The Person Who Invented Plastic Partitions Deserves To Die
by Suz

Disclaimer - Yeah, Paramount own them.


It was probably the most maddening form of torture he had ever endured.

He had discovered through his four decades of existence that the combination of pleasure and pain often brought the most...interesting results. He wasn't thinking specifically about a physical relationship - although he had certainly tried that with some interest a few years ago - it was more the emotional side of it. Longing for someone, caring for them so much and they were always just a few inches, a few fingertips out of reach.

Kathryn Janeway was that someone.

He glared at the plastic partition that separated them.

Oh, but it had been his own fault really. He'd joked about interior decoration earlier, but hadn't really paid attention when they'd constructed the shelter. He'd merrily worked with her, following the layout in the computer, never once thinking on planning ahead.

Never once thinking he'd need to.

He knew that he had feelings for her, certainly. He knew that ever since he had become her First Officer, his life had been changed forever. He knew that he loved her scent. He would catch it on those occasions when she stood a little too close to him, murmured something in his ear.

He knew, now, that he loved the feel of her hair. The subtle scent of her shampoo - whatever it was - that would stay with him forever. The softness as he had held her hair, lingering, before quickly moving it aside.

If he closed his eyes, he could remember exactly how it felt. It he kept them open, he could remember exactly how it felt.

And the feel of her shoulders relaxing under his hands. Her sighs and moans as he worked on the muscles, loosening the knots.

It was the stuff fantasies were made of.

That very thought had occurred to him, and that very thought had made him freeze.

She had retreated then, nervous, knowing that he had come to some kind of realisation, quickly vanishing to her bed.

Except he could still see her.

Whoever had designed this shelter had decided on the masterstroke of making the small wall next to her bed transparent. It was bad enough that he was highly attuned to every noise she made, but even after he returned to his seat and tried - and failed - to work on his carving, he could still see her.

Her image was blurred, distorted. Yet he could see as she shifted in her bed, trying unsuccessfully to sleep. Could see as she raised her hand to her head, even if he couldn't see exactly what she did with her hand when it was there. Could see her adjust the covers countless times for some kind of a distraction.

Chakotay forced himself to look at the stone he was supposed to be carving.

He lasted for all of two seconds.

She was lying still now, and if he looked closely, very closely...he could see her chest rising as she breathed.


Chakotay shifted in his chair.

This really was unfair. A not-so-harmonious intermingling of heaven and hell. Nightmares and bliss.

Whose idea was it for the wall to be transparent? It was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. When they got home...

They were home.

Fine, in the morning he'd look up the inventor on the computer and 'bless' them with all the curses he'd managed to pay attention to when he was growing up.

Glancing at the partition once again, he saw her shift, her movements frustrated.

He knew exactly how she felt.

Lowering his gaze to the stone, he began his work with renewed effort, unconsciously carving the word 'DIE' deeper and deeper.


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