The BLTS Archive - In This Corner
by Jan and June(janandjune@aol.com)

---

DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns these characters and the good
ship Voyager.  We are sure that Paramount in *no* way
sanctions the use of these copyrighted characters for such a
story as this.  This story is copyright Jan and June, 1996.
We are writing this for fun, not for profit.  Please feel
free to save, send or archive, but not to sell or alter the
story.

WARNING:  This story is rated NC-17 for sexual content,
adult language, and a little violence (fistfighting), so
please do not read it unless you are an adult.  Also, this
story portrays adult men involved in male-male sexual
activities; if such things disturb, anger, or offend you,
please do not read "In This Corner."

This story contains SPOILERS for the second season of
Voyager (especially the episode "Investigations").  If you
see Voyager later than North Americans do, and you don't
want to be spoiled, stop now!

---

A few comments from Jan before we begin:

Before "The Chute," "The Basics," and "Resolutions," there
was "Investigations" . . . you remember, that episode where
Paris went undercover and was kidnapped by Seska and the
Kazons, and ended up exposing the spy on board Voyager.
This story takes place immediately after "Investigations."
June and I wanted to address Chakotay's anger about being
left out of the Paris ruse (since the writers on the show
decided not to) and how the deception might have affected
his relationship with Tom Paris.

Although June and I have enjoyed *reading* fanfic
(particularly  slash) for awhile, this is the first story we
have written. Now that we know how challenging it is, we
admire our favorite writers even more!  But it was great fun
to write, and we hope you'll enjoy reading it as well.  We
would love to hear what you think of our first effort!  We
would appreciate any comments, constructive criticism, or
praise <g> to be sent by email as well as posted, since we
use fairly erratic newsreaders.

---

"Ensign Kim, have you finished running the diagnostic on the
communications systems yet?"  Commander Chakotay's voice
rang out across the bridge, catching Harry off guard.

"Uh, no, Commander.  With all the repairs going on in
Engineering, some of the systems are still offline.  I
should be finished in another hour or so."  Harry continued
to work at his console, trying to reroute power to the
downed systems and find a way to get the information the
Commander had asked for only an hour earlier.  Even on a
good day it would take an hour and a half to run those
tests.  With the ship under repairs it was going to take
much longer.  Why was the Commander so edgy about getting
the results?

"Well, make it snappy, Mr. Kim."

Around the bridge, a few eyebrows were raised at the first
officer's uncharacteristic words and impatient tone.  Harry
flushed warmly.  He had been reprimanded in public, and for
something that wasn't even his fault.  Tuvok glanced at the
Captain briefly to confirm that she had noted Chakotay's
words.  Captain Janeway pursed her lips and looked across at
the Commander thoughtfully, a question forming a tiny
wrinkle in the space between her eyebrows.

The tension on the bridge was worse today.  It had been
building since Voyager's last confrontation with Seska and
the Kazons, a week ago, when Tom Paris had gone undercover
on the Kazon ship.  Tuvok's plan had worked admirably--Jonas
was uncovered as the spy aboard Voyager--and Janeway had
expected the morale of the crew to improve dramatically when
everyone knew what Paris had done for the ship.  Instead, it
seemed like the undercurrents of divisiveness had become
almost as difficult to navigate as they had been just after
the two crews first merged.  It was damned discouraging, but
Janeway thought she understood.  Although the first officer
wasn't overtly inciting the former Maquis, Chakotay's
edginess was the reason for the tension on the bridge.  She
would have to talk to him, and soon.

It didn't help morale that Voyager had been all but stalled
since Jonas's attempted sabotage was revealed.  As soon as
the ship was temporarily out of Kazon range, Janeway had set
Lieutenant Torres to work checking and overhauling all the
systems Jonas had worked on in engineering, just to make
sure he hadn't done more damage than they realized.  Since
systems-wide testing had to be done, and the warp engines
couldn't be used until the tests were complete,  B'Elanna
had convinced the Captain to let her realign the warp coils
while the engines were offline.  This work would raise the
output of the warp engines by almost ten percent, but it
meant hard work for everyone in engineering until it was
finished.  In the meantime, they were cruising at impulse
power and performing diagnostics on every system on the
ship; after almost a week of this, practically sitting
still, everyone was ready to get underway again.

The only two people on the bridge who seemed oblivious to
the responses to Chakotay's curt treatment of Ensign Kim
were Tom Paris, busy rechecking his final adjustments to the
helm, and Chakotay himself.  He was brooding again.

---

What had Janeway said?  They had needed a "convincing
performance" out of him.  He could still taste the
bitterness of the betrayal a week later.  After all he had
done for this ship--all the times he had bitten his tongue
rather than differ with the Captain in front of their joined
crews--this is how he was rewarded.  After he had
subordinated himself to Janeway when his own ship was
destroyed, and forced his crew to do the same.  Of course,
he knew it was the only option, but it hadn't been easy to
convince the Maquis to put on those Starfleet uniforms.

So, after everything he had done to help unite the two
crews, Janeway and Tuvok had hatched the plan to catch the
spy, deciding that it would work best if he were left in the
dark.  They had left him out so they could use his
difficulties with Paris to make the plan more effective.
Ever since he had found out the truth, Chakotay had been
angry.  And ever since Paris had come back on duty, the
anger that was simmering in the back of his head had been
threatening to boil over into rage.

Ah yes, Paris.  He was the real problem.  The public
embarrassment Chakotay had suffered during Paris's
participation in the ruse--the nasty scenes on the bridge,
the shouting match in the mess hall--was finally underscored
by his performance on Neelix's show.  Yes, Paris had
apologized to Chakotay on "A Briefing with Neelix," but he
had made damn sure in the process that every member of the
crew would have no doubt that Chakotay had been left in the
dark about the plan to catch the spy.  Since the show,
Chakotay had felt that people were talking about his lack of
authority in the chain of command.  No crew member had
actually been insubordinate, but he thought they looked at
him differently.  Some of the Starfleet officers had
laughter in their eyes when they addressed him, and the
Maquis seemed angry at him.  No doubt his former crew felt
he was being used by Janeway and Tuvok as a figurehead first
officer, just to convince the Maquis to accept their
positions on this ship.  He felt that way himself.

As he reflected on the part Tom Paris had played in
undermining his authority, Chakotay glared at the back of
the man's blonde head.  The pilot, unaware of the first
officer's intense scrutiny, continued with his adjustments
to the conn.  Suddenly, a voice intruded on Chakotay's angry
thoughts.

"Commander, may I speak to you in my ready room?"

A minute later, facing Chakotay across her desk, Captain
Janeway continued.  "Mr. Chakotay, are you having some sort
of problem that I should know about?"

Chakotay met her level gaze.  "What do you mean, Captain?"

"I think you know what I mean, Commander.  You've been
distracted and testy all week.  Frankly, a tense first
officer makes the entire bridge crew uncomfortable, and much
less effective than it should be.  You're acting like you
have a chip on your shoulder.  Today, for instance, when you
snapped at Mr. Kim--over what?  Nothing, as far as I could
tell."

The Commander responded in a low voice, "If I do have a chip
on my shoulder, Captain, I think you know how it got there."
Chakotay knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he
was too angry to stop himself.

"What are you suggesting, Commander?" asked Janeway in
deceptively even tones.

"How am I supposed to go about my duties as *first officer*
of this ship when the entire crew knows that you and your
*security* officer left me out of an important command
decision--"

Janeway cut him off.  "Commander, is this still about the
trap we set for the spy?  I have already apologized for
leaving you out of that plan.  But I believed then, and
still do believe, that my decision was warranted.  I think
your contribution to the ruse was more valuable than it
would have been if you had been included in the original
plan.  I'm sorry if you felt left out--but surely you can
see that it was for the good of the ship."

Her crisp words were like a slap in the face.  Chakotay
tried unsuccessfully to keep the anger from his voice.  "All
I see, Captain, is that you used me--you went behind my back
rather than trust me to contribute knowingly to the mission,
and now my authority on this ship is worth nothing."

Lifting a hand to halt Chakotay's words, Janeway broke in
sharply, "Stop, Commander, before you go too far."
Modulating her voice, she continued.  "This is the last time
I'll say this.  I'm sorry you were left out of the chain of
command.  I could have handled the situation differently,
perhaps, but I truly felt my decision was appropriate.  Now
it's done and we need to leave it in the past."  She paused,
as if expecting another outburst from her first officer.
After a moment, she leaned forward across her desk and went
on.

"You are the first officer on this ship, and I expect you to
perform the duties of that position effectively.  The bridge
crew--no, the crew of the entire ship--is affected by this
anger you are carrying around." She continued more gently,
"Shift change is in two hours, Chakotay.  I'd like you to
leave the bridge now, and spend this evening working through
these problems.  I'm not officially relieving you of
duty--merely asking you to take the time to handle your
feelings about this situation.  I'm sorry we have no ship's
counselor, but perhaps spending some time alone will help
you collect yourself.  B'Elanna tells me she'll have the
warp engines ready to go tomorrow, and I'll need my bridge
crew functioning too, if we're to get underway.  I want you
back in here tomorrow, ready to work.  Please don't make me
have to speak to you about this again."

Swallowing his sharp retort, Chakotay bit off the words,
"Yes, Ma'am" and left the ready room.  Striding across the
bridge to the turbolift, he drew some surprised glances . .
. and smirks?  He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard
Ensign Cole making a comment about his departure.

---

Tom Paris hardly noticed when Commander Chakotay left the
bridge.  He was busy at the helm, his thoughts on his own
problems.

Ever since he had come back from the Kazon ship a week ago,
things had been a little different.  At first it had been
great--after his interview on Neelix's show, people kept
coming up and congratulating him on the success of his
mission, asking him questions about his part in the plan.
Starfleet personnel who had steered clear of him before
wanted to buy him drinks at Sandrine's and listen to him
talk about his escape from  the Kazons.  It felt good to
have people looking up to him again, praising his work.  It
was almost like it used to be back at the Academy when he
was the leader of Nova Squadron and every kid on campus
wanted to be his best friend.  And the best part, this time,
was that everyone knew Janeway and Tuvok had trusted him to
carry out their secret plan, and that he had lived up to
their expectations.

Lost in the heady atmosphere of celebrity, it had taken
Paris a day or two to realize that some members of the
crew--most of them former Maquis--were giving him a wider
berth than usual, if that was possible.   Just yesterday he
had come into the mess hall with Harry, and two whole tables
of former Maquis crew members had cleared out before he got
his food and sat down.  Even Tom couldn't ignore the angry
looks they had given him as they pushed past him to leave
the room.  Tom had brought it up over dinner, but Harry
didn't seem to know why people were acting like this.  Or
maybe he just didn't want to tell him.  He needed to ask
B'Elanna.

For most of the week he had been back, B'Elanna had been
busy day and night in main engineering.  He had hardly seen
her at all.  After trying for a few days, he had finally
cornered her outside her quarters late last night.

"B'Elanna!  I haven't seen you in days!  How's it going in
engineering?"

B'Elanna looked exhausted.  Dark circles under her eyes were
proof of  the sleepless nights of the past week.  "Oh, hi,
Tom.  We finally got the warp coils realigned, and we've
stabilized the secondary distribution grid.  Everything's
just about back online now and ready to go."  B'Elanna
stifled a yawn and rubbed the back of her neck.  "I can't
believe how long it's taken to check all the systems Jonas
worked with.  It'll probably be one more day before we
complete all the tests . . . "  Her words trailed off into a
yawn.


"Listen, B'Elanna, I need to talk to you.  Can I come in for
a minute?"

"I've got to get to bed, Tom.  I can hardly stand up, much
less talk.  Can't we meet for breakfast in the morning?"
B'Elanna was tired, but suddenly she seemed evasive, too.
Tom had a feeling that she knew what he was going to ask
her, and she didn't want to have to talk to him about the
way the Maquis were treating him.  Could *B'Elanna* be
avoiding him?  B'Elanna never avoided anything; she believed
in speaking her mind.  Tom felt his confidence slipping.

"Sure, B'Elanna.  Get some sleep.  I'll see you in the
morning."  He walked away, confused.  B'Elanna was one of
his best friends.  Surely she wasn't angry with him too.
**No, she's just exhausted.  Stop being so insecure.**  Tom
reassured himself; after all, he would see her in the
morning.

But this morning, B'Elanna hadn't shown up in the mess hall.
When Tom called her over the comm-channel, she told him she
had overslept and was headed straight for engineering.  His
heart sank as he realized that B'Elanna *was* avoiding him.
Why?

Now, with the ship moving at impulse power, he had had time
to worry about this problem all day on the bridge.  Why
would the Maquis be treating him like this?  The attitude
that he felt from some of them was almost worse than it had
been when they first came aboard after the destruction of
their ship.  Of course the Maquis had been furious to find
him aboard Voyager--most of them had thought he was a
Starfleet spy when he was in the Maquis anyway.  Back then,
he hadn't cared what they thought of him, but over the last
year some of them had become his friends.  That only made it
worse now.

Could they be angry that he had exposed Jonas?  No, that
didn't make any sense.  Seska had tricked all of them and
they hated her; her former Maquis comrades should be as
happy as anyone else to have had her accomplice exposed.
Maybe they were jealous that he had been chosen to act as
the bait rather than one of them.  But surely they
understood that Seska would come after him because of his
knowledge of the ship's technology and flight systems.  He
was the most logical choice to carry out the Captain's plan.

Paris sighed in frustration.  He couldn't figure out why he
was catching all this attitude.  He decided to put it out of
his mind and get back to work.  **Fuck it.  I did what the
captain wanted.  That should be enough for anyone on this
ship!**

His mind wholly occupied by his work and his worries, it was
no wonder Paris didn't notice the little drama behind him as
Chakotay left his shift two hours early.

---

Still seething, Chakotay directed the turbolift toward his
quarters.  Even if the Captain hadn't officially relieved
him of duty, she had asked him to leave the bridge.  Just
another indication that she would rather run the ship
without him.  **Whatever made me think I could be happy
again on a Starfleet ship?**  As he exited the turbolift on
the level of his quarters, Chakotay noticed the wary,
questioning looks he was getting from the members of the
crew.  He realized how he must look--off duty during his
shift, his face dark with fury.  He forced himself to
control his angry scowl and present a calmer exterior.

By the time he reached the quiet darkness of his own room,
his self-control had begun to take hold; the anger had
dulled to an empty ache.  More rational thoughts began to
creep into his mind. Even in his anger, he knew the Captain
hadn't left him out of the plan for any personal reasons. He
knew that over the past year the entire crew had come to
respect him; why was he so paranoid about the threat to his
authority?  And how had he let himself get so out of control
on duty?  He winced mentally as he remembered snapping at
Ensign Kim . . . and the things he had said to the Captain.
No wonder Janeway had asked him to leave the bridge.
Perhaps she was right; maybe he could use this time to
collect his thoughts and work through these distracting
feelings.

He checked the computer for an empty holodeck and entered
himself into the schedule for a two hour block.  It might be
easier to concentrate there than in his quarters; he could
run his program of the Arizona desert to aid his meditation.
Before heading out, he stripped off his uniform and pulled
on a pair of loose pants and a comfortable shirt.

---

When shift change rolled around two hours later, Paris had
finished his work on the helm.  If the warp drives were
ready tomorrow, he would be too.  "Ready for dinner, Harry?"

Harry was still at ops, frustrated.  "No, Tom.  These
systems are so slow.  It's taking me even longer to get this
done than I thought it would.  And I really want to run all
these tests before we get underway.  This is going to take
me at least another thirty minutes."

Tom knew it would probably be longer than that, but he
didn't bother to suggest that the ops officer coming on duty
could finish the diagnostic.  Sometimes Harry was just too
dedicated to his work.  "Okay, Harry.  Well, I'm going.
Come by my quarters later if you want some company."

It didn't take him long to eat.  The mess hall was all but
empty, whether due to ongoing ship repairs or Neelix's
latest creation Tom wasn't sure.  Dinner was something that
would have looked like mashed potatoes . . . if it hadn't
been purple.  It tasted something like liver, and Tom didn't
even want to hear where it had come from.  He ate what he
could and headed for his quarters and a long evening alone.

As he exited the turbolift and turned toward his door, he
met Ensign Jackson and Crewman Dalby, two former Maquis
crewmembers, coming down the hall.  When they saw Paris,
they glanced at each other meaningfully and slowed their
pace, taking up more room in the corridor so it would be
harder for him to pass.

With B'Elanna's evasion, Harry's decision to work late,
Neelix's culinary nightmare, and the prospect of a boring
evening at home alone, Tom was feeling irritable.  It didn't
bother him that Dalby and Jackson looked like they wanted to
pick a fight. Maybe he would at least find out the reason
behind all the attitude he had been getting from the Maquis.
He squared his shoulders and stopped in the hall, ready for
anything.

---

After two hours in Arizona--or as close as he could get to
it in the Delta Quadrant--Chakotay left the holodeck.  He
had hiked through  the desert near his childhood home and
tried to meditate.  Usually, physical exertion left his mind
tranquil; after a strenuous walk he could focus much more
easily. Today, however, his unsettled thoughts had been hard
to calm.  No matter how he tried to focus, the negativity
that had been building up over the past week kept intruding
on his meditations.  He had made no progress until he had
acknowledged his anger at the Captain's easy dismissal of
his feelings of betrayal.  Finally, he accepted her actions
rationally, although her lack of confidence in him still
stung.  It would take awhile for that feeling to go away.
**At least I can speak to her now without insulting her.  I
hope** he thought wryly.

But the memory of Lieutenant Paris's insulting behavior
still brought his blood to a boil.  That problem would just
have to wait until another time for resolution.

Even if the hike hadn't been completely effective in helping
him meditate, it had left him relaxed, warm and sweaty.  He
headed back to quarters for a shower and a change of
clothes.  As he entered his corridor, Chakotay heard a voice
raised in anger.

" . . . you don't belong here.  You weren't good enough for
Starfleet, you weren't *smart* enough for the Maquis, and we
don't need you to save us, you arrogant little prick."
Commander Chakotay quickened his pace to find the source of
the argument.

He rounded the corner in time to see Lieutenant Paris strike
Ensign Jackson with such force that the former Maquis fell
into the wall and promptly slumped to the deck.  Paris
turned to Crewman Dalby with a glare that dared him to make
the slightest move.  Recovering, Jackson kicked Paris's feet
from under him and they were on each other, rolling in the
corridor.

When Chakotay saw the two men fighting, he felt the surge of
rage return to his brain and knew he was about to do
something irrational.  He didn't try to stop himself.  It
was time to deal with Mr. Paris after all.

Suddenly, Paris felt himself being lifted from the grasp of
his opponent and thrown against the wall; only then did he
hear and see the Commander shouting in his face, "Stand
down, Lieutenant!"   Ignoring the order, he lunged for
Jackson again.  Chakotay grabbed him by the neck and yanked
him down the corridor, leaving the bemused Ensign and
Crewman behind.  Bent over at he waist, Paris gasped and
cursed with each breath through the fingers constricting his
throat.  He heard the slight hiss of a door opening and was
flung into a room.  He was in the Commander's quarters.
Paris scrambled to his feet, panting, and focused only on
Commander Chakotay.

In the dim light Paris could see that Chakotay's face was a
smooth, calm mask--but his eyes were dark with danger and
unresolved fury.  The big man stood between Paris and the
door, light on his feet despite his bulk.  The Lieutenant
thought it was unlikely that he could get past Chakotay and
just leave; but then, he didn't really want to leave.  After
a week of getting the cold shoulder from Chakotay and his
Maquis crew, Tom was about ready for some explanations.  He
wanted to find out why he was being treated so unjustly.  He
was probably asking for more trouble, but what the hell.

"Permission to speak freely, *sir*."  The Commander nodded
curtly.  He would listen to what Paris had to say for
himself, but he had a few things he wanted to say in return.

Paris wasted no time in getting to the point.  "What the
fuck do you want from me, Commander?"   "An explanation,
Lieutenant.  Do you think it's appropriate to fight fellow
crewmen? You should have handled the situation better."
Chakotay's voice was low, controlled.

Paris was incredulous.  "If I'm not mistaken, there were
three of us out in the hall--why am *I* the only one being
reprimanded?  Because the other two were Maquis, right?"

"You were the senior officer, Lieutenant, and I believe you
took the first shot.  When are you going to learn to accept
responsibility for your actions?"

"Well, Starfleet regulations require that you call security
and take *all* of us into custody,  Commander, so I don't
think you handled the situation any better than I did."
Feeling persecuted, Tom began to rant.  "Why am I being
singled out again?  Who the hell made you my personal
jailer?  You've been on my back ever since I came back last
week and . . . "  He saw the first officer's eyes grow even
darker at the memory.  As Paris remembered his own part in
the plan and Chakotay's behavior since his return, his blue
eyes lit up with gradual understanding.  " . . . oh, I get
it.  Feeling a little left out, Commander?"

Chakotay, angry that Paris had figured it out at last,
snarled, "This isn't about how I feel, Mr. Paris."

Paris ignored his denial, intent on his discovery.  "That's
it, isn't it, Commander?  Tuvok deceived you, Seska deceived
you, and now I did.  Me--the lowlife of the ship--in on a
plan you knew nothing about."

"The ruse has nothing to do with what happened just now in
the hall, Lieutenant."  Chakotay tried to steer the
conversation back to the present.  He knew if Paris kept
baiting him his anger would blossom into rage.  **Why did I
bring him in here?**   "No, I think it has everything to do
with what happened in the hall--and with the way you and all
the other Maquis have been treating me.  It's not my fault
the Captain left you out.  You have no right to blame me for
my part in the plan.  I did it to help Voyager!"

Chakotay had had enough.  "Oh, really, Mr. Paris?  You
didn't do it to feed your own ego?  You think you can be a
hero by lying.  Where has deception gotten you before,
*Lieutenant*?"  He didn't say it, but Paris knew Chakotay
was referring to the court martial.  The sneering emphasis on
his rank was meant to remind him of what he had lost by
covering up his responsibility for the crash on Caldik
Prime.  Paris felt heat rising in his face at the insult.

"Fuck you, Commander.  I already apologized to you in front
of the whole crew.  What more do you want from me?"

Chakotay's voice was dangerously low.  "I forgot to thank
you for that piece of shit apology, Lieutenant.  In front of
the entire ship, no less. You enjoyed that, didn't you?
Telling the crew how I was just a jester for the court."  He
spat the words out.

Paris laughed harshly.  "It just doesn't matter, does it?
Whatever I do isn't good enough for you.  Well, I have the
Captain's respect; I can live without yours, Commander.
Besides," he sneered, stepping closer, "you lost your ship
and now you're losing your command.  Why should anyone care
what you think?"

Chakotay clenched his fists as Paris stopped only a short
distance away, snarling into the first officer's face.
"You're such a joke.  Everyone on this ship sees how the
Captain keeps you tethered with smiles and winks, but when
it comes down to getting the job done, she knows who she can
trust.  And apparently, it's *not* you."


As the Lieutenant panted into Chakotay's face, trying to
regain his breath after this outburst, the Commander's
resolution to maintain his composure finally gave way
completely.  All he wanted now was to wipe that smug,
knowing look off Tom Paris's face.   Paris didn't see him
lift his hand; he had barely heard Chakotay whisper "My
turn" when he felt his head snap to the side and an
explosion of hot blood in his mouth.

The Commander's backhanded blow split his lower lip and sent
him spinning backwards into the darkened room.  As he
recovered his balance, the taste of his own blood fueled his
fury and Paris whirled back and flew at Chakotay with raised
fists.  The Commander, still enraged, blocked these blows
and wasted no time in throwing his full weight into a
vicious punch to the pilot's abdomen.  This blow took Tom's
breath away and left a fiery pit in his stomach.

Doubled over in pain and panic, for a moment he was back on
New Zealand.  Then the adrenaline pumped through him as his
body, not his mind, remembered how to counter the attack of
a larger and stronger adversary.  Throwing his shoulder into
Chakotay's hip, Paris caught the big man off  balance and
pushed him hard, managing to step out of Chakotay's reach as
he stumbled into the wall.

Before Chakotay completely regained his balance, Paris moved
forward quickly to punch him in the face.  He knew he had
only a moment to strike before the first officer regained
the advantage.  As his fist connected with the Commander's
cheekbone, Paris felt the sickening yet satisfying sensation
of skin splitting beneath his knuckles.  He pulled back to
strike again at the cut he had made just below Chakotay's
left eye, but the first officer was faster.  Chakotay
whirled around to grasp his shoulders and slam him back
against the wall.  Digging his fingers into the slim,
muscular shoulders, he shook Paris backwards and forwards,
slamming him into the wall again and again as if for
punctuation.

Teeth rattling inside his aching head, Paris struggled to
break free, pushing his hands against Chakotay's big
shoulders.  Finally he managed to gasp out, between hits
against the wall, "What'll you . . . do . . . Commander . .
. Kill me? . . . How will you  . . . explain . . . to the
Captain?"  Gradually, the Commander slowed his violent
shaking of the younger man, but did not ease the painful
grip on his shoulders.

Held against the wall by the length and weight of the first
officer's body, Paris tried to push him away from his chest.
"I thought you were above getting angry at a nobody like me
. . . a liar . . . a traitor.  I thought nothing I could do
or say could touch you.  Remember?"  He gasped the words out
through clenched teeth, hot breath hissing into Chakotay's
strained face.  "Where's your famous self-control now?"

They stood, face to face, chest to chest; Paris bleeding
from the cut in his lip, Chakotay from the gash below his
eye; blue eyes taunting black ones; the big first officer
pressing the Lieutenant backwards into the wall.

As the meaning of Paris's words gradually penetrated the
haze of anger in Chakotay's brain, the Commander fought to
regain his control.  Finally, he relaxed his grip on the
younger man's shoulders and became aware of his own body's
response to the exhilaration of combat.  The rage that had
been building in him since Paris's return to the ship had
been released into pure adrenaline while he fought the
younger man.  Now he returned to himself, panting in ragged
breaths, still leaning against Paris's own heaving chest.
Chakotay felt the muscles twitching in his legs and arms,
and the tenderness of his bruised knuckles, and the heat in
his belly that seemed to emanate through the rest of his
body.  Unconsciously, he knew he was hard--the sheer
pleasure of releasing his pent up emotions was enough to
cause that.

Still pinned between the Commander and the wall, Paris felt
Chakotay's erection digging into his groin.  His own penis
swelled in response to the unexpected contact.  Disbelieving
his senses, he looked into Chakotay's eyes, only centimeters
from his own, and saw arousal mixed with the slowly cooling
rage.  In a burst of angry comprehension, Paris knew what
the Commander wanted before the Commander even knew it
himself.

"So, is *that* what you really want, Commander?"  He hissed
the question out angrily, tauntingly, his voice still hoarse
with gasping for breath.

Chakotay looked at him warily.  What did Paris mean?  What
he wanted was . . .

"To fuck me.  That's what you want."  Paris spit the
accusation into Chakotay's face, more a challenge than an
invitation.

Chakotay wanted to speak, to deny his arousal.  He opened
his mouth to say "No."  But he felt the length of Paris's
erection pressing against his own, and the heat of the young
man's hard chest, and the word died on his lips.  As angry
as he still was, Chakotay found Paris's words arousing.
Suddenly, the course of the argument had changed.  Both of
them knew it.

Still staring into Chakotay's face, Tom leaned his head
forward, slowly closing the gap between them until they were
almost nose to nose.  For a moment Chakotay thought the
Lieutenant was going to kiss him.  Then, staring into his
eyes, Paris whispered harshly, "That's why you brought me in
here, into your quarters, isn't it, Commander?  You don't
get much, do you?"  Ducking his head to the side, he bit
Chakotay through his shirt, just above the collarbone, at
the base of his neck.  The bite was not gentle.  Chakotay
felt the sharp teeth close on his neck and pull back to
pinch him.  It was a challenge--would he admit that he
wanted the blond pilot to touch him this way, or would he
just pound him into the deck with his fists?  Paris was
taking a chance that the Commander would accept his
challenge.

Chakotay closed his eyes and groaned inwardly as he felt
Paris's teeth on his neck.  **What the hell am I doing?**
He released Paris's shoulders and began to move away from
the younger man.  As he shifted his weight away, no longer
trapping Paris against the wall, he felt the man's arms come
up around his body.  Surprisingly strong hands gripped his
shoulders and Paris roughly turned Chakotay so that his back
was to the wall.  Wondering what was coming next, but
seemingly unable to resist, Chakotay let Paris hold him
there in a reversal of their positions of the moment before.

Pressing the Commander against the wall, Tom leaned forward
and again bit him through the shirt, harder than before.
Chakotay drew in a ragged breath and leaned his head back to
the wall as Paris started moving down his chest.  When he
reached the sensitive nipples he bit at them through the
soft material, feeling Chakotay's erection jump between
their bodies in response.  Leaving the shirt buttoned, Paris
continued to nip his way sharply down Chakotay's body until
at last he knelt before him.

Glancing up at the Commander's dazed face, he leaned
forward, turned his head, and wrapped his mouth around the
first officer's throbbing penis through the material of the
loose trousers.  As he rubbed his mouth and chin roughly
over the cloth restraining Chakotay's erection, he reached
up and pulled at the drawstring holding the pants at the
Commander's waist.  Pressing himself back into the wall to
keep his balance, his hands curled loosely at his sides,
Chakotay didn't stop him.

A moment later, the pants were at Chakotay's ankles and
Paris was running his tongue over the hot, hard penis.  He
gripped the Commander's balls firmly in one hand as he
licked from base to tip, tasting the slight saltiness of the
shaft and scraping his teeth against the smooth head.  With
his other hand, he squeezed at the base of the thick cock
while his tongue teased into the slit at the crown. With a
groan, Chakotay brought his hands up to hold Paris's head as
he thrust his erection deep into the wet, open mouth.

The Commander's penis was larger than the average, like the
Commander himself, but the kneeling man wanted to take every
inch.  Tom struggled to use his tongue on the head as his
lips stretched around the thick shaft; he felt the cut in
his lip as he opened wider to let the Commander slide in.
He sucked hard, pulling the head into the top of his throat.
As Tom swallowed Chakotay's slick penis he ran both hands up
the backs of the muscular thighs and gripped the smooth ass
tightly, holding on as if to ground himself.  Panting
shallowly above him, Chakotay buried his hands in blonde
hair, firmly guiding Paris's head to accept the deep
thrusts.

Chakotay felt himself engulfed in wet warmth as he fucked
the pilot's eager mouth.  It had been a long time since he
had done this . . . too long.  He had forgotten what a rush
it was: the sensation of someone sucking at his most
sensitive part; the sight of someone kneeling before him,
wanting him so badly, offering him a mouth that was
accommodating yet demanding; the control he felt over the
situation when he held the person's head and set the rhythm
himself.  He looked down at the pilot's head through
half-lowered eyelids, noticing the hungry look on his face
as he sucked the rigid penis back into his throat, somehow
keeping himself from gagging.  It was good to see Tom Paris
like this . . . it felt good, too . . . it was good to feel
like he was in control.  Chakotay gripped the man's head
more firmly, pumping deliberately in and out of the
voracious mouth.

Paris could feel Chakotay's self-control in the measured
strokes and the heavy hands holding his head.  The tension
in the Commander's body was coiled like the tightest spring,
but he would have to be forced to release it.  **Gods, what
does it take to make him let go?  Here I am on my knees with
this big cock down my throat, and he's in perfect control.
He's the one who wanted this.  I'm going to make him admit
it.**  With that thought, Paris began kneading Chakotay's
ass, pulling the firm cheeks apart and lightly running his
fingertips up and down the warm crack.  Chakotay's thrusts
became deeper and more rapid, his balls pressing against
Paris's chin as the head of his penis snaked its way further
into the back of his throat.  Despite this quickening, the
Commander's movements were still controlled and even.  Then,
unsure of what to expect in response, Tom quickly pressed an
index finger deep into Chakotay's anus.

With a startled grunt, Chakotay tensed and roughly pulled
Paris away from his erection.  Tom's finger popped out of
Chakotay's ass as the Commander grabbed him by the shoulders
and threw him backwards onto the floor.  Paris skidded onto
his back and elbows on the carpet and looked up at the
Commander towering over him wearing only his shirt, fists
clenched, jaw twitching, his throbbing hard-on looking even
larger than it had felt when it was in Tom's mouth.  The
look on Chakotay's face was unreadable, a mix of desire,
anger, and something even wilder than either of these. The
wildness was mirrored in Tom's eyes as he looked up,
wondering what was going to happen next.  **Oh, shit . . .
is he going to beat me . . . or fuck me?**  Either way, he
knew he was going to be sore tomorrow.  As the moment
lengthened, Paris warily began to push himself back, away
from the Commander, when the tension in Chakotay's face
snapped and with a growl he was on top of Paris, straddling
his body on his knees, his big hands at the Lieutenant's
throat.

Flashing back to their fight, Paris instinctively grabbed at
Chakotay's hands, but instead of blows, he felt the zipper
of his uniform being ripped from its seam and his turtleneck
being torn from neck to hem.  Without words, Chakotay
stripped off the shredded uniform and yanked down the
pilot's shorts.  Equally ferocious, Paris tore Chakotay's
shirt open and pushed it off his muscled shoulders.
Struggling out of his shirt, the Commander muttered, "Is
this what you wanted, Lieutenant?"

In his aroused state, Tom admired the Commander's body
straddling his own.  The wide shoulders, the warm
golden-brown chest, and the narrow waist all invited his
touch.  But now it was too late for that--he had wanted to
make Chakotay lose control, and he had succeeded.  The
Commander wasn't in the mood to wait.  Still on his knees,
Chakotay raised himself slightly and flipped Paris over,
onto his stomach.  His heart hammering in anticipation,
Paris pulled himself up to his hands and knees as Chakotay
shifted to kneel between his bent legs.

Paris wondered if Chakotay would take him without a
lubricant.  His body tensed at the thought.  Then Tom felt
Chakotay's finger smoothing thick drops of sticky fluid from
the head of his penis onto and then into his anus.  Chakotay
shoved one finger into him, roughly loosening the tight
passage; seconds later he added another finger, twisting
them into Paris's ass for a moment.  As the fingers fucked
in and out of him, Paris willed himself to relax, knowing
that this was all the preparation he was getting.  After a
few more moments, Chakotay pulled his fingers out and
grabbed him by the hips, pulling him backwards; then, slowly
but firmly, Chakotay drove all of his penis into Tom Paris.

At first, as the Commander pressed forward, Paris thought he
would be ripped apart like the material of his uniform; as
Chakotay drove deeper, it felt like his ass was on fire
inside.  He was afraid he was going to cry out from the pain
as his body gave way to the entry of the intruder.  But when
the Commander was all the way in, balls pressed against
Paris's cheeks, he paused for just a moment, relishing the
sensation of the pilot's narrow passage squeezing his
swollen penis.  Paris knew this was only the calm before the
storm.  And as he felt Chakotay's cock throbbing inside his
body, hot and hard, his own arousal returned, like flames
leaping inside him, searing the pain away.  Quickly becoming
accustomed to the heat and size filling him, Paris braced
himself and threw his hips back against the Commander,
taking him even deeper, provoking the rough motion he knew
was coming.

It was as if this was a signal that Chakotay had been
waiting for.  Still gripping Paris's hips tightly, he pulled
back, almost pulling all the way out, and eagerly pushed
himself back in, to the hilt.  The pressure on his penis was
delicious, the passage so tight.  He groaned in reckless
abandon as his strokes took on a driving rhythm.

The rough motion of the Commander's body forced Tom's elbows
to buckle.  He lowered his head onto his folded hands on the
carpet, his hips in the air, his own erection pointing along
his belly toward his navel.  He had been with men before, of
course, even before prison, but never before had he been so
hard while he was being fucked.  His straining erection was
almost painful.  The idea of Chakotay kneeling behind him
and taking him like this--and the way it felt--was so
arousing he thought he might come without a touch to his
penis.  His entire body shaking with the momentum of the
Commander's movements, Paris moved his ass in response to
the thrusts.  As he felt the thick cock push into his body,
he pressed back as far as he could; then, as Chakotay pulled
back on each stroke, he tightened his muscles around him and
rocked forward.  The hands gripping his hips pinched his
skin as the Commander responded to his urging motions.

Kneeling behind the Lieutenant, Chakotay watched through
hooded eyes as the young man shuddered beneath his
onslaught.  The sight of Paris's smooth, muscled back, his
fair skin, and his tousled blonde head resting submissively
on the floor drove Chakotay to an even more heightened state
of arousal.  He felt the blood surge in his erection and he
quickened the motion of his hips.  As he did so, he heard
Paris whisper "Please . . ." and knew he was dying for
release.  Leaning forward slightly, Chakotay reached around
Paris's hip and grabbed his cock.  Paris moaned loudly as
Chakotay began jerking him expertly in time with the deep
thrusts.

The friction of Chakotay's hand on his penis was almost
unbearable to Tom.  After only a few strokes, he was bucking
backwards, out of control.  **Oh god oh god oh my god
ohmygod ohhh**  The heat in his belly seemed to gather and
grow, until it had to escape somehow; Chakotay's fist on his
erection drew it out of him.  Tom began to come, crying out
in desperate rapture, his wild movements matched by
Chakotay's increasingly rapid thrusts.  Paris's body  jerked
and spasmed as he came over the carpet beneath him,
Chakotay's strong grasp milking the last drops out of his
cock.

Spent, Paris collapsed forward into the stickiness of his
own semen.  Behind him, Chakotay followed, still inside him.
Intent only on his own release, Chakotay continued to pound
into him, his eyes tightly shut, his teeth clenched, and his
fingers digging roughly into Tom's shoulders.  Finally, fire
exploded in Chakotay's brain and he came deep inside Tom in
three giant strokes, throwing his head back and bellowing
into the younger man's ear.

Gasping for breath, the two men lay on the floor, Chakotay
crushing Paris as he slowly shrank inside him.  With the
Commander flattening him, Paris could hardly breathe.
Finally, Chakotay rolled to the side of the younger man,
pulling out of him slowly, and they lay together in dazed
silence.  Side by side, yet not touching, they tried to
catch their breath.

The sound of their panting filled the room.  Still on his
stomach, Paris turned his head to look at the first
officer's dark profile and felt for the first time the
horrible absurdity of the situation.  A nervous giggle
bubbled into his throat and he tried to swallow it down.
Usually, after sex, he cracked a joke to break the
uncomfortable feeling of intimacy.  It was one of his many
methods of emotional self-preservation, and it always
worked.  But for the life of him, he couldn't think of
anything to say just at this moment. For once, Tom Paris was
at a loss for words.  What the hell had just happened?
Yeah, they had had sex, but it was nothing like any sex
Paris had ever had before.  He had never been so angry and
so aroused at the same time, and he had never wanted it like
that before, so rough and hard and fast.  It scared him that
he had wanted it like that with Chakotay . . . gods, with
the fucking *first officer*.

Chakotay lay on his back, still catching his breath, eyes
closed, face calm.  To Paris it looked like he was asleep,
except maybe for his heaving chest, and the cut under his
left eye that had started bleeding again during the final
moments of their rough encounter.  But Chakotay wasn't
asleep.  Like Paris, he was searching for some understanding
of what had happened, of what he had done.  His smooth
facade was as much a method of self-protection as was
Paris's desire to make a joke.  What could he say to this
man?

As Chakotay finally stirred and opened his eyes, turning his
head to look at Paris, the Lieutenant realized he was
staring and jumped back as if he had been burned.  He was
afraid of what he would see in the dark eyes.  Disdain?
Disgust?  Anger?  He didn't want to find out, and he didn't
want to find out what the Commander would say, either.  He
sat up, carefully keeping his eyes on the floor.

Chakotay leaned up on an elbow.  "Paris . . . " He didn't
know how to continue.

He couldn't even call him Tom.  "Forget it, Commander.  You
got what you wanted."  Paris spoke without looking up,
feeling behind him for his uniform.  He had to escape.
Right now.

Chakotay wanted to protest, but he knew he *had* wanted it.
The question was, *why*?

Backing away from the Commander, Paris grabbed his ruined
uniform and pulled it on.  The pants of the jumpsuit were
still whole, but the top had been torn apart at the seam.
Well, he would just have to escape as well as he could.  He
didn't have far to go, at least.  His quarters were just
down the hall.  Holding the top of his uniform together
across his sticky chest, he ran out the door of the
Commander's quarters without another word.

Chakotay lay back on his floor, his arm covering his eyes.
What had he done?  **Why did I ever bring him in here?**

---

As Chakotay woke for bridge duty, stiff and sore, he felt
the warmth of a body beside him in his bed.  Somehow, he was
not surprised to open his eyes to find Tom Paris lying next
to him, asleep, the sheet pulled halfway up over his naked
chest.  Chakotay propped his head up on his hand, looking
into the pilot's sleeping face.  Blonde hair curled over his
smooth brow, blonder lashes lay on pale cheeks, and his lips
parted slightly to allow the slow, deep breaths of repose.
Flushed with sleep, he reminded Chakotay of an Arizona
desert sunrise, all pink and white and golden.  The sight of
the relaxed face, free for once of its usual guarded and
sardonic look, brought home to Chakotay how much of this
man's self- assured behavior was an act, and how much of
himself he kept below the surface.  Suddenly, Chakotay felt
sorry that he hadn't noticed the sweetness in Tom's face
before.  The pilot shifted in his sleep.  Chakotay's pulse
quickened as he reached out a hand to stroke the blonde
head, and as he did

His chrono-alarm went off, telling him he had twenty minutes
to get to the bridge. As Chakotay woke with a start, alone
in his bed, he was aware of his heart pounding inside his
chest and his breaths coming in shallow gasps.  He woke with
the uncanny feeling that someone was in his quarters.
Scanning the room quickly, he saw nothing but his own
clothes scattered on the floor by the door, and the sight,
along with his aching muscles, reminded him of what had
happened the night before.  He grimaced at the thought of
what he had done.  Yet there was something more . . . then
he gradually remembered his strange dream of waking up with
Tom Paris in his bed.

Pulling himself out of bed with an oath, Chakotay tried to
put it out of his mind as he got ready for duty.  The dream,
and how it had made him feel, was more disturbing than what
had actually happened between him and Paris.  Chakotay might
be able to explain the sex to himself in somewhat rational
terms--he had been excited by the fight, he had let himself
get out of control, and Paris had clearly wanted the
encounter to happen (after all, he had made the first
move)--but why had he dreamed of how innocent, how *human*
Tom Paris looked while sleeping?  That didn't make any sense
. . . and, despite the importance he usually placed on what
his sleeping mind revealed, he didn't even *want* to try to
figure out what this dream meant.

Wincing at a strained back muscle, he leaned over to pull on
his boots.  He pushed the dream out of his mind.  It would
be hard enough to face the bridge crew--the Captain--without
dwelling on the thought of what the conn officer would look
like sleeping naked in his bed.

---

The warp drives were fixed.  Paris was glad to have an
excuse to work.  He had hardly slept, and he knew he looked
like hell when he left his quarters for the bridge.  He
hadn't been able to bring himself to go to sickbay and have
the cut on his lip healed . . . he didn't want the doctor to
note the recent sexual activity in a tricorder scan.  The
bruises from the fight, the carpet burns, his sore knees and
elbows--all of these were uncomfortable, but at least no one
could see them under his uniform.  The cut in his lip felt
like a brand, a mark that showed the world what he had done
last night, and whom he had been with.

He had been awake all night worrying about what would happen
when he saw Chakotay on the bridge.  He knew the first
officer had wanted the fight--he could tell that when he
took him alone to his quarters--but had he really wanted
what had come afterward?  Chakotay had been hard before he
had, but he would never have made the first move.  What if
the Commander told the Captain that Tom had thrown himself
at him?  Would she even believe that Chakotay had *wanted*
him to?  He worried about what she would think of him now.
Would she still respect him as an officer?  Hell, would she
throw him in the brig for insubordination?

Tom wanted to arrive early so he could slip into his seat at
the helm before Chakotay appeared.  He had a crazy idea that
he could avoid ever looking into the first officer's face
again.  All he had to do was make sure he always got there
early and left late.  But when he arrived on the bridge,
Chakotay was already in his seat, facing away from Tom as he
emerged from the turbolift.  As he stepped toward the conn,
Janeway took one look at his face and asked him to come to
her ready room.

"Have you been fighting, Mr. Paris?"

He didn't know what to say.  What did she know?  He couldn't
tell her what had happened.

She prompted him.  "Is it true that you were seen fighting
with two other crewmen last night?"

Two other . . . of course, Dalby and Jackson.  "Yes,
Captain.  Well, no.  It wasn't much of a fight, really.
Commander Chakotay broke it up before it ever got started."
Janeway looked at him sharply as he mentioned Chakotay's
name.  **Oh gods, she knows . . .**

"Lieutenant, do you have any . . . complaint . . . with Mr.
Chakotay?"  She was fishing.  She didn't know.

"No, Ma'am."  His voice faltered.  He couldn't trust himself
to say more.  Did he have a complaint?  He had been just as
angry as the first officer last night . . . and just as
aroused.  He had been more than willing.  But he was afraid
of what the encounter would do to his position on the ship,
at the helm.  He wanted the Captain to trust him, to know
that he could do his job.  He steadied his voice.  "No,
Captain.  I'm glad he broke up the fight.  I was just
frustrated and tired, and he stopped me from making a big
mistake.  I have no complaint against him."

Janeway didn't look satisfied, but she seemed unwilling to
press the matter further.  "Very well, Mr. Paris.
Dismissed."

As he left the ready room, Tom breathed a sigh of relief.
She hadn't pursued the question of the fight, so the Maquis
must not have filed charges against him.  Well, they had
started it.  Without meaning to, he glanced toward the first
officer's chair and found himself looking at the solemn
profile.  He was stunned to see the cut he had made on
Chakotay's face, there, just below his left eye and his
tattoo.  He had assumed the Commander would find a way to
heal himself.  No wonder the Captain had asked him if he had
a complaint.  As Tom stared at the cut, Chakotay slowly
turned to face him.  There was no anger or disgust in his
eyes.  He looked evenly at Tom and nodded a brief greeting,
then turned back to his work at the console on his chair.
Reeling with surprise, Tom went to the helm and laid in the
course the Captain called out to him.

---

As he surreptitiously watched Paris cross the bridge,
Chakotay thought about his own conversation with the
Captain.  He had apologized for his behavior of the day
before, and meant it.  He knew he needed to let go of his
anger so that they could work together again.  She seemed
relieved that he was back to normal, under control.  He was
a little surprised that she hadn't asked about the cut on
his face, but he appreciated her understanding of his need
for privacy.  Apparently, Paris hadn't told her anything
more than he had, because she followed the pilot out of the
ready room and took her seat beside Chakotay, with only a
searching look at his face.  Then she got the ship underway.
It was good to be moving again.

The return of the bridge routine helped Chakotay stay
focused on his duties.  He was careful to praise Harry Kim
for his very thorough report on the communications
diagnostic, and things seemed to be back to normal with the
rest of the bridge crew.  The only difference was that
today, whenever he looked at the viewscreen, he first
noticed the back of the pilot's head as he worked at the
helm.  And the back of the pilot's head reminded him of
kneeling behind Tom Paris, taking him roughly, and coming
harder and louder than he had since he was in his twenties.

---

That evening, Tom met Harry and B'Elanna at Sandrine's.  He
just didn't feel like being alone.  It had been a hard day
for him at the conn, feeling the first officer's eyes on him
from time to time, straining to hear what he was saying to
the Captain, and noticing every time Chakotay got up from
his chair to walk across the bridge.  Tom didn't think he
could stand an evening alone in his quarters, so he had
changed into civvies after dinner and convinced Harry to go
out.  And Harry had asked B'Elanna, so the three of them
lounged around the pool table, chatting and playing.

An air of festival filled the holodeck; everyone was excited
to be cruising at full power again.  The week of repairs had
put a damper on the spirits of the entire crew, and
Sandrine's was packed with people who wanted to relax.  Only
Tom seemed subdued, and his friends noticed.

"Hey, Tom, what's the matter?  You look like your heart's
been broken."  Harry was worried about his friend.  "Let me
get you another synth-ale."

"Yeah, Tom.  You're really out of it.  Don't you even want
to *try* to beat me at this game tonight?  This is just too
easy."  B'Elanna tried to needle him into taking an interest
in her run of the table, but Tom didn't seem to care that he
had lost the last two games.

"I'm just tired, guys."  Clearly, Tom didn't want to talk
about whatever was bothering him.  As Harry wandered over to
the bar, Tom abruptly changed the subject.  "B'Elanna,
remember the other night when I wanted to ask you about
something?"  B'Elanna looked up from her shot and nodded.
"I wanted to know if the Maquis were angry at me for some
reason.  Ever since I came back from the Kazon I've been
getting a strange feeling from them.  You know what I mean?"

Sinking her shot, B'Elanna straightened and walked around
the table toward him.  "Yes, I know.  They were angry with
you, Tom, and some still are.  Didn't you get into a fight
with one of them last night?"  She pointed at the cut in his
lip.

"Actually, it was two."  **Actually, there was a third
one.**

Tom continued, thoughtful, "I guess they were mad about
Chakotay's role in the plan to catch the spy.  Or, rather,
his *lack* of a role in the plan."

B'Elanna laid down her cue, startled that Tom knew the real
reason the Maquis had been so upset.  "How did you know?"

"I'm not stupid, B'Elanna," Tom bristled.  "It makes sense.
Especially after what I said on Neelix's show.  It took me
awhile to realize how that must have sounded to the Maquis,
but I can see now that I caused some problems.  Are you mad
at me too?"

"I was at first . . . but you know, I could understand why
you did it.  I saw how glad you were to be included in the
Captain's plan.  And I know what it feels like to get a
second chance to prove yourself.   After I thought about it,
I knew you weren't trying to make Chakotay look stupid."
Her eyes were understanding, and Tom again realized how
similar he and B'Elanna were.  They both cared a lot more
about the opinions of others than they liked to admit.

Tom leaned back against the table.  "I hope I can set things
right with the other Maquis."

B'Elanna turned back to the game.  "I think this'll die
down, Tom.  Chakotay's a good leader, and people know that.
And it wasn't your idea to leave him out.  I think the
Maquis were really mad at the Captain, in a way, but they
were taking it out on you.  You're much more accessible when
it comes to fighting, you know."  She grinned.  "You were
just lucky *I* was busy in enigneering for six days.  It
gave me time to cool down."

B'Elanna's explanation made him feel a little better, and
when Harry returned with the drinks Tom was able to join the
game, laughing and playing with his friends.

A few minutes later, Chakotay entered the holodeck.  The
sight of the first officer in Sandrine's was unusual at any
time, but tonight his entrance caused a sensation.  Dalby
and Jackson had told many of the Maquis about his breaking
up the fight in the hall last night.  They had seen his
unconventional treatment of Tom Paris as a declaration of
his authority.  Both Starfleet and Maquis had noticed the
cut on his face and had wondered what had caused it.
Although nobody knew what had really happened, Chakotay was
at the center of the ship's gossip.

A buzz went up around the room as he moved toward the pool
table.  The light over the table kept Tom from noticing the
first officer until he was right next to him.  When he saw
him standing there in his red and black uniform, Tom muffed
his shot, sending the cue ball sailing off the table.

"Lieutenant, could I have a word with you?"  He didn't say
the words "in private," but Tom could feel them hanging in
the air.  The Commander sounded like he wasn't taking no for
an answer.  Tom knew he didn't want to have this talk in
Sandrine's.  Hell, he didn't want to have this talk at all.
Actually, he had hoped the first officer would just let the
whole thing drop.

"Alright, Commander."  Trying to be casual, Tom racked his
cue and headed for the door, leaving his friends standing,
puzzled, at the table.  He was reluctant to be alone with
the first officer, but even more reluctant to talk with him
in public.  Tom realized as he left the bar with Chakotay
that all eyes were on them.  **Shit, the last thing I need
is for everyone on this ship to know he fucked me.**

As they entered the turbolift side by side, Chakotay asked,
"Your quarters or mine, Lieutenant?"  He immediately wished
the words back.  He hadn't meant them as an innuendo, but
realized too late how they would sound.

Paris laughed, edgy.  "Um, mine, Commander."  He blushed
lightly at the thought of what had happened in Chakotay's
quarters the night before.  Gods, he couldn't go back
*there* again!

The blush in Tom's face brought Chakotay's dream, unbidden,
to the front of his mind.  He pushed it back, hard.
Remembering that would only make things worse.  He tried to
turn his thoughts elsewhere.  At least Paris wasn't wearing
his uniform . . . Chakotay didn't think he could look at
that turtleneck right now without remembering tearing one
just like it off his body the night before.

Standing side by side in the intimate space of the
turbolift, the two men fell into self-conscious silence,
staring at the doors and listening to the faint whir of the
lift's motion.

Finally, the lift stopped at their deck.  They made the grim
trek to Paris's quarters as if on a death march.  Paris hung
back as the doors to his quarters slid open, allowing the
Commander to enter first.  For a moment, he considered
escaping down the hall.   **He'd probably just track me down
and drag me back here. Besides, these are *my* quarters,
dammit!**  He steeled himself and followed Chakotay inside,
calling for the computer to raise the lights to the highest
level.

Chakotay moved to stand before the couch, trying to give the
pilot room.  He knew he could be physically overbearing, and
the tension in the room was already palpable.  He watched
Paris standing near the door, the pilot's face carefully
composed, unreadable.  Paris wasn't going to make this easy
on him.  Someone had to speak first; Chakotay figured it
would have to be him.

Breathing deeply, he began, "Lieutenant . . . "

Suddenly, Paris knew he couldn't listen to this, couldn't
talk about what had happened.  The whole thing was just too
bizarre.  He abruptly cut Chakotay off, trying to deflect
the discussion before it began.  "I know, Commander, it
never happened, any of it."  His words were controlled, his
voice tight.  "I learned a long time ago how and when to
keep my mouth shut.  No one will hear about last night from
me."  He didn't even want to *think* about what had
happened, much less have to talk about it.

Patiently, Chakotay tried again.  "Paris, I just wanted to
say . . . "

Again Tom cut him off, desperate to stop the first officer's
words.  "No, Commander, forget it.  You don't have to say
anything.  It's not a problem . . . "

Chakotay raised his voice a little.  "Would you let me get a
word in, please?"  Forcing himself to relax, he unclenched
his hands and took a deep breath.  How to say it?  He had
been thinking it all day . . . ever since that dream he had
had this morning.  He began again, carefully.  "I just
wanted to say, I'm sorry for . . . for the way I . . . "  He
ran his hands through his cropped hair, exasperated and
frustrated, at a loss for words.  "Hell, I'm just sorry."

Tom was stunned.  Chakotay had come to apologize?  He
couldn't believe the first officer was saying he was sorry,
was talking to him with that tone.  A tone that said, I was
wrong to treat another person that way.  Tom's carefully
controlled expression fell away as his blue eyes opened wide
in disbelief and he stared openly at the first officer.

Seeing that Paris was not going to interrupt, Chakotay
forced himself to continue.  "You were right--I was angry
about the ruse.  Being excluded was a blow to my command.
But I should have kept the problem where it belonged.  I was
angry when the Captain dismissed my feelings of betrayal.
You just got in the way, and I took my anger out on you."
Chakotay stopped.  He had said enough.  More than enough.
It was embarrassing to have to admit his paranoia, his lack
of self-control to the pilot, but he felt he owed him an
explanation after last night.  Now it was up to Paris.  How
would he respond?  Would he take this seriously, or turn
around and use it against him?

The Commander's confession opened a door in Tom's mind.  He
had told B'Elanna earlier that he knew he had caused
problems, but now he began to understand Chakotay's anger.
Putting himself in the other man's place for the first time,
he saw what the first officer must have seen, felt what he
must have felt during the ruse.  He remembered how he had
answered Chakotay's concern for him in the mess hall and on
the bridge.  The first officer had been trying to reach him,
to help him; he must have felt like an idiot when he
discovered that all those nasty scenes had been an elaborate
act.  And Tom *had* enjoyed goading the Commander under
orders from the Captain.  Now, for the first time, he felt
truly sorry for what had happened between them during his
performance.

Finally, Tom looked up to find Chakotay regarding him with
apprehension.  He knew the first officer was wondering how
he would respond to the apology.  Hell, he probably expected
him to laugh in his face.  Everyone knew Tom Paris couldn't
take anything seriously.  Surprising even himself, Tom
stated simply, "I'm sorry, Commander.  I didn't just get in
the way.  I added fuel to the fire--especially with what I
said on Neelix's show.  That was a mistake."  Chakotay
blinked, taken aback.  Perhaps he had underestimated the
pilot.

The two men looked across the room at each other with a wary
respect.  They were both astonished at the direction this
conversation was taking.  Tom hadn't expected an apology
from the first officer.  Chakotay hadn't expected Paris to
meet his tortured admission with a statement of his own
responsibility.  Things were going better than he had
anticipated.  Still, the Commander felt the need for more
support before he continued.  Glancing behind him at the
couch, Chakotay asked, "May I sit down, Lieutenant?"  At
Paris's assent, he took a seat on the edge of the couch.
Tom sat in a chair across from him, closer to the door.  An
uncomfortable silence filled the room.

"Paris, I think we have more to discuss."

Tom felt his color rise at the knowledge of what Chakotay
meant, and he wished he didn't blush so easily.  "I thought
we could just let sleeping dogs lie, Commander."  Couldn't
he leave *anything* alone?  He was worse than a Starfleet
counselor.

Seeing that Paris would never broach the subject himself,
Chakotay again took the lead.  "I don't want the fight . . .
or the sex" **there, I said it** "to be a problem on the
bridge.  Our relationship has been strained at the best of
times.  Do you feel we can still work together?"

Straightening in his chair, Tom looked directly at Chakotay.
"Flying Voyager is the most important thing in my life.  I
wouldn't let anything jeopardize that position."  His voice
was as serious as Chakotay had ever heard it.

"That's what I thought, Lieutenant."

"The . . . what happened last night . . . it won't affect my
behavior on the bridge, Commander."  As he looked again at
Chakotay, Tom remembered the thrill of pressing the first
officer's body against the wall and biting his chest.  Why
had it happened?  He had to know what Chakotay would say.
Suddenly, Tom found the floor very interesting.  "Um, why do
you think we . . . ?"  **Why did you let me suck you,
Commander?  Why did you throw me down on your floor and fuck
me?**

Chakotay sighed, opening his hands in a gesture of
uncertainty.  "I don't know.  I've been wondering about it
myself."  He looked supremely uncomfortable, but Tom was
still examining the floor, too busy avoiding his face to
notice.  "I was so angry . . . and then . . . Later, I
wanted to believe it was all your doing, but I wanted it,
too . . . you were right about that."  Chakotay's voice was
low, as if he could hardly speak the final words aloud.

This was too much.  The Commander's words burned Tom's ears.
He couldn't believe Chakotay had admitted this to him.  Tom
felt a rush of power as he understood that Chakotay had
wanted him. Glancing up at the man on the couch, he saw a
slow, dark blush making its way up the first officer's
embarrassed face.  The deep red of his uniform was only a
shade darker.

Tom understood Chakotay's discomfort. **He's taking a risk,
coming here, saying these things to me.**  He could see that
the Commander was waiting for his response, waiting to hear
if Tom would tell him he had wanted it, too.  He had, of
course.  He still wasn't sure why.  But for Tom, talking
about what had happened was more intimate than what they had
actually done together.  Sex was one thing; discussing it
was another.  That was the one part he wasn't good at.  He
didn't know how to tell the Commander about his own desire,
but the oppressive silence was more than he could stand.  He
willed himself to speak.

"Well, Commander, I guess we have more in common than I
thought.  We both have a pretty unusual way of dealing with
our anger.  Maybe next time we're that mad, we should borrow
B'Elanna's Klingon calisthenics holo-program instead."  Tom
made his voice nonchalant, although his blue eyes were dark
with the meaning he hoped the Commander could read.

At Paris's light comment, Chakotay stiffened, looking first
shocked, then a little relieved.  Finally looking into
Paris's face, he relaxed slightly and broke into a small
grin.  "Yes, Lieutenant, maybe we should."  He understood
that Paris was trying to put him at ease, trying to bring
them both back from the dangerous ground where his
confession had led them.  Chakotay felt a flash of
gratitude, although he recognized the pilot's use of humor
as a shield.  He knew that this was as close as Paris could
come to acknowledging his own desire in words.  "Klingon
calisthenics are probably a lot easier on the muscles.  And
the wardrobe," he added sheepishly, remembering his
uncontrolled behavior of the night before.

Tom, caught off guard, laughed out loud.  "Don't worry about
it, Commander.  I needed a new uniform anyway."  His voice
was joking, but grateful.  The first officer did have a
sense of humor, after all.  **He would probably be a lot
happier if he didn't take everything so damn seriously.
Easier to work with, too.**

Chakotay felt the tension in his body ebb in the wake of the
intense conversation, as if a pressure valve had been
opened.  Suddenly, he was exhausted.

"I should be going.  We both have bridge duty in the
morning." Chakotay carefully lifted himself off the couch,
his knees stiff from the night before.  "I'm glad we talked,
Lieutenant.  Thank you."

"Thanks for coming, Commander.  I'm glad we talked, too."
Tom was almost surprised to realize that it was true.  He
stood as Chakotay walked towards him and the door.  "You
know, Commander, you really aren't such a bad first officer
after all."  Taking back the ugly things he had said the
night before, he reached out to shake Chakotay's hand.

Chakotay smiled as he took the offered hand.  "Thank you,
Mr. Paris.  You're not a bad officer yourself, despite what
I may have said yesterday."  They shook hands, standing by
the door.  As they did, Tom found himself staring for a
moment at the smile lingering on the Commander's lips.  **I
wonder . . . **  As Chakotay started to let go of his hand,
Tom held on tighter and deliberately pulled him closer.  His
stomach turning nervous cartwheels, Tom leaned forward,
squeezed Chakotay's hand, and barely brushed his warm lips
across the Commander's chiseled mouth.

The breathy touch jolted like a plasma charge through both
their bodies.  Chakotay's breath quickened, although he
neither pulled away nor leaned into the kiss.  For Tom, the
absence of rejection was almost the same as direct
encouragement.  He pulled back briefly to look Chakotay in
the eyes; in their dark depths he saw the struggle between
desire and propriety.  With a surge of confidence, he gave
his first officer his cockiest hot shot flyboy grin, wrapped
his arms tightly around the Commander's waist, and devoured
his mouth.

Now Chakotay responded with urgency, tasting the pilot's
mouth for the first time.  Tom's lips were demanding on his,
drawing his tongue out of his mouth and sucking at it
hungrily.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Chakotay
noticed the faintly metallic taste of the cut he had made in
Tom's lip during their fight.  The memory of last night,
along with the hot, open kisses they were sharing now, sent
a flood of desire tearing through Chakotay's veins.  **If I
don't stop this right now, I'm going to fuck his brains out.
Again.**  This thought brought him back to his senses, and
Chakotay pulled back, breathing heavily into Paris's flushed
face; he knew the lust he saw there was mirrored in his own.

With a tiny smile, he asked, "Lieutenant, are you trying to
seduce me?"

Paris, his blue eyes laughing, replied, "Yes, Sir."

Chakotay shook his head, smiling more openly, and
disentangled himself from Tom's arms.  "I think we both need
some rest, Mr. Paris.  I'll see you on the bridge."

As Chakotay left Tom's quarters, he broke into a low
chuckle.  On the other side of the door, Tom laughed too.
There was plenty of time.  It was going to be a long, long
trip.  And next time, he was going to tell Chakotay to call
him Tom.

---

The End.

---

A note on the title, from June:

I kept focusing on the fight as the center of this story.
I thought we should call it "In This Corner."  Once I
started getting excited about the idea of a C/P fight, I had
this vision of some intergalactic Las Vegas type place.  And
the announcer says, "In this corner, he's battered and
abused, but lean and lithe.  He's survived Court Martials,
The Maquis and the final test, New Zealand. Here he is, the
Hot Shot Pilot -- the Blonde, Young Beauty of Voyager --
Thomas Eugene Paris."  And once the shouts, cheers, and boos
die down, the announcer turns and says, "Entering the ring
now, he's the dark, mysterious former Maquis leader.  He
left Starfleet to defend his home and heritage but now he's
back.  He's Big, he's Beautiful, he's your First Officer and
Reigning Champion, Chaaa-kooo-taaay!!!"

--Email from June to Jan as we started planning "In this
Corner."