so busy, too busy to take some time out, too busy to spare a moment in which they could just take a step back and enjoy each other's company, kiss in the corridor when no one noticed, or hold hands over dinner. But the night before he left, they made up for time lost. Their hunger had been raw and elemental.

 

Chakotay had been particularly passionate, his lovemaking rough as he joined his body with hers, yet, he had been so tender with her afterwards...so tender.... Mercifully, Tara had been Miral's sleeping partner for the night, Tom and B'Elanna agreeing to baby-sit her while she and Chakotay enjoyed an evening free.

 

"I missed you, sweetheart," Chakotay murmured into her hair, his hands still caressing her body, the aftermath of their lovemaking still tender and glorious and tingling.

 

"I missed you too, Chakotay. More than you can imagine," she had replied. She lifted herself to kiss his tattoo. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her so that she straddled him. Kathryn shook her head thinking how quickly he had become aroused again.

 

"Oh? Is that why you let me be wild and wonderful when I did this? And this?"

 

"Honey, it's time you served under me for a change..." she breathed throatily against his neck. It had been an ongoing source of mirth between them. In their quarters it was what she preferred in their lovemaking. She enjoyed serving under him, and Chakotay enjoyed the control.... It was inevitable that he should repeat their lovemaking, and send them both into a second vortex of passion. Yes, she had missed her husband, missed his nearness, his touches, his voice, his presence.

 

"When you return, we'll take some time out, I promise, Chakotay. A few days, as soon as we've reached a friendly planet."

 

They had talked of their much needed shore leave, and he had spoken of spending more time with the two of them. For a baby that had been born at eight months, Tara was growing like a weed. She needed to see her father out of uniform more often too. Kathryn smiled inwardly. Tara easily recognised the colour red. Most of her toys were red... Her parents were in red, almost all the time...

 

Chakotay, Neelix and Sayenne had gone. Sayenne was dead, Neelix recovered and Chakotay.... His uniform had been burned into his flesh.... She gave a shudder as she remembered the broken body, the open skull, the burns...

 

"For us, Chakotay," she murmured softly, "please get well..."

 

Kathryn almost jumped from her chair  when her commbadge beeped and the doctor hailed her.

 

"I think you had better come down to sick bay, Captain..."

 

"I'm on my way, Doctor," she said quickly, then ordered that Tuvok take the bridge.

 

When the turbolift doors closed behind her, she expelled a deep sigh as she rested against the wall and closed her eyes. Her heart thumped wildly at the prospect of seeing Chakotay able to open his eyes at last, look at her and tell her everything will be alright.

 

"Oh, Chakotay..."

 

**** 

 

He remembered burning and being thrown against a bulkhead with such force that he could hear his skull crack open. After that pain was never-ending, a war against his conscious that continued unabated with a fury that convinced him he was burning in hell. He tried to move away from the pain, find the darkness where he could wrap himself cocoon-like in a protective shell where the pain could not reach him. Every time he found a such a haven of shadowy depths, the pain would break in like a silent thief and terrorise his new-found sanctuary until it was so relentless he was forced to crawl out and scream, searching...searching till he reached another sanctuary.

 

There were always voices. Hazy sounds that never quite made it to his conscious, touches on his body that made him cry out when he felt the burning all over again. Yet he was unable to open his eyes, the only way he could voice his need, tell whoever it was whose voice and hands touched him to take him out of his hell.

 

Often, there would be light, and he'd reach for it, then he tried to open his eyes. Struggling to do so, he simply chose the easy way out and succumb to the darkness again and again.

 

Now, the voices beckoned him. This time he knew if he tried really hard, he'd be able to move past the banks of excruciating pain and open his eyes and see the owner of one voice that sounded familiar to him. Somehow, his eyelids felt less heavy, and he moved his eyeballs, relieved that for the moment there was little pain that bore down on him. He groaned with the effort anyway, and he gripped the sheet between his fingers.

 

"The Commander is waking up," a voice said sharply. It was tinged with excitement. What was happening?

 

"Yes, Doctor. Any moment now he'll open his eyes..." another voice replied. It was a voice he recognised.

 

"Come on, Chakotay, old man, you've slept long enough. Time to wake up..."

 

Wake up? How long had he been sleeping? He groaned as waves of pain hit him suddenly, his fingers gripping the sheet tighter. The pain swirled and swirled and created a dizzy vortex that momentarily took him back into the darkness.

 

'We're losing him, Doctor!"

 

"Don't worry. It's only temporary. There, see? He's coming to again. Easy now, Chakotay..."

 

Light was only a sensory element away as he lifted his eyelids. He blinked, once, twice.

 

"Come one, Chakotay...you can do it..."

 

Paris? It was the voice of Paris? Chakotay tried to move his lips; they felt dry, his tongue caked against his palate. Against the light, shadows moved. He guessed them to be persons, figures that hovered over him. Wondering whether he was still in that burning hell, he tried to move his hands. They felt heavy, but his fingers curled around something. Another hand, maybe? He couldn't determine that, but the figure became more distinct, clear.

 

Chakotay's eyes were open, and slowly the figure staring down at him came into focus, closing in from a distant fog into clear shape.

 

Colour. Starfleet Command red. The face... Tom Paris...?

 

Chakotay's eyes connected with Tom's. There was an awful, stunned silence as his throat worked to utter a sound, his lips moved to form a word...words...

 

"Welcome, back, Commander..." Tom's voice sounded clear in the sick bay.

 

"You...!"

 

"Commander?"

 

Chakotay turned his head and looked around him, obviously disoriented as the sick bay and monitors, other beds, a strange man in blue uniform came into focus. He tried to speak again, but at that moment another person had reached him.

 

Kathryn Janeway had run from the sick bay doors to the biobed, pushing Tom and the doctor out of the way as her hands covered Chakotay's hand.

 

"Chakotay!"

 

He stared at her. Rich auburn hair. There were tears in her eyes. Command red. Four pips. He frowned. Who was she?

 

"Chakotay!" she cried his name again.

 

"How - how do you know my name...?" 

 

*** 

 

END CHAPTER THREE

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

EMAIL

 

J/C FANFIC