Guilt's Reflection
Tracy (enchantedmoons)
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Voyager and its characters. :)
Summary: Kathryn muses over her on-going relationship with Tom Paris.
Archive? Sure. :)

NOTE--this is an old story that I wrote a year ago. I'm sending it around the list, hoping it will be "new" to most of you guys. <G>

Kathryn Janeway's Personal Log, Stardate xxxxxxx:
I feel guilty. All right, there, I've admitted it. Guilt is not an emotion that I am familiar with, nor one that I am comfortable with. But it's one that I'm becoming used to. Three months…it's been going on for three months and I still haven't had the courage to tell Chakotay. I haven't had the courage to tell anyone, for that matter. I don't know of anyone aboard Voyager who would understand, or who would listen to me without offering judgment.

Of course, there's always Tuvok. He and I have been together for so long that our friendship at times seems nearly as intimate as a marriage. But Tuvok is not a man who thinks in terms of shades of gray. There is black and white, good and bad, right and wrong, and for him, that's enough. But for me, life has slid into that area in between colors, an area that he could never understand nor accept. And so, as far as a confidant, Tuvok is out.

Another option would be the Doctor. Hell, he's a hologram-how judgmental could he be? Plus, he's a good man; amusing, understanding, accepting. Yes, he might be the one person that I could really share this with. And yet, I hesitate. Is it because he's not a true human being? Or perhaps it's because he's involved with the others in a way that could make it impossible to support me. I am, after all, the other woman.

Chakotay. Ah, how many times have I wished for the strength to go to his quarters and tell him everything? Chakotay is my friend, my strength, my soul. He of all people would try not to judge me, and yet, given his friendship with B'Elanna, how could he stop himself? Telling him would place him in an untenable position, forcing him to choose sides should my secret ever come out into the open. No, as much as I long to talk to him, I can't.

That leaves Harry and Seven, and as much as I care for the two of them, to me, they are like children. Young, unformed, innocent. Could I really sit down at a table in the mess hall across from Harry Kim and disclose that I've been having an affair with his best friend? I can just imagine his cheeks turning pink, his dark eyes flying towards the table, his voice a stutter in the back of his throat as he attempted to find words to respond to my confession.

Seven would be no better. She would not understand why what I've been doing is wrong. To her, logic would dictate that Tom and I are both mature adults who require physical stimulation—the fact that he is a married man with a child on the way would not even register in her mind. No, Seven is out of the question.

And so, obviously, I'm out of options. For the first time since leaving Earth I find myself wishing that Voyager had a ship's counselor. A compassionate, caring face sitting across from me; gently nudging me out of my self-imposed silence, listening to me as I spill out the secrets of my heart. Yes, that is what I need. But no such person exists aboard this ship—unless I choose to create one on the holodeck.

I can see it now---a perfect holographic companion, someone "trained" to guide and counsel me, someone who will never whisper a word of what I have shared. The idea is tempting. But in truth, if I were to do that, someone could discover my access codes and play the program. Someone like B'Elanna, for example. I realize that it's highly unlikely that anyone could or would attempt to break a code that I personally established, but the guilt in my heart is so strong that it makes me suspicious. Not only have I crossed the line and broken the rules, but now it seems likely that everyone else around me will do the same.

I no longer trust them. I no longer trust myself. And I am lonelier than I have ever been in my life. I can't share the joys of this relationship with anyone else. I can't talk with excitement about the first night Tom and I made love; the way his golden skin smelled of salt and sweat, the way his mouth tasted of the sea, the way his blue eyes darkened with his arousal. I can't talk about what it felt like to finally have a man in my bed again—a man who was worshipful, erotic, and grateful to be there. I can't talk about how when I see Tom on the bridge, my stomach flips over and ties itself into knots as his eyes pin me to my chair. I can't talk about the things that he whispers to me when we are cuddling after sex; the words painting a picture of his desire for me. And I can't talk about how we've agreed to continue our affair, regardless of the fact that very soon, he will be a father.

I know it sounds terrible, but we have decided to continue our relationship for as long as it takes us to get home. I've found that I need what he has to offer, and now that I've had a taste of it, I find myself unwilling to let it go. As for Tom, he has come to realize that he no longer loves his wife and isn't entirely certain that he ever truly did. But they have a child coming, and he will be a father to him or her. He's committed to that, and I must say that I admire him for it.

Right now Tom has no plans to leave B'Elanna or to get a divorce, and so we will never be anything more than lovers. I can accept that today. I have my moments of jealousy, when I see him caressing her swollen belly or when I see the way that she looks at him, knowing how much she still loves him. But those are few and far between, because when Tom Paris is in my arms, there is nothing and no one else in the universe. In those moments, we are united as one and everything else, Voyager, his wife, the rest of the crew; they all evaporate as though made of the thinnest gossamer silk.

Of course, those moments must eventually end. And when they do, watching Tom leave my quarters is the hardest thing in the world for me. Because I know that the next time we see one another we will be on the bridge. We will be professional, cool, distant, and detached. Neither of us daring to show the raging emotion beneath the polite façades we create. In those moments, it's as though our affair were a mirage…something beautiful, tantalizingly close, and yet not quite real.

At those times, my stomach aches, my head throbs, and my voice stiffens as I attempt to shield the rest of the crew from the knowledge that I am sleeping with my pilot, with their friend. It is honestly the most difficult thing I have ever done. The guilt rises inside of me at the oddest moments; while talking with Harry at the replicator or going over crew evaluations with Chakotay. Those are the times when my throat fills with emotion and I long to tell somebody-anybody about what's going on. But of course, I can't.

If I were to tell even one person, it would fly through the ship at warp speed, eventually reaching B'Elanna's ears. B'Elanna. Gods, the guilt hits a fever pitch when I think of her; when we're talking together in engineering or having a cup of coffee together in my ready room. I can tell that after all of our years together, she has come to admire me, to look up to me, and most of all, to respect me. It would shatter that Klingon heart of hers wide open to know that I was making love to her husband. I shudder to think of her reaction, but have the feeling it would involve a bat'leth and bloodshed.

And so, I sit here in my quarters, praying to the Gods that this log's password protection is up to snuff. I stare out of the view port; feeling as though the weight of the galaxy is upon my shoulders, and then I remember that there is one other person aboard this ship that I can talk to. The only one. "Computer, locate Lt. Paris."

"Lt. Paris is in his quarters."

I nod mutely, knowing that I will go to him. Anticipation rises within me, warring with the knot of guilt inside my stomach. We have placed ourselves in this situation, and it is only fair that we have only each other to turn to.

Before I can move, a chirp startles me out of my reverie and I know exactly who it will be. "Paris to Captain Janeway."

I swallow. Hard. "Janeway here."

"Can you meet me, Kathryn? B'Elanna's working gamma tonight. We've got hours and hours."

Oh Gods. His voice fills my body like liquid butter, melting my insides with every syllable. My hand trembles as I slap my badge, my breathing suddenly irregular.

"Where?"

I can almost hear him smile. "How about the holodeck? I've got a new program-just for us."

I imagine what he's conjured up; something erotic and playful, just like him. And a grin crosses my face. "What time, Lt.?"

"Ten minutes?"

"I'll be there. Janeway out."

Trembling, I try to catch my breath, feeling the sensations of excitement and guilt mingle again as they always do. I rise from my chair, shaking off the frightening notion that someone could have heard us.

And then, I toss off my uniform, pull on a tight-knit blue dress, pile my hair into a heavy bun and spray myself with Tom's favorite perfume. I walk towards the door and feel the guilt fall away as it's replaced by the overwhelming sensation of anticipation. And for the hundredth time, I leave sanity behind, knowing on a subconscious level that tomorrow I will once again sit at my desk and ruminate over the repercussions of this situation.

But that's tomorrow.