The BLTS Archive - What Price, Freedom? by moondancer (moondancer@dial.pipex.com) --- DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns 'em, I do nasty things to them. This is a non-profit work written entirely for fun (mine, not the characters ). I promise to put them back in the toy box as soon as I've finished with them. All copyright not claimed by Paramount or Viacom is copyright moondancer, 1997. Please do not archive without permission. WARNING. This story is rated NC-17 for disturbing subject matter and (eventually) for sexual content of the male-male variety, some of it a tad violent. So if any of the above shocks, disturbs or offends you, or you're under 18, bail out right now. NOTE: This story was completed back in May this year. I posted it to Taffy's BLTs and it is archived at R'rain's wonderful slash archive. Now, after much deliberation (and some words of encouragement from Alexas) I've finally gathered the courage to post it to ascem. This is my very first story, and my first attempt to post a story to a newsgroup. Comments and constructive criticism are welcomed, nay, *craved*, but please, no flames. This story is set early third season, before TPTB conveniently forgot about the hostility between Chakotay and Paris. I'm currently writing *two* sequels to this thing but this one pretty much stands on its own. I appreciate it's not the most original idea in the world, but it demanded to be written, so I wrote it . Now, on with the show..... --- accusation --- Dark eyes watched as they led him away, one on one side of him, one on the other. Still half asleep, the young exotic was baffled and vulnerable, those strange blue eyes looking dazed. He really was quite beautiful. "Did you really think you'd get away with it? That I'd let you take him without a fight?" "But he doesn't want you." "Then I'll just have to be creative, won't I?" Pause. "This one is mine." Mine. --- "Janeway to Chakotay." "Chakotay here." "Commander, I'm cancelling shore leave. I want everyone back on Voyager within the hour. No exceptions." "Aye Captain." "And tell all senior staff to report to my ready room as soon as possible." "Understood. So what happened? Let me guess - you found him in a compromising position with the Torvellian Princess?" He couldn't quite keep the amused sarcasm out of his voice. "Just report to my ready room, I'll explain then. Janeway out." Chakotay raised an eyebrow at her brusqueness. She sounded angry, even angrier than she'd been during that incident with the Akritirians. Wonderful, he thought sarcastically. So what kind of trouble had Paris managed to find for them this time? --- Walls. Four blank walls. Silent. White. Bare. Closing in on him. For the umpteenth time Paris got to his feet and paced the tiny cell. Gods, he was starting to go stir-crazy. Waiting was always the worst part. Nothing to do, nothing to see, just sit around and wonder what they were going to do to him. Whatever it was, it couldn't possibly be as bad as the nightmares his imagination kept conjuring up. Could it? And even if it was - well, at least he would know. Get it over with. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid. Hell, he'd fallen right into this one - hadn't even seen it coming. Barely two months since his last sojourn in prison and here he was again - he must have some sort of affinity for the blasted place. If it wasn't so terrifying, it would almost be boring. "Captain, Lieutenant Paris has been arrested. *Again.*" He sat down again on the bed and went back to brooding. How long were they going to keep him locked up in here? With no natural light, no sound, no relief from the monotony, he'd lost all track of time. Only his empty stomach, dry mouth and the growing pain in his bladder told him that hours had passed since his arrest. But no-one came to speak to him, not even to interrogate him. It was just him, four blank walls and his imagination. He shuddered. --- Janeway was furious. Shore leave had seemed to be going so well, unlike that dreadful experience on Akritiria. The crew needed a break - too many of them had a bad case of cabin fever and a few restful weeks with the peaceful Torvellians, unwinding and gathering supplies, seemed like the answer to a prayer. Then Paris had been reported missing, and their fragile peace had fallen apart. She should have known nothing ever went that smoothly. Not for her, not for Voyager, and most certainly not for Voyager's handsome, incorrigible, ex-con pilot. Trouble seemed to follow Lieutenant Paris around, she thought exasperatedly. Either that or he invited it. She paced the confines of her ready room, worriedly replaying the conversation with the Torvellian Minister for Security over and over again in her mind. She couldn't believe it. It was just too - too - outlandish. Barbaric even. And the Torvellians had seemed so advanced! They were one of the few post-warp societies Voyager had encountered in the Delta quadrant, a species evolved from some kind of flightless bird, with powerful legs and wings developed into hands and arms. Humanoid in appearance, they were taller than human average but light boned, almost ethereal, and other than the crest of dark feathers which crowned their heads, wisping in their eyes, they were featherless, revealing rough- grained, leathery skin and narrow, elfin faces. They had greeted Voyager on her arrival in their system, making her tired crew welcome and inviting them to the surface of their homeworld, offering supplies and hospitality in exchange for little more than conversation and company. How could they be so advanced in some ways and yet so backward in others? Over half the crew had departed for the planet's surface, which boasted a breathable atmosphere and a gravity only marginally denser than that of Earth, and like Earth, it was rich in beauty and diversity. Everyone had wanted to go. Everyone, that is, except Harry. He hadn't gone down to the surface with Paris this time. Janeway recalled with disquiet the way his expression had closed off and he'd shook his head, eyes haunted, when Paris asked him to go planetside. Was he still blaming himself for almost killing Tom in that prison? She had resolved to have a quiet word with him while the rest of the crew were out of the way, but before she could find an appropriate time, *this* had happened. Paris, dammit, your timing is impeccable! The minister had gravely informed her that one of her crew - Tom Paris - had been arrested. For a long time Janeway merely stared at the face on the viewscreen in shock. What? *Again*?! But when he - was it a he? It was hard to tell with this species, they were an androgynous-looking lot - when he informed her of the charge, and worse yet, the punishment, her shock had turned to incredulous anger. Gods, it was unbelievable. Barbaric. And she told him so. The Torvellian merely accepted her words and shook his ornate head regretfully. They had evidence, he told her. Irrefutable evidence. Trial would begin two days from now and if he was found guilty, as seemed likely, sentence would be carried out the same night. The Lieutenant would then be released to them, she was told. For medical treatment, counselling, whatever. They were not barbarians, the minister declared with injured pride. They did not lock up criminals in prisons. For once in her life she found herself speechless. "Has he - I mean, can we see him?" "Once the trial is over. Don't worry, Captain, your crewmember will be fairly represented. In the meantime, I shall send you all the evidence we have accumulated in this matter. From your people, my people and of course, all the physical evidence. Janeway stood in the centre of her ready room, hands clenched into fists, nails digging hard into the palms of her hands. She didn't believe it then, and she didn't believe it now, even after reviewing what amounted to some very damning evidence, some of it from her own crew. Tom was many things to many people, she thought with angry sadness; spoilt brat or abused child, golden boy or loser, infuriating or endearing - after all, the real Tom Paris was elusive, buried beneath layer upon layer of defences - but one thing he was not, could not possibly be, was a rapist. --- Finally, a noise, a door opened, and a familiar face appeared round the door. Paris was on his feet in an instant, turning towards his dark visitor with a mixture of hope and unease. "Tanfly! Look, this has got to be some sort of mistake. Tell them I didn't do it!" The elegant Torvellian glared at him accusingly, his deceptively delicate face darkened in anger. "That's a lie, Paris, and we both know it. I know you're interested in her. And I know you spent the night with her, had sex with her. MY wife." "But, you said - you told me -" The Lieutenant allowed genuine confusion to show on his face. "Do you humans always take what you hear at face value? Yes, our pairbond is effectively over, but that didn't mean I wanted you to accept her invitation. You *know* that." The Torvellian's gaze was intense. Paris sighed angrily. God, not that again. How many times did he have to say *no*? These Torvellians were nothing if not persistent. He wondered idly how he always managed to do this to himself, complicate things so effortlessly. Then he plastered on his most appealing expression, careful to eradicate all anger and bitterness from his face, and made one last appeal to reason. "Look, Tanfly, we may have had our differences, but you know I didn't rape her. Ask Donrig. She'll tell you. Dammit, it was her idea!" Human and Torvellian stared at each other for a long moment. Finally the young Torvel spoke, with an air of quiet finality. "I know no such thing." Paris gritted his teeth in annoyance, his control over his emotions stretched to precarious limits. Then he stilled suddenly and turned to look intently into that leathery-dark face, those dark eyes staring back at him, realization suddenly, bitterly clear. "This is payback, Tanfly. Isn't it?" he asked at last, voice quiet, comprehending. "Payback because I chose her. Not you." The alien smiled enigmatically. "Maybe." Then told him the sentence for his 'crime'. --- "He's been accused of *what*?!" Torres burst out, unable to keep her shock and incredulity to herself. "You've gotta be kidding." "This is no joking matter, Lieutenant," the Captain's chilling words threw ice water over her anger. B'Elanna stared in horror at her Captain, and as her anger cooled, she felt it freeze into fear. Not for herself - hell, no - for the cocky young pilot. She couldn't, even for one second, bring herself to believe he'd do something like that. He wasn't the type. She just couldn't see him getting off on that kind of power trip. "Tuvok and I have gone through the evidence against the Lieutenant - it's pretty damning." "I still don't believe it," B'Elanna insisted stubbornly. "Nor do I," Harry chimed in. "Tom's not like that." He held the Captain's gaze a moment, his face drawn by worry and guilt. His thoughts were painfully transparent. If only I'd gone down to the planet with him when he asked - he wouldn't be in this predicament now. "Nor do I for that matter," Janeway agreed quietly. "But knowing Mr Paris' luck, I can almost guarantee he'll be found guilty and sentenced." Harry winced at her words and dropped his gaze to the table in front of him. "Mr Kim," she declared firmly, fixing him with an intent stare as his head jerked back up again. "Before you dig yourself a pit of self-recrimination, let me just remind you that this is *not* your fault. Is that clear?" "Yes, Captain." But Harry's expression remained unchanged. Janeway sighed. She'd deal with him later. Right now, Paris was priority. "I would suggest that we conduct our own investigations to prove Mr Paris' innocence, as we have done on previous occasions," Tuvok spoke up, steepling elegant fingers before him on the conference table. "Have you had any luck so far?" "Negative, Captain. But I shall keep on investigating." Janeway shook her head. "We don't have time to rely on investigation alone this time, Tuvok." Her voice was edged with worry. "Trial takes place in less than two days. And this time I'm *not* letting anyone carry out sentence on him for something he didn't do. Particularly not this sentence. It's barbaric." "Why? What are they planning to do to him?" Chakotay asked evenly, who along with Tuvok seemed least emotionally affected by the news. Wisely he decided not to ask the other question which had sprung to mind, if only for an instant. Are we absolutely certain he didn't do it? Janeway threw him an irritated glance, almost as if she'd read his mind. She couldn't decide whether she appreciated his calm attitude or resented his apparent indifference to the Lieutenant's fate. Whoa there, Kathryn. Calm down. He's just being professional. And you're allowing personal feelings to get in the way of command. But why did it always have to be Tom? She was protective of all the crew who served under her, but particularly towards Tom.... What did Chakotay call him? Her reclamation project. Yes, he was that and more. He was her redemption. But he was making it so difficult for her. He had such a natural affinity for bad luck and danger, she was seriously beginning to wonder how long he was going to last out here. She'd used that self- sacrificial streak on occasions for the benefit of the ship, but sometimes, like now, it pricked at her guilty conscience. The Captain rose to her feet and paced the small space, clearly agitated. Should she tell her senior officers or not? Tuvok knew of course, but should she tell the others? Paris wouldn't want her to, but this was not something she felt able to keep from them. She couldn't play favourites or keep her officers in the dark. She'd tried that once, and the fallout from that decision had taken a long time to settle. Besides, something in her wanted to shock Chakotay out of his stubbornly held opinions. His barely concealed hostility and sarcasm towards the younger officer amused her at times, irked her at others. Okay, so sometimes the cocky young Lieutenant needed to be slapped down, but wouldn't he ever see past the young man's brashness and his own prejudices, to the dedicated but scarred young man beneath? Apparently not. It was the one thing about her First Officer which irritated her. Quick to judge and in Paris' case, for reasons she couldn't fathom, reluctant to forgive. Finally she turned to look at her senior staff and pursed her lips in controlled anger. "These people believe in an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," she explained shortly. "It's the entire basis of their criminal justice system. Injure a person, and that person has the right to do the same to you. Kill a person and that person's family has the right to kill the murderer." From the sharp intakes of breath around the table, they were clearly starting to get the idea. Even Chakotay looked startled. "And where a man rapes a Torvellian woman," she continued grimly, "Her husband or other family member has the right to avenge that crime, by exacting the same punishment on the rapist." The bald statement was met with stunned silence. Right then, even the sound of a pindrop would have been loud in the confined space. "Oh god..." a low voice breathed, no more than a whisper. It was barely recognisable as Harry. Janeway threw him a questioning glance, but he had his face buried in his hands, shoulders hunched in guilt and horror. B'Elanna put a hand on his back comfortingly and met the Captain's eyes. "No way Captain. Whatever it takes, we get him out of there." Janeway grimaced in angry frustration. "I'm aware of that. But the Torvellians refuse to tell us where they're holding him and their shields confuse our sensors. We can't locate him, and even if we could, we can't transport him through their shields." "Captain." Janeway turned to the sound of the voice. It was Harry again, looking directly at her, pain eloquent in his expressive eyes. "Captain, we have to get him out of there. Now. You don't know what prison does to him. Up here." He tapped a temple. "I can hazard a guess," the Captain replied gently. "And believe me, we'll do everything we can to get him back." --- But the task proved harder than they anticipated. Twenty four hours later, bruised and breathless, the away team beamed back to Voyager empty-handed. Although they had finally managed to locate Paris, they still couldn't transport him through the energy shields surrounding the detention centre and their attempt to infiltrate the place had ended in disaster, almost getting themselves arrested in the process. Tuvok tried investigating the matter, but the Torvellians proved to be singularly unhelpful and what evidence he did uncover seemed only to damn the young Lieutenant further. Voyager's crewmembers had seen him spending a lot of time in the company of Donrig and her husband, the eclectic Tanfly. More than that, he had seemed to be flirting with the Torvellian woman. But the Torvellians would not allow Tuvok the opportunity to question Donrig herself about her relationship with the human, which Janeway and Tuvok found extremely suspicious. Everything seemed to point to Paris having had a sexual relationship with the alien woman, but as for that encounter being rape - Janeway couldn't believe it. She wished she could talk to Donrig alone, try to fathom out what was going on here. She couldn't believe the woman would make unsubstantiated accusations, but equally she couldn't believe her impetuous pilot would ever do something like that. When the news finally came through, it came as no surprise to her to find that Tom had been found guilty and sentenced. She called yet another staff meeting, but they were fast running out of options. It was looking increasingly likely that they would have to wait, and hope that the Torvellians would keep their word and release him. Afterwards. Janeway shuddered. Hadn't the man been through enough already? Of all the crew of Voyager, only she had some real idea of what Tom's life had been like to this point, gleaned together from the time spent serving with his father - a hell of a Starfleet officer, but not much of a parent, she suspected - the little snippets of information Tom had occasionally let slip, the disturbing hints in his prison record. Those people who still saw him as the privileged Starfleet brat, spoilt and selfish, who'd thrown it all away - if only they knew how far from the truth they were. But of course they never would. Not from her, and not from Tom. At the start of their journey, she'd worried about the woundedness and self-hatred she'd sensed under his brash exterior, tried occasionally to get him to talk to her, or even Chakotay, who was acting as unofficial counsellor. But at that suggestion he'd laughed humourlessly and told her not to worry. He would never do anything to put her or the ship in danger, but he'd rather be locked in a room full of angry Kazon than accept counselling from a man who hated him. As she'd winced at her tactlessness, he'd continued lightly, "Besides, why do I need counselling? I feel great! I think maybe I was just allergic to the Alpha Quadrant." She knew how humiliating it would be for him if the crew found out about his arrest and sentence, so she'd sworn the senior bridge crew to secrecy. Tom had worked long and hard to earn respect on board this ship. She'd be damned if she'd allow that respect to be destroyed through the incomprehensible acts of an alien species. But this was a small ship and secrets were hard to keep. And Tom Paris, playboy, officer and ex-con, was the darling of the rumour mills. It was only a matter of time before speculation turned to truth. Though no-one had guessed the sentence. Yet. --- proposition --- "Captain, please turn to your emergency medical holographic channel." The doctor's clipped words cut through the tense silence in the conference room. They had discussed and rejected option after option for Tom's rescue, but none seemed viable and time was fast running out. "Yes, Doctor?" The Captain turned to her viewscreen, almost grateful for the interruption. "You asked me to review the medical evidence against Lieutenant Paris." Janeway nodded impatiently. They'd been through this once already, shortly after the Torvellians had sent them the records. "And turned up no leads," she reminded him, her tone revealing the barest hint of censure, of accusation. Only Chakotay seemed to notice the emotional undercurrent to her words, and he frowned at her slightly, surprised yet again by the Captain's fierce protectiveness towards Tom. He couldn't figure it. Never had. Why would Janeway - a Starfleet officer of the old school and a woman of great intelligence, honour and integrity - give a smug spoilt loser like Tom Paris a second chance, when he'd had success handed to him on a plate and thrown it away? Okay, so maybe she'd been right, he grudgingly admitted. Tom was a hell of a pilot and a capable officer when he put his mind to it. He knew that now, even respected it. But he still didn't like or trust the younger man and found it hard to understand what Janeway had seen in him back in the beginning. To him, Paris was still the arrogant Starfleet thoroughbred he'd been back in the Maquis. Smug, aristocratic, handsome, dissolute, looking at the rest of the Maquis like they were so much dirt to scrape off his privileged shoes. Life had been so easy for him. He'd had every advantage, every break - the looks, the family, the natural ability - the guy'd had a glittering Starfleet career just handed to him and he hadn't even cared enough to keep it. Not so Chakotay. He'd worked so hard, lost so much for his Starfleet career, only to find it slip through his fingers like grains of sand. He could never forgive Paris for that. Hell, he'd almost been glad when Starfleet security had captured him. And periodically he wondered when Paris would return to his true form. After all, just as Coyote was still Coyote, even in disguise, Paris was still the same careless egotistical young man who'd caused the deaths of three officers, lied about it to save his own skin, then sold his services first to the Maquis and then to Starfleet again, simply for lack of anything better to do. Mercenary. (whore) The thought brought Chakotay up short. Good god, where the hell had *that* one come from? It was completely uncalled for. It said more about his own state of mind, his own prejudices and thinly disguised resentment of the younger man than it did about Paris himself. Disquiet began to filter through him. What was wrong with him? Why was he still feeling this powerful hostility towards Paris, despite two years of the younger man busting a gut trying to prove himself? Part of it he could guess, he thought wryly, but it was something he really ought to speak to his spirit guide about, something he had long been avoiding. With an effort, he dragged his attention back to the picture of the holographic doctor. No matter what he thought about Paris as a person, which wasn't much, not even he could seriously believe he would rape a woman. And he didn't deserve what the Torvellians were planning to do to him. It made a travesty of justice. Slowly the doctor's words filtered through into his thoughts. "....so the Torvellians sent me information on their physiology and sexual practices. It was extraordinarily fascinating. I may write a paper on it once this crisis is over." "Doctor..." The Captain's voice carried a warning tone. "Apologies Captain. As I was saying, while studying Torvellian physiology, I realised that we may have a more serious problem on our hands." The doctor paused suddenly, glanced at the rest of the bridge crew, who were listening to him intently. "More serious?" Chakotay echoed, before Janeway could speak, a hint of incredulity in his voice. The doctor licked holographic lips nervously, the gesture remarkably human. "Ah, Captain?" he continued, ignoring the Commander, clearly discomfitted. It was a novel experience, both for him and the officers. He was usually so unflappable, nothing ever seemed to faze him. Then again, the hologram pondered sardonically, anatomy was easy, it was human psychology which complicated matters. "Perhaps we could speak for a moment in private." For a moment Janeway seemed about to protest, then she registered the extent of the doctor's concern. She nodded abruptly. "Very well, then. Fifteen minutes. I want this meeting to reconvene here in fifteen minutes. Dismissed." Janeway had no time right then for politeness. All her attention was focused on rescuing Tom. "So tell me Doctor," she continued, after her officers had left. "How can this get any worse?" --- Somehow B'Elanna and Harry found themselves in the mess hall, not speaking, hardly even looking at each other. Once they inadvertently caught each other's eyes, and hurriedly looked away again. They sat down at an empty table, not bothering even to look at Neelix's latest culinary nightmares, but the Talaxian saw them enter and quickly scurried over. "Lieutenant! Ensign! Can I not tempt you with some of today's leola root casserole? Or perhaps a nice serving of devilled swampfish in my special pepper sauce?" "No thanks Neelix." B'Elanna replied bluntly, clearly trying to dismiss him, but Neelix was not to be deterred. He slid into a seat opposite Harry and looked from one to the other. B'Elanna glared at him, while Harry continued to trace patterns on the table in front of him, his thoughts miles away. "May I ask if you've found a way to rescue Tom yet?" "No." "Oh dear. I must say I feel terribly guilty about all this. I don't know much about these people, but I was always told they were tolerant and reclusive. I never expected they would -" "Look Neelix. Either shut up or go away." B'Elanna had had enough. A hurt look spread across his face. "Well, if you're going to be like that -" Offended, he heaved himself to his feet and started to turn away, but Torres grabbed his arm, holding him in place. "Neelix, I'm sorry. It's just -" She shrugged and let go, looking away. He nodded sympathetically. "I know, I know, I quite understand. This is a very trying time for all of us." He paused a second, then sat down again and ventured hesitantly. "Is it true then, what they say? That he's been arrested and accused of rape?" "Who told you that?" B'Elanna demanded belligerently. Neelix shifted uncomfortably under her stare. "Oh, you know the gossips in this place. Nothing ever stays secret for long. And as morale officer, it's my job to -" His pompous little speech trailed off at the glare directed at him. With sudden visions of being torn apart by an angry Klingon, Neelix nervously tried again, this time without the pretense or posturing. "It was the two behind you," he admitted, his voice hushed as he leaned in closer to B'Elanna. "I heard then talking about it as I served them lunch." B'Elanna swivelled round with a dark expression on her face. Harry didn't move, didn't even seem to notice. It was Megan Delaney and her latest sacrificial victim, the hapless Geron. Shit, at least Paris had a fighting chance of an equal relationship with her, but *Geron*? The two women stared at each other with barely disguised hostility. "Spreading gossip again Delaney?" B'Elanna asked without preliminary. God, the woman made her mad. She knew most of that hostility was tied to her envy of the other woman, but she just couldn't help it. Megan was beautiful in a cooly arrogant fashion - no bumps or ridges on *her*, that was for sure. Bright, popular, effortlessly sociable and adept at attracting men in their droves - she was everything B'Elanna was not. She hated her. "Only when it's interesting," Delaney replied airily, looking at B'Elanna as if she'd stepped in something particularly distasteful. God, what was with the attitude of this woman? What the hell had she done to upset her so? She was acting like some sort of jealous lover, and that angry hostility was making Megan very nervous. Very nervous indeed. But she'd be *damned* if she'd back down. Not even to a half-Klingon! What, did B'Elanna think Paris was her own personal property or something? "Half the ship is talking about it." she continued, with just a hint of amused condescension. Enough to make the Chief Engineer angry, but not enough to have her leap over the table and tear her throat out. She hoped. "Everyone knows Tom's been thrown in prison again. What was it this time? Oh yes. Rape." She gave a tiny smile. "I have one week of replicator credits saying he didn't do it." "Mighty big of you," B'Elanna muttered as Harry suddenly came back to himself and looked up at Delaney. "There's a betting pool?" He asked incredulously. "Sure. Dalby started it. There's another one on whether we'll get him back." She leaned forward intently, her expression turning calculating. "Come on guys, tell me. What happens if he gets convicted? Are we going to leave him in prison or is the Captain planning to bust her favourite pilot out of jail again?" "You almost sound jealous of her," B'Elanna shot back. She was not going to tell this woman anything. Seconds later the whole ship would know. Delaney threw her a withering look, and quickly realised no information would be forthcoming from this source. She gave a slight shrug, not responding further to the jibe. Studying her cat-perfect nails, she sighed dramatically, knowing exactly how to wind up the other woman. "I just want Tom back again. I've got a *very* special 'welcome home' present waiting for him." The sigh was followed by a wolfish grin as she met B'Elanna's eyes. "Poor baby - all that time in prison - bound to bring back bad memories. And I'll be right here to comfort him." "Yeah, I'll just bet." B'Elanna turned away disgustedly. Paris' love life was none of her concern - despite the tentative pass he'd made at her a few weeks earlier - but she could *not* understand why he dallied with this woman. In her opinion both Delaney sisters were menaces to the male population, but Megan was by far the worst. She controlled every date, every encounter, called all the shots, and Paris just let her. Hell, maybe he liked it that way. With an effort of will, she dragged her mind firmly away from the tantalising images her imagination instantly conjured up. Out of the gutter, Torres. Out of the gutter *right now*. You're *not* interested in Tom Paris, smart-ass pilot and all-round pig. Got that?? She grabbed Harry none too gently and hauled him to his feet. "Come on. We've got to get back." --- Janeway was arguing over subspace with the Torvellian Minister for Security when her bridge crew returned. It had been a tense fifteen minutes, the waiting, the not knowing getting to all of them, to a greater or lesser degree. "Dammit, didn't you hear what I just said? Go ahead with this charade and you could kill him!" The Captain barely glanced at her senior officers as they entered, waved them sharply to sit. "Even if Paris did do it - which I don't believe for one second - that isn't justice, it's murder!" The Torvellian had the grace to look abashed. "I appreciate your concern, Captain. This is not a problem we've encountered before. We are a retiring race and our contact with other species is sporadic at best. Nor is this a common crime for us. Our laws simply don't provide for this situation." Gravely he met the Captain's furious gaze, trying to convey apology. "We are not barbarians, Captain. All I can do is repeat my offer regarding sentence. It is unusual, but the canons might just cover this situation. I don't know what else I can do. Sentence has already been passed." There was a tight pause, while the Captain considered her response. She really didn't have much of a choice, she thought bitterly. The others were looking on with varying degrees of confusion, anger or neutrality, wondering what the hell exactly was going on. "Very well. We don't have much of a choice, do we? But I would like to tell Mr Paris myself." "Understood. That should not be a problem. Just let me know when you wish to see him and we will give you the co-ordinates. Minister Jaralin out." For a long moment there was silence in the small room. The Captain didn't move, and the look in her eyes as she stared at the blank screen was unfathomable, distant. "Captain....?" Chakotay asked warily, breaking into her reverie. With a start, Janeway snapped back into the present and glanced over at her First Officer, who was staring at her in concern. She sighed then touched a control on her viewscreen. "I don't think I'm capable of explaining this one again. Doctor, would you mind?" The doctor appeared on screen, a pained expression on his face. He threw her a reproachful look, then glanced almost nervously at the rest of the senior bridge crew. After a couple of false starts, he gave a long- suffering sigh and started again, as if giving a lecture under protest. "Very well, Captain, if you insist." His reluctance was clear. He cleared his throat self-consciously and began. "My research has indicated that Torvellian epidermis is over six times thicker than that of humans and secretes a substance containing alkaline properties." He spoke rapidly, clearly trying to get this over with. "I found the same to be true of their internal membranes." He paused for a moment, then plunged on. "I surmise this to be protective in nature, not only from the surprisingly high acidity of their environment, but also because -" A brief uncomfortable pause. "Because my studies show Torvellian male ejaculate to have a pH of 2.5. Their sperm seems to thrive in it, but as you are aware, this would be highly corrosive to humans." Around the table, there were a series of indrawn breaths, and minds whirled. Even B'Elanna was left speechless in shock. Finally Tuvok leaned forward and broke the silence which hung heavy as a pall over the room. "If I understand your euphemisms correctly, doctor, you are saying that the physiology of Torvellian males is incompatible with humans, and if sentence is carried out as intended, it may kill Lieutenant Paris." "Euphemisms indeed...." the doctor muttered at the impassive Vulcan. "I'll give you euphemisms." Then louder, brutally, he added, "Yes, Lieutenant. If you let that Torvellian rape him, chances are, the damage will be irreparable, and he'll bleed to death, even if you manage to get him to sickbay immediately afterwards." Quite the most horrific death Janeway could imagine, and she'd encountered quite a few, particularly in her dealings with the Cardassians. Oh, Tom had really outdone himself this time. Apart from Tuvok and the Doc, the rest of the senior officers looked to be in shock, and were unlikely to speak anytime soon. She understood that feeling all too well - sometimes there were advantages in being a computer program or a Vulcan. No emotions. Tuvok looked at her and continued. "From the conversation you were having with the Torvellian minister, it would appear that an alternative sentence has been suggested." Janeway shook her head slowly. "Yes, but it's not much of an alternative," she admitted reluctantly. Frustrated at her powerlessness, she had to fight back the impulse to pound the bulkhead walls. "Care to explain?" Chakotay at last found his voice, but there was a deadened look in his eyes. Yeah, this one had gotten to him all right, but Janeway felt no satisfaction in the victory. The explanation almost stuck in her throat. "Given the circumstances, they told me they will allow a male member of this crew to carry out sentence instead." Almost before she finished speaking she raised a hand to intercept B'Elanna's protest. "I told them I saw no reason why a female couldn't carry out this sentence, but they wouldn't buy it. Something to do with the reciprocity of the punishment, or some such rubbish." "I can't believe we're even discussing this," B'Elanna broke in, her voice shaking in anger. "You can't be going along with it! You'd be condoning this farce!" "I decide what we can and can't do, B'Elanna," came the icy reply. "And I want him out of there, alive. If this is the only way...." "But at what cost, Captain? Look, I'm sure there are any number of people on this ship willing to risk their necks to bust Tom out of there. Hell, I'd do it." "I can't and won't risk lives needlessly, not when there's another way. It may not be honourable, but at least this way no-one gets hurt." Physically at least. She shoved aside that disquieting thought and met B'Elanna's hostile gaze directly. "And don't tell me you'd still be advocating arms and violence if I'd told you a woman could carry out this sentence. *You* perhaps." That silenced the half-Klingon. Sometimes the brutal truth had to be said, but it hurt. Gods, how it hurt. Something about this whole situation was setting loose demons they'd successfully locked away for over two years. She dreaded to think what this was doing - would do - to Tom. "I'll do it." The determined voice, gritty with pain, startled the others. The Captain turned to the sound of the voice. It was Harry. She met the intense eyes staring at her through mussed dark hair, which fell in his face, over his eyes. Eyes which no longer seemed innocent. And she wondered, not for the first time, at the change she'd seen in the young Ensign since his experiences in the Chute. Older. More cynical. His cheerful naivety gone. What had happened to him in there? "Harry," she said gently. "Are you sure that's a good idea? It could ruin your friendship with him. It would be better for both of you if you were there for him afterwards." Harry shook his head adamantly. "No. I'll do it." He paused, then laughed bitterly, the sound brittle. "Our friendship has taken a nose- dive since the Chute, anyway, so I can't see this doing any more harm." "What do you mean?" The Captain asked, puzzled. Even B'Elanna looked confused and she was closer to the two of them than Janeway. "Just Tom feeling guilty for not being able to protect me in there. You know what he's like, Captain. He's put up the 'no trespassers' signs and won't let me in." Another shaky laugh. "Hell, if Voyager had shields like Tom's, we'd be invulnerable." The Captain stared at him in shock as the terrible truth began to dawn on her. But it was Chakotay who spoke first, his voice gentle. "Harry, are you attracted to Tom?" A long pause. "Um, if you're asking whether I can do this, then yes, I think I can. I sorta know the ropes." "That wasn't what I asked. I just want to know if you're attracted to Tom. Don't worry. Nothing you say in this room will go beyond these four walls." Harry looked at his Commander, slightly puzzled by the question. B'Elanna seemed about to speak up but Janeway placed a hand on her arm, shook her head. This was their show. "I care for him," Harry replied defiantly, clearly embarrassed. "He's the best friend I've ever had. Means more to me than life itself. But if you mean sex - well, I've never really thought about it." He drew in a shaky breath. "I mean, I know Tom's a good looking guy, but, well, he's a *guy* - and I just assumed - I'm attracted to women, so ...." He trailed off and shrugged helplessly. "You say you 'know the ropes'," the soft voice continued inexorably. "Perhaps you do, but do you really feel capable of doing that to Tom? Doing to him what was -" Here Chakotay paused, glanced at the others, unwilling to voice his suspicions. It was too personal, too private, for discussion at this table. Harry's skin took on a greenish hue as he contemplated the thought. "Just *say* it, why don't you? 'What was done to me'!" he finished the sentence harshly, drawing a strangled gasp from B'Elanna. "Yeah, well. Better *I* try than the whole damn ship knowing about it." Chakotay shook his head, keeping his gaze fixed on the younger man. "Are you sure, Harry? Because if you can't...." He paused, ran a hand through cropped hair, a confusion of thoughts building up inside. "What if Paris says no? I just can't see him accepting this solution, he's way too stubborn. *Think* Harry. Can you still do it if he doesn't want to? If you have to restrain him?" He wouldn't want to. That was one thing he and Ensign Kim were in perfect agreement on. Chakotay was willing to bet Paris would rather take his chances with the Torvellian. Harry shook his head slowly, eyes fixed on Chakotay in horror. "No," he whispered. If Tom fought him..... he remembered the vulnerable, scared, injured Tom in the Chute. Gods, he couldn't do that to him again. He couldn't do anything to hurt Tom. And if he was fit and healthy, Harry knew he wouldn't have a hope in hell of overpowering Tom, unless he had Torvellian help. That thought turned him from green to grey. He knew how that would seem to Tom. Conspiring with the enemy to hurt and humiliate him. No way. Absolutely no way. "No," he repeated, stronger. "I can't." Chakotay let out the breath he'd been holding. "Then I'll do it." --- revelation --- Before they transported down to speak with Tom, Janeway hustled Chakotay into her ready room and ordered a privacy lock on the door. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" "Hopefully, repaying Paris for his life boon," Chakotay replied calmly. Janeway looked sceptical - he could hardly blame her. They had all looked at him in shocked amazement as he'd made the offer, and he'd known it was only a matter of time before the Captain called him on it. She cared about him - perhaps not as much as he would have liked, he thought with brief sadness, before pushing the thought aside - but her feelings for him were nothing compared to her fierce protectiveness towards Tom. It had only been a month or so since she'd gone head first down that prison chute, toting a blaster, not even waiting for backup. Even Tuvok had sounded her out on that one - her actions had been nothing short of crazy. And according to Harry, her first words had been, "Where's Tom?" So he wasn't surprised to see her standing in front of him now, body drawn to her full height, eyes flashing; like a tigress protecting a sickly cub. The comparison almost made him smile. As if the cocky flyboy needed her protection. "Chakotay....." He recognised the warning tone and sighed. "Look, someone has to do it," he said, with a faint air of exasperation. "I don't think Paris would want this thing all over the ship, so that leaves me, Harry and Tuvok. And since it isn't his Pon Farr, that pretty much rules out Tuvok. As for Harry, well, you heard what he said. I don't think he should be put through any more trauma - by the sounds of things, he suffered enough in that prison the Akritirians put him in." "So you offer. Chakotay - you don't even *like* Tom, and I've *never* known you show any interest in men. Not in that way. Are you sure you can do it?" Janeway didn't sound convinced. "And - what if - what if he fights you?" Chakotay gave a heavy sigh and looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "Yes, I can do it. I'm stronger than him. Besides, I doubt even his hostility will change the way I feel enough to - well, you know. Stop me." The Captain stared at him incredulously, eyes wide. "You're kidding, right?" Hell, she was echoing B'Elanna now, but she was beginning to understand how the younger woman felt. "Look," he said defensively. "I think the guy is irritating, shallow and arrogant, who maybe, just maybe, is starting to understand that there are more important things in life than fast ships, fast women and a fast buck. I don't like him much, but that doesn't change the fact that fate dealt him an attractive face and body. I'm not blind, Captain." For a long moment, Janeway didn't reply, just looked at him measuringly. It was her patented I'm-trying-really-hard-to-understand-but-I'm- disappointed-in-you look. The one which made lesser men run for cover. "Why are you doing this, Chakotay?" she asked suddenly. "For him? Or you?" "What do you mean?" Her expression tightened momentarily. "For a spiritually enlightened man, you seem to have a blind spot when it comes to Lieutenant Paris. I'm sure in the Maquis you saw him at his worst, and that has coloured your subsequent view of him, but still. To you he's shallow and spoilt, the kind of man who threw away every advantage he was born with...." Chakotay shrugged uncomfortably. The words hit a little too close to home for comfort. "You're attracted to him, yes, but you don't like him. So I ask you again. Are you doing this to help him, Chakotay, or to punish him for making you want him? Against your better judgment?" "I would like to think I'm doing this for him," he replied eventually, chastened. "To get him out of there." "Then remember that, Chakotay. I'm not going to stop you - I need you to bring him back to us - but this isn't the time or the place for that kind of attitude." He nodded at her, accepting the rebuke without rancour. She was right. "And for what it's worth," she added softly, "I suspect Paris was less privileged than you might imagine. In fact I'm beginning to realise that he had an amazing number of *dis*-advantages in life." "Poor little rich boy, huh?" Janeway threw him a sharp look at his feeble attempt at humour. "You have no idea," she breathed, holding in her anger with an effort. "So please, try not to judge him for things you don't understand." "Point taken, Captain," came the soft reply. He didn't push it, but he wondered. What secrets about Paris junior was the Captain hiding? --- They transported down to the planet surface without mishap, and were met in the misty, late-afternoon sunshine by two officials of indeterminate sex, the first with feathers close cropped against grainy skin, the second with a huge dark mane feathering in it's (her?) eyes and down its back. The close cropped one, who turned out to be female, led the way inside the facility, while the other trailed behind, watching them. Little was said. Neither Janeway or Chakotay were in the mood for small talk and the Torvellians seemed almost intimidated by their presence. "In here." The lead Torvellian said at last, as they came to the end of yet another sterile, white corridor. They followed her inside and the door slid shut after them. In front of them looked to be some kind of security office, monitors everywhere. "Down the end of that corridor," she told them, "Last door on the left. The computer should accept your voice commands." As the two officers started down the corridor, neither Torvellian followed, seeming to understand the need for privacy. "So civilized in some ways," Chakotay observed quietly. "And so utterly barbaric in others," Janeway finished. She shrugged painfully. "I suppose many cultures would say the same of our methods. Dumping people on penal colonies then forgetting about them is hardly civilized behaviour, either." They fell into uncomfortable silence, neither willing to pursue that particular topic. As they reached the end of the blank corridor, voices reached them through the oppressive silence. They were coming from behind the last door on the left. Tom's cell. The two exchanged glances and paused, listening for a moment, but the words were indistinct. One seemed to be Tom's light voice, the other, even fainter, was no doubt that of a native. "Computer, open door." Chakotay ordered softly. The door slid back silently, to reveal a small room, with a bed and little else. Off to one side was another door, which presumably led to the bathroom. As the door opened the voices suddenly became clear. The two were arguing. Tom sat on the bed, arms wrapped around one knee protectively, a stubborn tilt to his chin, while the Torvellian stood close by. Both were so caught up in their conflict they failed to notice the entrance of the two officers. "...... forget all this mess and start anew. I don't like this any more than you do." "Oh really. Why don't you try telling that to someone more gullible." "Why do you have to make this so difficult? It could be so easy. All you have to do is -" Tom jerked his head up and glared at the alien with such open hostility, the Captain and First Officer were startled. "Go fuck yourself," he growled, expression dangerous. The Torvellian sighed and his voice became even lower as he bent towards the young human. "I'd rather fuck *you*." The Captain must have made some small sound of shock, because both men froze, and turned to look towards the doorway. She watched the mask drop back in place over Tom's face, wiping out all expression, while the Torvellian glared at them. Through her shock, the pieces began falling into place. This was the wronged husband, she was sure of it. And the whole setup was an elaborate scheme to put Paris in exactly this position. At his mercy. Except Janeway had interfered, prevented him from getting what he wanted. She smiled grimly, no trace of humour in her eyes. Behind her she felt Chakotay shifting uncomfortably, clearly reaching the same conclusion. She'd sometimes wondered whether Paris found his looks as much curse as blessing. Now she had the answer. After a tense moment, the Torvellian tore angry eyes from her and stalked past her into the corridor, turning one last time to cast a burning glance first at Paris, then at Chakotay. And if looks could kill, the First Officer thought wryly, I'd be dead by now. "Tom, are you all right?" Janeway asked, concerned. His response was a light, almost mocking laugh. "Sure, Captain. Never better. In fact," he added, almost conspiratorially, "I have to say, the food's much better here than on Voyager." All defences in place. No surprises there. "Tell me what happened." His eyes flickered from the Captain to First Officer and back again, the light expression fixed in place, but a hint of sulleness appeared in his eyes. "Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Remind me not to go chasing after these exotic alien women, Captain, they're nothing but trouble," he quipped carelessly. "Lieutenant....." He was pushing it. "I have no idea, Captain!" he burst out quickly, contritely. "One minute we're having a really lovely time and the next thing I know, I'm in here accused of rape. Of *rape*!" His eyes widened momentarily, before he covered the expression. "It's a very serious accusation," Chakotay observed softly. "I'm aware of that! But I didn't do it!" He glared defensively at Chakotay, who stood at the Captain's shoulder, his expression carefully neutral. "Not that you'd believe me." The Captain sighed in exasperation and frustration. "We believe you, Tom. In fact, after that little performance from the Torvellian, we have a pretty good idea who put you in here and why." Nothing. No response. Not even a flicker in his eyes. He was regressing, the Captain realised worriedly. Prison had raised all the walls, all the wariness and mistrust he'd carried around with him from the beginning of the mission. Walls she had hoped never to see again. Gods, they had to get him out of here. She wanted her brash young Lieutenant back again - she missed his loyalty, his courage, his unconventional brand of professionalism - hell, she even missed his lousy sense of humour. "How much have the Torvellians told you about your sentence?" she plunged on. "Enough," he said shortly, throwing another glance at Chakotay, clearly not liking her choice of companion for this particular discussion. "Captain.... could we - ah, talk about this in private? It's kind of embarrassing." "Paris, I already know all about it," Chakotay told him calmly. "You have nothing to feel embarrassed or ashamed about. It's not your fault." For a moment the younger officer stared at him, nonplussed, then the defensive humour returned to his voice, if not his eyes. "Aww hell, knew I shouldn't have signed on board such a small ship. Can't keep anything secret..." "We don't have time for this," the Captain cut in impatiently. "Look, I know what they're planning to do to you. Sentence presumably to be carried out by the vermin who just scurried out the door. We've tried to get you out of here, but short of risking half the crew in a full scale assault on this place, we're out of options." Paris smiled at her knowingly, but said nothing. "Tom," Janeway continued softly, her voice concerned. "What they're planning to do to you - did they tell you it could kill you?" "Huh?" Paris frowned, puzzled. "Kill me? How?" Right then he was too startled to feel either embarrassed or scared. Maybe later. The whole conversation had a surreal quality to it; here he was, sitting in a prison cell talking to the Captain about his *rape* sentence - literally! "The Doctor said something about Torvellian males being incompatible with humans," the Captain explained, a light flush touching her cheeks, but with characteristic determination she soldiered on. "Basically, their semen is acid." She watched as the colour drained from Paris' face and his blue eyes widened in shock. "Lovely way to go," he said faintly. "We protested to the Torvellians about this, and they've agreed a compromise. They won't lift the sentence entirely, but they're willing to let one of us carry it out instead." "One of - " There was a long pause, then, even fainter. "Uh - who did you have in mind?" "Me," Chakotay butted in. Paris' jaw dropped, and he stared at his commanding officer with open incredulity, which turned quickly to embarrassed denial. "Oh, no. No way," he said, shaking his head, blood rising again to flush his neck and cheeks in embarrassed colour. Damn his fair skin, anyway. Why did it have to show his emotions so readily? "This isn't a committee, Paris," Janeway said briskly. "We simply have no choice. If your life was in danger - I'd throw everything we have into getting you out of here. But now - I can't justify it. So, unless you'd prefer Harry, or you want to risk the whole ship knowing about it, it's going to have to be Chakotay." Harry. Oh, shit. He couldn't put his best friend through this mess. Not again. Hell, he still felt incredibly guilty over the things Harry had to do inside that Akritirian prison to keep him alive after he'd been stabbed. Harry thought he didn't know, but he did. He could guess. It was a debt he could never repay, never even talk about. And he knew the crew would have a field day over his latest predicament if they got to hear about it. Rapidly he came to a decision. A fateful one. Maybe his last. "I'll stick with the Torvellian, thanks." The Captain looked exasperated at his stubbornness, seemed about to launch into another tirade, when Chakotay touched her shoulder. "Captain, you won't change his mind," he said softly. "I can't say I blame him, to be honest." He met Paris' startled blue eyes, stared into them for a long moment before Paris flushed again and looked away. "Look, I'm aware of your personal feelings in this matter, gentlemen," the Captain spoke up, her voice decisive. "But I expect you to deal with them as Starfleet officers. I know it's not exactly honourable, but Tom, I *can't* risk lives over this. Least of all yours by letting that Torvellian get his hands on you. If you have a real problem with Chakotay, name me an alternative and I'll raise the matter with him." Paris' silence was answer enough. "Very well then, it's settled." she said determinedly. But just as she was about to turn away, she paused, and looked at Paris again, sitting on the bed, refusing to look at either of them. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, feeling him start under her touch. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "If there was any other way.... you know I'd take it." He nodded, raising his head to gaze up at her with trust and devotion shining in his eyes, causing a twinge of unfamiliar feeling in Chakotay's chest. Was that jealousy? "I know," he replied softly. Then he cast a sidelong glance at Chakotay, before his gaze returned to study the bedcover with apparent fascination. He didn't look up again until they'd left, then he ran a shaking hand through tousled hair and laughed bitterly. Chakotay of all people. Oh, the delicious irony of it. Well, it wasn't going to happen. No way. No way in hell. --- waiting --- The next few hours were the longest of Chakotay's life. He and the Captain were shown into another bare, white room and asked to wait. Food and drink was served by their anxiously hospitable hosts, but neither felt capable of eating. The silence weighed heavy on both of them and at last Chakotay rose to his feet and began pacing. The Captain watched him gravely, a considering light in her eyes, but she said nothing. What could she say? She was astonished at the revelations - though she had to admit, it explained a lot about the Commander's uncharacteristic hostility toward the Lieutenant. Her lips twitched involuntarily. It was a blow to her ego, that one. And here she'd been thinking the Commander was only interested in *her*. Instead, she was fighting Tom Paris, of all people, for a place in his heart and she had the feeling if she ever took up the challenge, she would lose. She should have guessed, really. Chakotay's feelings for her were warm and comforting, caressing her like a summer breeze, pleasant but hardly Earthshattering. But his feelings for Tom were darker, more intense, and now that her eyes were opened, she could see how he came alive in the younger man's presence. Something about Tom stirred the serene Commander into an uncharacteristic maelstrom of emotion - anger, sarcasm, hostility, humour and, to her complete amazement, desire. Of the crew, only Seska had ever shared that ability to get under the Commander's skin. Oh, she came close, the Captain supposed, but close wasn't good enough for her. Suddenly she was glad she had pushed him away, held off from taking their friendship to a different level. Perhaps she had known, even then, that something wasn't right. Pity really. The two most attractive men on the ship, and they shoot sparks off each other. What a waste, she sighed regretfully, a wry smile touching her face. "What's so funny?" Chakotay's tense voice broke into her reverie, brought her back to the land of the living. He looked nervous. Not that Janeway could blame him. It was one thing to be attracted to Paris; it was quite another to have to use that attraction against him. He might not like Paris, or want a relationship with him, but he was deluding himself if he thought he could remain indifferent to him forever. If he took time to get to know the younger man, to see beneath his defences, perhaps then he would understand what he was losing by this. He had to know this would destroy any chance of him ever acting on his attraction in the future. Though given what she knew of his background, realistically she couldn't see Paris letting *any* man get close to him in that way - except maybe Harry. Certainly not a man as strong-willed and physically intimidating as Chakotay. Then again, she thought, look at the way Paris was always in the front line when it came to saving Chakotay's life - despite the older man's persistent aloofness towards him. There was something there, she was sure of it, but whether he was seeking approval or something else, she just couldn't say. "I can't believe I'm doing this," Chakotay continued at last, not waiting for her answer. He ran a hand through his cropped black hair, clearly on edge. "I may not like the man much, but he doesn't deserve this!" "We don't have any choice," Janeway reasoned, her voice controlled. "Not if we want him back alive without killing half the crew in the process." "But what they're asking me to do is legalised rape!" His moral outrage was clear. "And you know he's not gonna make it easy - for either of us!" "Wishing you hadn't volunteered?" "In a way - yes." He paused and looked away, unable to meet her eyes. "But I didn't like the idea of someone else doing this," he confessed uncomfortably. "So I gathered," she said wryly. "Look, Chakotay, I know it's none of my business, but . . . " "But?" "How long have you - ah - felt this way about Tom?" Chakotay grimaced, turned away from her searching gaze. "Probably from the very first moment I saw him," he admitted at last, remembering vividly that first time he'd laid eyes on Paris, in a bar on Regos IV. For the longest moment he'd just stood there, staring at the beautiful young man before him. Tall, slim-hipped, with blond hair, wide blue eyes and an arrogantly lovely face - he had the face of a fallen angel. Their eyes had met across the bar and for an instant he forgot to breathe. His vision grew dark and he felt like he was being dipped in burning oil. Then Paris had smirked cynically, as if reading his mind, and dislike and resentment had pushed to the fore, though not quite enough to kill his desire. "God, he was so arrogant, so knowing - attitude up to here - I detested him on sight. And he seemed to care about nothing and no-one but himself . . . " "But? I sense a 'but' here." "He was also one of the most attractive men I'd ever seen," he continued reluctantly. "He could light up a room just by stepping into it. I just couldn't help it, and I haven't been drawn to a man that way for a long time. Not since my younger and wilder days. I wanted him, and I resented the hell out of him for that. Still do, to an extent." He gave a huge sigh and shrugged deprecatingly. "I expect that's why I've always given him such a hard time. I should feel guilty about it. Probably would if he wasn't so damned annoying." Janeway shook her head slowly, a worried look in her eyes. "Just be careful, Chakotay. Don't lose your temper with him. I know Tom can be difficult, but . . . " She trailed off, unable to confide her worries. They were Tom's secrets to tell, if at all. For a long moment they just stared at each other awkwardly, mixed emotions charging the air between them - for themselves, for each other, for the young Lieutenant. Then at last, the doors opened, and the two Torvellians returned. It was time. --- They came for him shortly afterwards, moved him from his own cell to another one, slightly bigger, with a bed pushed against one wall and a one-way mirror on the other. Paris stared at it for a moment, understanding flooding him. "So *that's* how you get your kicks," he quipped with no real amusement. "Sure you don't want to get a closer look?" The Torvellians said nothing, didn't even look at him as they backed out of the room and left him alone. Alone. He was alone with his thoughts, and they weren't pretty. In an attempt to distract himself he looked around the cell, noting how this one seemed somehow less sterile than the other. The walls were darker, the lighting more subdued - it seemed almost to have an air of foreboding about it, like some sort of execution chamber. *Lovely comparison there, Paris*. Heart beginning to pound double time, he turned back to look at the mirror. Were they on the other side, watching him? He felt an old familiar panic scrabbling in the pit of his stomach like a nest of rodents and took a deep breath to control the wave of nausea. Don't think about it, he told himself fiercely, trying to quell the feeling. Just don't think. But what else was there to do? He began pacing his new cell agitatedly, a rising tide of emotion threatening to crash his barriers. Dammit, why the hell didn't they just get it over with instead of stringing it out like this? It had been a long time for him - he didn't think he had the defences anymore. And sometime soon, Chakotay was going to come through that door and - and - Hell. He couldn't even think it. He'd tried to speak to his captors, tell them that even Tanfly was better than this, but they'd just looked at him, shocked and concerned. What? You would prefer to die? They'd asked, incredulously. Yeah, he would. Rather that than Chakotay knowing . . . Keep focusing on that, he thought. Feed your anger and resentment. Don't give in to those other thoughts or the memories threatening to drown him. He sat down on the bed, tried to calm his racing mind. Why did it have to be Chakotay? Why not someone, *anyone* else? Then a sardonic voice in his head reminded him, amused: hey buddy, you had the opportunity, but you didn't take it! He closed his eyes for a moment, but denial didn't work either. He could almost see the hint of amused malice, and worse, the pity, in the older man's eyes. Great excuse to bring the cocky Lieutenant down a peg or two, hey Commander? Oh, but I forgot, you're doing this for the most noble of reasons, aren't you? After all, someone has to save my sorry ass. But if you get to inflict a little humiliation on me en route, all the better, right? He sighed raggedly, ran a hand through tousled blond hair and looked at the closed door. Shit, he ought to be used to it by now. But he wasn't, would never be. He found himself wondering how he was going to react. Right then he had no idea, his moods were shifting faster than quicksilver. From humiliation and fear (not again, not ever again) to anger (I don't need any mercy fuck from a guy who hates my guts!) to nervous anticipation and maybe, just maybe, a frail spark of desire. Once, another lifetime ago, back when things had seemed so simple - before prison had made of him the shell of a man he was now - he'd been attracted to the bigger man, his darkly handsome face, his unconscious grace, his calm authority. But then he'd looked into Chakotay's dark eyes, and seen the same old contempt and disgust he'd seen in eyes for most of his life, starting with his father's. *No. Don't think about that.* So he'd squashed the feeling, and shortly after, New Zealand had happened to him like a plasma bolt, changing everything. Those kind of feelings were buried now, he thought - hoped - forever. No men. Not ever again. When Janeway got him out of prison he'd made like a blue streak for the nearest available woman, and kept on chasing. Denying. Yeah. Maybe. But right now he wasn't about to take odds on whether he was going to freak out or jump the guy. Bet that would shock him, a little voice whispered. He sighed. He just didn't know how he would react. Either way, he'd end up humiliating himself, he realised, and his stubbornness went up a notch. Death was starting to sound more and more appealing. After all, it was a suitably ignominious end for him. Maybe then Chakotay would repent over his artistically bloody body.... He almost laughed at his childishness and self-pity. Almost. --- Chakotay was brought before the Torvellian Council. There were three of them, two males and one female, he guessed. They rose to their feet as he entered, the slow dignity of their movements the only visible clue to their advancing years. The dark, grainy skin didn't show up wrinkles or sag the way human skin did in marking the passage of time. He wanted to hate these people for what they were doing, but he couldn't. To them, this was right. This was justice. And they had been quick to suggest an alternative when they realised that Paris' life might be in danger. Of them all, only Tanfly was unforgivable. And even he - well. Suffice it to say Chakotay knew what it was like to desire the unobtainable. "We will monitor from here to ensure that sentence is carried out." One of them, the female, pointed towards the large window dominating one wall. "This is a one-way mirror, so you will not see us." He moved over to it, stared into the room beyond. There, pacing up and down nervously, was Paris. He felt a jolt of - what? Anxiety? Desire? as he stared at the younger man. Unconsciously he found himself admiring, not for the first time, the easy grace of that tall body, the way muscles slid under smooth skin as he moved, almost like a hunting cat, though not nearly so relaxed. He looked angry, scared; tension and a poignant hint of vulnerability was written into every line of his body, in the way he started and threw his head up at some imagined noise. For an instant Chakotay glimpsed blue eyes, wild with unfamiliar emotions and it took his breath away, started a familiar ache in his loins. Paris was a beautiful man, and for that one brief moment he'd seen his lovely face unguarded, before he'd paused and with a visible effort of will, drawn the shields down around him again, like a cloak. A hand on his sleeve interrupted his contemplation. "Commander?" He jumped, pulled himself back to the present. "I'm sorry, you were saying?" he managed, voice and politeness intact despite his racing heart and mind. "I was asking if you wanted him restrained." "No! No - I," he paused, flustered at the sudden sharp stab of arousal which coursed through him at those words. He drew in a shaky breath, striving to regain control. "No, that's okay." "Very well. But if you should have - ah - difficulties, make this signal and we will send you assistance." She formed a simple shape with her long fingers, one he could easily duplicate. "Uh - thank you, but that won't be necessary. Really." Heart pounding, he looked again at the pacing figure, watching as he sat down on the bed and stared into space. At least he hoped it wouldn't. Paris was a little taller than he, with a strong, attractive physique, but he was neither as broad nor as strong as Chakotay. If it came to a fight, the Commander was fairly sure he could take him. If it came to a fight ... take him ..... great spirits, what the hell was he thinking? But something in him was reacting to this, deriving pleasure from it, despite all his shocked denial. That same something uncurled and stretched inside him, whispered darkly that maybe a fight was exactly what he wanted. First a fight. Dominate him. Subdue him. Then pin him to the bed and fuck him. Fuck him *hard*. Gods... --- desire --- (Kudos to Emily Dickinson for the short poem quoted in this one) -- Chakotay had always considered himself a gentle man, not given to outbursts of rage or violence, but something about Paris seemed to drag his aggressive feelings to the surface. He took a deep breath, tried to calm the raging dark mass of emotion he felt warring within him, then stepped forward, into the room. Could he really do this? Paris was sitting on the bed. His gaze whipped round to the door as Chakotay entered and for one timeless moment their eyes locked and held. The temperature in the room jumped at least ten degrees, before both men looked away again uneasily. Chakotay paused for a moment and took a deep breath, the strength of his arousal taking him by surprise. God, he wanted Paris so much . . . Throwing mental chains around his fraying composure he stepped further into the room, closer. Paris' face went still, then slowly relaxed into that smug arrogance Chakotay so loathed. "Soooo," he drawled lightly, a smirk spreading across his face. "Why didn't you *tell* me?" This was Tom at his most aggravating, his most mocking. Chakotay glared at him in anger, suppressing the sudden urge to strike him. Paris continued in that same light, mocking tone. "So the 'Big Man' wants to fuck me, does he? I *am* surprised." The barest hint of sarcasm and bitterness touched his words. "Didn't think you'd lower yourself, Commander." "I wouldn't," he replied shortly, holding in his temper with an effort. "But someone has to save your sorry neck. Looks like it's me." Blond eyebrows shot up. "I never knew you cared." There was something almost double edged in Paris' remark. "Look," the Commander tried reasonably, trying not to let himself be provoked. Calm thoughts, Big Man, calm thoughts. "You're making this more difficult than it should be. Can't we just -" "Just what, Commander? You want me to roll over and take it like a man? Well, Commander, can't think why, but I *really* don't feel like it right now." His tone was bitterly sarcastic, before mocking superiority again won out. "Hey, what's wrong, Commander? You look disappointed." A teasing little smirk. "I guess the thought of humiliating me must turn you on. Or maybe it's *me* you really want..." "Paris......" That's it, just keep on provoking him. Keep those barriers up, keep control. Don't let him guess what you really want. Just get him angry, get this over with, fast and violent. Hell, it wouldn't be the first time. Better that than letting him in - letting him see - Oh, shit. I can't. I want him. So help me god, I want him. I always have. I want his hard body on mine, pinning me down, possessing me until I can't remember who I am or where he starts and I begin. It's sick. It's worse than sick. He moved away from the Commander in agitation. How can I after - after - oh god, he's closed in on me again, invading my personal space. Looks like he's about to go ballistic with me. But his eyes. The anger and arousal held barely in check. I know that look. In prison, I used it if I thought it could help me. To get better work details, good reports and to stop - oh god, it was coming back now, the memories knife wounds in his mind - to stop the hurting. What the fuck. I was a whore for Starfleet, so why not for the prisoners and guards too? Made no real difference that I could see, 'cept that maybe the prisoners had more honour. At least they only wanted your body, never your soul. So what difference does it make if I'm a whore again, now? But it did. It made a difference. For some reason, it mattered to him suddenly. Here. Now. With Chakotay. And that scared him more than anything. He backed away again, putting more distance between them and folded his arms defensively. "I'm *flattered* by your concern for my welfare, Commander, but like I said, I think I'll pass on the mercy fuck this time." His light voice was filled with arch superiority and a hint of sarcasm. Chakotay took a deep breath and counted to ten. Twice. "Look, Paris, maybe it hasn't sunk in yet, but if *I* don't do this, that Torvellian will! Have you got a death wish or something? I'm trying to save your life!" For a second an odd little smile played across Tom's face. "Yeah. Right. Sure you are, Commander." He took a step closer to Chakotay, his eyes, his manner suddenly confrontational. "Gods, you're so self- righteous. How can the rest of us mere mortals ever hope to compete?" He shook his head derisively. "Well careful, sir, 'cause one day that halo of yours is gonna slip and choke you! Come on, be honest for once. Doesn't this make you feel good? I bet you'll even get a gold star from the Captain for this! You really will do *anything* for her, won't you?" Shields trembling at maximum, he gave another smirk, his most superior, the one calculated to leave Chakotay clenching his fists with the desire to hit him. "So what are you waiting for - *Commander*," his voice dripped contemptuous sarcasm as he narrowed his eyes and stared into his superior's face, which had darkened in fury. "A written invitation? Because you won't get it. Or maybe you need help getting it up..." Chakotay finally snapped. "That's it. You asked for it." The growl was barely past his lips before Paris found himself flung hard against the nearest wall, a heavy body crashing into his an instant later, pinning him there. No time to react, barely even time to gasp in shock before the breath was knocked out of him. The Commander grabbed a handful of soft blond hair and yanked Paris' head back hard, exposing the vulnerable line of his neck to angry lips and teeth. Paris was frozen in place, not moving, hardly even reacting, until teeth sank deep into his tender flesh, leaving marks. He yelped, and then as if shocked out of a stupor, he suddenly broke into a frenzy of struggling, his mind recalling in vivid technicolour detail various other encounters ... ... Burkhill and Wistrom pinning him to a wall, clawing his clothes off ... .... The smile on the guard's face as he locked the door ...... .... Baptiste's face in a rictus of jealous fury that instant before the hurricane hit. "You're *mine*, Starfleet whore! Mine!".... Not flashbacks exactly, but memory alone was enough to give him the strength of sheer panic. "Get the fuck *off* me!" His body coiled like a spring, then exploded, shoving Chakotay off him with all his might, so violently that the broader man stumbled and fell to the ground, landing hard, almost winding him. Chakotay was on his feet again in an instant, a cloud of rage darkening his mind. He pounced on Paris, going in for the kill. Almost before the younger man could react, powerful hands seized him in a painful grip and he was thrown down violently onto the bed, Chakotay's body slamming hard on top of him, straddling him, pinning him down firmly and trapping his wrists to his sides. He could barely move, barely breathe, let alone fight. It was too much. Please gods not again. Not ever again. He closed his eyes tightly, as if to deny the reality of what was happening. Desire, if it had ever been there at all, had long since been swept away on the tide of memories which threatened to submerge him. Only one thought registered in his conscious mind right then, and it laughed at him like a crazy clown, repeating over and over again: "Place your bets. Place your bets. Guess you freaked out, Tommy boy. Guess you freaked out." Chakotay held the other man beneath him, breathing hard, lust and fury warring for dominance inside him. The sight of Paris' flushed face, the unwitting sensuality of his attractive body struggling under his drove his lust to levels he'd never before experienced. Gods but he wanted this. Wanted him so bad it was almost like pain. Had this desire, this overwhelming *want* been lurking under the surface all this time? He captured Paris' sensual mouth in a violent, demanding kiss, roughly forcing his mouth open. The younger man groaned and shuddered as his lips parted and submitted to the invasion, letting him inside. For a breathless moment Chakotay explored the heated depth's of Paris' luscious mouth, bit his mobile lips. He was so hard it hurt. Pulling back for an instant, gasping, eyes dark with anger and desire, he grabbed the shirt Paris was wearing, using his bodyweight and knees to keep him pinned down. One hard sharp yank and the material tore all the way down the front, buttons popping, the action so vicious Paris cried out from the friction burns. His eyes snapped open, locked on Chakotay with wild eyed terror, but he was almost beyond struggling, beyond resisting. He was 70,000 light years away, and Chakotay was no longer his commanding officer, but another body in a long line of bodies who'd wanted to do this to him. Chakotay leaned in for another savage kiss, a hand straying to the bare chest beneath him, running up and down the hard muscles and through the softer fuzz of hair, then he reached for a nipple and twisted, nothing gentle in the fierce caress. This time the distressed whimper seemed to register in Chakotay's lust hazed mind and he paused, pulled back again and looked at Paris, trying to regain some measure of control over himself, even though his entire body was screaming, take him! Take him! Holding himself back with an effort of will, his heated gaze swept over the beautiful face, tousled blond hair and down the strong graceful lines of his body which seemed to shout defiance and anger. But his eyes - those incredible eyes - told an entirely different story. He looked terrified. There was no hint of desire or anger, or pleading in those blue depths. Just fear, humiliation and a deep sense of resignation. He knew the drill. *What the fuck am I doing?* He hadn't intended it to be like this! To let himself get so out of control. Taking a deep breath, Chakotay tried desperately to get a grip, calm himself, find that still centre within him from which all strength came. That look in Paris' eyes - oh, shit, he knew that look. He'd seen it countless times in victims of the Cardassian labour camps, too many times not to recognise it. Anger and lust left him in a rush as realisation struck. His grip on Paris loosened and instantly the younger man heaved upwards, flung him aside and scrambled away from him, to the other side of the bed. Not trying to escape, exactly. He seemed to understand the futility of that. He just fetched up hard against the wall, his knees drawn up and buried his head in his hands, his body shaking. "Paris....." Chakotay didn't know what to say. Realisation choked the words before he could say them and he made a strangled sound, almost a clearing of his throat. "Paris," he began again, voice sounding rusty, unused. "Have you - I mean, were you ever - raped?" Paris gave a brittle, slightly hysterical laugh, but didn't look up. Voice muffled, he finally replied. "None of your fucking business *Commander!* Besides, what the hell d'you think this is, heh? A fucking *love* scene in a holonovel?!" Chakotay recoiled as if struck. Tom wanted to die, or the ground to open up and swallow him. He'd known, hell, he'd fucking *known* this would happen. Every nerve end screamed at him in horror, and adrenaline shot through his system in a racing tidal wave of panic, leaving him shaking like a leaf, like the goddammed no-good weakling his father always told him he was. He groaned. Oh, shit, please, not that as well. Not now. He couldn't look at Chakotay, couldn't meet those dark eyes. What would he see? Contempt? Disgust? Or worse, pity? Well, he didn't want to know, didn't want to see. He could deal with the hostility and dislike, but this? God, he was such a screwup. He thought he'd been getting better, the self-loathing he'd carried most of his life - and honed to perfection in New Zealand - had begun to fade as the years passed and memory lost some of its sharp edges. His Captain seemed to respect him, even like him to an extent, and for the first time in his life he had friends who genuinely seemed to care about him - the real him, whoever that was - not just for what little he had; an attractive face and body, the privileged status of an Admiral's son. Privileged. Don't make me laugh. But even now, years later, there were things he tried not to think about, let alone deal with. Like sex with men and - and - Don't go there, Paris. He hugged his knees even tighter, rocking slightly without realising, not letting himself finish that thought. It was ironic, he realised suddenly. By his reckoning, he'd been propositioned by more men than women since he joined Voyager; all that wasted opportunity. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Not anymore. "Paris...?" Chakotay rumbled. His voice sounded shellshocked, uncertain. Paris ignored him, didn't look up. A warm hand closed around his shoulder - an attempt at reassurance - but blindly he recoiled, tried to pull away. The hand tightened momentarily, holding him in place and squeezing slightly, before it dropped away of it's own accord. "Paris, I'm so sorry," the soft voice breathed. The Commander sounded genuinely shocked and concerned. For once there was no hint of the sarcasm or condescension which usually tinged his voice whenever he spoke to the younger man. Paris looked up briefly, threw Chakotay a burning look, but didn't really see him. "You've got one hell of an imagination, Commander," he fired back. "And you know fuck-all about me - let's just keep it that way, shall we?" Chakotay flinched again, acknowledging the truth of Paris' words. After all, it had taken something as extreme, as traumatic as *this* to shock him into acknowledging there were things about the young Lieutenant he didn't know, had misjudged. He had some serious re- evaluation to do once this was over. Only now, after almost three years, was he starting to accept that there was a lot more to Paris than the smug, shallow egotistical image he liked to portray. Until now, he'd allowed himself to see only the arrogant though dedicated professional, the hedonist and sometimes the shark. He hadn't tried to see beyond that; indeed, he'd assumed that was all there was of the man. A damn fine officer, but on a personal level, as annoying as hell. His mind couldn't drop the revelation, or that look he'd seen in Paris' eyes when his shields came down. The bruised vulnerability, the fear, the terrible sense of knowledge. How the hell could it have happened? Not in prison, surely. That kind of thing just didn't happen in this day and age! Not in the Federation, anyway and most certainly not in a minimum security setup like New Zealand. But then again, how many prisoners were cursed with Paris' face and record? The privileged but traitorous brat of an Admiral, responsible for the deaths of three Starfleet officers and the failure of a Maquis mission - he would have been universally despised, except perhaps for his beautiful face and body. Even in a minimum security setup like New Zealand, away from the real crazies of the criminal world, looks like his would *not* have been an advantage. Too many sex-starved male convicts around, whether they were the violent types or not. Besides, wouldn't it be easier for security to turn a blind eye in a place like New Zealand? Until this moment Chakotay had always assumed Paris had an easy time of it, that his father had found some way to protect him. But maybe he was going to have to revise that assumption too. And if his father didn't care, then what incentive would Starfleet security have had to protect him, given what he had done? None. None at all. Cautiously he shifted closer to the Lieutenant, placed a big hand on the hunched shoulder again, trying to convey understanding. He could feel the tension thrumming under his fingers, running like an electric current through his body. "Look at me." The words were quietly spoken, but the command was compelling. He resisted the impulse to run his hand through that soft blond hair, pull his head up; just sat there, waiting. Finally, after what seemed like hours, Paris obeyed. With the air of a man facing his executioner he drew in a shaky breath and straightened up, wide blue eyes meeting Chakotay's over raised knees. The Commander had a hard time keeping his expression impassive, not letting his shock show on his face. This was Paris without the barriers, the man behind the masks and the usual crap he spouted to keep up his image. This man was someone Chakotay had never seen before - a stranger, a beautiful, defiant but bruised stranger. No smug superiority. No mocking humour. Just angry defiance mixed with a hint of vulnerability. He wanted to get to know this man, wanted to understand him. Hell, he just wanted him, period. With fateful certainty Chakotay realised that if he was ever allowed inside those defences, he might easily lose heart and soul to this man. A realisation which left him stunned, shocked and more than a little afraid. --- Chakotay took a deep breath, tried to remember what it was he was about to say, but as he stared into that lovely face - the tousled blond hair, the wide eyes, those bruised lips which almost invited him to kiss them - coherent thought took flight. He moved even closer. "I - I'm sorry," he managed eventually. "I know it's none of my business, but - we have to get past this. I *don't* want you to die in here." He sounded concerned, almost as if he cared. Paris just smiled at him with bitter humour and hugged his knees. He hated this. Gods, how he hated this. He felt like he'd just gone thirty rounds with the Kazon - he didn't have the defences for this anymore. He'd grown soft out here - too many people pretending to be nice to him, he was starting to believe them. Hell, until he'd got out here, nice was a word found in a picture book or a dictionary, no more real to him than a holodeck character. And in prison, that ignorance had been his shield, holding him together when the rest of him fell apart. He vaguely recalled a poem he'd learned in school - what was it? Something about a sun and shade. He wasn't the poetry type, but he used to be able to recite that one - it made him feel better. Yeah, buddy, count your blessings and let no-one inside - or things could get even worse. -- "Had I not seen the sun I could have borne the shade But light a newer wilderness My wilderness has made." -- Yeah. That was it. By Emily somebody or other. Chakotay was speaking again, leaning closer, his hand a branding iron on his shoulder. He looked at the expression on the older man's face, in his eyes; seeing what? Not contempt. No. What was it then? Compassion? Caring? For *him*? Paris was incredulous. No. It couldn't be. It had to be pity he was seeing. That was it. Pity. He didn't hear a word of what Chakotay was saying. "I don't need your godammed charity, Commander!" he growled suddenly, shoving Chakotay's hand away. "Or your fucking pity." As he spoke the anger lying dormant within him ignited into fury, burning like fire through his veins, covering the fear, the hateful vulnerability, at least for a while. His eyes flashed as he glared resentfully at the other man, sitting so close to him. "You made a judgement call on me from the first moment I joined the Maquis, didn't you?" Paris' voice was bitter. "And nothing I do will ever change your mind." He laughed cynically and rubbed a hand across his tired cheek - he hadn't slept well since his arrest - no surprises there. "God, you're so sanctimonious, so holier-than-thou, you know that?! What gives you the right to judge me anyway? What the hell did I ever do to *you*? Wasn't me who betrayed you to the Cardassians, or to Starfleet. Or the Kazons." He paused for a moment, gasping for breath; he was shaking in anger. "Okay, so I came after you in the badlands, but since then, I've saved your butt more than once, risked my own neck to do it. But I guess to you that doesn't count for anything, does it?" He drew in a harsh breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was suddenly quiet, almost thoughtful. For an instant Chakotay thought he even detected a hint of pain before it vanished again. "You can be real forgiving to others, can't you, but not to me. Never to me. Well, fine. So I'm scum. At least we agree on something. Just don't pretend to me you care. Not after all this time. Because I won't believe you. I'll *never* believe you!" God. Chakotay ran a hand distractedly through his short hair, making it stand on end, stunned into silence by the outburst. Had he really been that bad? He supposed he had. For all his vaunted fairness, he had treated the younger man with appalling contempt and distaste, grudgingly respecting him as an officer, but holding onto his personal dislike with stubborn persistence. What changed his mind wasn't his suspicion that the younger man had been raped - despite Paris' protestations to the contrary. No, it was that look he'd seen in Paris' eyes when the shields came down - anger, hurt, fear and a terrible sense of resignation, as if he'd seen the worst this life had to offer and nothing else could possibly be as bad. It was this reflection of the man as he truly was which told him how wrong, how utterly wrong he was. Janeway had seen it. But resentment, desire and mistrust had coloured his vision and effectively blinded him to the truth behind the image Paris projected. And he prided himself on his insight, his spiritual wisdom. What arrogance! Pain and self-disgust clouded his expression, but his voice was gentle as he leaned in closer to Tom. "You're right to doubt me. After all, I've never given you any reason to think I care, have I? But I do. I do." He paused briefly. "Maybe one day you'll believe me. Right now, all I can do to prove it to you is give you the choice. If you really want to take your chances with the Torvellian, or you want to call someone else down from Voyager, then that's your decision to make. I can't - I won't force you. But I would consider it an honour and a privilege if you would lie with me. I want you, Tom. I always have." He stared directly into startled blue eyes, trying to convey the sincerity of his words. "That's part of why I've treated you badly. That and the fact you can be so damned annoying at times," he added wryly, before becoming serious again. "I wanted you Tom, and I resented you for that." He half-reached out to touch him, then snatched his hand back. "I took you at face value and never tried to see beyond that. I just assumed you'd laugh at me if you knew and I wasn't giving you that kind of weapon over me. I didn't trust you. I'm sorry." Paris was incredulous, his jaw hanging open. He almost made him believe. But not quite. He stared at the older man, into those bottomless dark eyes and although one part of him wanted to laugh sarcastically another part whispered unbidden for attention, wrapped itself around his mind. It was a faint stirring, an echo of the attraction he'd always felt for the First Officer. "Should I call Voyager?" The Commander asked eventually, as the silence stretched on and on. Blue eyes, open and wistful looked honestly at Chakotay. No pretenses. Just Tom. "No. I want to stay with you." --- possession --- The Commander felt a surge of emotion, something powerful but comforting rise up inside him. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and traced a gentle line down Paris' cheek, feeling the traces of blond stubble. He was so beautiful - all blond sunlight with the blue of summer skies in his eyes. He leaned in closer and brushed a featherlight kiss across his lips, not asking much, afraid he'd turn away if he did. "Come here." He tugged Paris' arm gently, until at last he uncurled his cramped body and allowed Chakotay to draw him down alongside him, broad arms encircling him and holding him there. For a long moment Tom looked at Chakotay in consternation, who lay there calmly, arms wrapped loosely around him. He'd never been so close to the Commander in his life. His whole body was pressing against the hard warmth of the First Officer, their faces barely inches apart, close enough to kiss. "This is just too weird," Paris remarked, embarrassed, trying to pull back slightly. Chakotay's grip loosened further, letting him move away. Shifting uncomfortably in Chakotay's arms he glanced around, looking anywhere but at the other man. His eyes were drawn to the blank gaze of the mirror. Watching him. They were watching him. Wouldn't let him out until - until Chakotay fucked him. While they watched him do it. He felt the panicked hysteria of earlier scrabbling again to the surface and shoved it down hard. Some of the defensiveness had returned to his eyes, Chakotay noted absently as he held Tom a little closer. He wanted to wrap his arms tightly around the Lieutenant and whisper to him that the barriers weren't necessary - but he knew Tom would never believe him. He was shocked at the sudden turnaround in his feelings for the pilot. Then again, he acknowledged, maybe they hadn't changed that much, just his willingness to accept them. He slid a hand down Tom's muscled back, pulling him against him. For a moment he just looked at the younger man and savoured the feeling, that long hard body against his, in his arms. Was this really happening? "You're so beautiful," he whispered wonderingly. Then, one hand on the nape of Tom's neck, he drew his head down and sought those sensual lips in another kiss. For a moment Tom hesitated, then responded awkwardly, one hand gripping broad shoulders to hold the Commander against him. When at last they parted he gave a crooked grin, in imitation of his usual cocky self. "Hey, didn't your mother ever warn you to stay away from guys like me?" "Yeah," Chakotay responded wryly, smiling a little at Tom's attempt at levity as he leaned in for another kiss, longer this time. "But I never listened to her then either." "You know, Commander," the voice murmured through soft kisses, "you just keep unfolding like a flower." That caused Chakotay to laugh out loud and hug the younger man tighter. Why was he suddenly laughing at Paris' cockiness, his godawful humour? But the cold lump which had lain like an iceberg in his heart was melting fast; he felt unburdened, almost lightheaded. God, how long had he wanted this, denied wanting it, resented Paris for that wanting? It felt like forever. Now that some things were out in the open, he finally felt free. Then another thought struck him. "Paris, when was the last time you called me Chakotay?" "Um - when I was trying to get you mad at me?" "Smartass." Playfully he reached down and gripped the well shaped ass in question, letting his hand linger on the gentle curve he found there, then pulled Paris tighter against him until their legs tangled and his erection pressed into the other man's groin. His next words were softer, husky with growing desire. "Call me Chakotay. I think we're both off duty now." "Oh, I dunno. I can feel at least one part of you standing to attention." At the catch he heard in Paris' light voice, Chakotay pulled back slightly and looked searchingly into his eyes. The Lieutenant had a slight smile on his face, a teasing light in his eyes, but he couldn't entirely disguise his unease. "Tell you what," Paris continued quickly, trying to distract him, "I'll call you Chakotay when you start calling me Tom." "Okay Tom," the Commander replied easily. He ran a gentle hand up and down Tom's back, caressing him, and smiled at the younger man. "It's okay," he continued softly. "Just relax. Trust me." Gods, that look in Chakotay's eyes. It almost made Tom believe he cared. In some ways this was scaring him more than the violence. He was used to that. Sort of. But this - his heart was pounding hard and butterflies were attacking each other in his stomach. He couldn't remember the last time he'd let himself feel this for another man. A long time ago. A very long time ago. But lying in Chakotay's arms, he felt desire hovering in the wings like a nervous performer and he couldn't deny he wanted it. Despite the circumstances, his choices removed, despite the bastards watching them, making them do this - despite everything - he wanted this with Chakotay. He always had. Surprising Chakotay, surprising himself, he pulled the older man into a determined kiss, snatching the initiative, exploring his soft lips and heated depths with skill and thoroughness as he pushed a knee firmly between the other man's thighs and shifted his body over him. He wouldn't let the fear win. This wasn't New Zealand. This was Chakotay. And just *how* long had he wanted to get this man into bed with him? Oh, like *forever*! And this was his chance. His one and only chance. Hell, who cared if it was pity. Of course it was pity. But he would take what he could get and run with it. And maybe, just maybe, if he could get past this crap, he could take up one or two of those other men on their offers. Oh yeah, and who was he trying to kid? He didn't *want* anyone else. Fiercely he told his mind to shut up and pay attention. Then Chakotay's hand slipped beneath his torn shirt, caressed the bare skin of his back and sides with gentle reverence and suddenly he stopped thinking at all. Chakotay tried to be gentle. Tried to take things slowly. But the desire pounding in his blood made it difficult to concentrate, to take his time, when every bit of the frustrated lust inside him, locked away for what felt like centuries, screamed out to take him. Now. And if there were eyes watching them right then, he just didn't care. Gods, he'd never felt this way before, so out of control. It was scary and wonderful - he felt like he was awake, for the first time in his life. Carefully he caressed the long smooth body under the torn shirt - feeling an instant of guilt, before the emotion was lost in a tide of sensation. That soft, pale skin, so different from his, yet so similar. He had to have more of it. He was like an addict, craving the next fix. As they shared hot, open-mouthed, hungry kisses, their tongues duelling each other, he slipped the ruined shirt from the Lieutenant's body, caressing the hot smooth skin of back and belly, then turned his attention to his jeans, finding the buttons, brushing a hand across his groin, causing the younger man to gasp against his mouth. "Feel good?" he whispered, tugging the pants down just enough to brush again across the semi-erect penis. This time his only reply was an incoherent moan. He wanted Tom to enjoy this. To reach the same heights he knew he would soon reach, if that was possible. And from his responsiveness, Chakotay was beginning to hope that it was. He rolled Tom under him and seconds later, still too long, their clothes were a crumpled mess on the floor, their naked bodies entwined around each other, gasping, kissing like they could never stop. Chakotay propped a broad arm on one side of Tom's head, careful not to pin him, then trailed a hand across his bare shoulder and down his chest, brushing over first one nipple, then the other, before sliding down to repeat the exploration with his mouth. Again the younger man jerked and moaned as the sensations flooded him, concentrating in his groin. He was fully hard now, not before time. Chakotay felt like he'd been hard for hours. He wanted this. Hell, he needed this before he went completely out of his mind. He moved his wandering hand further down, brushing past the twitching erection down to that soft, sensitive inner thigh, then back up and round until it rested possessively on Paris' ass. "I want you," he whispered heatedly. "I want you so much." Tom pulled back a little, his beautiful face flushed with desire, his lips swollen from Chakotay's kisses. Blue eyes looked up at him with a flash of intensity. "Then fuck me." His voice was low, almost desperate sounding. "Fuck me, Chakotay." For one charged moment they stilled, eyes holding each other in place, then they were lost. They kissed again, savagely, then Chakotay flipped Paris onto his stomach, and he shifted to his knees, facing the wall, hands out to brace himself. He felt Chakotay press up behind him, a large hand trailing down his spine with delicious sensuality, barely even seeming to touch him. Down, down lower still, until the hand was caressing his ass. Then he felt a finger run teasingly down his cleft, brushing across the tight ring of muscle but not penetrating. He gasped, for a moment incapable of thought and he spread his legs wider. Gods, he couldn't believe how hot he was for this. He wanted it. Wanted it right now! "Now, Chakotay. Please!" His words were spoken in that same low desperate voice which drove Chakotay wild. Paris heard fumbling behind him, then suddenly Chakotay's warm, strong body was pressed up against him again, and the finger came back, more insistent, this time covered in something slick. With a groan he felt it slip inside him and begin fucking him with the utmost caution. It wasn't enough. He shoved his hips out wantonly, desperate for more, the teasing sensation enough to drive him insane. Another finger joined the first, preparing him, then suddenly they were gone and something altogether bigger was trying to gain entrance. Immediately he tensed in expectation of the pain and humiliation which had accompanied this act for so long. Then he felt Chakotay's broad arms encircle him loosely, his gentle voice in his ear. "Relax. It's okay. It's me. I won't hurt you. Please. Let me - let me make love to you." The strain of holding back was just barely audible in his soft voice, but he made no attempt to continue until he felt Tom's breath leave him in a sigh and his body relax. "Okay," he whispered. "Go on, do it." As if from a distance he heard Chakotay's velvet voice murmuring reassurance. He couldn't make out the words, but concentrated on the sound of that voice as he felt himself slowly being stretched and penetrated. Oh, god, the feel of it. The intensity of having Chakotay of all people doing this to him. It was driving him out of his mind. He felt wild, out of control, powerful yet submissive. He wanted to give himself over to this man, was amazed at how much he wanted this, how much he wanted to do it. Before, before the nightmare, the few times he'd tried this had been incredible - the submission, the feeling of penetration, the degree of pain seeming to drive his desire to ever higher levels, the screaming intensity as a hard cock pushed firmly against his prostate and a hand grabbed his cock. "Arggh! Yessss!" Like that. Sensation so fierce it was almost pain flooded his body, winding him tighter than a warp coil. God, he was gonna explode any second. Chakotay paused for a moment, his cock throbbing deep inside the younger man, stretching him, filling him. "Gods Tom, I want to - I need -" his voice shook with the strain of holding back, trying to be gentle and fighting a losing battle. Tom shoved back against him, then forward into his hand, past caring about memories, about dignity, about anything except the intensity of the moment. "Just fuck me, Chakotay. Now." His voice was shaking too. "Fuck me hard." It was all the encouragement he needed. With a strangled cry, the older man was slamming into him, and both were lost to the rhythm of the moment. Harder. Faster. Chakotay shoving Tom hard against the wall as he fucked him - pulling all the way out then driving in again, deep and fast. So tight, so hot. The feeling so incredibly wonderful. Chakotay felt himself riding that knife edge between pleasure and pain, the agony of that moment before release stretching on and on as he fought to keep control. Not until Tom came, what was left of his rational mind screamed at him. Not till he came. He concentrated his efforts and with a sound almost like a sob, Tom finally came into his hand, Chakotay seconds behind him. With a groan, he slammed one last time into Tom's body, then held him tight, sinking his teeth into his shoulder as the wave hit him. --- It was a long time before coherence returned to their eyes and minds. Exhaustedly the two men lay tangled in each other, Tom's head on Chakotay's shoulder, forgetting where they were, forgetting everything except the lassitude following desire and the pleasure of lying naked in each other's arms, their bodies pressed together. Chakotay gently stroked Tom's soft hair, a strange feeling of rightness flooding him. What they'd done hadn't been rape. It hadn't even been just fucking - there had been a connection between them, on more than just a physical level. No. They had made love, and that had rocked Chakotay down to the very roots of his being. The world had shifted around him, almost as if he'd stepped through the looking glass into another reality. Everything was different, including his feelings for Tom. The sudden collapse of his hostility towards the younger man was disorienting, unreal; suddenly his anchor had been ripped away and he was cast adrift in a sea of confusion, lost to the mercy of the tide. He needed to think about this. Needed to work through the confusion of emotion he was feeling. But not right now. He could scarcely put two thoughts together coherently. The heat of Tom's body pressed all along his length was beginning to stir him into arousal again. He closed his eyes and drew Tom's warm, strong body into a tighter embrace, eliciting a groan from the other man as he shifted against him, then stilled. His feelings were a mass of confusion, but one thing he was sure of. He wanted Tom. Wanted him with an intensity which felt out of control, almost dangerous. It disturbed him, but that didn't make the desire go away. He wanted him and even if it took the next seventy years to persuade him, he had to have him again. Just then the beautiful man lying naked in his arms stirred restlessly and opened his eyes, a slight frown spreading across his face. Refusing to meet Chakotay's gaze, he slid from the Commander's embrace and sat on the edge of the bed, his back to him, fumbling for his clothes. "Tom....." Chakotay reached out to him, a hand caressing the soft bare skin of his back, noting the way the downy hairs caught the light like gold, but Tom's back stiffened, and he shifted out of reach. "Don't," he whispered, voice sounding rough, unused. "But...." "I don't want to hear it, Commander," Tom insisted wearily. So they were back to Commander now. "You did your good deed of the day and I get to escape this hellhole. It's a fair trade. Let's just leave it at that." Chakotay stared at Paris' back, stunned at the sudden about face, the abrupt end to their newfound intimacy. For a moment he paused, frowned, wondered what to say to change the other man's mind. He couldn't forget this, go back to what passed for normal in the Delta Quadrant. Go back to Commander and Lieutenant, mere acquaintances. What he and Tom had just shared had been magical, even better than his fantasies had imagined it would be. Nor was it just him. He was sure of it. He'd seen that look on Tom's face as he held him, caressed him, the yearning in his voice as he'd said Chakotay's name. Pleaded with him to fuck him. He wanted this too, so why was he denying it? Then again, he wondered, since when was sex - casual sex, even *great* sex - ever the defining factor in his relationships with lovers? It wasn't in his nature. There had to be more. Could there really be more between him and Tom? Or was it just sex? But then the door opened, admitting the Torvellians, and the moment for talking slipped away. He shoved aside those thoughts for later, when his mind was thinking more coherently. He hurried to get dressed, feeling suddenly exposed in front of the impassive aliens, even though he knew objectively they'd been watching the entire thing. It wasn't as if he had anything left to hide from them. As the Torvellian woman moved to take Paris' face in her long fingers, Chakotay hurriedly crossed round to the other side of the bed, disquieted at the sudden strong sense of protectiveness he felt for Tom. Another emotion to store and analyse. How many more of them were there? The Lieutenant's blue eyes were wide as he stared up at the old Torvel. "The gods have humbled us this day," she told him gently. "You are innocent of the crime we accused you of." "Wha - ?" Paris looked shocked and incredulous, then slowly a rising sense of anger darkened his face. He gestured sharply, his fists clenched. "If you knew, then why - why did you put me through all this?!" "Because it was through this ceremony that our gods judged you and found you innocent." She let him go and smiled at him gently, as if explaining to a child. "Don't you see? Our gods decree that any act you carry out upon another shall likewise be visited upon you. Therefore, just as you and Donrig shared an act of mutual pleasure, so did you and your lover." Chakotay and Tom traded a startled glance, which neither seemed able to break. The intensity in Chakotay's eyes was matched by the grey-hued yearning revealed for an instant in Tom's wide eyes. But then, to Chakotay's dismay, Tom's expression closed off with the suddeness of a slamming door and he looked away. He pushed himself to his feet and rapidly buttoned his jeans, donned the ruined shirt. With a twinge of guilt Chakotay noticed the way the marks on his neck and shoulders stood out starkly against his pale skin. "Can I go now?" Paris asked tightly, turning back to the Torvel. Almost before she responded he was at the door, poised to flee. The lead Torvel nodded, and as she walked towards him the doors slid open obediently. He didn't look at Chakotay, didn't speak to him; his face was closed off, shuttered, giving away nothing. "Then let's go." An instant later he was out of the door. Gone. Beyond reach. Perhaps forever. --- The End