Disclaimer: Voyager belongs to Paramount Pictures. No infringement intended. As for this lil story, I, couldn't help it. I heard this catchy and funny song, by Shaggy called "Wasn't Me", on the radio (reggae of course) and that just brought an idea to mind.
Picture this. You're minding your own business. Well, maybe you're not minding anything at all. Maybe you're just trying to resolve what your eyes witnessed only minutes ago. Or maybe your debating whether to find the nearest escape pod and get the hell out, before the consequences of it all come into play. Then again, what would Voyager do without a chief engineer? Then again, what would a Captain do with a phaser-torpedo bank and a lone escape-pod on the run?
You see, it wasn't my fault. Oh no. In fact it reeked of everything Chakotay and Kathryn had originally worried about. All those discussions of 'protocol' and of 'boundaries' when it came to becoming involved with one another; how it might complicate matters for the crew. Well, newsflash. The only one dealing with anything, right now, is me, myself and I.
I, B'Elanna Torres caught them both, buck-naked, *banging* on the bedroom floor. Chakotay's bedroom floor, to be exact.
I had gone in there, to tell Chakotay a thing or two . . . how he shouldn't have reprimanded Tom for kissing me in Engineering at the end of my shift. I was, of course, ready to step out of line in order to defend my man. But I didn't have a chance.
Using my override code, the one Chakotay himself had given me for emergencies of the friendship nature, I went inside. There, after hearing a tidbit of noise here, a tidbit of noise there -- my mind not putting together the nature of which the sounds resulted from -- I went into the bedroom.
I can tell you now, my jaw has never dropped so rapidly, nor have my cheeks flushed with hot blood that harshly before. Nor have the Captain and the Commander ever scattered from one another so quickly before. It wasn't a pretty sight. Not for me. Now don't get me wrong, I have wanted the two of them to get together for the past seven years. I just didn't want to be party to their, ahem, 'party.'
So, picture this. The Captain has locked herself in Chakotay's bathroom. Chakotay's claim to scoring fame is now, how shall we say, 'falling'? And I just can't seem to move, to go, to get out and run like Klingon-battle-hell.
"B'Elanna?" Chakotay's voice is hoarse. He makes a grab for the sheet, thank god. "What the hell are you doing here?!" Vital parts covered. Noted.
"I--" is that my voice? So weak with what? Embarrassment? Astonishment? "Was going to . . ." Something. I knew I was there for a reason -- but that reason was gone. Vanished. Beamed into oblivion by the sexual festivities in the Commander's room.
My hand drifted to my temple, trying to stop the whirling that usually only came with blood-wine mixing with my human half. I recalled that I should probably leave. My legs screamed to do something, messages coursing through the nerves that wired them to go, to move, to leave!
"Leaving!" I stated and rushed out of the bedroom and out through the door. I didn't catch any sort of request to stay. I did catch the click of the bathroom door opening before I left though. Had the Captain emerged? Had she been expecting me to have stayed?
"Stayed and discussed what had happened? No way," I snorted with the thought. "Too complicated," I growled as I exited the turbolift and went onto Deck Three. Deck three . . .
So here I currently am, wandering the ship and trying to think of the next best thing to do. I know I can't tell Tom. Even though I love him dearly, I know he still has those secret betting pools. Harry would be a pointless outlet -- I'd only stress him out, too. And frankly, those escape pods are made to house only *one* comfortably. The Doctor would only want more details, Tuvok would raise an eyebrow and state that it was 'illogical,' and Seven would no doubt say 'rather inefficient' or some borgified statement or other. No, no I was going to deal with this on my own.
"Chakotay to Torres."
That was my combadge.
"Damn," I muttered and tapped it a second later. "Torres here," I stated. I wanted to stomp my foot, stomp a whole all the way through fifteen decks so I'd fall out and into space. Sure would end it all -- but talk about a death lacking in honor.
"The Captain and I would like to request a moment of your time, in the ready room?" his voice seemed unsure. Hesitant. Duh.
Maybe a death without honor wouldn't be so bad after all. "On my way." What other choice did I have. Don't remind me, I know . . .