Peregrination--part three
by Melissa (with a little help from Laurel)

**for disclaimers see part one

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Left, seven paces. Turn. Right, three paces, step up. Pick up the coffee cup. Swallow. Down. Right, six paces. Turn.

The urge to hurl something--anything--was almost uncontrollable, and it was fought down, along with the pain, curiosity, and anger that had been waging a war within her all day. First watch would be over in two minutes.

She had not seen Chakotay all day.

She had not seen Chakotay since they fell asleep on her bed in the whirling aftermath, her legs twined with his, their hands joined between the pillows, faces close enough to breathe the same air. His eyes had been the last thing she had seen as she drifted off to her most peaceful sleep in weeks.

Until she had woken to see the empty place beside her, the sheets grown cold. She had gotten out of bed, unsurprised to find herself wearing nothing, to pad out to the living room. Of course, he would be working. Finding breakfast. Maybe staring out the window. Waiting for her.

The empty room had her blood turning cold.

"Computer, locate Commander Chakotay."

*Commander Chakotay is in Engineering.*

Engineering? Is there a problem?

She paused a moment, wondering why he wouldn't have woken her up to tell her about the problem, and then picked up her comm badge from the table. "Janeway to Engineering."

"Torres here."

"Good morning, Lieutenant. Report."

"All systems functioning normally, Captain. We're about to start the weekly diagnostics." B'Elanna replied, glancing uncomfortably over to the corner of her office where Chakotay sat.

Janeway froze in the middle of the room, disbelief painted across her features.

"Captain? Is something wrong?"

"No, Lieutenant. Thank you. Janeway out."

There must be an explanation. She would simply ask him after the morning briefing to explain why he would leave her quarters, leave her, after they had made love, and go to Engineering without telling her. He would explain, and she would tell him not to do it again, so she could wake up in his arms the next time. That had been her decision as she went through her morning preparations, taking more care with her hair and makeup than she usually did, noticing with a smile that he had cleaned up the mess they had made the night before. She chuckled as she recalled the sculpture crashing to the floor, and a spear of desire thrust through her as she remembered the passion he had revealed to her. It would need to be savored again.

Yes, those had been her thoughts hours before. Hours before Chakotay had sent Harry to the meeting with a message, explaining that a crew member was having a personal crisis and he would be in conference for most of the morning. Then, just before lunch, Tuvok reported that Chakotay had called the bridge and told him there was another problem, and he might be elsewhere for the rest of the shift. All day there had been one message after another; a problem with the Doctor, a meeting with Neelix. The uneasy feeling in her stomach turned into nausea as she could no longer avoid the obvious truth: her first officer was avoiding her. *BWEE-DOOP*

"Come in," she called, turning towards the door as it opened to admit--

B'Elanna.

"Lieutenant. What can I do for you?" she asked, stifling her irritation.

B'Elanna came forward, extending a PADD to Janeway. "Commander Chakotay's end of shift report, Captain. He asked me to deliver it. He's in--"

Janeway held up a hand, anger suddenly overflowing the pain that had twisted up within her. "Don't tell me. Conference with a crew member."

B'Elanna nodded as Janeway took the PADD, and then stood at parade rest while she read it. She knew something had happened between the Captain and the Commander, but Chakotay had been cryptic and elusive that morning and told her little. He had offered no excuse for his early morning appearance in Engineering, and only when she threatened to hurl his sorry ass into the warp core had he followed her into her cramped office. Even then, he had only told her that he and the Captain were not seeing eye to eye on something, and then he had asked her to not ask any questions but to help him fill his day so he could stay off the bridge. Concern for him and loyalty to Janeway had warred briefly before she agreed, and bringing his report up to the ready room had been the last part of their agreement.

Janeway thumbprinted the PADD and handed it back to her, her face impassive. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Please tell the Commander I appreciate him getting it to me on time despite the...problems that have plagued him since morning." A muscle leaped at the base of her jaw. "Dismissed."

"Computer, engage privacy lock," she said hoarsely as the doors closed behind B'Elanna, and she sank down on the couch, head falling into her hands. She didn't know what the hell was going on, but she knew she wasn't giving up until she got to the bottom of it.

* * *

"Damn it, Chakotay, I'm not playing this game with you again. Now open this door before I break it down!" B'Elanna's voice rang through the hallway, suddenly loud to her own ears, and she glanced around before banging on the door again. "Chakotay. Let me in." The edge in her tone grew steadily more dangerous as she lowered her hand to her comm badge. "Torres to Chakotay. I know you can hear me. Unless you want me to go get my tools and break into your damn quarters, I suggest you open this door."

Seconds later, the door slid open to reveal Chakotay, his face scowling at her. "Lieutenant, you are dangerously close to sleeping in the brig tonight. I suggest you go back--" He landed on the floor with a thump as she pushed him back into the room with both hands and then followed. "What the hell--"

"Shut up, Chakotay. This isn't ship's business, and we go back farther than your Starfleet attitude does--in this quadrant, anyway. I want some answers." She reached down and hauled him to his feet.

"I haven't heard you asking any questions, just doing a lot of shouting."

"Janeway to Chakotay."

He froze, and his throat went dry. A long moment, and then, "Chakotay here."

"Lieutenant Torres brought me your report. I'd like to...see you about it."

"I'm in a conference with Torres now, Captain," he replied with forced calm. "Could we talk about it tomorrow?"

There was a long pause from the other end of the connection. "Certainly, Commander--if that's what you need."

"Thank you, Captain. Chakotay out."

B'Elanna stood in front of him, hands on hips, and the gesture was achingly familiar. "What was that? What the hell is going on with you and Captain Janeway? What was with all the schedule switching and impromptu review sessions you had me send my crew in for today? I thought you were trying to get ahead on a few things."

"I was," he said, turning away and walking back to his desk and picking up a glass.

"I don't think so. Why did you have me take her your end of shift report?"

"I told you," he said, sipping from the glass. "I had a conference with--"

"I know, I know. Ensign Donaldson. But you know what? Tom had dinner with Elizabeth. At 1830. I took your report to the bridge at 1845, and when I called him after, he told me they had been in the mess hall for over half an hour. So either Tom, the ship's computer and I are all incapable of keeping time, or you are lying to me." She walked towards him, stopped only inches away from his chest, and took the glass out of his hand. "Spill it, old man. What happened?"

"Nothing happened, B'Elanna. Captain Janeway and I are fine."

"Well, how are you and Kathryn?"

Anger flared up in his eyes. "Careful. You're crossing a line you don't want to cross."

"Or is she just Janeway again--is that it?"

"B'Elanna--please--" He ran a hand over his face and through his hair, willing himself to calm down. He needed to get her out of there.

"What did she do to you?"

"Nothing."

"Chakotay, stop lying to me. What did she do?"

A laugh burst from his chest, a harsh, choking sound that he cut off. "She didn't do anything!" When she opened her mouth again, he held up a hand to silence her. "Please. I can't talk about it."

"Why won't you talk to me? Damn it, Chakotay, I'm not blind, I can see that--"

"Gods, B'Elanna, stop--damn it. Let it alone!" He turned away from her, his voice ragged, and leaned both hands on the desk. "Let it alone."

"Chakotay..." her voice softened, and she stepped forward and laid her hands on his shoulders. "Tell me. Please. You're hurting. I want to help."

"B'Elanna." She flinched at the harshness of his tone. "Help me by getting the hell out of my quarters and not asking me about this again."

"I'm not going."

He shook her hands from his shoulders. "If you don't leave, I'll have to put you out."

Fire flashed in her eyes. "I am not a cat, Chakotay. I'd really like to see you--"

Her mouth snapped shut as he spun around and suddenly lunged forward, grabbing her upper arms. "Don't push me, B'Elanna!"

She stared at him in disbelief, and he looked down at his hands encircling her arms. The color drained out of his face and he let go of her abruptly, turning and walking back to the viewport.

"Go...just go, damn you..."

She stared at his back for a long moment, forcing back the hurt that shadowed her face. "Fine. Whatever you want. Excuse me--Commander."

She was gone too quickly to see him turn around, see the pain in his gaze, the defeated droop of his shoulders. Kathryn, and now B'Elanna. What the hell had he been thinking?

It was better, that no one share this with him. Less painful in the end.

He willed himself to believe that.

* * *

"A beautiful woman should not look so sad."

Janeway's head jerked up from the cradle of her arm, the paintbrush she had not used since picking it up half an hour before falling to the table. Leonardo da Vinci reached out a large, gnarled hand and pushed her hair off her face. "What troubles you, Katerina?" He searched her face for a long moment, and then sighed, pulling up a chair next to her. "It is a man--the man you have spoke to me about, though I have yet to meet him."

She nodded. "Chakotay. I'm afraid, Maestro, that you are correct."

"Will you tell me what happened?"

Emotions flickered over her face in a varying display as she thought of Chakotay's behavior over the last three days--since they had made love and he had left her. He left, damn it, she thought, her throat tightening again. And then he had avoided her like she had the Phage. The second day had passed much like the first; if she appeared on the bridge, he suddenly found an excuse to leave. God only knew what Tom Paris was saying about that. When she had tried to ask him about it, he cited crew problems and overdue performance reviews, telling her he was just trying to get his job done. She had appeared in the mess hall to find him eating with Paris, Torres, and Kim on more than one occasion. These sightings were especially painful because meals had been their haven, the one and only time she would let her guard down with him in public. Now, she asked Neelix for a tray and retreated to the lonely confines of her quarters, where the sheets still smelled like him because she couldn't let go of that tactile reminder that he had been there.

Neelix.

Despair had driven him to a horrifying confrontation with Chakotay on the transporter pad. Her First Officer had arrived just in time to try and talk him out of ending his life, and with the help of Samantha Wildman, he had succeeded. Neelix seemed to be his old self again. And when she had asked Chakotay for a report, he had handed her a PADD and silentlly waited to be dismissed.

So the days passed. Now, three days later, she was learning to live with the reality of it. She had waited too long. He didn't want her. And she'd be damned if she'd live out the rest of her life mourning it. She wouldn't want him either. Eventually. It would fade. It must.

"Katerina? Have you told him how you feel?" prompted the hologram.

She nodded slowly, pictures of the two of them together, wrapped in each other, drifting through her mind. "I showed him, yes."

"And?"

"And he ran," she replied quietly, the pain twisting within her, a newly familiar feeling.

"Maybe he was afraid."

She laughed, a painful, bitter thing. "No. I was the one who was afraid. He was the strong one." Her hands roamed across the table until she found the rough, unfinished sketch of him she had drawn just a few weeks before. After that golden day they spent on the hillside. She wasn't a talented sketch artist, but she had captured something of the strength in his eyes. Unshed tears burned her eyes, stuck in her throat. "He was always the strong one, Maestro."

The hand on her shoulder was a comfort. It was the only one she had.

* * *

B'Elanna Torres stared out the window of the observation lounge, her chin cupped in one hand, an empty glass dangling forgotten from the other. It had been here, several weeks before, that she and Chakotay had sat and laughed his demons away. Here where the Captain had come in and found them together, here where apparently she and Chakotay had mended whatever problems had been between them for so long. Voyager had fairly hummed afterwards; the crew as always attuned to the relationship between their commanding officers and reveling in the happiness that was flourishing. Janeway was easier, more relaxed on the bridge; Chakotay was more open, less guarded with the crew. Funnier. She had heard Carey repeating a joke in Engineering that the Commander had told the previous night in Sandrine's, and her crew was amazed. She hadn't been. There had been quite a few nights back in the Maquis where Chakotay's jokes--sometimes funny, often horrible--had been the only thing that kept her going.

Sometimes Chakotay had been the only thing that kept her going. There, and here, on Voyager. Even now that she was settled in, thinking of Voyager as her home, the crew as a family of sorts, she looked to him for strength, for a center. He had been the one true constant in her life. The brother she'd never had. He had fought beside her, challenged her, propped her up, saved her life, listened when no one else would. He needed her now, she knew he did.

It had been five nights since they had fought in his quarters, and she had hardly seen him. From what Harry had told her, he was working harder than ever. Apparently he had caught up on the crew evaluations that had been left to lag behind. He had completely restructured the crew schedules and created a new system for logging the rosters and duty assignments. Now he was creating a cross-training program to encourage people to stay on their toes and foster higher camraderie by giving the crew a respect for one another's jobs. A truly excellent idea. He had also assigned Seven, Tom, and Neelix the job of seeking out any M class planets in the areas they would be passing through in the next few weeks so that everyone could get some much needed shore leave.

But he hadn't talked to her. And, as far as she could tell, he hadn't talked to Captain Janeway. She was no closer to finding out what was wrong than she was five days before. All she knew was that once again, the Captain and Commander weren't talking. Janeway had looked haggard for a few days and had spent a lot of time in her ready room, according to the bridge crew. Chakotay had spent his shifts going over reports, either from the command chair or in his office. They spoke to each other, about the crew, about planetary data, about supplies, about ship's needs. They were unfailingly polite and apparently Janeway was full of compliments for the way he was performing his job.

But they weren't talking.

"There you are. Did you forget about dinner?"

She looked up to see Tom standing over her, a concerned look on his face. "I'm sorry. I did. I hope you ate without me; I'm not very hungry."

He nodded, kneeling down in front of her. "I ate with Harry. But I missed you." He reached out a hand and rubbed her cheek gently. "What's bothering you?"

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes clouded with confusion, anger, sorrow. A deep breath pulled at her chest and she let it out slowly, gathering her thoughts. "Chakotay."

"Oh--you mean whatever he's done to Captain Janeway?"

B'Elanna reared up out of the chair, on her feet and looking down at him before he had time to blink, her eyes snapping. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Tom?"

Tom stood up, his brow crinkling in confusion. "What do you mean? Haven't you seen her the last few days, how she's been acting? She hasn't been this polite or stiff in years! Obviously she had a fight with Chakotay."

"And it's automatically Chakotay's fault? Where do you get off making that assumption?" She paced away from him and then turned back, hands balled on her hips. "He's hurting, Tom, and he certainly didn't cause himself pain. She did something to him."

He was speechless for a moment, his face painted in disbelief. "You've got to be joking, B'Ela. She's done nothing but compliment his work all week. If anyone's hurting, it's the Captain! Don't you ever look at her?"

"Of course I look at her! She's been shoving him away for years. If she's complimenting him now, she's probably trying to make it easier for him--like she could!" She ran a hand around the side of her neck and back, unable to keep still. "Anyway, why are you defending her now? You've always agreed that they should be together."

"Not if he's going to hurt her!"

B'Elanna sliced a hand through the air in frustration. "He didn't hurt her! She hurt him! You'd see that if you could get over this mother complex you have about her and view the situation clearly for five seconds."

"What?" Tom walked across the room and wagged a finger in her face. "Mother complex? That's pretty funny coming from someone who's got Chakotay on a pedestal so high I'm surprised he can come down to piss, B'Elanna. I don't think I'm the one with the clouded vision here."

B'Elanna reached out and grabbed the finger dangling in front of her eyes, pushing it down and away with enough force to make him stumble. "You don't have any idea what the hell you're talking about, Paris. You think Janeway can do no wrong, but when Chakotay's concerned, she can't do right!"

"If anyone doesn't know what they're talking about, it's you! Do you even hear the things you're saying? He's not a goddamn saint, B'Elanna!"

"Neither is your precious Captain!" At that Tom turned and walked away, getting halfway to the door before she called out, "Oh, that's typical, how predictable! Go ahead and leave! I'll still be right!"

He stopped, not bothering to look back over his shoulder. "Get hold of yourself, Torres. I'm leaving because I know I'm right and I don't want to have to rub your nose in it!" He stalked off and the doors closed behind him.

B'Elanna raised her fists to her mouth and clamped them together, fighting down the urge to scream. He'd be back when he realized he owed her an apology. A huge one.

* * *

She couldn't fault him for the way he was performing his job. She'd never seen him perform at such an exemplary level as he had the last three weeks. Who knew that Ayala had a passion for maps, or that Crewman McCarthy worked seven summers in the kitchen of his father's restaurant? No one, until Chakotay initiated the new cross-training program, and now they had a brand new subprogram in the Astrometrics Lab and a series of interesting and palatable new menus in the mess hall. The crew were rejuvenated and newly interested, and she had been stopped many times in the corridor so that one person or another could thank her.

She couldn't fault him for his behavior on the bridge. He was courteous and professional; he laughed at Paris' jokes when it was appropriate and frowned when it was not; he sat in his chair next to hers and shared reports with her and talked about the day's happenings; he even met with her after each shift in her ready room to go over crew performances.

She couldn't fault him for his execution of crew evaluations or his writing of the weekly duty rosters. He was three months ahead of schedule.

She couldn't fault him for his interest in the day to day operations of the ship; she was always hearing of him visiting one department or another and he was assisting Neelix in the ambassadorial functions that had grown more important the last two weeks. They had passed through several systems with Class M planets and high levels of technology, and nearly all of the crew had been enjoying shore leave on one planet or another. Chakotay had helped to set up first contact with each planet, and seemed to be taking a large interest in the customs and habits of each.

No, she certainly couldn't fault her first officer in the performance of his job.

But damn it, she could fault him--she could fault him for getting her to fall in love with him and then walking away.

If anyone should be commended on their performance, it should be her.

In the four weeks and one day--twenty nine days--since she had woken up to an empty bed, she had given the performance of a lifetime. The resolutions she had made in Maestro Leonardo's workshop were broken. She had vowed that she wouldn't want him, she wouldn't think about him, she wouldn't hurt over him. In the last twenty-nine days she had wanted, thought, and hurt more than she had ever dreamed possible. Each passing day served to show her she had been right in the first place: it was not possible for she and Chakotay to have a relationship and keep the ship healthy. There were too many factors in play. Too much to consider.

He didn't love me, she thought for the hundredth time. But even as she thought it, she knew it wasn't true. He had loved her. Hands clasped over a table in her memory. She watched him weeping over her still body; saw him laughing at her, with her; saw him handing her flowers and running into her ready room with his medicine bundle. She felt him above her, inside her, and knew he was there still. Inside her. So deep she feared she would never be the same again, and she had to be, if she were to do right by her crew. They deserved the best she could give them. They deserved better than a Captain who spent all of her off-hours and part of her on-hours wondering why her first officer had left her bed without a word. And worrying about him, despite her best efforts not to.

He had so pointedly avoided her, so obviously rebuffed her attempts to talk about it, that her pride wouldn't allow her to try again. She saw the looks exchanged between Paris and Kim, knew the crew was probably gossiping again. They would be no matter what the situation was. So she lifted her chin and gave the performance of a lifetime: she sat in the command chair, looked over at Chakotay, and pretended she didn't love him.

She wondered how long it would be before she cracked under the pressure.

Part Four