VARIATIONS ON A THEME

Disclaimer: See Part 1

Rated NC-17

PART 6: REPRESSION - FORCE

Warning - contains elements of non-consensual sex. If you prefer not to read this, skip straight to Part 7: Workforce - Betrayal

She held her chin high, betraying no outward sign of fear as Ayala escorted her to her ready room. Although Chakotay held control of Voyager, Kathryn refused to think of it as his ready room. He loved her. There was no way in hell he could continue through with this takeover. She'd heard the rumors -- indeed, Ayala, who had been guarding the brig, had made damn sure she had heard them. He'd whispered that Captain Chakotay intended leaving the Starfleet crew on the next M-class planet they came to. He'd whispered more as well, as his hand ran from shoulder to breast in a calculating fashion. How ironic, he'd said in a low voice, that Captain Chakotay hadn't cared enough about his former lover to even spare her this. Indeed, he'd told him to do whatever was necessary to ensure she remained confined.

Kathryn had seen the thick erection outlined in his pants, and known exactly how he intended "stopping" her. It had taken every ounce of a captain's control to reply that it was her understanding that Captain Chakotay still regarded her as his exclusive property, and that he was known to be brutal to those who took what belonged to him.

Ayala had wavered, his eyes holding the steely faraway look of a man possessed, one who took long moments to weigh up the truth in her words. Words that Kathryn devoutly hoped still held true.

In the ready room, she wasn't so sure. Chakotay's eyes were tempered with anger, and he looked right through her as if she were the lowest crewman. Indeed, worse than the lowest crewman. In vain, she searched for her gentle, passionate lover from a few nights ago, the one who had whispered how much he loved her, but he seemed to have dissipated out of the viewport, transformed into this facsimile of his former self. The knot of apprehension wound itself more firmly around her gut.

Her eyes flickered to Tuvok; he was an unknown quantity, he'd betrayed both her and Chakotay before. But his eyes showed their normal dark stoicism, but even so, Kathryn found she could read them less than ever.

Chakotay handed Tuvok a phaser. "It's set to kill."

No. This couldn't possibly be happening. Her rejection of the idea was total, her eyes instinctively seeking Chakotay's, expecting to find, even now, that it was some terrible joke. But Chakotay, dressed in his Maquis leathers, was leaning casually back against the desk, a glass of brandy--her brandy--in his hand.

Tuvok raised the phaser, and she resisted the urge to throw herself at Chakotay, to shake him, plead with him, or even to close her eyes. Instead, she lifted her chin and calmly stared death in the face.

When the phaser malfunctioned, she couldn't control the small slump of relief. Chakotay had noticed, she saw, and seemed amused. She watched him dismiss Ayala and Tuvok, and a small hope sparked within her. Now that it was just the two of them, maybe she could reach him. She knew that somehow, he was controlled by Teero, the Bajoran vedic who had imbedded his subversive message into Tuvok's letter, knew that Chakotay's actions weren't his own, but right now, that didn't make it any better. Damn him, he was her lover, he loved her, and he had sworn to protect her. He shouldn't be doing this.

The door closed behind Tuvok, and Kathryn forced herself to remain still. She wanted the first move to come from him, which would give her some clue as to how best to approach him.

Chakotay drained the rest of the brandy, and upended the bottle over his glass. Only a dribble remained.

"Such fine brandy, Kathryn, but it appears to be finished. Still, you won't need it where you're going."

"That was our brandy, Chakotay. Remember? We toasted our return to Voyager after New Earth, celebrated and swore to remain lovers, no matter what might be thrown at us. Do you remember that?" She stalked toward him, moving into his space, searching his face for some sort of recognition of the moment.

Something indefinable flickered across his face for a brief second, before it resumed its hardened mask. "I do remember. But that was then. It has no relevance now."

"It has every relevance. You loved me. You still do. And I love you. And, more importantly you are about to commit the crew you love to a life of exile." She moved closer, wrapping both hands around his bare forearm. The muscles were corded with tension under her fingers. "Fight this, Chakotay. I know you can."

He turned toward her, and she nearly staggered back at his fierce and calculating expression. "The love for a woman cannot compare to the love for a cause."

Her anger spiked, and she gripped him hard, shaking his forearm. "That's bullshit," she hissed. "The Maquis are gone - dead or in jail. You're part of this crew now, all of you. And there's more. People are building relationships, Starfleet and Maquis. You may think you won't miss me, but can you say that of all of the Maquis? What about B'Elanna? Yosa? Gerron?"

His eyes slid away from her. "They will adapt."

"Now you sound like the damn Borg. Look at me, Chakotay. Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want me anymore."

He turned back to her, and for a glorious moment, the anguish in his eyes made her believe she'd won. Then the mask slid back into place, like a cloud covering the sun, and his lip curled. "I do want you, Kathryn. I want that tight body under mine, I want to take you hard, until you cry out for me to stop. I want to fuck you again -- I'll always want that -- but in this life, and in the Maquis you quickly learn that you can't always have what you want." He smiled again, a quick, hard smile, and her heart broke a little more. "Ayala wants you too. Maybe I'll let him have you while I watch."

Kathryn fought to subdue the wave of panic. Seeing Chakotay like this was hard, but she wasn't down yet. There had to be a way to bring him back, subdue Teero and the mind control, and then, finally, when the crew was safe, they could rebuild their relationship. But if he gave her to Ayala... Her Chakotay would never forgive himself if he let that happen.

Thinking fast, she pressed herself closer to him. "But you want me too," she said huskily. "And you wouldn't want to take second place to Ayala..." She let the image hang in the air. If she could elicit some lovemaking from him, maybe he would remember, maybe they could reconnect that way.

Slowly, he crowded her, pushing her back so that she rested against the desk. "Have it your way," he said. "But remember you suggested it." Hooking his fingers in the top of her turtleneck, he ripped hard, tearing it, ripping open her uniform jacket. He continued, until her top pooled around her hips, then stepped back.

"Take them off." His fingers were busy with the fly of his pants, pushing it aside so that his cock poked through, purple-tipped and shiny.

"No," she said quietly. "Not like this. With love, or not at all."

He reached for her, twisting her arms easily behind her back with one hand, while the other forced her pants down. "You lost any say in the matter when you asked that I not give you to Ayala."

The flimsy panties tore under his rough touch. Kathryn fought him, trying to twist her hands out of his grasp, trying to knee him in the groin, but the pants hampered her movements. His cock was as hard as she'd ever seen it, ready to take her, just as soon as he could.

He reached in to kiss her, his mouth bruising on hers, grinding her lips into her teeth, so that she tasted the coppery sharp taste of fresh blood. With his free hand, he disposed of the torn panties, and moved in closer, kneeing her clenched thighs apart.

The wave of panic would not be stopped. This was worse than the Cardassian prison, so many years ago. This was more insidious, and touched her soul, and hurt all the more because of who was hurting her, who was taking her without care and concern. He was between her thighs, and he grunted as he tried to work his cockhead into her resisting sex.

"Relax," he commanded. "It will hurt you less."

She wouldn't let herself cry. Show no weakness. And this might be his last memory of her - it was fitting that he remember her strong. But there was still some fight left in her. She bit down hard on his lip and held on like a terrier.

His gasp of pain was followed by a painful twisting of her hands. Chakotay squeezed hard, burning her wrists with his grip. And then he took advantage of her weakening to drive his cock up into her in one sure thrust.

He stilled. She stilled, and released her bite. Surely, now she was imagining the broken look in his eyes? But they held a flicker of awareness they hadn't shown a moment before, and his mouth was working, up and down, a tremble in his lip.

Her fear evaporated like nebula ghosts. She moved her wrists gently in his grasp and his hands fell away. Softly, she stroked the smear of blood from his bitten lip and suckled her own fingers. His eyes were damp, and when he brought his hand up to clasp her wrist, gently and oh, so softly, he rubbed over the red marks and bruises, his touch that of her lover, her partner, her life. "Chakotay," she murmured, and shifted, so that he slipped out of her, to lie soft against her thigh.

And the choking sounds of horror and misery were the Chakotay she knew and loved. He clutched her tightly, and even as she rejoiced to have him back, her heart tore a little more to see his pain. Her wrists ached, and her lip stung where he had cut it. Her sex felt bruised and battered from his efforts, and when she shifted her thigh, the soreness stung like a plasma burn. But none of it mattered; Chakotay was back, and somehow now they would make it right.

Dimly she was conscious of the swish of the door. Chakotay's head rested on her shoulder, her neck damp with his tears. She cradled his dear dark head, then met Tuvok's gaze over his shoulder.

"Captain," he said. "If you will allow me?"

Without hesitation, she released Chakotay to Tuvok's hands, watching as he initiated the mindmeld. Chakotay slumped, bonelessly into the Vulcan's embrace, before Tuvok lowered him to the couch.

Kathryn stood tall, pulling her torn clothes around her, and met Tuvok's gaze. "It will be all right now," she said, as much to herself as to him. "It has to be all right now."