Work Text:
Tom
He came to my door after my first shift back on duty, quiet knock, quiet voice. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
Right. Like I couldn’t smell the parole officer in his tone. I sprawled on the couch, made a joke of it. Always safer that way. “Well, well. A house call. Guess I rate higher than I thought.”
He didn’t rise to it. Just stood there, arms folded, patient as ever. That was the thing with Chakotay — he could outwait a glacier. Drove me insane. So I went for the cracks.
“What’s this, Commander? Checking if thirty days in solitary managed to set me straight? Making sure I’ve learned my lesson about disobedience?”
A flicker — maybe guilt, maybe just the lights. “That’s not why I’m here,” he said.
“Sure it is. You just forgot your PADD.”
He didn’t bite. Just silence again, heavy, like he was weighing every word before he let it out.
“I still trust you, Tom,” he said finally.
For a second, I almost believed it — and then I remembered the silence, the cell, the way no one but Neelix said my name for thirty days. “Don’t,” I said. “Don’t throw that word at me like it still means something.”
He opened his mouth, closed it again. So I kept going. “You know what killed me in there? Not the confinement. Not even her. It was knowing everyone could see me locked up like an exhibit, and no one — not even you — said a word.”
“You don’t know what I said,” he murmured.
“Doesn’t matter what you said *to her*,” I snapped. Where I was, silence was the only company I had. That’s what I’ll remember.” I pushed to my feet, stepped closer. “Guess I wasn’t worth the risk of another fight with the Captain. Easier to keep the peace than stand up for the guy who keeps screwing things up, right?”
His jaw tightened. “That’s not how I think of you. And neither does the Captain.”
“That’s not what she said to me.”
The words landed. He flinched — tried to hide it — and something in me twisted, ugly and reckless.
“Come on, Commander. You said in the Maquis you handled discipline differently. No lectures, no reports — just your fist.”
His expression hardened. “That was then.”
“Then maybe you should try it again. You remember the mess hall? Dalby mouthed off, you flattened him. Guess I just don’t rate the same treatment.”
“Tom—”
I cut him off with a sharp laugh. “Or maybe it’s because I was never one of yours. The Maquis — your people — they got your loyalty. Me? I was the arrogant ex-Starfleet kid who sold you out.”
His breath hitched, almost imperceptibly.
“Don’t pretend you never thought it. I remember the way you looked at me when you saw me on Voyager’s bridge. You saw the traitor, the coward, the one who’d run at the first sign of trouble.” I moved closer, close enough to see my reflection in his eyes. “Part of you was relieved when she tossed me in that cell. Proved you were right all along.”
“No,” he pressed out. I was getting to him — I could see it in the way he stood perfectly still, like the smallest movement might set him off.
“I know what I did. I’d have thrown myself in the brig if she hadn’t beat me to it. But she didn’t punish the action — she punished the person. And you let her.” His eyes flickered. “You talk about loyalty like it’s sacred, but you’re just like her. Calm, righteous, letting someone else do the dirty work so you didn’t have to.”
“That’s enough,” he snapped, eyes flashing.
“At least she didn’t pretend she cared,” I said, and smiled — small, tired. “You do.”
“Stop,” he said, voice tight.
“Make me.”
His fist connected with my jaw.
Bright crack of pain. For half a heartbeat I felt vindicated — seen — and then it was gone, swallowed by a hollowness spreading faster than the hurt.
I laughed, raw and jagged, because if I didn’t, I’d fall apart. “There it is,” I rasped. “At least I’m worth your anger now.”
But it didn’t feel like belonging. It felt like nothing. And that scared me more than the blow.
=/\=
Chakotay
My knuckles sting. His laugh cuts sharper than the sound of the hit.
What have I done?
Tom’s eyes are wild, bright — but there’s no triumph. Only wreckage. “See? That wasn’t so hard,” he rasps. It goes straight through me.
For a second, all I can hear is the containment field coming up thirty days ago — the sound I told myself I’d learned to live with. I told myself I couldn’t change her mind. That she was the captain and I was her first officer. That loyalty meant restraint.
He broke protocol. He disobeyed orders. A punishment made sense — we both knew that. But thirty days alone? That wasn’t discipline. That was abandonment dressed up as regulation. I knew what that silence would do to him. And I let it happen.
Now I can see exactly what my restraint bought him: this moment. This pain.
“I shouldn’t have—” The words scrape out of me.
He cuts me off with a grin all teeth and blood. “Save it. You wanted honesty? That was honest. Don’t spoil it with apologies.”
But it wasn’t honesty. It was despair — his and mine.
“You’ve seen enough, Commander,” he says quietly. “Door’s that way.”
He turns from me. Shoulders rigid, jaw set. Closed off in every way that matters. I stand there one useless second longer, then turn and leave.
The doors hiss shut behind me. It sounds final. I flex my hand. The sting flares. It isn’t just his skin that’s bruised.
Silence was supposed to mean loyalty. Now it just sounds like cowardice. And I know — this isn’t over.
=/\=
Tom
The bruise still throbbed when I worked the bag in the gym the next afternoon. Every hit sent a jolt down my jaw — a reminder. I told myself I liked it. Proof. Fire. Something Janeway hadn’t given me.
The doors hissed open behind me. Didn’t need to look. I could feel his eyes on me.
I reset my stance, shoulders loose the way he kept his when he boxed. Funny, using his favorite coping trick to outrun my own head. Maybe some part of me wanted him to see that.
“What’s this?” I threw over my shoulder. “Another welfare check? Careful, Commander — people might think you care.”
“Cut it out, Tom.” His voice was low, but unyielding.
I snorted and drove another punch into the bag. “Why? Last time I pushed you, you gave me exactly what I asked for.”
The bag stopped under my hands — caught in his.
“And I regret it,” he said. “Every second since.”
I barked a rough laugh. “Don’t. It was the first honest thing anyone’s given me in weeks.”
“That wasn’t honesty. That was me losing control. You don’t deserve that.”
“Don’t I?” I stepped back, towel twisting in my hands. “Because it felt a hell of a lot more real than being frozen out like I didn’t exist. You say you trust me, but you won’t show it. Not the way you did with your Maquis.”
“This isn’t the Maquis,” he said quietly — but there was a shadow behind it, something unsaid.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Believe me, I noticed.”
Another punch. Too hard. Knuckles singing under the wraps. He’d know exactly how that felt; he’d done this routine after bad missions, bad calls. He watched me in silence — the kind that settled heavy, like the brig air again.
Finally, he said, “This isn’t about punishment anymore, is it? It’s about belonging.”
My fist stilled against the bag. A bitter laugh escaped. “Congratulations, Commander. You cracked the code.”
He studied me — really looked — and then inclined his head, decision settling over him.
“If what you need is proof,” he said quietly, “then we’ll do this my way. Not because you baited me into it. But because you asked, and because I hear you.”
My throat felt dry. “And what’s your way?”
“Something controlled. Not humiliation. Not punishment. Trust.” His eyes held mine. “You’ll take what I give you — and you’ll know you’re one of mine.”
=/\=
Chakotay
The cargo bay is silent that evening — the kind of silence that hums in the bulkheads. I chose it because it’s neutral. Empty. No bridge, no rank, no ghosts of the Maquis. Just us.
Tom arrives without a word. No joke this time. He looks tired, but steady — like he already chose to walk through whatever this will be.
“This isn’t punishment,” I tell him again, quietly. “This is mine. You asked for proof, and I’m giving it — on my terms.”
He nods once. No bravado. No smirk. Just trust — or exhaustion that looks like it. I set my hand on the back of his neck, the way I used to ground my crew before a hard drop. Warm skin. Rapid pulse. My hand still remembers the mistake yesterday — the shock of impact, the hollow that followed. This would be different. Controlled, like I promised.
“You accepted discipline,” I murmur. “I know you never argued that part. But you didn’t deserve to be shut out. Not from her. Not from me. I won’t let you disappear again.” My hand steadies. “Stay with me.”
He braces against a support beam, fingers white around the edge. The first strike echoes louder than I meant. He flinches, breath catching — but holds. My other hand stays on him — shoulder, neck — the point of contact that says *I’m here*.
Each blow lands with his breathing. Measured. Deliberate. Not anger. Not retribution. A rhythm meant to anchor, not punish.
His breaths change — quick, sharp, then slower. I listen, adjust. Keep going until the count blurs. Enough to burn, not to break. The breaking was done elsewhere — not by me, but I didn’t stop it either. All I can do now is build something out of the ruins.
His sounds grow smaller, sharper. Pain edging through. But he doesn’t pull away. He leans into my hand.
When I stop, silence returns all at once. He’s trembling, sweat-slick, and out of breath — but still upright. Still holding on.
“You wanted fire,” I say softly. “You wanted proof.” My thumb presses at the base of his spine. “You have it. You’re mine, Tom. One of mine.”
I hate that it sounds like ownership, but it's the only language I have left — the only one Tom might trust to mean *stay*.
His breath comes ragged, a sound between a sob and a sigh. Then, when he finds his voice again: “I know.”
I lean my forehead to his, letting the steadiness of my breath meet his. When I pull back, I let my hand fall away slowly.
There’s no victory here — only understanding. What silence broke, we rebuilt in sound. For now, that’s all I can give. It’s all he can take. I only hope it’s enough.
=/\=
Tom
When he stepped back, my legs nearly gave out. Not from the blows — although they’d left their mark — but from the silence afterward. For a second, I didn’t know what to do with it.
His hand had stayed at my neck the whole time. That surprised me more than anything. It never left. Every strike, every ragged breath — he’d kept me anchored. And when he stopped — when his forehead touched mine — I almost broke.
It didn’t feel like I expected. Not triumph. And, like he said, not punishment. Not the sharp proof I’d been chasing. It was heavier. Steadier. Pain, yes — but braided with something that held.
I’d wanted him to lose control. To hit me. To show I still mattered enough to spark anger.
But that wasn’t what he gave me.
He gave me control back. He showed me exactly how far he’d go and no further. How to trust the limits of someone else’s hands. And in that, I realized he'd been right. It hadn’t been anger I wanted — it was evidence I still existed to someone.
When he said I was one of his, I believed him. I thought nothing could replace what I lost with the Captain. I thought no one could fill that space. But tonight, Chakotay did something she never could — he stayed. He saw me, and he stayed.