Even Captains Have Needs by Mercutio (mercutio@europa.com)

She couldn't do anything about it, and in any case, it was a
ridiculous desire.  He was half her age, or nearly so, young
and... well, he wasn't idealistic anymore.  And that drew her to
him as surely as the woundedness inside him did.  But that was
silly, very silly.  With her own Mark she knew she valued
stability and comfort far more than anything else, far more
certainly than loyalty overlaid with a bitterness he could never
quite conceal.

Paris was quite out of her reach, and Janeway knew it, knew it
and hated herself for even wanting it, wanting him.  She had
won his loyalty by treating him as trustworthy, by giving him
the same responsibility as any other member of her crew, when
so many people looked at him with scorn.  To mistreat that
loyalty now would be a crime.

She bit her lip.  *Why* was she even *thinking* such things? 
What was *wrong* with her?  She was the captain of this ship,
for God's sake, and not some young ensign who could do as she
pleased.  And Kathryn didn't *want* to be anything else. 
Responsibility was hers, and she would have taken the
responsibility upon herself all over again, because that was the
kind of person she was.

But even captains had needs.

****

They'd only stopped to see what was happening on the planet,
to check, as they always checked even knowing that it was
hopeless, to see if these people had any way of sending them
home, anything that could help them get there.

Janeway had beamed down with Paris and Tuvok, leaving
Chakotay behind to mind the ship, unwilling to disturb him
during one of his medicine rituals.  Given the circumstances
they now found themselves in, that might have been a mistake. 
But he couldn't have done anything differently, and they would
all still be trapped in this desperate situation.  And Janeway
would not have willingly let someone else suffer in her place.

The aliens, an outwardly human race, had let them beam down,
and then captured them, removing their badges before they
could take any action.  Tuvok had been separated out, and she
and Paris had been thrown into a cell.  They didn't know why,
and they didn't know what had happened, or what would
happen.

Paris sat on his bunk, back against the wall, knees drawn up. 
His posture was elaborately unconcerned, but his face was grim.

Janeway sat on the edge of the bunk facing him.  "If only we
knew what they wanted."

"What they want?  What does anyone want in a set up like
this?"

"Ransom, perhaps.  We have technology far greater than ours. 
Perhaps they hope to force Voyager to give them something
they can't do for themselves."  Janeway sounded almost hopeful
about that possibility.

Paris didn't move.  "As long as they don't want our bodies."

The grim statement was a reminder of how he, along with
B'Elanna Torres and a now deceased crewman had been
captured.  Janeway felt responsible for that, for not being more
aware and for not taking more precautions.  A man had died,
and she hadn't been able to prevent it.  "I don't think they do. 
But as to what they want, there must have been a reason they
separated Tuvok from us."

"They can't have recognized him as a Vulcan."

"True, Mr. Paris."

Before they could speculate further, two of the Halamvids
stopped outside the door, dressed in the faceless armor that
made them look like something out of ancient Egyptian myth,
entirely inhuman.

Paris tensed, and Janeway stopped him with a look.  "No, Mr.
Paris."  She turned to the men.  "I am Captain Kathryn Janeway
of the..."

"Silence!"  The man raised his arm threateningly, but didn't
strike her.

Janeway wasn't deterred by the possibility of violence.  Things
far more important than her safety were at stake.  "I must speak
with your leader.  I have much to say that could be of..."

This time the man gave no warning, bringing the blunt end of
his weapon sharply down.

Before she could react, Paris was there in front of her.  He took
the blow, and went down.  The last thing she saw was his
unconscious body being dragged off before a heavy thud
descended on her as well and she went mercifully out before the
pain could reach her.

****

She awoke in nothingness, aware of nothing, unable to tell she
was conscious at all aside from a feeling somehow that this was
reality whether or not her senses agreed.  Kathryn had heard of
total sensory deprivation, but had never been exposed to it.

Now she wished that could still be true.  She could see nothing;
it was as dark with her eyes open as closed.  She could hear
nothing, not even her own breathing.  She couldn't feel, and
that was the worst of all.  No matter how often she closed her
eyes, or enjoyed the brief blessing of silence, she could never
escape feeling.  Her skin, her hands, every part of her was
constantly feeding kinesthetic input back to her brain.  That was
gone too.  It was as if she were a disembodied brain, as if these
unknown aliens had dissected her, taken her brain out, somehow
leaving it alive, and left it on a shelf somewhere to descend into
insanity.

The possibility was high, given the kinds of things the Voyager
had already encountered in this quadrant so far from home, and
as soon as Janeway thought of the idea, it overwhelmed her with
panic.  She tried kicking, tried screaming, but it was useless. 
There was nothing there with her but her own thoughts.

She tried to regain control of herself, and for a moment
succeeded.  She was a captain after all; she hadn't gotten this
far to succumb to hysteria.  When the Voyager had first been
flung here, she had remained calm, in control, despite the
gruesome deaths of many of her crew.  This was no worse.

And yet it was.  The mind depended on the constant stimuli it
was required to sort.  It could overload with too much, causing
negative and antisocial reactions, but too little was far, far
worse.  There was literally nothing for her mind to do but think,
and Kathryn was not equal to the task.

Slowly, very slowly, she began to crumble.

****

This wasn't the first attempt at breaking Paris.  Nor the second. 
Or even the fifty-second.  As brittle as he looked, he didn't
break.  The bleak truth Paris hugged to himself even as he
feared it was that it was impossible to break something that had
already been ground down into sand.

****

She couldn't isolate when the change occurred.  After so long
trapped inside that awful place, coming out into the open was
like being dropped into the warp core of a starship.  Sensory
overload, sights, sounds, sensations, all too raw and powerful
for her to handle.  She couldn't walk, couldn't move on her
own, and a short, although terrifying time later she was dumped
back into her cell.

Warm hands cradled her head.  "Captain?  Are you... all
right?"

The sound was too much for her and she almost sobbed.  She
couldn't focus on anything, everything was overwhelming her
after that brief, endless, time isolated with her own thoughts.

Paris stayed where he was, slumped against the wall, wanting to
pull his hand away, to regain some control, but he couldn't.  He
needed the contact too much at the moment, even as he wished
he didn't have that weakness, knew that *she* was the wrong
person to have a weakness in front of or for.  Not that the
captain would say anything.  She was far too honorable and just
a person for that.  She *looked* at him, and that was all, and
more than enough.  She'd never mention that he'd taken a
liberty, never dress him down for it, and for that he respected
her.  None of his previous commanders, no one he knew in the
current Starfleet, somewhere back in the Alpha Quadrant, would
ever extend Tom Paris even so much as a moment's leniency. 
And for that reason alone he had to stop this.  He had to be
more than he was for her, because she did trust him, because no
one else would.  He drew his hand away and set it in his lap,
using all the self-control no one believed that wild Tom Paris
had.

They laid there in silence for a long while, Janeway huddled in
a fetal ball, Paris crumpled by her head.  That silence was filled
with sensory input, the little noises of breathing, of ventilation
shafts and power thrumming at a distance, the dank smell of the
prison and the air moving against them.

"They're trying to break us," Janeway said into the silence, not
moving.  She knew she had to, wanted to in order to restore her
dignity, but she couldn't.

"Yes," Paris said.  "At least they're professionals," he said,
striving for a light tone, and failing.

"Yes," Janeway said, in dark agreement.  She levered herself up
on shaking arms, bringing herself up face to face with Paris,
inches away from him.

They froze in place for a moment, neither one moving.  The
distance was so short, and both of them were in a vulnerable
state.  The uncertainty on Paris' face was matched by the
shattered expression of Janeway's.

She pulled away, turning away from him to tuck her hair back
into place, the small action giving her time to put her emotional
facade back into place as well.  She had to be strong.  She was
the captain.  If she fell to pieces, she was neglecting her
responsibility to Paris.  

When she finished, she turned back around, seating herself
neatly at the end of the bunk, but not offering to move to the
other one on the opposite side of the room.  "I don't know what
they want.  They've made no demands."

Paris looked up at the ceiling as if the rock were more yielding
than their captors.  When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. 
"They want to break us."

"But why?"

He looked at her, and his eyes were bitter.  "Why not?  They
don't need a reason."

She would have asked him why, but his manner was clear, and
she knew enough of his history not to press him.  She settled
back against the bunk, planning.  There was nothing she could
do; she was trapped and she had no control of the situation.  It
was a frustrating, horrible helpless thing for someone of her
nature to be, and yet she didn't give into despair.  There had to
be a way.  There was always a way.

****

When the Halamvids came again, Janeway and Paris tried a
sneak attack.  It didn't work.  They were efficiently clubbed and
dragged off to be mindwashed again.

Paris regained consciousness in the darkness.  *Again*, he
thought to himself.  *It's happening again.*  Grim hopelessness
washed through him.  He had already given up.  He would have
begged now if anyone had wanted him to, had done so many
times before for a variety of different torturers, all of whom
thought him to be scum.  It didn't matter anymore.  Begging
meant nothing to him.  The only thing he had left to him at the
end of what he'd come through was his pride, and not even
much of that.

He didn't know how much longer he could stand this.  He
wanted to give in, but there was no one to give in *to* and he
was holding onto nothing, aware of nothing, and only that voice
in his head was telling him he was alive at all.

****

This time she would not give in.  Janeway tried to feel
confident.  It wasn't as if she were being physically tortured. 
Her body was all right, and her brain wasn't being removed as
she had feared the last time.  This was a cynical exercise on the
part of a people who hadn't even made their demands yet.  She
was all right.  This was only the removal of sensory stimulus. 
She could survive this.

She tried to concentrate, to pull her thoughts around herself and
meditate, but her mind kept wandering to the loss of its sensory
inputs, like a tongue to the site of a missing tooth.  Even as she
tried to focus on her spirit animal as Chakotay had taught her,
or on the endless and shortening inventory lists for Voyager, her
mind was pulled away.  She'd never developed the mental
disciplines, and now she regretted that as her conscious mind
slipped out of her grasp, retreating even faster than it had the
day before into that shadowy chasm where sanity was not and
her thoughts mixed with dreams.

****

This time she screamed when they brought her out, and
continued to scream long past the point when her throat was
raw.  They ignored it, dumping her back in the tiny cell. 
Janeway didn't care, only noticed the lack of motion as one less
disturbing input to deal with and began to cry shamelessly,
uncaring that the Halamvids might be listening in, that Paris
might be there.

The void had opened up before her and she had been sucked
under, had been unable to prevent herself from being dragged
in.  Her own weaknesses had betrayed her, and she didn't know
if she were crying because of her own vulnerability or because
of how good it felt to be back in the real world again, to have
scratchy fabric under her chin and a firm surface under her.

The tears were more cathartic than she knew; her own image of
herself, tattered as it was at the moment, reasserted itself, and
she sat up, scrubbing at her eyes, trying to pull herself together. 
*You're a captain, damnit.  Behave yourself.*

She looked around the cell.  Paris wasn't there.  The Halamvids
hadn't brought him back yet.  She was grateful he hadn't seen
that little lapse of control; she wasn't ashamed of it, however
she was nonetheless grateful.  On the other hand, she was
concerned about him.  Why had they kept him longer?  Had
they started other, worse tortures on him?

She leaned back against the wall, keeping the door in sight, still
struggling to bring her mind and body back under her control. 
She had enough left to keep from sobbing in hysteria, but that
was all.  She was white and visibly shaking.  She didn't know if
she'd survive another time in that chamber of horrors.  She
didn't have a choice.

Some time later, an eternity in a place without chronometers,
but still less time than in that deprivation chamber, Paris was
carried in like a sack of grain and dumped on the bed.  The
Halamvids left, inhuman visages always alert despite her current
inability to do anything.

"Captain," Paris said weakly.  He was lying on his side on the
opposite bunk, too shattered to move.  He opened his eyes and
looked at her.

"Yes, Tom, I'm here."

"I always said... ladies first."

She smiled at him, a weak grin.  "I appreciate your gallantry,
Mr. Paris."  He needed time to recuperate, as did she.  She
closed her eyes, still terrified by the darkness of mind she found
behind her eyelids.

"Captain?"

"Yes?"

"You... I can't survive that again... the next time... I don't
know who I'll come out as."  His voice was wavering.

"You'll survive it, and that's an order, Mr. Paris.  As long as
we can resist, we will resist."  The words were bravely meant,
but she knew how untrue they were.  The horrible terror she felt
on coming out of the blackness, how easy it had been to descend
into the downward spiral of nebulous panic, non-thought and
madness, all of this was enough to frighten her.  But she
couldn't say that.  Even if she wanted to.  She didn't have
anyone to bring her through this, but she would be that person
for him.  As long as she could.

"I can't," Paris said starkly into the silence.  "I know what I can
take, and I can't take this."

"What do you mean?"

"I... you know my record.  I've been *unpopular* with many
elements of Starfleet and many elements outside of Starfleet as
well.  I... they did a lot of unpleasant things..." his voice trailed
off, hiding horrors too terrible to mention.  The beatings, the
fear, the bullying, even the sexual acts he'd performed.  An
admiral's son was a great prize for the kind of people whose
hands he'd fallen into.  He was as loathsome as a toad inside
and he knew it.  And yet, this was worse than all those things,
was getting at him, at what remained of an inner core.

"I understand, Mr. Paris."

"You couldn't."  He looked at her, eyes bright and desperate. 
"One more time in there and there won't be anything left of
me."

Janeway hesitated, torn between admitting to her own fears and
uttering the lie of duty.  "I... you don't have any choice, Mr.
Paris.  *We* don't have any choice."

He stared at her for a long moment before rolling away.  "Yes. 
I knew that."

They laid there in silence, neither one wanting to admit
anything, wanting to say anything.

****

Resistance being futile, the prisoners allowed themselves to be
led to their destruction.  Paris glanced once at Janeway before
letting himself be taken away, his eyes filled with grim
resolution.  "You've been a good captain.  I... I respected you."

"You're a fine lieutenant, Mr. Paris," Janeway said, as he was
roughly pulled away.  She stood still for a moment, watching
him, then fell obediently into step with her captor.

The room they were led to was like any other medical
laboratory of its kind, white, sparkling with efficiency, full of
equipment and gadgetry.  Janeway's eyes immediately went to
the row of sarcophaguses along the wall, no doubt the
instruments of their destruction.

She wanted to run then, but something hissed against her arm
and she went limp, the world fading around her.

****

The two unresisting, almost lifeless bundles were dumped
carelessly together on the floor, as if there was no need for
consideration toward these creatures who were almost things
rather than people.

Janeway moaned.  She was somewhere, she didn't know where,
but it was a place, not a darkness, and that was important,
although she didn't remember why.  Something, *someone* was
there with her and that was important to.  She didn't know who
she was, couldn't even formulate the concept.

Paris struggled up to consciousness, tears leaking from his eyes. 
There was someone next to him, and he cringed away
instinctively, expecting pain.  "No!"  He meant to shout it, but
it came out as the weakest of sounds.

She turned her head toward the noise, blindly seeking the
source.  "What?  You?"  The words fell disjointedly from her
lips, not coming out of the chaos in her mind.  The world was
running in wet watercolors around her, and he was the only
point of stability in it.  She didn't know why that was, but she
fastened onto him nonetheless.

They were lying close together, limbs overlapping, but too out
of control to move.  Paris tried to scuttle back, tried to lever
himself up, ingrained fear motivating him even when there was
little left of his reasoning mind to tell him what to do.

But he couldn't move, and he was forced to stay there, close to
the source of his terror.

The look in his eyes was familiar, and she focused on that,
trying to understand that.  The blond hair, the face... she
*knew* him.  A word swum up out of her memory.  "Tom?"

Hysterical, weak laughter broke out of him.  "Captain."  He
stopped struggling, tension draining away as the fear left him. 
He *knew* he didn't have to be afraid of her.  Although
something horrible was happening to him, something that left
him as helpless as he had been at the lowest points of his life,
he knew he was safe for the moment.

Janeway dropped her head forward until she was almost
touching him.  Dizziness flooded over her, but she was all right
now.  She knew who she was, and although that wasn't
everything, it was enough.

"Captain?"  Another voice broke in.  Janeway knew the voice,
but she couldn't identify it, couldn't move to see the face that
went with it.  Someone stooped over her, and there was a hand
on her forehead, turning her until she could see the dark face. 
The movement was too much for her, and she closed her eyes,
trying to regain the little equilibrium she'd reacquired while
lying motionless on the floor.

"Voyager, three to beam up to Sickbay."

****

Captain's Log

I have placed Commander Chakotay in charge of the Voyager
until further notice.  I am not in command of my own mind,
and thus am not fit to command others.  I and Lieutenant Paris
are on indefinite medical leave until this matter can be resolved.


Personal Log


The Halamvid incident has been resolved peacefully, thanks to
Mr. Tuvok, who was able to persuade them of the correct
course of action.  Apparently his otherworldly appearance and
resistance to mental pressure was able to convince them of his
credentials.  If not for his actions, I and Mr. Paris would be
even now reciting everything we know of Federation methods
and technology for their amusement.  I didn't believe that to be
possible.  Now I know better.  I suppose it's important to learn
I'm not invincible, but I can't say as I like the lesson very
much.

****

The holodeck already had an occupant.  Paris hesitated at the
door.  He didn't have much else to do, not without his job, and
with everyone he cared to socialize with busy at work.  He
didn't feel very much like going back to his quarters and staring
at the walls again.  As long as it wasn't a private program and
wasn't someone he couldn't stand, he could always join them. 
Holodecks were much bigger on the inside than on the outside. 
He didn't have to socialize if he didn't want to.  And he didn't
want to.  His edges felt even more rough than usual. 
"Computer, who is in the holodeck?"

"Captain Kathryn Janeway."

He heard the words and stared at the door.  Squaring his
shoulders, he went in.

The door opened into a library.  Paris blinked, letting his eyes
readjust.  The room was dark, a sharp contrast to the bright
light of Voyager's halls.

He didn't see the woman sitting on the rug in front of the fire
until she spoke.  "Mr. Paris.  This is a surprise."

He came around the couch to where he could see her.  She was
out of uniform, in a white cabled sweater, with her knees drawn
up to her chest, and her hair down around her shoulders.  She
looked like she'd been staring into the fire, searching for
something.  Perhaps the same thing he was missing.

"I'm sorry, Captain.  I didn't mean to intrude.  I... I'll be
going."

"Nonsense, Mr. Paris, have a seat."  She motioned to the
leather couch.

Reluctantly, he sat.

She sat there in silence, staring at each other, Paris perched
uncomfortably on the edge of the couch, resisting the urge to
fidget under her cool gaze.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice almost gentle.

He started to make the automatic response, trained into him by
too many prying inquiries into his feelings after what had
happened to him before.  But this was different.  She had gone
through it with him.  And he couldn't see giving the captain,
this captain, anything less than honesty.  "Better."

She nodded.  "I feel better as well.  It would be hard not to." 
She looked down, away from him.  "I still don't feel in
control."  Her voice was very soft.  "I don't remember what
being me was like."

The admission cut at him.  Hearing *her* say it was shattering. 
Hesitantly, he spoke, his voice layered with years of bitterness
and pain.  "You'll remember."

The sound of his voice recalled her to her place and position. 
She felt ashamed of herself for even feeling such a weakness,
much less speaking it.  He was one of her crew, she couldn't be
anything less than the captain to him.  But then, everyone was
her crew now, and the only person she could ever be completely
herself before was an infinitely long distance away.  Which was
why she had created this holodeck scenario.  But there was no
satisfaction in it, no catharsis.  "You've gone through this
before."

It wasn't quite a question, but he responded as if it were, a
pained looked crossing his face.  "I have.  You'll remember. 
I... I can't say that you'll be the same person though."

A look of sympathy crossed her face.  "You weren't the same
person afterwards?"

"How could I be?" Paris asked bitterly.  "The proud young
admiral's son died there.  I... He was a fool and he deserved to
die.  Who I am now is an entirely different person, and I can't
always say I like him very much."

She scooted closer to him, feeling an empathy with him. 
"You're a fine person now, Mr. Paris.  I'm proud to have you
as one of my officers."

He looked at her, trying to see something in her eyes.  "I didn't
break back there, you know."

She made a small sound in her throat, trying to encourage him.

"You can't break something that's already broken.  I... I'm not
what you think I am."

"You're more than good enough for me, Mr. Paris."  She
reached out to him, covering his hand with her own in a quick
expression of comfort.

He reacted as if struck, holding very still then, searching her
face for any sign of mockery or possible danger.  Finding none,
he still held taut, unable to accept the small gesture.

She pulled back, seemingly without noticing how he'd frozen. 
When she spoke, her voice had a hint of self-deprecation in it. 
"I suspect you'll recover much faster than I will.  I had never
imagined an experience like that."

"I'd rather have been beaten."

She lifted an eyebrow at him, acknowledging the double
entendre.  "Really, Mr. Paris?"

He colored despite himself, and then grinned.  "I see you've
heard about my reputation."

The corners of her mouth lifted.  "I wouldn't judge a person
based on gossip."

Abruptly he sobered.  "No, you wouldn't."  He looked at her,
studying her slender form clad in the soft, clinging sweater.  "I
appreciate that, captain.  I can't tell you how much I appreciate
that."

"It's all right, Mr. Paris."  She smiled at him, an approving
look.  "Your work has always been more than satisfactory."

"Thank you."  He dropped the habitual air of defensiveness he
wore for a moment.  "You don't know how much that means to
me."

"I think I have an idea."  She smiled at him, then dropped her
eyes again, remembering again why she was there at all, what
had happened to draw them together like this.  "That... that was
the most intensely unpleasant experience in my life.  I would
never have believed that the total lack of feeling or seeing or
hearing could be so devastating."

Paris held silent, honoring her confession.

She continued, talking more to herself than to him.  "When I
found out that we'd been in there less than an hour each time, I
felt even more like a failure.  An hour?  Three hours total and I
couldn't even last that long.  We... The third time, I couldn't
even remember who I was until you called me 'Captain'."  She
shook her head, as if trying to clear it of thoughts she'd rather
not have.  "What would have happened if they'd done it again?"

She shivered, despite her heavy sweater and the fire.

Without thinking about it, Paris dropped down next to her,
kneeling by her side.  He didn't touch her.  "You can't blame
yourself that way.  I... I didn't think I'd even survive that time. 
Once more..."  He looked at her with a direct look in his clear
eyes.  "If you hadn't been there, I would have given in before
then.  You gave me the courage I needed to keep trying."

She looked at him, so close to her.  He was trying to comfort
her now, and comfort was the one thing she couldn't accept and
desperately needed.  "I was as frightened as you were, Mr.
Paris.  Even more because I am responsible for you and for
what happens to you."

He shook his head, but didn't say anything.  What she was
saying was only the truth, but he couldn't remember the last
time anyone had taken responsibility for him, had cared what
happened to him.

They were very close to each other, and Janeway was intensely
of conscious of that, of Paris' presence there.  He wouldn't do
anything; she had no fear of him.  Traditions old as time held
them bound.  She was the captain, he would never take the
initiative, would not step over that line.  She didn't know what
she wanted or what she was thinking.  

With a soft sigh, she leaned over, giving him time to back
away.  But he didn't move, just let her lean into him, until her
head was cradled against his shoulder.  That acceptance was all
she needed to bring unwanted tears to her eyes, and she buried
her face in his chest, sagging against him.  His arms came
around her, and she let him hold her.  He stared over her head
at the fire, neither of them wanting to verbalize how much they
needed this comfort, how little they were able to expose of their
real selves to anyone.

After an eternal time, Janeway spoke, with her light tone trying
to establish some distance between them.  "You don't seem so
cocky now, Mr. Paris."

"Well, I left my cocky uniform back in my quarters," he said.

She looked up at him then.  The uncertainty in her face was
mirrored in his.  Neither of them knew what they were doing. 
But she seemed to see something else there as well, something
under that brilliant facade other than cynicism and defiance.

Before she could think better of it, she raised her hands to his
shoulders and levered herself up, kissing him.

His hands shifted to keep pace with her changing position, but
he didn't resist.  Instead, he responded with a fervency of desire
that surprised her.  His skill she expected, the way he waited for
her to make a move, then took control of it, his free hand
moving down her side in a slow caress to her hip.  But she had
not expected to find that he had a need almost as great as her
own.

His lips moved over hers, warm and firm, the heat of that
contact burning through to her cold, sensation-starved soul.  She
was breathing in his essence, being plundered, and it felt
*good*.

With a shock, she pulled away, dropping her head to his chest.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sick panic racing through him. 
What had he been thinking?  This was the *captain*.  Talk
about abusing his position.

"I can't do this.  I apologize... Tom."  She looked up at him on
his name, then away again, unable to meet the concern and the
accusation in his eyes.  "I should never have done that.  I...
what you must think of me.  I don't do things like this."

"Like what?" he asked, his habitual caustic tone lacing his
voice.  "Play around with the notorious rake, Tom Paris? 
You're not the only one who doesn't do things like that."

She reacted more to his tone than his words.  "What do you
mean?"

He didn't want to explain, but he couldn't deny her anything. 
"Do you really think anyone is going to want to throw away
their career on an ex-con?"

Forgetting her own troubles of the conscience, she looked up at
him.  "Career?  A brief affair is hardly something to derail a
career.  And then there's the Delaney sisters..."  She closed her
mouth and blushed.

He chuckled, and that embarrassed even her more.  "I couldn't
even get lucky with a hologram.  You've seen how they torment
me."

Her eyes twinkled.  "And who programmed them?"

He pretended a look of offended innocence.  "I have no idea. 
Obviously a masochist with deep psychological problems."

She stirred in his arms, pulling away from his warmth.  She
didn't want to, had needed this sort of contact for too long.  It
had almost been like being home again, but it was all a fantasy,
and a very dangerous fantasy at that.

She turned to look at him, to apologize for her actions yet again
and set the barrier back between them.

He reached out to her, brushing a stray lock of golden-red hair
out of her face.  His hand touched her cheek lightly, and she
leaned into it despite herself, wanting that contact and deeply
ashamed of herself for that.

She covered his hand with her own, stopping him.  "No.  We
can't.  As much as I want to, it's not possible."

Her whole body was inclined toward him, even though she was
no longer quite touching him, and that he wanted her was
undeniable from his manner and his body.

"Because you're the captain?" Paris asked, the words quiet in
the still room.  He didn't pull his hand back, and she didn't let
go of it.

"Yes.  Because of that.  And because I... don't want anything
more... and you do deserve more than that."

He smiled ruefully.  "I don't think I've ever heard *that* speech
before.  I've *given* it a couple of times, but I've never heard
it."

She looked sternly at him, the captain in her coming to the
forefront.  "Do you understand me, Mr. Paris?"

"Yes, I understand, captain."

"Good."  Drawing all the regal dignity around her which she
could summon, Janeway waited for him to pull away, waited for
him to leave her alone with her endlessly downward spiralling
thoughts and the fire.

Instead he reached out for her again, pushing her gently back on
the rug while coming to rest next to her.  She didn't resist.  He
leaned over her propped up on one elbow, free hand tracing the
line of her jaw.  "I understand that this didn't happen, that
neither of us was ever weak enough to want someone else, that
completely meaningless physical passion is the most I can
handle, and that you are too perfect, too far about human to
ever need someone else this way.  Is that right?"

"And if it is?" Janeway asked breathlessly.

"Then we forget who we are for the moment and be what we
want to be."  He looked down at her, eyes serious.  "I can
cloak it in hundreds of pretty words, but I want you.  I care
about you, my dear captain.  You gave me trust when no on
else would, and you pulled me through this last situation when
nothing else worked.  It would be an honor and a pleasure to
give a little back."

"And afterwards?"

"Toasted marshmallows?"

Her eyebrows narrowed, and he revised his answer.  "You'll
still be the captain, and I'll still be Lieutenant Paris.  What else
is there?"  His voice was light, but his eyes were bleak, with no
hope in them.

She tugged on the front of his uniform, pulling him down,
trying to keep her own voice as light.  "I don't think I've had
such an appealing offer all day."

"All *day*?" he asked, even as he let himself be pulled
off-balance.  He covered her mouth with his own, not giving
her a chance to respond.  Her mouth opened under his, warm
and inviting, and he lost himself in that sensation.

His hand moved down her body, stroking her over the sweater. 
Watching her eyes, he pushed underneath until his hand was
touching bare skin.

She sighed, moving her hand to his cheek, pulling her mouth
away from him.  "Yes.  That feels good.  You don't know..."

"Don't know what it's like to want contact with someone else
after having been locked inside your own head?"  His eyes were
a little desperate, and she recognized what he was saying, what
he couldn't ask for, but wanted just the same.

Her hand trailed down his cheek to his neck, stroking the
exposed skin above his collar.  Involuntarily, he shuddered.

Huskily, she said, "You may have a point."  Janeway ran her
hand down his arm, and over his clothed chest.

"Don't... let me..."

"No.  Allow me."  She sat up, a small smile playing on her
face, and Paris was devastated by it.  Bemusedly, he laid there,
still half-reclining next to her, while she ran her hands over
him, unfastening the uniform tunic, and gradually divesting him
of it.  Unfortunately, he was still wearing the standard issue
shirt under it.  "Starfleet uniforms," she murmured in an
undertone.  "Efficient, practical, and a damned nuisance."

Paris was startled into a laugh, broken off abruptly when she
pulled the shirt up, hands playing over the bare skin of his
stomach.

She had the advantage on him now, and he didn't know whether
he liked that.  In any case, he didn't have a choice.  He watched
with spellbound interest as she pulled her sweater off over her
head, then leaned forward again, tugging his shirt upwards.

The first contact of skin against skin was a shock, tingling over
both of them.  Paris couldn't stand the inactivity any longer, and
sat up, stripping the tunic off with quick movements.

And then she was against him, and the feeling of warm, living
woman against him was enough to bring a prickle of wetness
even to his jaded eyes.  The experience with the Halamvids had
stripped more away from him than he had realized.  He was
glad that this first time, this intensity, was being shared with
someone he could trust.  He didn't know how much further his
facade would crack tonight, and the last thing he wanted was
someone thinking they had seen inside him and were therefore
some sort of friend or lover.

His hands roved down from her shoulders, over her back,
tracing an intricate pattern on her back.

She retaliated by kissing a line from his mouth down his jaw to
his throat.  She was about to move lower, when he stopped her,
putting his hand on the side of her head, tangling in her hair. 
"No.  Let me."

Janeway looked up at him, then allowed him to lay her down on
the rug.  She watched him, firelight dancing in his eyes, and
touching his hair and skin, giving him a warm, honeyed tone. 
His eyes were intense as he looked at her, and she found herself
wondering how long he'd wanted her, or if this had come as
suddenly and powerfully as it had for her.

He came down to her, body settling against her, one leg hooked
over her own, a welcome weight holding her to him.  He kissed
her first in the hollow of her throat, as a lazy hand cupped her
breast.

She caught her breath, closing her eyes in anticipation.

Lips followed his hand, a warm, moist caress tickling her,
swirling around the smooth skin, before finally settling over her
nipple.  The sensation was intense enough on his own, but he
didn't leave it there, instead suckling at her.

Janeway groaned, an answering response moving through the
rest of her body, the needing sensation traveling through her
with a feeling akin to pain, only it wasn't painful.  Her hand
moved up on his own, to rake through his hair, whether to pull
him away or to hold him closer, she couldn't have said.

He turned his head to look up at her.  She wasn't watching him,
but it didn't matter.  She wanted him, and that was gratifying to
his ego, which could always use boosting, despite the rumors to
the contrary.

"I believe it's my turn now," Janeway said huskily.

"We're taking turns?" Paris asked, a sensual look in his eyes. 
"I don't need the encouragement."

She looked up at him, reading the truth of that in his eyes.  She
didn't need to be in control here.  And she didn't want to be,
despite a vague feeling that she should be.  "Carry on."

He grinned at her.  "I will."  He transferred his attention to the
other side, and she closed her eyes again, letting him do
whatever he wanted to her.

The wetness moved down her body, and then gentle, practiced
hands were tugging at her slacks, easing them off her body,
freeing her from the suddenly all too confining clothing.  She
had been cold all evening, but now she was entirely too warm,
needing to feel air on her skin.

Knowledgeable hands moved down her thighs, sweeping across
her skin in arcs which were at first merely soothing, but then
evolved into something more, the sensation unbearably erotic
and tender all at once.  She didn't need to be teased any further. 
What she wanted was him, the reassurance of his body against
hers to tell her that she was alive and that this was real and not
merely some hallucination she had dreamed up in the Halamvid
torture chamber.

She pulled on his shoulders, and he looked at her questioningly. 
"Now?"

"Now."  She tried to sound stern, but failed.  

He stripped off the rest of his clothes, and came down over her,
placing his hands on either side of her.  He held himself like
that, not making another move.  "Are you sure?" he asked.

She ran her hand down his side, making him shudder almost
imperceptibly.  "Are you?"

"Oh, yes."  He didn't wait any longer, but let his weight settle
into  her, sinking as deeply into her body as he could. 

He was being entirely too careful with her, and she didn't want
that right now.  Opening herself wider, she reached down his
back to his buttocks and pulled on him.  

He looked at her, surprised, and she squeezed.  "I don't break."

"No?"  He grinned at her, and then started moving the way he
wanted to, losing himself in the sensation of heat and wetness,
the tight slickness mixing inextricably with the heat of the fire
and the smell and feel of her. 

She moved with him, reaching up to draw him down to her. 
This might be a brief moment of insanity, but it was the only
moment of closeness she was likely to allow herself in an
otherwise lonely existence.  She needed this right now, and
wanted it; however, it was as result of a horrible, shattering
experience.  She couldn't have Paris, couldn't have anyone, and
that made this brief encounter all the more precious.  She
scraped his back lightly with her fingernails, her hands moving
up into his hair.

He covered her mouth with his own, and she sighed softly.  The
pleasure of it, the feeling of him moving inside her, of his lips,
his strength, all gave her a deep sense of contentment and
fulfillment.  This was what she'd wanted, this elemental
experience.  Nothing else mattered.

He shuddered and went still, pulling his head back, exposing the
line of his throat to her.  She reached an idle hand up, and
traced the muscles of his chest as he continued to move inside
her, not yet wanting to finish this.

Paris looked down at the woman under her.  "Now?"

She shook her head.  "No.  That was... quite enough."

He moved off her, to the side, looking quizzical.  "I don't
mind."

She rolled on her side, looking at him, still tracing the lines of
his chest, a slight smile playing on her face.  "No."

He shrugged.  "If that's what you want.  Never refuse a lady
anything, that's my motto."

She smiled.  "It would be."

In a moment, they'd have to return to the real world, where she
was his captain and this had never happened, where she had
never shown this damning vulnerability.  But that was in a
moment.  For now...

Janeway moved closer to him, resting her head against him,
until he closed his arms around her.  "This is what I want."

He stroked her arm.  "If you're sure..."

"I'm sure.  Ssh."

He was quiet then, and held her as they both listened to the
crackle of the holographic fire.


--the end--