Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [96]
“Of course not,” Chakotay answered.
“Then might I suggest that you allow Ensign Kim to do his job?” Tuvok asked without a trace of irony. “It would be far less tedious for both of you, unless you would rather relieve him of duty and assume control of ops yourself.”
“Point taken,” Chakotay replied.
Tuvok turned toward the door with a stoic nod, as Chakotay muttered a faint, “Thank you, Tuvok.”
As the doors hissed shut behind Tuvok, Chakotay found the nearest chair and took a seat. Less than twenty-four hours had passed since she had made her overture, and already he questioned his ability to handle it. The crew was unaware, but soon enough, that would change. He had nothing to be embarrassed about. They were both consenting adults. And no one could doubt their devotion to their respective duties.
So what’s the problem?
Once the door marked “potential problems” in his mind was opened, it was a veritable smorgasbord. In the first place, they had yet to do anything remotely resembling consummating their relationship, and he had spent more than a few minutes… okay… hours… imagining that long anticipated moment. It seemed likely that once their relationship became a matter of public consumption, others might spend some time doing the same. He didn’t like the thought of that, not so much for his sake, but certainly for hers. Nor was he interested in fielding questions from any of his subordinates who might find the guts to ask after either of their respective “abilities.” There wasn’t a disproportionate ratio of men to women aboard Voyager, but he had spent enough time in the testosterone trenches to know that when men found time to congregate in the absence of women, talk could turn explicit. Defending her honor was one thing, in theory, but in practice he knew himself well enough to know that it could easily end with the Doctor mending broken bones.
Crew morale was another issue. Would people really believe that he was still making impartial duty assignments and shift schedules if any portion of those left the two of them with the time he knew they would both want to explore their new relationship?
Setting the crew aside, there were their own occasional conflicts to consider. They rarely found themselves not of one mind. But when they did, it wasn’t pretty. Past disagreement had been complicated enough as fellow officers. As lovers? Voyager’s very survival might hang in the balance, and the thought of judgment clouded by sexual politics at such a moment…
It took him a full five minutes before he could return to the bridge with a semblance of composure.
By the time his shift had ended, Chakotay was willing to rebuild the entire warp core himself if it would buy him a few hours alone with her. He entered the turbolift bound for the deck where his quarters were situated, already rehearsing in his head the speech he had begun to prepare detailing the many issues they would have to discuss before taking this one step further.
But when the turbolift paused at deck six, and she entered, flushed and bright-eyed, the speech was forgotten.
“Commander,” she said, “how was your day?”
“Obviously not as exciting as yours,” he replied.
“It isn’t often I get the opportunity to… get my hands dirty,” she said. “It’s actually quite satisfying.”
“I see,” he said. “Perhaps you’d like to tell me all about it over dinner? My cabin?” he suggested.
Her smile widened. “It’s a date.”
“Say, half an hour?” he asked.
The turbolift doors slid open, admitting Ensign Brooks and Crewman Henly. Chakotay barely had a chance to catch her nod of acknowledgement before she exited the lift.
Nonetheless, there was a definite spring in Chakotay