Peter Kamphuis ( or
20 May 2000


This is a completely fictitious story containing references to a male/male relationship, and references to sexual abuse (rape). If that's likely to bother or offend you, please go somewhere else, NOW!

The characters and television show belong to Paramount Pictures. I'm just 'borrowing' them for a short while. I'm not making any profit from their use...

Author's Notes:

I'm still not sure about this story...

There are some very explicit scenes of sexual violence in this chapter. If that's likely to bother you, please either skip this chapter, or stop reading the story altogether.

I mentioned last time that this story is turning out 'darker' than I intended. That was certainly the case with the last chapter, and it's definitely the case with this chapter as well. Frankly, I'm feeling less and less comfortable with what I'm writing/depicting. This chapter will describe a rape in detail... if it wasn't for the fact that I wrote it to be as dramatic and realistic as possible, I'd feel nauseous about reading it. In fact, some aspects of the rape bothered me greatly, even as I wrote them. So please consider this a warning.

Feedback is appreciated. But please, please, please - if you think that you'll be unable to stomach the rape scene, avoid it. Please don't write to tell me how much it disgusted you (even though I'd agree with you), or how sick I am for writing it, etc.

Awakenings - Chapter 2

The hiss from the hypospray filled the room.

Captain Janeway and the holographic doctor looked down in concern at the oddly calm features of Tom Paris as he started to revive.

"Mr. Paris?" the Doctor asked softly, reaching for his tricorder. "How are you feeling?"

"Confused... Sore..." Tom muttered, still sounding as if he was half-sedated. "What happened? Where am I?"

"You're in Sickbay, Tom," Janeway responded softly, moving closer to the bio-bed and into his line of sight.

"I sorta gathered that, Captain," he replied, humourlessly. He tried to sit up and slammed into the Doctor's outstretched hand.

"Oh, no you don't, Lieutenant," the Doctor said, sharply. "You need to lie back and rest."

Surprisingly, Tom didn't argue. "Okay, Doc. I'll do that. Besides... The splitting headache I've got is no fun at all."

The Doctor reached for another vial from the table next to the wall, and inserted it into the hypospray. "Here. This should help with the headache. But, remember: if you try to get up again the headache will return, and you won't get any relief or sympathy from me."

Tom smiled tightly as he nodded, knowing that the Doctor was only making empty threats from worry about his condition. Which reminded him... what was he doing here?

"Ah, Captain?"

"Yes, Tom?"

He didn't fail to hear the oddly subdued tone in her voice, nor did he fail to see the anxious worry and fear in her eyes. "Captain, what's going on? Why am I here? What happened to me?"

"Do you remember anything about last night, Tom?" she replied softly; evasively.

"No, not really..." he confessed a short time later, trying to sort out his memories. "I remember going to Sandrine's and having a few drinks and a game of pool, but nothing much after that."

"Doctor?" she asked, looking across at the hologram.

"Not totally unexpected, Captain," he confirmed. "Especially with what we found in his bloodstream," he reminded her cryptically.

She nodded, looking back down into the confused expression of her chief helmsman. "Tom, do you recall what you drank last night?"

"A couple of synthales, from memory," he replied, slightly perplexed. "Why?"

She frowned, trying to piece this bit of information into what they'd already found out so far. "Are you certain they were synthales?"

"Yeah, pretty sure." He saw her frown again, as the Doctor looked between him and the captain anxiously. "Captain, what's going on?" Getting no immediate response from her, he tried the room's only other occupant. "Doc? What's wrong with me? Did I faint? Did I have a stroke or something?"

"No, Lieutenant. You're perfectly fine." The Doctor didn't need to append 'now' - it hung heavy in the air.

"So what happened?" Tom was getting frustrated with the lack of answers.

The Doctor looked across at the captain and saw her nod her head in assent. "Mr. Paris, your blood tests revealed a high level of blood alcohol in your bloodstream."

"Alcohol...?" Tom asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes, Lieutenant. Alcohol. What you drank last night was obviously not synthale. Not that you would have been able to tell the difference, from my understanding..."

"But..." Tom interrupted the Doctor, "I definitely ordered synthales. How could I have been given alcohol? And besides, I thought there were security restriction on the Holodecks to prevent real alcohol from being replicated?"

"That's true, Tom. There are restrictions on the Holodecks so that no alcohol can be replicated, but it's obvious that someone has bypassed them," Janeway replied softly. "We've checked the computer logs, but nothing is showing up as out of the ordinary. Everything replicated in Sandrine's last night shows up as being synthetic." She didn't say anything more, but she didn't have to. Tom could see how troubled she felt that someone could bypass the restrictions and hide all traces of their activity.

"So," Tom breathed into the silence. "Someone got me drunk last night, and I'm here recovering from the hangover of the century. Is that it?"

The suddenly closed off expressions on their faces filled him with dread.

"Doc? Captain? What aren't you telling me?"

The Doctor once again looked across at Janeway before continuing. "Lieutenant, in addition to the alcohol found in your bloodstream, we also found traces of Vinoctrin."

"Vin-what?" Tom asked, stumbling over the unfamiliar name. "What's that?"

"Vinoctrin is a medicinal drug that causes lassitude and sleepiness in a patient. Dependent on the dosage, it can cause anything from mild relaxation through to total anaesthesia. In a large enough dose, it renders a patient completely unconscious. That's its main medicinal function. Surgeons administer it to patients before attempting surgical operations. In your case, the dosage was just enough to render you... debilitated... without knocking you unconscious."

Tom had begun to sweat as soon as the Doctor had said 'delibitated'. The word filled him with a fear that he found hard to stomach. He began to recall disjointed images from the night before. Images that he realised he had blocked out until now. He saw himself taking a drink of his synthale during a break in the pool game with Harry. He recalled seeing Sandrine replacing his empty glass with another glass of synthale; obviously ordered for him by someone else in the room, as he certainly hadn't ordered it himself.

He recalled sitting at a table in a darkened corner of the bar, talking to two unfamiliar men, after Harry and most of the others had left for the night. He couldn't make out the men's faces clearly; they were shadowy and somewhat blurry in the darkness that shrouded that corner of the room. They were also being extremely friendly with him, laughing at a lot of the things he was saying as if he were being exceedingly funny. He recalled one of them - the taller and stockier of the pair - getting up to oder him another synthale, while the other man remained seated, staring over at him. Or so it seemed - it was hard to tell in the shadows that surrounded the table and his companion's visage.

Then, he recalled being alone once more. He was standing - just barely - just outside the door of the Holodeck. He staggered down the hallway to the turbolift and fell down a couple of feet before reaching it. Seemingly a lifetime later he was dragged to his feet and hoisted upright between another two men. He wasn't sure it was the same pair as before. He could barely see them with his blurry vision, even though the corridor was brightly lit. They were speaking to him and he had to concentrate to hear what they were saying.

The men were telling him that they would take him to his quarters. He recalled thinking that that was odd, as the logical place for him to go would be to Sickbay for the Doctor to find out what was wrong with him. But try as he might, he couldn't get his thoughts across to the two men.

The image in his mind changed again. This time he was just outside his quarters. The two men - he still didn't know whether they were the same two as before - were now gone. He was alone once again. He recalled reaching over to his keypad and entering the code to open the door. Like every other time he'd done it, he had shielded his actions automatically. The door hissed open in response, but he had barely taken a step forwards before he fell flat on his face again. He was sprawled half inside and half outside of his quarters.

He recalled hearing a woman asking him if he was okay. He wanted to tell her that he wasn't, but couldn't get the words out of his mouth. Somehow, for he got the impression that she was a smallish woman - even in his befuddled state, she managed to drag him into his quarters without much trouble.

Janeway and the Doctor watched in mounting concern as his face broke out in a sheen of sweat and he continued to swallow nervously as the images started to crowd into his mind with increasing frequency...

The petite woman hadn't been alone. As soon as the door closed he heard her talking to several other people in the room. He couldn't make out how many there were, nor whether they were male or female. He didn't even have the strength to roll over and look at them, or to order the computer to turn on the lights in his still darkened quarters.

Then, without any warning, the first of many kicks connected with his ribcage, causing a searing pain to flood his body and mind. He was almost too far gone in the effects of the drug to cry out, but somehow he feebly did. As more and more kicks connected with his stomach, ribs, shoulders and back, the pain mounted into an unbearable, hot, sharp, constant ache throughout his body. Above the pain, he could hear his attackers threatening him, insulting him, degrading him and cursing him, even as they continued to kick him on every part of his exposed body.

His cries became louder as the adrenaline started to dispel some of the effects of the drug, but not loud enough to dispel the hateful words that his attackers were pouring over him. His whimpered cries only seemed to spur them on to more viciousness. Soon he was crying out from the constant ache of pain and verbal abuse, and his eyes and face were covered in tears as he tried to rationalise why he was being attacked in this manner, and by whom.

In Sickbay, a whimper escaped Tom's mouth as the pain he'd suffered the previous night flooded across his face in fresh waves. Janeway felt her breath catch as she watched the pain-etched features crease in sudden fear and repulsion. His eyes started to weep hot, bitter tears as he stared blankly ahead, not seeing either the capatin or the Doctor watching him in absolute shock and horror.

"Doctor, what's happening?" Janeway barked.

"I'm not sure, Captain," the Doctor responded, hastily checking his tricorder and frowning at what he saw. "I... I would hazard a guess that the Lieutenant is reliving the events of last night."

"Isn't there anything you can do?" Her voice was as close to panic as he'd ever heard it.

"I'm afraid not, Captain. The only thing we can do is wait and see what happens." He looked across at her worried expression and the shock reflected in her saddened eyes, and felt as if he'd failed her and the young man who was starting to writhe on the bio-bed.

He continued to silently observe them as they both relived, in their own ways, the events of the previous evening...

Even though the kicking had stopped, Tom's body still ached with sharp, ceaseless, pain. He could barely draw in a breath without causing the hurt to get worse. He took the opportunity to painfully crawl the necessary two feet to his couch, as the attackers noisily ransacked his bedroom and bathroom. He had barely managed to get himself onto the couch when they re-appeared in the archway leading to his bedroom.

He couldn't make out their features in the darkened room. All he could see was that there were three of them. The smallish woman who had 'helped' him into his quarters, and two larger, male, figures: one taller and stockier than the other. Even from that distance he could feel the malevolence they were directing his way. His mind, almost to the point of shutting down in pain and fear, chose that moment to reflect: I wonder if they're the same two men as before? Or before then, as well?

If he hadn't been so battered and bruised, he would have laughed, or at least snorted, at the silliness of his thoughts at that moment. But all sense of humour, all sense of anything except primal fear soon fled him as they approached him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Scum?" the taller of the two men asked, as he strode over and slapped Tom fully across the face. The force of the blow rocked Tom backwards, and before he knew it the couch had tipped over and he'd landed with a jolt that expelled the air from his lungs onto the carpeted floor between the couch and the windows.

The man who had slapped him rounded the overturned couch and began kicking him again.

"You're going to regret ever coming aboard, you worthless piece of Starfleet shit!"

Tom watched in horror as the man stopped kicking him and started to unzip his trousers. He tried to form the word "No", but his mouth wouldn't obey. He continued to watch in horror as the man pulled his trousers and underwear off and approached him.

The man knelt down and removed Tom's trousers and underwear in one swift pull, knowing that the drugged pilot didn't have the strength to stop him or fight him off. He then flipped Tom over onto his stomach and pulled Tom's legs wide apart. He maneuvered himself between the pilot's spread legs and leaned forward. With one harsh and fast lunge, he buried himself deep inside Tom's anus.

Tom screamed out in pain at the top of his lungs - both physically and mentally. His eyes overflowed with tears from the incredible pain, and from the humiliation that suddenly enveloped him. He tried to speak, tried to plead with his attacker to stop what he was doing, but the cocktail of alcohol and drugs robbed him of that recourse.

His mind rebelled; trying to concentrate on something - anything! - else to stop him from thinking of what was being done to him. He thrashed about like a wild animal in the confines of his mind, but everywhere he looked, everywhere he turned, he was confronted with the knowledge that he was being raped. Nothing he could think of could drive away the pain and humiliation he felt as the man continued to violate him.

He almost cried out in relief when the man above him tensed and cried out his release. He tried to block out the feelings and thoughts, but his mind wouldn't co-operate. He felt every pulse of the man's member, felt every squirt of liquid being deposited in his insides, and heard the pleasure in the man's cry as clearly as it had been broadcast directly inside his mind.

Before he had a chance to appreciate that the man had dismounted from his body, he was roughly turned over onto his back. He was slammed hard onto the carpet, his head bouncing brutally backwards into the carpet, as the second man took the place of the first and knelt down between his legs.

"You're going to suffer, you traitorous piece of shit," the man spat out. "I'm going to make you suffer for what you and that precious admiral daddy of yours did to my family!"

The man forced his way inside Tom swiftly. When he didn't meet with as much resistance as he'd expected, he took out his anger and frustration in a hard blow to Tom's stomach. He took delight in hearing Tom's pain-filled cry and hit him a second time, as he started to viciously thrust into Tom. All the while, unlike his predecessor, he kept speaking a catalogue of threats and curses at his victim.

After a couple more blows to Tom's stomach and groin, the man started to lose control of his rationality. He reached up and grabbed Tom's head in both hands. Then taking savage delight in the action, he lifted Tom's head high and thrust it down into the carpet in a sharp blow. Smiling rabidly, he repeated the action as he taunted the violated pilot. "You like that, dont'cha, huh? You like the rough stuff, eh, you pussy admiral's boy."

"Stop! Don't kill him! The last thing we need is a murder investigation!" the female voice interjected at that point. She had to repeat it a second time, and reach over to grab his arms, before he heard her.

"Okay..." The man's voice conveyed surly reluctance as he let go of Tom's head and resumed his savage violation of the pilot. Soon, he had expended himself as well and pulled out of Tom's torn and bleeding anus.

Tom lay motionless, unable to move. He was past all rational thought. He couldn't hear anything other than threats and curses, and over them, the shrill wailing background screaming of his mind rebelling in pain and humiliation.

He continued to lie there even as he heard them trash his quarters, and willed his mind to find a dark corner in which to retreat and hide from the torment visited on him. He barely had the strength to reach down and pull his underwear and trousers back up before he fell back, sapped of energy.

He had almost succeeded in retreating into a dark corner of his mind when he heard the woman addressing him. "There's more where that came from, Paris. You can count on it! And if you say anything, anything at all, to anyone about this, Chakotay will take care of you good and proper!"

The final rational thought he had before the darkness of insanity claimed him was: "Chakotay? Noooooooo!"

End of Chapter 2

To be continued?