Title: Cruel Like Us
Author: Christinecgb
(c.giles@curtin.edu.au)
Web:
http://appelsini.tripod.com/Christine/
Category: J/Torres
Rating: R
Archive: Sure
Summary: "The
rehearsal is, of course, nothing like the actual
event."
Acknowledgements: This
is a companion piece to August's
"Three Planets Left
of Risa" told from the POV of B'Elanna
which can be found at
http://members.tripod.com/~Appelsini/index-71.html.
This
universe is consistent
with the one in that story.
This story is also written
for Project S31
(http://www.geocities.com/project_s31/)
and Round 4 of the
Femme Fuh-q Fest.
With thanks to Liz and
August and Liz once more.
-----------
In my head, I
rehearse. I greet her, she greets me.
Formal.
We use titles. She asks
me what I'm doing and my answer is
patient and articulate.
I've never been either.
Later, I'm reminded that
communication is contextual, not
cerebral. The rehearsal
is, of course, nothing like the actual
event.
And yet I rehearse once
more as I watch her cross the
grounds, thinking I will
tell her that she looks well. Thinking
that I will smile
enigmatically when she asks how I am going.
I notice she's walking
slowly. She's walking like she has
nowhere to go and I know
she hasn't. I know so much about
her now. None of it
surprised me.
And I wanted to be
surprised. I wanted to learn something
about her that shocked
me or scared me so I could justify this
betrayal - if it really
is that. But it's only after reading her file
that I realise she
doesn't shock me at all. She never did.
I learnt things that did
shock me. Back in the Maquis,
Chakotay visited a
brothel on Orion 4. His reasons for visiting
were never revealed
conclusively, but the young men who
worked there offered
testimonies to Starfleet that were
potentially scandalous.
Harry fell in with a
crowd at the Academy, who experimented
with anti-aging theta
radiation treatments. There was no
evidence of his
participation, but he was certainly aware of
their extra curricular
activities. When questioned, he said they
were his friends.
Tom's record had been
opened for scrutiny long before he
found himself on
Voyager, but I found it curious to see that he
had refused visits from
his entire family during his stay at the
Penitentiary in New
Zealand. He refused visits from everyone
except Kathryn Janeway.
*
The other thing I note
about her is the lack of uniform. She's
an Admiral on Starfleet
grounds without a uniform. Perhaps
she thinks she is less
conspicuous this way.
In lighter moments I
think about being in bed with her, being
naked with her. Even without the uniform, without anything
at
all, it is difficult not
to notice her strength and how she can be
frightening and
inspiring at the same time.
I remember looking out
across a room full of uniforms on my
wedding day and seeing
her. She was smiling at me, she was
smiling at us both, and
she looked as though she might cry. I
thought about how she
said, only moments before, "Stick
with
him B'Elanna, you're all
he's got." And I wondered whether
she told him the same
thing about me.
*
Chakotay told me he
hated her over Raktajino in the
Lecturers' Lounge at the
Academy. He said it as though he
didn't expect me to
understand, as though he had to justify
hating this woman when
the rest of us placed her on such a
pedestal. Chakotay
always assumed he had inside knowledge
about Kathryn Janeway.
It wasn't the first time she misled him,
but he was wrong in
thinking she persecuted him.
"She wanted me to
love her so long as I never expected
anything in
return," he said. He had trouble keeping the
bitterness from his
voice but I could tell he wanted to sound as
though he had placed his
feelings in the past. I wondered
whether he'd visited the
brothels on Orion Four since he got
home.
"It's no
excuse," I told him. "And it's not fair."
"You don't know,
B'Elanna."
"I know enough.
Whatever you think she did to you, you've no
right to air your
grievances on the newsfeeds."
He scowled and looked at
the occupants at the next table, who
had been casting quick
looks in our direction.
"She's a hero,
Chakotay," I told him. "You shouldn't forget
that."
"It's not really an
option is it?" He turned to glare
at the table
staring at us. They
instantly looked away.
*
I can count the number
of times on one hand. And sometimes
I do. I remember each
time individually and in great detail. I'm
amazed at the way things
that didn't make sense then, come
together in retrospect.
When we got back, the counsellors told
us about Prisoner of War
syndrome, how it gave us the
strength to do things
that we wouldn't do under normal
circumstances. I asked them what this meant for my marriage,
and they quickly revised
their opinion, telling me how
stabilising my
relationship with Tom had been.
I never told them that I
thought they were right.
Harry said that she was
more than human at times, and it's
that image of her that
wages war with the one where she and I
are intimate.
*
I follow her. I watch
the strollers and joggers part to let her by.
At the Academy they
called that a 'commanding presence'.
She didn't need to be
famous for people to step out of her
way.
She is putting a hand to
her head, brushing the hair from her
face. I think of the
time she parted the hair on my neck to
reveal bruising from the
Cardassian holoprogram. She ran a
dermal regenerator over
the bruise. She told me she was in a
Cardassian prison once,
and that they had tortured her. She
said she found the
alliance with Cardassia unnerving at best,
and it wasn't a lecture
- just a way to tell me she understood,
or that she'd try.
She said she knew what
it was like to want to feel pain in order
to feel alive. Later I
bit her skin and she moaned, moving her
body against my mouth,
reveling in the promise of more to
come.
But when she touched me,
she touched carefully as though I
might tear. She chose
that for me, perhaps hoping I wouldn't
need like she needed.
Sometimes I'm grateful.
*
She gets close and I
call out to her.
She calls me 'Captain'.
It feels strange and ill fitting coming
from her. I feel like a
usurper, the pauper in the king's clothing.
The meeting is brief and
the conversation isn't forced. We
don't talk about Neelix.
Not in the way we should. I kiss her
cheek before I go. I
think of an old human religion, of Judas,
betraying his friend
with a kiss on the cheek. And then there's
a tale in Klingon
folklore about two lovers from warring houses
who meet the night
before battle. They leave each other's
arms only to take up
swords against each other the next day.
It makes me think that
perhaps these wrongs are inevitable.
When I head back to HQ,
I think about Neelix. He visited us a
great deal after Gregor
was born. I remember one night when
he took Miral outside to
look at the stars. She asked him to
indicate the position of
Talax in the night sky. He pointed and
said, "See that
cluster of stars up there? Well, you just fly
straight through the
middle and keep going until you reach
Talax."
Later I told him that we
wouldn't be facing the Delta Quadrant
until at least six in
the morning. He laughed.
"But it's out
there, isn't it?" he said, and he gestured with a
wide sweep of his hand.
I knew then he would
leave, but he'd always come back to us -
to her.
*
Later, they ask me for
an assessment. I don't know what
they're looking for, and
they don't tell me so I say that the
Admiral appears to be in
good health and not suffering from
any noticeable mental
stress.
Manek is in charge of my
project group. She nods thoughtfully
when I tell her this.
"The Admiral is an
unknown element," she says.
"I don't think you
have anything to worry about."
"Is that opinion or
sentiment?"
When I think about our
return, there are things that never
really connect. The
attention they showered me with, the
pardons and the invitations
that never sat comfortably with me.
I expected resistance
from all sides.
"Why did you come
for me?" I ask.
"Excuse me?"
"Section 31 - why
me?"
Manek laughs. "I
would have thought that was obvious. Your
engineering and
scientific skill, your experience in covert
operations. You weren't
the first Maquis asked you know."
"You never asked
Chakotay."
"Too loyal."
"To whom?"
She throws me a pointed
look.
"Is that why I'm
here?"
"Because you're
disloyal?"
I shake my head.
"Because of Captain Janeway."
Manek smiles.
"B'Elanna, do you really think she's that
important to us?"
"Is she?"
Manek leans back into
her chair. "Command was very keen to
get you on board
B'Elanna." Her voice is low and serious.
"And I think you
could do great work here."
I watch Manek's chair
rock slightly from the shift in her weight.
The back of her chair is
high, like a throne. Not like a
captain's chair.
"Will that be
all?" I say.
"We're done,"
she says, and I leave her there in her small
throne.
*
There was, one last time
that makes me think I could be wrong
about everything. I was
pregnant and I noticed how she found
it difficult to touch
me.
"You don't want
this?" I asked her.
"It's not that..."
she said.
"Then...?"
Her eyes fell to my
belly. "You're leaving me," she said and
she smiled a little.
I lifted my hand to my
stomach and stroked it lightly. You can't
leave a place you never
were.
"No...," I
said, and I ran my hand along the inside of her thigh
until it came to rest
just at the top of her leg.
"You will."
She whispered as she caught her breath and I
moved my fingers further
so that they slid inside her. I
remember that I liked to
see her come saying my name.
Later she asked me if
I'd tell Tom if he asked.
"No."
"You'd lie?"
"I can do that. Is
that a problem?"
"No," she
said. "You do what you have to. It's just...I wonder
what you'd tell people,
if they ask."
"Who's going to
ask?"
"Someone
will."
And someone did. We'd
been back just over a year. Tom had
decided it was time to
have another child, and after some
convincing I agreed. I
went through job after job and
motherhood seemed to be
something I did with consistency.
We had one beautiful
child. It was difficult to argue against
another.
They found me teaching
at the Academy. I was approached by
a man young enough to be
one of my students. I don't know
what made me go with
him, why I trusted him, why I cared. I
knew I needed something
different. Something that was as far
from Starfleet as it was
from the Maquis. And maybe I'd
become used to change.
They asked me in an
interview. They said it was just a
formality and I had
nothing to fear from any revelation I might
offer them but the truth
was I'd gone past pretending.
"How would you
describe your relationship with Kathryn
Janeway?"
The question itself did
not surprise me. It was my answer that
came as a shock.
"I loved
her..."
She once told me she
thought we would all be difficult to get
past. She said it and
laughed as if to say 'look at the
sentimental old Captain'
but I knew she was scared it was
true. Scared that she'd
be lingering on our memories long after
we'd forgotten her.
"We all did."
Fin