Rating: R

Codes: J/C

Summary: A bad week, a dream, a friendship, a holodeck, black underwear.

Voyager and all who sail her belong to Paramount.

This takes place during the fourth season. (And was largely written then.) Definitely a pre-fifth season, if we can make a holographic xeno-biologist, why the hell not a ship's counselor Janeway.

A long time ago Ruth Gifford issued a challenge on ASCEm-what do the characters do after a hard week at work. Contains m/f sex.

I like feedback very much.

*** indicates a shift in time or in point of view.

The Field
by Boadicea (Boadicea12@aol.com)

Once, he touched her hair, her neck. He remembers that now, as he swings over a fence and enters another field. He remembers how he moved her long hair to one side, how smooth it was, how he moved it slowly, as slowly as he dared. There is a path along the edge of the field and he follows that. The air is moist and soft. He breathes deeply. He remembers when his fingers touched her neck and how he was surprised that he could do it, touch her, and still speak. He walks quickly. The field is to his left, very green, and grey with the mist.

He remembers how he massaged her neck, and that he was thinking of the muscles beneath his fingers, thinking of that, and the pressure of his thumbs, not thinking of her, trying not to think of her. There is a line of trees to his right, and the fence, and beyond that, he thinks, a stream. He has come halfway the length of this field.

He had massaged her neck, concentrating, and then she had given a little moan of pleasure, oh just because the massage felt good, but suddenly he could think of nothing but that, her pleasure, and his hands froze. He could feel his palms hot against her skin. He could feel a pulse, but could not tell whose.

He reaches the end of the field and turns left. The land rises. It is the field behind that he is headed for. It is there that she has arranged to meet him. He heads up the hill. He remembers how he stood, so still, with his hands on her neck because it was either stillness or taking her, pulling her to him, and he dared not do that. And how finally she had stood and turned towards him, and for a moment he thought . . . and then she said "thank you," and smiled, and stepped back.

But now she had asked him to meet her, in the next field, and he is walking up the hill and the grass is very green and he can see, in the distance, in the next field, something red which can only be her dress. The sun is breaking through the mist and he is at the top of the rise and he walks faster, without effort.

There is a chirping noise, and he wonders briefly if it is a bird, before realizing that it is his communicator.

***

He woke up.

Damn. It was the third time in a week he'd had the dream. He is walking towards her, running sometimes. In the dream she has asked him to meet her, and he is sure that this time . . . Damn.

It had been a hard week too. They had been traveling through an unstable area of space. The sensor readings had become unreliable, and they were almost constantly at yellow alert. Long hours, and difficulty getting to sleep. And then dreams, dreams of frustration, and dreams of the Maquis, the Maquis he now knew were dead. And then yesterday he had lost his temper. He cringed at the thought.

He and Captain Janeway had been discussing crew responsibilities. And the Captain was, as usual, talking about Seven. He was sick of Seven. Before he had realized it, he had snapped: "Take her to bed, if you must, but don't turn the ship over to her."

He had seen the surprise and hurt wash over her face before her expression hardened.

"That was out of line," she said, her lips pursed, her eyes dark with anger.

Before he'd been able to say anything at all, there was Tuvok's voice on the communicator, calling them to the bridge. Another yellow alert.

He had tried to apologize at the end of the shift, but he'd been in engineering, and then she had gone to her quarters. He had signalled her, asked if he could speak to her.

"Tomorrow, Commander, if it's not an emergency. I think we're both tired."

He wasn't on duty this Alpha shift, for the sensors were back to normal. He decided to go to the holodeck to exercise.

"Computer, I want to fight. Humans. Make it as realistic as possible" He'd have tried to turn the safety protocols to minimal, but the bridge would have been alerted.

He was a little surprised to see Ayala coming at him with a broadsword. A couple of crew members later, he realized that the computer had responded to his demand for realism by creating the most realistic people it could--copies of those on the ship.

And then it was the Captain.

She was dressed for some martial art, perhaps Vulcan --he wasn't sure. A tight red top, loose white pants. God, this was no help. The hologram called out a ritual challenge, and then she was upon him.

It was her body, all right, and quite realistic. He could see the slight unevenness of the texture of her left cheek.

She was much smaller than him, not as strong. But she was quicker, and her moves came as surprises to him. She was consistently using his size, his weight against him. He had been uncomfortable at first, hesitant, but though he soon was fighting with all his skill and strength, he was behind, unable to catch up. The blows the holographic Janeway landed did no damage, thanks to the safety protocols, but the scoring indicated several would have been disabling.

He finally managed to throw her. Before she could rise, he had her pinned. He could feel her body beneath his. Warm. All her muscles tensed. And then she relaxed, and he thought, I've won this round; with the points from this I won't have done so badly. As her body went limp, she felt fragile and soft beneath him. He'd never liked holosex, had thought it ridiculously undignified, and so he was surprised by how the hologram aroused him.

And then, whoomph, he was on his back. She had thrown him off and was standing above him and the computer was declaring her the winner.

He won against five of the next seven opponents. He paused the program, not ending it, as much because he liked the green field he had used as a setting as to keep the privacy lock on the holodeck.

He took a shower and was just putting on a pair of pants, a fresh shirt, when he heard a voice. The Captain's voice, from just outside the shower room. "I'd like to speak with you, when you're ready."

"Yes, just a minute." He put on his shoes and came out. She was standing looking over the trampled field. There was a slight smile on her face, and she looked more rested than she had in days.

"What have you been doing, fighting an army? And you injured yourself."

He followed her gaze, put his hand to his temple which he realized now was bruised and bleeding slightly.

"It's okay. I hit the wall. And I wasn't fighting a whole army. Just Voyager."

"Ah, so you've been beating up the crew. Sounds cathartic. Was I among your victims? "

"Actually," he grinned, "you beat me."

"Tuvok's work probably. He oversees all the martial arts programs. Probably thinks it indecorous to allow anyone to beat up the captain."

"You're being modest."

She smiled. "Well, I'm not going to let you try for two out of three. But I like your battlefield. Would you like to take a walk?"

They started to walk.

"Kathryn, I am very sorry about what I said."

"Yes, I know. And it was an awful week. But perhaps in future you can try to make your criticisms a little less inflammatory."

He looked down. They walked further.

"You're wrong, you know. I don't trust her because I want to go to bed with her."

"I know Kathryn. I'm sorry. It was out of line and unfair. I know you better than that . . . "

"But I've been realizing that perhaps . . ." she looked away from him, out over the fields, ". . . perhaps there's some truth in what you said . . . But I think it's the other way around."

"What do you mean?"

"I think I find her attractive at least in part because I trust her."

"Ah. And you don't trust me."

"I didn't say that. Chakotay, she's a child. A brilliant child in a woman's body, but a child nonetheless. She's not your rival. And I do trust you. It's your trust in me . . ."

"I trust you, Kathryn. I know I told you that you were blinded by your desire to get home. I questioned your judgement. God, Kathryn, I was jealous. I said on New Earth that I wanted only to serve you, and I meant it. But I had you all to myself there. I didn't have to share you with anyone but the monkey. I meant it then. And I mean it now. But I was jealous. Jealous of your love for Mark, your faith in the future. And now jealous of Seven. I'm sorry. Come to think of it, I think I was a little jealous of the monkey."

He gave a small tentative smile. They had reached the top of a hill, and were at the edge of the field. She stopped and looked at him.

"Perhaps Seven is curing me of my desire to be agreed with. You know, she fights me on almost everything, and I'm starting to like it." She turned away from him, looking over the landscape. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and low. "Oh, but Chakotay, this job is more responsibility than I bargained for. More responsibility and less power."

This was not the conversation he had expected. He looked at her. A small woman, standing on a hill, the wind blowing her hair. Small and alone and so strong. He had not realized how jealous he was until he had told her. And he had not realized, not really understood how much his support mattered to her. In the Alpha Quadrant she would have had all of Starfleet supporting her. Here, all obedience was wrested by force of her personality. A crew who didn't think she was their best bet of getting home . . .

He reached out to her. He put his hand on her upper arm. She took his hand and to his amazement, brought it to her lips. She kissed the back of his hand. Her eyes were closed. He thought perhaps she was crying. He reached out with his other arm, and they both sat down on the short grass. His hand was still in hers. Her lips had reached his wrist. She looked up. There were no tears in her eyes, but a look of hunger and an openness he had never seen before.

"Is this what I think it is?" he managed to ask.

"I don't know. I can't be your lover. Not now, not here. Maybe never. I don't know. But I do love you, Chakotay. And I do want you. Now, here. Is that enough?"

"You're enough, Kathryn. Yes. Oh God."

She had turned his hand over and was kissing his palm. Then she brought her fingers to his lips. Her beautiful elegant fingers. She undid a button on his shirt and kissed the base of his throat.

He brought his hand to the neckline of her uniform, trying to take it off her. The angle was awkward. "Careful, "she said, "If I have to replicate a new uniform half the crew will know about it by dinner." She smiled as she undid the jacket and set it down on the grass.

"So no tearing off your clothes?" said Chakotay, grinning.

She lent forward and pulled the turtleneck over her head. He watched as the movement exposed her curved back, her pale neck. She sat up, her hair falling back about her face. "And no marks the uniform won't cover." She smiled mischievously.

"Hey, you've done this before."

"I wasn't always an asexual Captain, you know. I was an ensign once too." She put the turtleneck on the jacket. She was wearing a black tank top."I mean, I had friends who told me about these things."

He thought her smile was exquisite, radiant. "Is this regulation?" he asked, in mock censure, touching the fabric just above her left breast. She was taking off her boots

"Fancy yourself an expert on Starfleet women's underwear do you? Thinking of reporting me? If you were the expert you pretend to be, you'd know that captains get to wear whatever underwear they want."

"I see. I guess I need to learn more about captains' underwear." He brought a hand to her waist. She leaned back, raising herself on her elbows and he pulled off her pants. He folded them and added them to the pile. He was dying to touch her again.

He brought his hand to the material at her hip, feeling the softness, feeling her hipbone beneath it. He had never imagined her in black underclothes. He wondered if she wore them always. He wondered if she had planned to come here, to do this. . . .

***

She felt his hand on her hip. Her uniform had been removed with care. Not the stuff of romance holovids, with all their impassioned destruction of clothing. His fingers were tracing her hipbone. It felt wonderful.

Of course, she hadn't been certain what would happen when she came to see him. But she had considered it. It had been so long since she had put on clothes with any possibility of their being removed by someone else that she had taken extra care.

Yes, she had entered the holodeck, knowing it was possible. For so long, she hadn't desired him, hadn't let herself. It had been so perfect, for her, the way it was. He, her champion, her friend, her sworn knight. And if from time to time she had thought perhaps he desired her, well, it was certainly good for the ego. But she would have done nothing to jeopardize, nothing to endanger their friendship, nothing to destroy what they had.

And then there had been their encounter with the Borg, and the arrival of Seven. And both had changed it. A gradual drifting apart, something gone. And her own fascination with Seven. Whom she had wanted to teach about humanity, friendship. And then Chakotay's comment.

Partly it was the truth in it that made it hurt. She did desire Seven, though she had been denying it to herself, though she would never think of acting on such a desire. Oh, but God she was lonely, and Seven was lonely. And challenging. And bright. And on some level, madly loyal.

But mostly it hurt because it was meant to hurt, because it was said in anger, because she was afraid it was all gone, that she had lost him. A first officer who thought she was swayed by hormones, a first officer who followed her orders solely because he believed in the command structure, a first officer who didn't much like her. She didn't think she could stand it. She had to get him back.

She sat up, moving towards him.

***

He came quickly, too quickly, though he was a little pleased to have his shortcoming be on the side of youth. He began to make love to her with his hands and mouth.

She was aroused, he could tell that, but it was as if her arousal had reached a plateau.

"Kathryn?" he asked.

"It's okay," she said, "I don't always, I don't usually . . ."

"What do you like?"

"I quite obviously like what you've been doing."

"Mm." His fingers gently stoked the wetness between her legs. "If I weren't here?"

"I'd probably be with Tuvok in my ready room."

"That's not what I meant. At least, I don't think you're answering what I meant. But if you are, I'm sure the holodeck would have no problem with Tuvok or your ready room."

"No thank you."

"Tell me, Kathryn. Show me." He didn't say "trust me, "but it was there, unspoken.

"I usually masturbate on my stomach." She spoke matter-of-factly, but he didn't think it was easy for her. "And I like a rather monotonous touch, not too much variation. But really Chakotay, you don't have to . . ."

"I wasn't under the impression I did. But if you'd like to give orders, I'm open to that."

"More the reverse," she said, almost under her breath, 'but really, it's okay . . ."

"Ssh, Kathryn, shh," he said softly, almost as if calming a horse. And then, his tone changing slightly, becoming more abrupt, "Show me," he said. "Show me how you touch yourself."

She slowly brought her own hand between her legs and began to stroke herself. She was watching him intently.

"Move you legs further apart."

She did. He caressed her breasts. Her arousal was building. It was very exciting to him.

"Stop," he said.

"Ah," she said, as she did.

He rolled her onto her side, pulling her body against his, the curve of her back against him. He brought his arm around her, bringing his hand down until he was in a position to reproduce her own touch. His mouth was at the back of her neck. He could taste salt on her skin.

"Kathryn," he said, "oh, Kathryn, I want you. I want your pleasure. I want you completely."

She came with a long keening cry.

It was very exciting to him. His penis, pressed against her buttocks, hardened. He thought it was enough--God, he wanted her.

He shifted his position. She rolled forward. She was breathing hard. He brought a finger, down, forward, touching her again, testing.

"Please," she said, raising her hips slightly, moaning as his finger pushed in slightly and withdrew.

He entered her, bringing a hand around beneath her. For as long as he could bear it, he was motionless inside her, savoring the feel of her around him.

***

"I'm going to be sore later," she said. "That's a compliment," she added quickly.

He smiled. "Thank you. Have I told you how exciting you are?"

"I was kind of hoping you weren't still thinking about Tuvok in my ready room."

"Barely crossed my mind."

***

She had imagined making love to him, but somehow she hadn't thought about his making love to her. She had almost forgotten how difficult she found it, how difficult it was to relax, how difficult it was to reach orgasm to the touch of someone not completely familiar with her body.

She didn't like not being good at anything, and perhaps that had kept her out of more beds than anything else. Though of course in the last few years most of the people she'd encountered who weren't under her command were firing on her ship. That too tended to make for celibacy.

Most of the men she had slept with hadn't noticed, hadn't cared, or hadn't wanted to make an issue of it.

She had been excited by Chakotay. By his body, by his caresses, by his excitement. More excited than she remembered having been before, and she had thought, perhaps this time. But gradually the anxiety crept in, and she knew she was going no farther.

When he had asked her to show him, she had thought for a second that she couldn't, that she would refuse. But she was so aroused, and it was little enough she was giving him, an hour or so on the holodeck. And she didn't like to do things halfway--once she had committed . . .

And so she had complied.

****

He thought for a moment of pursuing her, courting her. Perhaps . . . But as he watched her dress, he knew that wasn't what she wanted. Secrecy, subterfuge. She wanted to be the best Captain she could, and she wanted to get her ship home. It hadn't been a moment of sudden insurmountable lust, though he certainly thought there had been lust.

She had chosen to come to him, to make love to him, to let him make love to her. It hadn't been easy for her. He watched her turn to him. She seemed a little shy suddenly.

"You better fix that cut, or they'll think I was beating you up. Oh that's right, I was." She smiled. "Chakotay, I love you. And there's no one I'd rather . . ."

"Not Seven?"

"It's you I'm getting dressed with, isn't it? Not Seven, not the monkey."

"Hey, you never caught the monkey."

"Okay, not a holographic monkey."

They were laughing as they left the holodeck. He was going in the opposite direction, he said, but he waited in the corridor, just outside the holodeck, watching her walk away from him. It was strange, but he felt, not sad, but lighter. He had wanted her for so long, had been consumed by not being able to have her, that he had forgotten how much he simply liked her.

She had come to him because he was important to her. Perhaps not in quite the way he had fantasized about, but then life is rarely like fantasies, and the last hour had been, on the whole, much closer than most.

And so, as she disappeared around the curve of the corridor, he turned and walked towards his own quarters. B'Elanna and Tom were just outside the mess hall, having an argument about something. They both looked . . . beautiful. He'd never noticed before.