The BLTS Archive - Strange Angel
by moondancer (moondancer@dial.pipex.com)

---

DISCLAIMER: You know the drill. Paramount owns 'em, and the rest of us
are not worthy. I'm just borrowing a few of their wondrous creations
for a little trip on the angst express. I promise to return them more
or less in one piece. Eventually. <g> This is a non profit-making
piece of fanfic, no copyright infringement is intended. Dialogue and
plot (yes, there will be a plot eventually, though not in this one) is
copyright moondancer 1997. Please do not archive without permission.

WARNING: This is NC-17 folks, for boys doing boys and other sundry
adult stuff. So if slash and angst are not your thing, or you're under
18, try another story.

NOTE: This is a sequel to my story "What Price, Freedom?". It won't
make a heap of sense unless you've read that one first. Please email
me if you missed it, I'll be happy to send it to you. Comments and
constructive criticism are very welcome, but please, no flames. This
was posted to BLTs and CPSG in August and since then, I've corrected a
few typos and made one or two minor revisions. This is set during the
third season, so of course that means - yep, you guessed it - one or
two references to "The Chute".

Many thanks to Arachne and to Carla, who were kind enough to beta-read
this for me. All remaining flaws are mine and mine alone.

Oh, and a tiny word of warning. This isn't the end. <sigh> It started
life as a simple little aftermath thingy, then grew pretensions to a
plot.

---
Prologue
---

"How could you leave me?
When I needed to possess you,
I hated you, I loved you too."

- Kate Bush (Wuthering Heights)

---

Darkness. The space of silence; a solitary soul watching. Listening.
Hoping. Too long, too long it had been alone in this deserted corner
of space.

A shunned place. A lonely place.

They had a name for it, the Torvellinar. Once, many millenia ago.
Before they settled the new homeworld and forgot. Their history. Their
name. Their very selves.

The web of souls, they called it. And for a time without memory it had
been trapped here. Quiescent. Still. Yet the pain of isolation touched
it even in slumber. . .

---
"Captain's personal log:

We haven't had much luck with shore leave lately. First Akriteria and
now Torvel. We got back from planetside an hour or so ago and now I
find myself pacing up and down, unable to settle. I wish I knew
exactly what happened down there. I'm more than half-tempted to make
Chakotay write a report.

Oh, I know the basics, of course. After all, that's how we finally got
him back. I know, too, that the Torvellians suddenly changed their
minds and decided Tom was innocent after all. Why, I've no idea. But
I've told Neelix to inform the crew. I know how fast the rumour mill
works around here. Tom's had enough problems with this crew in the
past - I don't want him having any more.

I suppose I should be thankful we finally got him back in one piece.
But I keep seeing him as he was down on that planet, when the
Torvellians first brought him to me after - after - well, you know.

I was shocked. God, Chakotay. What did you *do* to him?

Tom's face gave away nothing, of course, but the physical evidence was
hard to hide. His shirt was a torn mess and I could see bite marks on
his neck and shoulders, which showed up clearly against his pale skin.
And that expression in his eyes. He looked bruised. Raw.

<pause> I wish we had a counsellor. The bridge is going to be a tense
place for a while until all this settles down. If it ever does.

Maybe if Chakotay were willing to let sleeping dogs lie, we'd be able
to put all this behind us and move on. But I saw the expression in his
eyes as he watched Paris flee the transporter room. I was almost
floored by the intensity of that look - guilt, confusion, and desire.
Above all, desire. You could start a fire with that look.

<quietly> I've never seen him look at anyone like that before. Not
Seska. Not me. Not anyone.

No. I don't think he's going to forget about this. In fact, I'm
willing to bet that sooner or later, he's going to make a play for
Tom."

---

At last! Paris sagged against the door with a sigh of relief as it
finally slid shut behind him. God, trying to get from the transporter
room to his quarters had been the longest walk of his life. People
kept trying to stop him, talk to him. He'd ignored them all, unable to
face the questions he saw in their eyes at his ripped shirt, mussed
hair and abraded expression. Thank the gods he hadn't seen Harry, or
B'Elanna, or, heaven help him, Megan.

He felt like an open book. The ripped shirt and marks on his neck were
brands telling everyone what he'd been doing and who with, marking him
as Chakotay's. He caught his breath as the thought sent a strange
flutter shooting through the pit of his stomach to focus in his ass
and groin. He could still feel it, that hot and angry throbbing down
there, as if Chakotay were still deep inside him, fucking him
senseless.

God. Just the thought of it was getting him hard again. It was over so
quickly - too quickly. He'd wanted the man for so long, one quick fuck
was hardly enough. And now, of course, Chakotay knew. Knew how much
he'd wanted it, actually *wanted* Chakotay to do that to him. He shook
his head in disbelief at himself. How the hell could he want that?
Want Chakotay. After - after...

Shit. Chakotay probably found it amusing. After all, didn't the guy
hate him? What better revenge was there?

Or maybe Chakotay would just pity him for the futility of his
feelings, or worse, for what he'd inadvertently revealed during their
brief encounter. Dammit, he thought angrily, as he stripped and headed
for the shower, Chakotay was the *last* person he wanted to know about
that. It was humiliating and degrading.

He stepped into the shower and let the hot water flow over his naked
body, the warmth slowly seeping into his skin, relaxing tense muscles.
Leaning against the cool wall of the shower, he finally let out a sigh
and closed his eyes, letting the steady drumming of the water lull his
senses.

Well, it was over now. Maybe he could pretend nothing had happened and
things would return to normal. Yeah, right. Who the hell was he
kidding? All the fucking bridge crew knew about this. How the hell was
he supposed to work with them all now, knowing they knew? How could he
face Harry, or, god, Chakotay?

And sooner or later the entire crew would find out about this. Bet
that'll do wonders for my reputation, he thought grimly. It had taken
months before the crew had finally gotten bored with trading vile
comments and leering sniggers whenever anyone mentioned New Zealand.
He could just imagine the whispers, the stares, the smirks when they
found out about this latest juicy piece of gossip. Despite all he'd
tried to do for Voyager, for his Captain, he still wasn't well liked.
He knew that. Many thought him arrogant and cocky, the Captain's
special pet; they would love to see him brought down a peg or two. And
being fucked by the First Officer to save his sorry life, well, he
guessed that would count just fine.

At last he roused himself and shut off the water, going through the
motions of drying himself and dressing almost like a sleepwalker. In a
haze he heard the chime to his door sound once or twice, but he didn't
respond. He couldn't deal with the company right now.

He buttoned up his shirt in front of the mirror, pausing for a second
to finger the red marks on his neck and shoulders - the bite marks,
the bruises where Chakotay's fingers had dug in. Those marks and the
soreness between his legs when he moved were the only physical
indications of what had happened. He could have gone to sickbay to get
rid of them, but he'd needed to escape as soon as possible, to lick
his wounds in private. Thankfully, the Captain had seemed to
understand and had let him go.

So here he was, meeting his eyes in the mirror, shocked at the
yearning he saw there. Remembering. Wishing. Wanting him again.

Forget it Paris, it's never gonna happen. So deal with it. The guy
doesn't even like you. He's made that perfectly clear over the past
two- and-a-half years. Anyway, what the hell are you doing fantasising
about a self-righteous, overbearing bore like Chakotay? The guy was
born with a sense of humour bypass. For God's sake, Tom, getta hold of
yourself here. You can *not* be feeling these things. You can't.

Besides, you said no men. Never again. Remember?

---

Chakotay tried to meditate, but his mind and body refused to relax. At
last he gave up with a sigh and began pacing his quarters, trying to
make some sense of the multitude of emotions stirring him.

He was stunned. He felt like someone had just shoved him off a cliff;
the world was spinning crazily around him, cold reality coming up to
meet him in a rush. He was glad the Captain hadn't held him back,
asked the questions he saw in her eyes; he wasn't ready to deal with
that yet. He wasn't sure what he could say. 'Sorry Captain, I just
couldn't stop myself.' But she had taken in the way he was looking at
Tom, the ripped shirt, the marks, and he knew it was only a matter of
time before she called him on it.

Okay. So he and Paris'd had sex. So what? They hadn't exactly been
given a choice. The best thing to do would be to put on the
professional face and pretend it never happened.

But he couldn't. His mind and body wouldn't let him. Just thinking
about Paris had him in a constant state of semi-arousal. He'd always
been attracted to the younger man, but had sublimated those feelings
into dislike and hostility. That was no longer an option. Now he knew
how incredible it felt to touch him, to hold him, make love to him -
the wild heat and tenderness with which they'd come together - it was
going to be next to impossible to suppress that attraction. He wanted
him. Couldn't stop thinking about him. The way Tom had looked at him,
kissed him, the way - for that one brief moment - he'd given himself
over to Chakotay wholeheartedly, begged him to fuck him. The feel of
Tom's strong warm body in his arms, the soulshaking intensity of
thrusting inside him, so tight, so hot, so unbearably wonderful. He
wanted it again. Wanted it with a pang of longing that somehow seemed
stronger than any pain.

With a groan he tried to close down that train of thought as he felt
his body stir again. So he desired Tom. Nothing new there. But this
multiplicity of feeling - that was new. Somewhere along the line all
the dislike and hostility he'd carried around like a shield had
metamorphosed into reluctant understanding. He still wasn't sure how
he felt about Tom, but the man he'd seen for an instant down on that
planet - bruised but defiant - had torn aside the last of his
misconceptions and left him with a question mark. Who was the real Tom
Paris? And how did he get to know that man?

The thought gave him pause. What exactly did he want out of this? His
body responded instantly. Tom Paris, in his bed. Now.

Yes, but was that all? It wasn't in his nature to seek out casual
sexual encounters, particularly not with officers or crew members
under his command. It was out of line. He'd done it on this occasion
because he'd been the person best placed to save Tom. But after more
pacing, and thinking hard, the answer to his question became clear. He
knew what he wanted. He wanted to see into Tom's heart and mind, to
understand his dreams and desires, the reasons for the masks he wore.
He wanted to make love with him.

And that was the crux of the matter. He didn't want just casual sex.
But could he really expect to have any kind of meaningful relationship
with *Tom Paris* of all people? A man who viewed commitment as a
plague and seemed to have damn good reason to avoid sex with men?
Between them, could there ever be a meeting of minds and souls as well
as bodies? Most of the time, Tom drove him up the wall and they seemed
to have nothing in common. It couldn't possibly work.

Besides, after two years of thinly disguised hostility and one forced
sexual encounter, could he really expect Tom to give him a chance?

No. He couldn't.

But that didn't stop the wanting. This intense, overwhelming desire he
felt. With a sound of angry frustration Chakotay began to pace again,
scraping a hand distractedly through cropped hair and down his cheek.
What the hell was he going to do? He had to work with the man -
somehow he had to deal with this. Put it behind him. He might be
attracted to him - he laughed bitterly; great spirits, that was an
understatement - but Tom didn't want to pursue it and he had to accept
that.

Besides, what about his feelings for the Captain?

Kathryn. His heart warmed and he smiled as he thought of her.
Brilliant. Beautiful. Assured. Feminine. It had been so easy to allow
his feelings for her to grow and develop into something approaching
love. She was an extraordinary woman.

So why did his body leap at the thought of Tom? Not Kathryn? Why did
he feel himself constantly off balance, constantly on the defensive
around the younger man? Wanting to see him, be with him, then flashing
with anger and sarcasm whenever they were together? It made absolutely
no sense. Tom had always managed to do this to him, so he had
interacted with the man as little as possible, and then only in a
professional context - or in company.

But now he couldn't stop thinking about him. Tom's beautiful eyes, his
lean muscled body lying naked in his arms. His warm, smooth skin under
his hands as he caressed him. It was like someone had lit a small
incendiary device in his brain and now he couldn't put out the fire.

How could he feel this way about Tom, irritating, cocky Tom, when he
was in love with Kathryn? He *was* in love with Kathryn, wasn't he?
*Wasn't* he?

Of course he was. But it scared him, these feelings he had for Tom.
They were out of control, like a shuttlecrash, or a runaway freight
liner. How the hell was he supposed to look at Tom on the bridge every
day, perform his duties, when all he could think about was ripping off
the man's uniform and taking him, then, there, over the Conn?

---

"Tom! Come on, let me in! I know you're in there."

Harry pressed the entry chime again determinedly, and when he got no
answer, he entered Tom's security code and at last the door slid back.

Tom stood in the doorway, blocking Harry's entrance, his face in
shadow. "Harry, I'm really not in the mood for company right now," he
said.

"Too bad, because I am." There was only one way to deal with Tom in
this mood. Harry pushed his way past him, and Tom fell back at the
contact, allowing him inside. He followed Harry into his quarters,
running a hand through mussed hair, tousling it even further, but he
said nothing, just waited.

At last Harry turned to look at him and they braced themselves for the
contact.

Tom looked raw, Harry noted in shock, his emotions perilously close to
the surface. Harry hadn't seen him so defenceless since he lay injured
in that Akritirian prison. Blue eyes wide, lips slightly swollen from
rough kisses - Chakotay's kisses, he realised with a grimace - red
marks visible under his open shirt, he had an air of bruised
sensuality about him which Harry had never seen before. What had
Chakotay *done* to him? He gaped, noticing, *really* noticing, how
beautiful his friend was and in a kind of distant shock, he felt his
body begin to stir at the revelation.

He wanted to hold him. Hold him and comfort him - and - and - oh shit.
No. No way.

Fear knifed through his mind, dredging up memories best left
forgotten. He couldn't think that way. Not anymore. Not even for Tom.
Brutally he shoved the thought aside and focused firmly on the reason
for his visit, until at last the strange feeling subsided. But the
image of Tom and Chakotay together twisted his gut for reasons he
refused to analyse.

"How you doing?" he asked, eventually, as the silence grew strained.
He wanted to comfort Tom, to tell him he understood, but somehow the
words wouldn't come.

"Oh, same as usual. You know me. Irrepressible. Want something to
drink?" Tom strolled to the replicator with studied nonchalance, but
Harry wasn't fooled.

"No thanks. Tom - about what happened...." He tried again. He needed
so much to touch Tom, to reach beneath his defences - but his mind was
a blank. He couldn't even bring himself to say Chakotay's name.

Paris whirled on him. "Look, Harry, just drop it, okay! I know what
you're trying to say but I really don't want to talk about it!"

For a moment Harry didn't respond, just stared at him with hurt eyes,
then sank down on the sofa and raked his hair out of his eyes. When at
last he spoke, it was in a small voice, his assurance gone. "Please
Tom," he pleaded quietly. "I - I just wanted - wanted to say I'm
sorry. I know I should have gone with you when you asked, but I just
kept thinking of - of - you know. What happened last time. In there -
with -" He paused. "And I couldn't. Just couldn't."

Paris stared at him, baffled, defensive. "What the hell are you
talking about?" He took a step closer. "Harry, you've got nothing to
blame yourself for! So *what* if you didn't come down to the planet
with me - hell, even if you had, I'd still have chased Donrig, and
gotten myself in this mess. It's not your fault!"

Harry didn't reply. Just looked down at his hands, miserable. He
wanted - *needed* - right then both to hold and be held, comfort and
be comforted. So why, oh why couldn't he articulate his feelings -
just *tell* Tom? But he couldn't. Tom's defences were impenetrable; he
would never accept comfort from *him*. Tom still saw him as that
naive, innocent young Ensign he'd rescued from a Ferengi on DS9. He
stifled a bitter laugh. A lot of water under the bridge since then.

Paris stared at his friend intently, expressions shifting across his
face as he mentally changed gears. Suddenly he looked focused,
concerned. He came closer, a hesitancy in his approach. "This isn't
about me. About this. This is about Akritiria. About what happened
there." His voice was quiet but sure.

Harry shrugged, but didn't look up, not even when he felt Tom drop
heavily onto the sofa beside him. "Shit Harry, why didn't you say
something sooner?"

"I was too busy trying to emulate Tom Paris, put on a mask and pretend
everything was fine. But it's not. What happened to you - it could
have been *me* carrying out that damned sentence on you, you know! I
even offered to do it!"

A part of him wished he had. Wished he'd had all that golden beauty
stretched out beneath him. His for the taking.

<What the hell?> He closed off the sudden image in his mind like a
steel trap, shocked. He did not want that. He didn't. He *couldn't*.
Not that way. Not ever.

Paris smiled bitterly, but Harry didn't see, didn't look up. "You're
too nice for that, Harry."

Harry threw him an angry glance. "No I'm not. I'm not the innocent you
seem to think I am!"

Tom sighed heavily. "I know. Prison has a habit of doing that to you.
But despite what happened to you in there, you're still basically the
same person. You may not feel like it, but you are. Just give it time
- the memories'll fade."

There was a pause and Harry shook his head. "But after you got stabbed
- what I did in there. I - I don't think I *can* forget it. You just
don't know -"

"Harry, this is *me* you're talking to. I'm not an idiot, however much
I act like one. I know exactly what happened to you in there. With
Zio. What you did to keep me alive. I'm so sorry that ever happened to
you, Harry - I just wish I could have -" He broke off abruptly. Now
was not the time for self-recrimination or guilt - it wasn't going to
help Harry. "You won't forget it," he added, voice soft with
understanding and sorrow. "You'll never forget it - but I promise you,
it will fade in time."

It was a while before Harry could gather his composure to speak. "You
knew - all this time - you knew -" He stopped, took in a deep breath
and finally looked at Tom, humiliation, shock and self-loathing on his
face. Then another thought occurred to him. "You sound like you're
talking from exp-" He paused abruptly. "Oh fuck." The obscenity was
completely out of character. Tom and B'Elanna had mouths like a pair
of Danubian freight haulers, but not Harry.

Paris shrugged. Somehow it was easier having Harry know than Chakotay
- at least the two of them were even - but the memories lay like
cancer in his mind, poisoning his words. "That's prison for you. Us
prison whores should stick together."

As Harry stared at him in shocked misery, Tom began to regret his
flippancy. Despite his words, his experiences, Harry was in many ways
still such an innocent. Tom couldn't remember ever being that naive.
Maybe he'd been born cynical.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to sound callous." Cautiously Tom
reached out to touch his friend's shoulder, wanting to give comfort
but wary of the response. An instant later Tom found himself with an
armful of upset Harry, as with a strangled sob the young Ensign buried
his head in the shoulder of his best friend and held onto him as if
his life depended on it.

"Oh hey, it's okay, it's okay." Tom murmured automatically, startled
and a little discomfited by Harry's sobbing, that hard warm body
pressed up against him. Harry was broader than he looked, he thought
idly. He didn't try to pull away. His friend needed this, it had been
a long time building up. And Harry had done it for *him*, he thought
guiltily - had put himself through hell and back just to keep him
alive. Tom had never had a friend like Harry before. Somehow just
holding him, comforting him hardly seemed to be enough. But what else
could he do? Nothing. Just hold him. And try to ignore how good it
felt.

Shit. He'd just been fucked by the First Officer. Now he was having
warm and fuzzy thoughts about his best friend? What was *wrong* with
him? What happened to keeping his distance? Harry was the best thing
that ever happened to him. He wasn't gonna fuck it up. Not this time.

"I wish - I wish there was some - some way we could go back and change
time so that none of this ever happened to you." Harry managed
eventually, voice halting, muffled.

Tom smiled wistfully, chin resting for a moment on Harry's dark head,
tenderness filling him. "Ever the idealist, Harry." He lifted a
shoulder in a shrug. "Don't worry about it. I'm a tough nut to crack.
Inherited the Paris stubbornness, I guess."

As Harry's tears finally subsided they continued to sit for a while in
companionable silence, arms wrapped round each other. At last Harry
spoke.

"So, you want to tell me about it?" His voice was muffled in Tom's
shoulder.

Tom shook his head firmly, then, realising Harry couldn't see the
gesture, he found his voice. "Nope. It was a long time ago Harry. I'd
rather not think about it." He paused, drew in a deep breath, then
continued in a lighter tone. "So, do you want that drink now, or
something to eat? Something actually edible? I seem to have quite a
stack of replicator credits at the moment. Guess there's one advantage
to spending time in prison."

Harry pulled back slightly and rubbed the tears from his face with the
back of his hand. He sighed wearily as he lifted his eyes to meet
Tom's. "What does it take to make you open up, Tom?"

"Open up to what?" Now this conversation was getting way too personal.
Tom had been fine while they were discussing Harry, or something about
Tom's experiences which could help Harry, but he was not going to open
the doors of his soul to anyone. No way. Not even to Harry. Most
definitely not to Harry. Who despite everything still saw an inherent
goodness in the universe at large that made Tom either want to laugh
or cry, he wasn't sure which.

They stared at each other for a long moment, like two combatants
squaring off for a fight, but before Harry could challenge him, the
entry chime sounded.

Tom tilted his head towards Harry inquiringly, but made no move to
answer the door. Harry nodded at the unspoken question and got to his
feet, heading for the bathroom, scrubbing the last of the tears from
his face as he went. Tom's gaze followed him, his expression unusually
open, concerned. At last, distracted, he called out, "Come in."

The door slid back silently and Chakotay stepped into the room.

---

Chakotay watched Paris' eyes widen in shock and embarrassment as he
identified his visitor, then the shutters came down over his face,
veiled his eyes. He scrambled to his feet.

"Commander. . ." His voice was wary. Almost defensive. He looked away,
anywhere but at the older man, a faint flush colouring his cheeks.

Seeing Paris again left Chakotay without words. The beauty of the man
struck him like a kick in the gut, leaving him breathless. How could
he have denied this attraction to himself for so long? Worse,
convinced himself it was hatred? It was positively unhealthy. But
before he could find his voice, Harry came back into the room, drying
his face. As he began folding the towel neatly, he stopped dead,
startled, suddenly registering Chakotay's presence. Looking from one
to the other, an unreadable expression crossing his face, carelessly
he tossed the damp cloth over his shoulder and came up to stand just
behind Tom, his manner protective. It was clear to Chakotay the young
Ensign had been crying, but he didn't seem embarrassed about it. He
met the Commander's gaze with a surprising degree of forthrightness,
but said nothing.

"I think we need to talk," the Commander managed at last, turning to
Tom. He looked directly into the Lieutenant's eyes, holding his gaze.
"Don't you?"

Tom flinched at the remark, but before he could respond, Harry reached
out tentatively and touched him on the shoulder, drawing his attention
away from Chakotay.

"Uh - do you want me to leave?"

Tom looked at him, hesitating, and Chakotay stepped into the tense
silence. "Could you give us a few minutes, Harry?" His voice was a
mixture of apology and resolve. Not quite an order, but not exactly
inviting debate, either.

There was a telling pause, then Harry turned to Tom, who was fidgeting
uncomfortably. "I'll catch up with you later," he said softly. For an
instant he looked away, hesitated, then turned back. "Oh, and Tom?
Thanks. For everything."

Tom threw him a wry smile and Chakotay felt a sudden flash of jealousy
at the closeness evident between the two men, the intimacy they
shared. "It's me who should be thanking you," Tom replied. He reached
out and clasped Harry's upper arm briefly, then turned away, heading
towards the shuttered viewscreen on the far wall.

"Come to Sandrine's later?" Harry asked hopefully to the retreating
back.

"Maybe." The reply wasn't promising, nor was it entirely dismissive.

At last Harry dragged his concerned gaze away from his best friend and
turned to leave, glancing at Chakotay as he headed towards the door, a
hint of hostility and mistrust lurking beneath the professionally
blank exterior.

"Commander," he acknowledged coolly as he stalked past, leaving
Chakotay frowning after him. Clearly the innocent little Ensign was
not immune to the charms of his best friend, either, despite what he'd
said.

A wave of angry possessiveness shot through him at the realisation.
Then the door slid shut, leaving him alone with Tom, and suddenly all
thoughts of Harry slipped from his mind.

The blond Lieutenant was standing with his back to the wall, his arms
folded defensively. His hair was mussed and underneath the bland mask
he presented, there was something almost wounded in his expression, a
hint of wide-eyed vulnerability. Some of the marks on his neck were
visible through the open shirt. And that look Tom was giving him...

Chakotay was both horrified and aroused. Why hadn't Tom gotten those
marks seen to? Why wasn't he making more of an effort to hide them?
Did he *want* people to see? He stared, unable to look away.

At last Paris broke the silence. "What do you want, Commander?"

*You,* Chakotay's treacherous mind responded instantly. I want *you*.
But aloud, he said simply, "We need to talk."

"About what?"

He took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be easy. Nothing was ever
easy where Paris was concerned. "You - us -" He gestured aimlessly.
"What happened down there."

Paris looked embarrassed and uncomfortable. "What about it?" He was at
his most evasive, a shade of challenge in the wary blue of his eyes.
"I thought we'd just forget about it. Pretend it never happened."

"I can't do that. I don't *want* to do that."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Paris looked if anything more
sceptical, more wary.

"Tom, I - we - said a lot of things down there -"

Paris smirked tightly. "Don't worry Commander, I won't hold it against
you." Typical Paris smartmouth response, with a hint of bitterness
beneath.

"Tom!" Chakotay burst out exasperatedly. "Will you just listen for a
moment!"

"Sure Commander." Tom shrugged carelessly and waited as Chakotay
gathered his thoughts, wondered how best to say what he had to.

"I'm listening," Tom reminded him archly, a few moments later. "Or are
you just going to stand there wringing your hands together for the
next six hours?"

Chakotay opened his mouth to reply but he was overridden before he got
the first word out. "Maybe you need some time to work out a nice
little speech about how we can't let this affect our work," Tom
remarked dryly. "Tell you what, why don't you go away and think about
it for a while and I'll go visit Sandrine's. Send me a postcard when
you're finished."

With that parting shot, Tom stepped past him toward the door, but
Chakotay grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him round.

"Dammit Tom! Just sit down and shut up for a minute!"

He pushed Tom down onto the sofa and blocked him with a large hand on
his shoulder when the younger man made a move to get up again. "I said
sit! Stay!" His voice was exasperated more than angry.

"Woof! Woof!" Paris mimicked sardonically and the corners of his mouth
quirked into something which wasn't quite a grin. His expression as he
stared up at the other man was mocking. "Gonna get me a collar and
leash next, Commander?"

"Don't tempt me."

"Why not?"

"Because I just might do it."

Tom flushed, glanced away from the look of naked desire in Chakotay's
darkened eyes. Shoving away the Commander's hand, he pushed himself to
his feet and moved away, keeping his back to the other man, trying to
ignore the way his body was reacting at the intensity of that look,
the huskiness in that velvet voice. He stopped near the viewscreen,
fingering the controls to raise the protective shield.

"So, you figured what goes on that postcard yet?" he asked, throwing a
provocative look over his shoulder.

Chakotay came up right behind him, close enough to touch. He was
painfully aware of the way Tom's blond hair caught the light, the
graceful curve of his spine, the faint scent of musk and soap which
rose from his body and assailed his senses. Tom's back stiffened as he
approached.

Suddenly Chakotay felt weary. Hadn't they had this argument once
before? Tom evasive, he frustrated, the two of them fencing round
Tom's defences until they were mentally and physically exhausted. Why
was he doing it again? Why was he putting himself through this?
Because it was worth it, a little voice whispered. *He* was worth it.
He looked again at Tom's bowed head, remembering the brief glimpse
he'd had of the private man, and wondered distantly if there was any
way he could reach him, or whether this was an exercise in futility.

"Tom, why did you run away from me?" he asked softly.

Tom said nothing. Didn't even turn round. Just folded his arms again
and leaned into the wall.

"Tom...." Chakotay paused delicately. "I need to know."

"What the fuck did you expect me to do?!" Tom burst out suddenly,
whirling round. "Thank you? Kneel at your feet like a good little
whore, in case you wanted Round Two?" Angry blue eyes clashed with
Chakotay's shocked dark ones before he dropped his gaze. "Look, can't
we just drop this? What's the point of agonising over it? It
happened." He shrugged dismissively, holding a hand up as soon as
Chakotay tried to speak. "No, don't say it. I don't need counselling
and I *won't* let this affect my work. There. Satisfied now? That's
what you wanted to hear, isn't it?"

Ouch. Chakotay winced slightly. That had been the excuse he'd planned
on using to confront Paris, but now he was here it seemed so
transparent. He was lying to himself again, but this time, not even
*he* was convinced.

"Tom," he managed eventually. "I'm not here because of work. Or
because you may or may not need counselling. I'm here because I've
misjudged you. I accept that now. And I want to find some way to make
amends for that."

Tom raised a sceptical eyebrow and Chakotay's gaze shifted away from
those bright blue eyes, that fine-planed face. God the man was
gorgeous. Those eyes. Being here, being so close to him was just too
damned distracting. Despite his resolve to stay away from him, the
desire to reach out, grab him by the scruff of the neck and drag him
down into a fierce kiss was almost overwhelming. Tom's proximity was
playing havoc with his senses, and indeed, his sense. He tried again.
"Okay, so maybe we'll never be close, but couldn't we at least try to
be friends?"

Paris gave a short laugh which turned almost into a cough. He looked
incredulous. "You want to be friends? Oh, come *on*, Chakotay. You
don't expect me to buy that, do you?"

"Why not?" Chakotay's voice held equal measures of annoyance and
offence. "It's the truth."

"No it isn't." Paris' voice turned low, almost rough and his eyes
darkened as he stared at the other man intently. He took a deliberate
step towards him, so close Chakotay could almost feel his body heat.
"You don't want to be *friends* with me, Chakotay. You just want to
fuck me again. Admit it."

The Commander's breath caught as desire stabbed painfully through him.
God. Yes. He wanted him again. Wanted him so badly the effort of
holding back was going to leave him with muscles aching for days. But
sex wasn't everything. It couldn't be. Somehow there had to be a way
to rationalise this - either put it behind them or find some common
way forward, a way to work through what was happening between them. If
only he could *think*. "Tom....I -"

Tom didn't let him finish. In a flash of movement he grabbed Chakotay
by the shoulders and twisted, slamming him up against the wall where
Tom had been leaning a moment before. Chakotay was startled by Tom's
strength and aggression, but he didn't resist, just kept his gaze
fixed firmly on Tom, watching the play of emotions across his mobile
face, in his eyes, as the mask slipped for an instant. He could see
anger there. Confusion. Desire. Fear. Something altogether wilder than
these.

"Admit it!" Tom repeated, louder.

"Yes," he whispered softly but intently. "I told you Tom. I want you.
Make no mistake about that." Tom's hands were digging painfully into
his shoulders and almost without his volition his own hands snaked
around Paris' waist, pulling him into his arms. "But I -" His words
were cut off when Tom's lips found his, and suddenly they were kissing
again. Intensely. Savagely. With an almost desperate hunger.

Desire flared up instantly between them. With a groan, Chakotay
wrapped his arms tighter around Tom, dropped a hand to his ass and
pulled him in tight, words forgotten. Tom made a small sound at the
back of his throat which fanned the sparks of Chakotay's arousal into
a forest conflagration. Oh gods, how he wanted this...  He wanted to
drag Tom down to the floor, right then, right there, and fuck him
until he saw stars.

"Oh no you don't," Tom ground out, almost as if reading his mind. He
shoved his body harder against Chakotay, pinning him firmly against
the wall, fingers biting into flesh hard enough to leave bruises.
"This time you're mine."

For an instant Chakotay resisted, ready to fight Tom for dominance,
then Tom's tongue pushed between his lips like a thread of fire and he
moaned softly, no longer caring who was in control, just wanting him.
Now. Some part of his mind stood apart, appalled at what they were
doing, but his doubts were drowned out by the demands of his body.

Screw propriety, he thought hazily as the kisses grew deeper, slower,
more erotic, their tongues tangling together. He'd worry about that
later. Then all coherent thought abruptly ceased as one of Tom's
wonderful, expressive hands trailed down his body and wrapped itself
around his erection, squeezing gently through his clothes.

His breath left him in a rush as sensation flooded him. He made an
involuntary sound, somewhere between pleasure and pain. Oh, those
hands, those remarkable talented hands. His head fell back against the
wall and his eyes closed as he gave himself over to the symphony of
sensation Tom was playing on his body. He was getting close too damn
quick. It had been so long since he'd felt like this - wanted someone
so much. Oh, but the feel of it...

"Like that?" Tom whispered, warm breath in his ear, his hand providing
gentle but firm stimulation further down. Was he mocking him? Right
then, Chakotay could barely think coherently enough to ask himself the
question, let alone contemplate the answer. His uniform was way too
tight, leaving him in an agony of desire, but Tom made no move to
remove it. Teasing him. Making him wait. As his hips began thrusting
involuntarily into Paris' hand, the mixture of sensations built and
built until a wall of feeling threatened to burst its dam and slam
through him with the force of a tsunami. So close. He was so damned
close. But it wasn't quite enough. And Tom was showing no sign of
doing anything about it, just smiling and holding him there, forever,
on the edge of insanity.

He couldn't stop himself. Acting entirely on instinct, he uncoiled his
body and unleashed himself on Tom.

Afterwards, Chakotay could never clearly recall what happened next.
One second he had been lost, wave after wave of pleasure coursing
through him as Tom's hand worked its will on his body. The next second
he was sprawled on the floor, blood trickling slowly from a cut in his
lip, and Paris was gone.

He had a vague recollection of Tom standing over him, breathing hard,
fists clenched and eyes wild, before he'd turned on his heel and with
long strides left the room.

He touched his lip gingerly, the sharp sting bringing his body
crashing down from the heights. Dammit, Tom! His mind yelled
frustratedly. He felt like shouting, like hitting someone. He pounded
his fist hard into the wall, hearing the satisfying crunch, almost
welcoming the wave of pain which followed, bringing his body back
under control. Damn the man! What the hell was he playing at?

Slowly he picked himself up off the floor, making a face of disgust as
he pulled at the front of his uniform, which was still painfully
tight, the slightly damp material sticking to him. Urgh. He needed to
get back to his quarters, take another shower. A cold one. A *very*
cold one.

As he brought himself back under control, the sensations in his body
slowly subsided and the fog in his mind at last began to lift. He
groaned.

God, he was such a fool. Of course Paris had taken a swing at him.
Hazily he recalled launching himself at the younger man, seizing his
wrists and trying to shove him down to the floor. The man had been
raped - probably more than once - and he expected Tom to respond
positively when he made a grab at him like that? Where the hell was
your *brain*?

Slipped down to his gonads, he thought ruefully. For goodness sake,
how old was he? Almost forty? Surely by now he ought to be able to
keep his higher brain functions operating when aroused. But when Paris
had jumped him like that, his entire body had caught fire and he'd
lost all sense and reason. He just couldn't stop himself. He hadn't
meant for anything to happen. Indeed, he'd pretty much convinced
himself he didn't *want* anything to happen. At least, not until they
could take stock of what had happened between them, figure out what
they wanted. Like Tom, his first thought had been to put the whole
thing behind them and forget it. But he couldn't do it. He wanted him.
Wanted him so much the need was consuming almost every waking thought.
It was almost an obsession. He wanted to hold him. Talk to him. Lock
them both in a room for a year or so and make wild passionate love
with him.

Hell. He'd been celibate for *way* too long if he was thinking like
this. Maybe he could program an accommodating holocharacter or look up
an old flame from the Maquis - get it out of his system. He shook his
head and sighed. Who was he trying to kid? He wanted Tom. Just Tom.
No- one else would do.

For a brief moment he contemplated following him, then shook his head
again decisively. No. You tried that once already and nearly ended up
fucking him senseless. Again. Just stay out of his way. Let things
calm down. Maybe these feelings would eventually go away.

Right. Sure, Commander. Just keep on dreaming.

---

There weren't many places you could go on Voyager to be on your own,
Tom reflected bitterly. Particularly when your quarters were out of
bounds after decking your First Officer.

He shook his head in disbelief. Shit, he couldn't believe he'd done
that. He could still feel traces of the anger, panic and arousal which
had shot through his system and driven him from his quarters on an
adrenaline high.

It was bad enough he'd lost control and jumped the guy. Okay, so he
wanted him. Pretty fucking hard to deny that now, despite all his vows
about no men. The moment Chakotay walked in the door, Tom's body had
jumped in nervous arousal. The way Chakotay looked at him, those
expressive dark eyes. And that beautiful voice - it sent a ripple of
sensation down his spine, caressing him. But something about
Chakotay's self-righteousness, his preachy attitude had pushed all
Tom's buttons, and he'd gotten angry. With a vague notion of bringing
Chakotay down from his moral high horse, proving to him what he really
wanted, he'd shoved him hard against a wall and kissed him. But then
it had gotten *way* out of control. Without warning, Chakotay had
grabbed him and tried to shove him down on his knees, pin him - like
all the others had done - and he'd seen red.

By nothing short of a miracle, he made it to the observation lounge on
deck four without being seen and stared out at the stars streaking by.
Funny, he usually hated being on his own. Left him with too much time
to think. But right now, the last thing he wanted was company. Not
even Harry's comforting presence. Not after Torvellia. Not after what
he'd just done. He was jumping at shadows, expecting a security team
to descend upon him at any moment, drag him off to the brig. Might
even be a new record for him. How long can Tom Paris stay out of
prison before someone throws his sorry butt back inside? What? Maybe a
couple hours...? It was getting ridiculous.

"Tom!" A delighted voice broke into his contemplation the instant
before a warm body wrapped itself around him. He jumped, startled,
tried to pull away, but the body was insistent, insinuated itself
tighter against him. "Tom, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Megan," he sighed, giving in to the inevitable. Megan had
been a casual lover off and on during the first year of their exile in
the Delta Quadrant. She'd been the first woman on this ship willing to
forget his past and just treat him like a man. He liked her, admired
her even, but there was a time and a place, and this was neither.

"Why didn't you answer your door? I was worried about you. So was
Jenny. How come they let you go, anyway? What happened? First I heard
they found you guilty, then Neelix announces on that dreadful program
of his that they found you innocent. What gives? C'mon Tom, tell me."

Tom drew back and looked at her, startled. They'd found out that much?
Hell, he'd underestimated the speed of the rumour mill in this place.
"Hey, what can I say?" he croaked, "I'm a nice guy, I don't do things
like that."

Megan stared back at him worriedly. "You had us scared for a while.
Nobody would tell us anything. We didn't know whether we'd ever get
you back."

"Well, I'm here now. Can't keep a good convict down." He tried
unsuccessfully to disengage himself from her tenacious grip, then gave
up.

"Tom...." Megan's gaze was drawn to his neck and shoulders, then she
raised her eyes again to his, a look of shocked surprise on her face.
Oh shit, the shirt... He made a grab at it, tried to cover the
evidence, but he was too late. Dammit, he should've gone to the Doc to
get the marks fixed, he thought belatedly. But there was a part of him
that wanted to keep them, proof it had really happened.

"Tom, those marks. Where did you get those marks?"

He opened his mouth to make a smartass response, but this time words
failed him. What the hell could he say? I was forced to have sex with
Chakotay - and found out the hard way the guy likes to bite? He felt a
fountain of hysterical laughter bubbling up from inside.  Yeah, right.

"Tom....?"

He was saved from responding by the oldest trick in Starfleet. As he
stared at Megan, wordless, the ship lurched crazily and they dropped
out of warp with sickening suddenness, coming to a grinding shuddering
halt. The strain took the inertial dampeners off line, sending the
pair of them crashing against the bulkhead walls and leaving them
lying on the ground, stunned, dazed. Around them the klaxon sounds of
alarms filled the air. It was a long moment before either of them
could speak again.

"What the ....?"

"All senior officers, please report to the bridge." Tuvok's
dispassionate voice cut through the confusion and alarms.

"Gotta go," Tom declared, with some relief. Saved by the bell. "Duty
calls. See you later." Then Megan slipped from his mind as he
scrambled to his feet and raced for the nearest turbolift, one thought
uppermost. What had Batehart done to his ship?

---

Despite the emergency, Janeway watched bridge conditions with interest
and trepidation as first Chakotay, then Paris skidded onto the bridge.
They traded an unfathomable glance, then both men looked away, Paris
moving forward to take his accustomed place at conn. Batehart slid out
of the seat to make way for him, then hovered uncertainly, watching as
the other pilot's fingers danced across the controls with practised
ease, checking ship's status.

She couldn't help noticing the dishevelled appearances of both men and
the cut on Chakotay's lip, as if he'd been in a fight. Nor was she the
only one. At Ops she saw Harry frowning at Chakotay, then casting a
worried glance at Tom, before turning his attention back to his
console. Likewise Batehart was staring, as if mesmerised, at the marks
visible on Tom's neck. She planned to confront Chakotay about this
very soon. But right now it would have to wait, while small matters
like survival took priority.

"Report, Tuvok."

"We appear to be trapped in some sort of fibrous matter, Captain. It
did not show up on our scanners. It is impervious to phaser fire and
our attempts to break free have so far been unsuccessful. I have
beamed a sample into containment for study. It may be possible to find
a way to dissolve or otherwise destroy it."

"I'd rather not hang around here long enough to find out, Tuvok. Right
now we're trapped. A sitting target. Anyone got any other
suggestions?"

"Captain?" B'Elanna's voice came over the comm line. "It may be
possible to break free if we engage full impulse. It'll put a drain on
our energy resources, but it might be worth trying."

"Very well, Lieutenant, agreed. Mr Paris?"

Tom engaged thrusters, managing to turn the ship more or less in the
direction they'd entered the mass. The threads twisted dangerously
around them, tightening their grip, but the shields held firm.

"Okay, we're in position."

"Engage maximum impulse, Lieutenant," the Captain ordered tersely.

Deft fingers flashed across the controls, and beneath their feet, the
sound, the vibrations of the engines shifted and changed, but nothing
happened.

Paris checked readings. "It's not enough, Captain, the threads are
holding firm. We're going nowhere."

"Okay, all stop. Any more bright ideas?" She was starting to get
worried. What if they were trapped in here, no way to get out? The
rest of their lives spent dangling here, caught like a fly in a
spider's web.

Now there was a disquieting thought. She looked again at the
viewscreen, at the swirling mass of colours encircling the ship,
millions of tiny threads emerging from deep space and gleaming faintly
with their own inner light, twisting and merging into one another.
They were beautiful, like nothing she'd ever seen before. She wanted
out of here right now.

"We could try jumping into warp again," ventured Paris hesitantly.

B'Elanna was on his case in an instant. "Are you crazy Paris, or just
plain stupid? In words of one syllable, we do that, we fry the warp
core."

"Only if we can't break free," Paris countered hotly.

"A fairly major 'if'".

"It's okay, B'Elanna," Janeway interrupted, moving forward. "I think
it might be worth the risk." She put a hand on Paris' shoulder,
feeling the way his muscles coiled like a spring at her touch.

There was a long pause, then B'Elanna's voice came again. "Aye
Captain," she said dubiously. "But if this doesn't work, I don't know
how long it'll take me to get the warp core back on line."

"Captain. May I remind you that we are still within long range
communications of Torvellia," Tuvok spoke up.

Janeway cut him off. "I know, Tuvok. But I'd rather leave that as our
last resort."

Tom's shoulder went rigid under her hand at Tuvok's words, then slowly
he relaxed a little as she spoke, some of the tension draining from
him. He looked up at her expectantly, eyes wide, eager, hands poised
to act on her signal. She had a sudden vision of him as a bright-eyed,
tousel- haired child, curious, anxious, forever asking that dreaded
question, "But *why*?".

"Go ahead," she told him with an encouraging nod.

"Warp one, executing," he informed the bridge. Then the sound of the
engines changed again and the silken threads on the viewscreen became
blurred. "Captain," he continued excitedly. "I think it's working!"

Sure enough, as he shifted the ship back out of warp, the view they
were presented with was the familiar sight of a starfield. No colours,
no threads. Just a starfield. White on black, like some kind of crazy
abstract painting.

"Okay," Janeway breathed again. "Looks like we've found ourselves yet
another anomaly. We'll keep a holding pattern here for the next forty
eight hours. Ensign Wildman, assemble a team to make studies.
Batehart, keep your eyes open. And see if you can plot a course around
this thing. We were caught with our pants down once, I don't want it
to happen again."

Aye Captain," the abashed Ensign replied, sliding back into the
pilot's seat as Paris relinquished the controls.

"Everyone except Beta shift is dismissed." She noted the way
Chakotay's eyes followed Tom as he fled from the bridge, Harry fast on
his heels. The man had been inordinately quiet during the emergency.
For a brief moment she debated with herself, then as he, too, stood to
leave the bridge, she came to a sudden decision. "Chakotay, can I see
you in my ready room for a moment?"

He started guiltily and turned to meet her knowing eyes. Busted. "Of
course, Captain."

---
Captain's Log:

"It has been almost two days now since we encountered the anomaly and
we are still no nearer to understanding its nature, or what in the
universe created it. In the area where we pulled free from the anomaly
the threads are broken and torn, like a gaping wound marking the entry
of a knife, but behind them, more threads hide whatever, if anything,
is at the core of this thing. The anomaly does not show up on any of
the usual scans, and a wide beam tetrion scan was unable to determine
the size and width of this entity, or penetrate it's mass. As a
result, we are unable to identify it, or navigate around it. Neelix
says he has never heard of this anomaly - and so for the moment it
remains a mystery to us.

Wildman and her team have been studying the sample brought on board,
but all they can tell us is that superficially, the threads have a
similar structure to that of cobwebs, only millions of times more
dense.

I have ordered the ship to begin moving along the edge of the anomaly
at half impulse and to run full scans every hour. So far, nothing.
Right now I'm not sure what I'm looking for, but these similarities to
a spider's web have me worried. Are we dealing with a life form? Is
this a natural or an artificial construction? And if it was created
artificially, who by? For what purpose?

And is it designed to keep something out, or to keep something *in*?"

---

Janeway felt like dumping the pair of them on a deserted asteroid
until they either sorted it out or killed each other. If she had to
see them conspicuously *not* looking at each other for much longer she
was going to knock heads together.

The atmosphere on the bridge could best be described as tense. Under
different circumstances, the lengths they went to avoid talking to
each other might almost have been comical. But on the bridge of a
starship, lost in the Delta Quadrant, it was no laughing matter; it
was interfering with efficiency. Right now they were in no immediate
danger, just slowly skirting the edge of that incredible conflagration
of matter and colour, but that wouldn't last. And Janeway was not
prepared to risk the lives of her crew over a feud between her
officers. They had to sort it out, and sort it out fast.

Hell, this far from Starfleet, she didn't give a damn if the two of
them suddenly declared undying love for each other, whatever the
regulations might say. Not that that was likely to happen anytime
soon, she acknowledged wryly. But it could hardly cause more
disruption than the current situation - their dangerous silence, the
rest of her bridge crew looking at them with curiosity and concern.
Over at Ops, permanent worry lines were furrowing themselves on
Harry's brow.

She suspected that, like her, most of the crew would give up a month's
worth of replicator rations to find out exactly what had happened down
on that planet. She'd tried to get Chakotay to talk about it, but he'd
been surprisingly reticent. "You *know* what happened, Captain. Now we
just have to deal with it."

"You want him, don't you? You still want him."

"Kathryn, it's in nobody's best interests for Tom and I to pursue a
relationship. I don't hate the man the way I once did, but we're
fundamentally different."

And that was as far as Chakotay would be drawn on the matter. But
studying her First Officer and her Conn officer, Janeway knew she
couldn't leave it like that.

---

"Stop staring at him."

"What?"

"I said stop staring at him like that. Someone's going to notice."
Janeway met Chakotay's eyes knowingly over her drink as he turned to
her. He made a non-committal sound and picked up his own drink,
brooding into the bottom of the glass.

At Janeway's insistence the two of them had come to Sandrine's that
evening. She wanted to keep an eye on Tom, reassure herself that he
was okay, while another part of her was trying to find excuses to
corner Chakotay. So far her carefully phrased questions had gotten her
precisely no-where. God, the man could be stubborn sometimes. She
didn't want to question Tom - this was difficult enough for him as it
was. Surreptitiously she watched him over the rim of her glass. He had
breezed in with Harry about five or ten minutes ago. Wearing his
habitual air of brazen unconcern, he was holding court over by the
pool table, but Janeway knew him well enough to recognise the tension
in the way he held himself.  Heads had turned the moment he walked in
the door, but he'd acted so cooly unpeturbed that eventually most of
the crew had lost interest.

Most. Not all. She could see Megan Delaney holed up in a corner with
Sue Nicoletti, talking seriously. From their frequent glances at Tom,
the subject of their conversation was clear.

"I'm telling you," Sue said intently. "He was fleeing to his quarters
as if all the hounds of hell were after him. Totally ignored me. You
should have seen him, Megan. His shirt was ripped to shreds and there
were marks all over his neck and shoulders."

"I saw them," Megan frowned. "What the hell happened to him down
there? Sounds to me like *he* was the one raped, not that Torvellian
woman. You don't think..."

"I don't know. But I heard an interesting bit of gossip from Ayala. He
was manning the transporter when Tom came back on board with Chakotay
and the Captain. Apparently Chakotay said he wanted kill Tanfly with
his bare hands for what he'd done to Tom."

Megan raised an eyebrow in shock. "*Chakotay* was defending Tom? Whoa,
there's a first. Wasn't Tanfly the guy who accused Tom of raping his
wife?"

"Yeah. Ayala said he'd heard Tanfly had a thing for Tom, probably
showed more interest in him than his wife did."

Megan blew down her nose in a sigh. "Him and half of Voyager," she
said resignedly. "Sometimes I wish the guy had warts or something.
Maybe then I'd get past first base with him. Do you realise it's been
almost a year since he stopped seeing me?" She paused for a wistful
moment before pulling herself out of it. "What I want to know is how
the hell he got out of there. He isn't saying, and neither are his
friends."

"You tried working on Harry?"

"Yeah, but then B'Elanna showed up with a bad attitude, and I got out
of there fast before she could gut me and use my intestines for warp
coils."

"Oh, come on, she's not that bad."

"She is to me. I can't work out if it's jealousy or if it's just some
kind of Klingon thing."

"Uh-oh. Sleaze alert. Tom and Harry are heading this way."

They turned to see Tom grinning down amiably at them, still carrying
his pool cue, Harry at his shoulder. "Ladies. Ladies. Can I get you a
drink?"

"No thanks, Tom." Megan was businesslike as she grabbed Tom and
dragged him down into the seat next to her. He didn't put up much of a
fight, just cast a helpless look at Harry, who rolled his eyes in
disgust.

"Sue, d'you want to play pool? I promise you it'll be more interesting
than watching those two with their tongues down each other's throats
for the rest of the evening."

Sue raised an eyebrow quizzically at Harry's surprisingly sharp words,
then shrugged and got up. Hey, maybe the guy did have attitude under
that dutiful exterior. Stranger things had happened. Not many,
admittedly, but some. "Sure."

"Alone at last." Tom waggled his eyebrows at Megan suggestively as Sue
and Harry walked off. She ignored it, serious.

"Tom, how come they let you go? And where did you get those marks?"

Tom didn't say anything, just looked at her with feigned humour then
grabbed her, pulled her down onto his lap and tickled her mercilessly
until she was gasping and laughing and begging for mercy. He deflected
all her comments and questions, moving effortlessly from sexual
innuendo to denial to studied indifference. "What's there to say?" he
shrugged. "They found me innocent. Personally, I'm more interested in
the lurid tales belowdecks. Come on Megan. Spill it. What are they
saying?"

Stalemate. Tom was clearly not going to tell her anything. With a sigh
of frustration she gave up for the moment and leaned back, away from
him, her gaze involuntarily taking in some of the room. That was when
she noticed.

"Tom? Chakotay is staring at you."

With a start, Tom's head jerked up and he looked across at Chakotay.
Their eyes met and held for a moment before Tom tore his eyes away
from the Commander and a blush began heating his face.

"Why's he keep staring at you?" Megan asked curiously. "He's been
casting you strange looks ever since you walked in."

Tom shrugged with deceptive casualness. "I dunno. Probably thinking up
new and interesting ways to make me pay for all the trouble I've
caused." He shuddered exaggeratedly. "Will you come keep me company
when I'm cleaning out Jefferies tubes?"

She touched his cheek and eyed him carefully. "What are you blushing
for?" She turned a curious gaze on Chakotay, who again glanced in
their direction, then back at Tom, who was carefully affecting
unconcern. Megan didn't buy it. The blush crept higher and higher up
his neck, flushed his cheeks.

"You look cute when you're embarrassed," Megan observed. "What are you
embarrassed about?"

"Who? Me? Embarrassed? I'm just overwhelmed by your wondrous
presence." He leered at her good naturedly, grabbed her hand and
kissed it. Then started methodically kissing up her arm.

She laughed and hit him playfully. "Behave, you!"

But she looked thoughtfully across to where Chakotay and the Captain
were sitting. There was something strange going on here. Something
which started on that damn planet. What the hell had happened down
there? As she watched, Chakotay once again fixed his dark intent gaze
directly on Tom. She could feel the heat of it clear across the room,
it was almost enough to set the air alight. Her eyes widened and jaw
dropped as shock flooded her. It wasn't. It couldn't be. Could it?

It was. It was *want*.

---

When Jenny arrived, Megan jumped up gratefully to confer with her
sister, and Janeway grabbed the opportunity presented with both hands.

"May we join you?"

Tom looked up, startled, from his sprawled observation of Harry's pool
game with Sue. When he saw who it was, his eyes widened and his beer
glass tipped alarmingly - only just managing to catch it in time.
Nothing wrong with those reflexes, Janeway observed.

"Captain! Commander. Um. Yeah. Sure. Grab a seat."

She and Chakotay pulled up a couple of chairs and sat down. For a long
moment there was an uncomfortable silence. Tom's eyes flicked from one
to the other nervously, then he turned back to watch the pool table,
affecting unconcern. He and Janeway exchanged a few desultory comments
about their shift, about the pool game, and several more impassioned
speculations about the nature of the anomaly they were studying, but
throughout it all, Chakotay remained ominously silent. It had taken
some fast talking on Janeway's part to get him over here, but now he
was here, he was staring at Tom with a look in his eyes Janeway
recognised. He was building up to something. Something he considered
important. Tom shifted uncomfortably under that gaze and fell silent
as he too recognised the warning signs. He glanced around him, looking
for an escape route.

Before he could move, Janeway deftly excused herself and left the two
of them alone. She saw the betrayed look in Tom's eyes as she made her
escape, but she steeled herself against sitting down again. Those two
had a lot of talking to do. From a vantage point on the far side of
the pool table, she turned to watch.

From this distance she couldn't hear what was being said, but she
could see them clearly enough. The two men were talking warily,
lapsing now and then into uncomfortable silence. For a long time
nothing much seemed to happen, the same general air of unease hanging
over their table like a rain cloud. On the other side of Sandrine's
she could see Megan and Jenny Delaney hovering uncertainly, also
watching them, but too intimidated to approach Tom with Chakotay
sitting there.

Then all of a sudden the conversation across the table became intense.
Both men leaned forward, confrontational, elbows on the table, the air
sparking between them as their eyes clashed hotly.

Chakotay spoke again, intent, and Paris replied angrily and shoved his
chair back to get up. The scraping sound was loud enough to cut
through the hubbub of conversation, drawing attention to the pair.
Chakotay's hand shot out and grabbed Paris' wrist before he could make
his escape, pinning him to the table. Tom pulled back, tried to break
free, but Chakotay held him there firmly. Janeway watched with a
mixture of shock and voyeuristic fascination, debating with herself
whether or not she should intervene. Just then, the younger man went
very, very still. Blue eyes narrowed dangerously - every muscle in his
body coiled in anger - and Chakotay started, suddenly seeming to
realise what he was doing. He recoiled as if burnt, releasing Tom,
hands raised in clear apology. He spoke again, muted, but Tom said
nothing, just pushed himself away from the table, as if to leave.

With almost every eye in the place riveted on them, Tom hesitated and
turned back to Chakotay. He leaned over the table and spoke again,
softly, too softly for anyone but Chakotay to hear. Then he turned on
his heel and left.

A part of her was vaguely aware of Sue's injured "Hey!" as Harry
dumped his pool cue and followed Tom, but all her attention was
focused on Chakotay, who was staring thoughtfully at the exit.

"What was all that about?" she asked quietly, as she came up beside
him. If they wanted to keep what happened on that planet a secret,
this was not the brightest way to go about it.

He shook his head slowly, glanced up at her, then around at the
curious eyes focused on him, the same thought clearly occurring to
him.

"Not here."

"Coffee in my quarters?" she asked, her voice deceptively light. It
was an unusual offer for her to make, even to Chakotay. When they
socialised, it tended to be in company, or in the semi-professional
setting of her ready room, or his office. Never her quarters. There
was something a little too - personal - about that.

Chakotay threw her a complex look, layered with meaning, but said
nothing.

---

"So?" she asked at last, handing him a coffee mug.

Chakotay nursed the mug over to the sofa and sat down, eyes fixed on
the steam which curled lazily from the hot liquid. He didn't answer
directly.

"Kathryn - why did you choose Paris for the Badlands mission? Was he
really the best qualified - or did you have some other reason?"

Janeway looked at him guardedly, wondering where this conversation was
going. "He was the best qualified," she replied eventually. "Admiral
Santer recommended him to us. He was the only man in prison we *knew*
was part of your cell. Plus he had a Starfleet background. We figured
he might be willing to help us. It was no great secret you and he
didn't get along."

"And that was your only reason for picking him? You didn't hear about
anything else which might have encouraged you to choose him?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Something untoward about his time in New Zealand,
perhaps?"

Janeway threw him a sharp look, narrowed her eyes, considering.  "I
saw his medical records, if that's what you mean," she said carefully.

"I don't think he had it easy in there."

"No," Janeway agreed quietly. "He didn't." The two of them were
treading eggshells around each other, circling warily as cats,
wondering what the other knew. How much. Neither one of them willing
to betray a secret.

"I've always wondered why you were so protective of Tom. What you knew
about him that the rest of us didn't."

Janeway didn't answer, but a cloud came over her face and she looked
away.

"What?" Chakotay asked softly.

"Nothing. Just thinking." She took a deep breath and looked at him
again, changing the subject slightly. "Chakotay, you've spent the last
two years barely being civil to him. Why are you suddenly so
interested?"

"Because I realise now I barely know the man. I want to change that,
if I can, but instead we just end up fighting." Unconsciously he
touched his now-healed lip, the gesture not escaping Janeway's notice.

"You had a *fight*?" her voice carried equal measures of incredulity
and disapproval.

"Well, not exactly. More a brief misunderstanding." Chakotay's voice
was rueful.

For a long moment she watched him consideringly, then came over to sit
next to him on the sofa, neatly tucking her legs underneath her. She
blew gently on her coffee for a moment, then, as the silence began to
stretch between them, she ordered quietly, "Tell me."

Chakotay threw her an embarrassed look but said nothing.

"Chakotay, I want to know what's going on between you and Tom. I need
to know. As your friend, and as your Captain. Please. What were you
arguing about in Sandrine's?"

It was a long time before Chakotay responded. "When we - I mean - down
on that planet I - I guessed certain things that Tom would prefer me
not to know. I've been trying to talk to him about it - and about
putting the past behind us - starting again."

"I can imagine his reaction to that," Janeway observed dryly.

"Exactly." Chakotay threw her a wry look. "He seems to think I view
him as some kind of charity case."

"And do you?"

That made Chakotay stop and consider. "No," he ventured at last. "I'm
beginning to think *I'm* the charity case around here. Ever since
Torvellia, I can't seem to shut down my attraction to him. I wish I
could."

"Why?"

"Why?" he echoed incredulously. "Can you imagine the two of us trying
to pursue a relationship? Me and *Tom Paris*? We've got to be the
mismatch of the Delta Quadrant! Besides," he added, "He isn't
interested."

Tom's words to him in Sandrine's were vivid in his mind. "Look
Chakotay, I know you think you're trying to help me, but just leave me
alone. All right? I'm a big boy, I don't need your charity!"

"Dammit Tom, it's not charity! It's *you*. I just want *you*."

Tom's eyes went stark. Grey. Cold. "I'm not fucking you again,
Chakotay. I gave up that kind of thing a long time ago." Then he'd
turned away.

"I think it would depend on what you're asking him for," Janeway's
voice cut through his introspection. "He'll take some convincing, I
agree, but I wouldn't say he's not interested. Though I doubt he'd be
interested in casual sex. He hasn't done that for quite some time.
Have you noticed?" Chakotay threw her a startled look at her
surprising words and direct manner. "But putting that to one side for
the moment," she continued, not waiting for a reply, "Tell me. What do
*you* want, Chakotay? What do you *really* want?"

He sighed and considered for a long moment. Then, just as Janeway
began to wonder if he was ever going to reply, he seemed to reach a
decision and fixed his eyes on hers. "I don't know," he admitted at
last. After another long pause he added tentatively, "I always thought
- well, I hoped that one day maybe - we...."

"That maybe we'd get together some day?" she finished for him, softly.

He shrugged, looked away.

"Chakotay," Janeway began at length. "I - I do care about you. And
maybe if the circumstances had been different - I don't know." She
shook her head decisively. "Who am I kidding?" She put her coffee cup
down on the floor then leaned closer to him, grasping his hands in
hers and looking at him directly. "We're friends, Chakotay. Good
friends. Close friends. And yes, there's some attraction there, too.
I'm not denying it. But I'm not the right person for you. Or the
person you really want. I never was." There was a hint of regret in
her voice, an underlying nostalgia for what might have been.

Chakotay began to pull back, denial in his eyes, but she held on to
him tightly. "Chakotay, if something was ever going to happen between
us, it would have happened on New Earth. But it didn't. Doesn't that
tell you something?" Chakotay opened his mouth to protest, but she cut
in quickly. "When you saw Tom, everyone else became second best. Me.
Seska. Anyone. You want him. Only him. You always have."

"Dammit Kathryn, that's not true!" he denied hotly, more flustered
than Janeway had seen him since that room on Torvellia. "The man
annoys the hell out of me!"

"I know, but you love it. And you hate it. He brings out something in
you, Chakotay. Something powerful. Something I can't give you." There
was that hint of regret again, just for an instant. "Maybe some part
of me always knew that."

"Are you saying I should go for it?" he was amazed. "Kathryn, we've
got almost nothing in common. Even if I could persuade him, it would
never work!"

"Chakotay, you said it yourself, you hardly know him. How do you know
whether or not it would work unless you try?"

When Chakotay didn't reply she sighed exasperatedly. "Chakotay, you've
been like a man possessed ever since you got back from Torvellia.
Whatever happened between you down there was clearly an intense
experience - for *both* of you. Can you look at me now and tell me
honestly you don't still want him?"

"You know I can't," he countered, defensive. "But that doesn't mean
I'm about to start chasing him. We're talking about *Paris* here,
remember? Besides, what about Starfleet's fraternisation policy?"

Janeway threw him a withering look. "You know as well as I do we've
bent those rules any number of times out here. This is no different."
She paused for a moment and met his eyes forthrightly. "It's up to
you, Chakotay. But if you wait too long you might lose him."

Chakotay frowned at her. "Meaning what, exactly?"

"Observation, Chakotay. I'm talking about his pursuit of B'Elanna."

"She's not interested," he countered. "She's said as much."

"I know," Janeway said with a smile. "But do you believe her?
Personally, I think she's just making him sweat for a while. Seeing
whether or not he's sincere. They'd make a terrifyingly explosive
couple, don't you think?"

Chakotay merely stared at her, looking unconvinced.

"And then of course there's Harry," Janeway continued.

"What about Harry?" Chakotay's voice grew suddenly sharper, more wary.
Janeway smiled. So the Commander had guessed this one, had he?

"I mean Harry's feelings for Tom. Okay, so right now he's one very
confused young man, but you drag your heels for long enough, and you
might just find that Harry's taken the step you're too stubborn to
make. And Chakotay, Tom *trusts* Harry. He's got a two year head start
on you."

That got to him. He stared at her, a series of emotions crossing his
face. Anger. Jealousy. Possessiveness, fading into thoughtfulness.

"You've got nothing to lose, and everything to gain, Chakotay. So what
are you so afraid of?"

For the longest moment he didn't reply, his eyes on their linked
hands. Then with pained honesty he looked up again and met her gaze.
"Me," he admitted softly. "I'm afraid of me. Of the way I feel when
I'm with him."

"I don't understand," she breathed, holding herself very still. This
was it. This was the crux of the matter. She knew it.

"I'm not a saint, Kathryn. I've done a lot of things in this life
which I'm not proud of." He paused again. "And it scares me, how out
of control I feel around him. The things I want to do to him. He's
been hurt before. Maybe he's right not to trust me. I'm not sure I
trust myself."

He lapsed into brooding silence and Janeway watched him thoughtfully,
saying nothing.

---

"I don't believe it."

"I'm telling you, it's what I saw!" Megan was becoming exasperated.
"Chakotay was staring directly at Tom - and I swear the temperature
must have risen a good ten degrees."

Jenny, Sue and Megan had left Sandrine's shortly after their
commanding officers, and retired to Sue's room with some of the Maquis
moonshine, more affectionately known as the BYHO, or, blow your head
off in one easy lesson.

"Chakotay and Tom?" Jenny's voice and expression were sceptical. "I
still think you're imagining things, sis. Maybe Tom pissed him off
again. Wouldn't be the first time."

"It wasn't anger," Megan insisted. "It was lust. He's interested in
Tom, and Tom knows it."

"Well, something's up," Sue broke in suddenly. "When I was playing
pool with Harry, all he wanted to do was stare at Tom all the time.
Nothing unusual in that, maybe, but I caught him casting some
decidedly unfriendly looks at Chakotay."

Jenny groaned. "Don't start that one again. We had this conversation
after I dumped Harry from the gondola. I'm convinced, all right? The
guy's repressed. I didn't get anywhere with him because he's only
interested in Tom. And maybe B'Elanna. But as for Chakotay -" she
looked at her sister sympathetically. "Sorry girl, but now you're
losing it."

"I'll have a quiet word with Ayala tomorrow," Sue decided. "He always
seems to know the gossip - though heaven knows how, since he never
actually seems to *talk*." She took a sip of her drink and grimaced at
the taste. "But if you're right, Megan, this is dynamite. No-one will
*care* what happened on that damn planet, they'll be too busy taking
bets on whether Chakotay and Tom are -  you know - doing it, and if
so, how long it'll last." She grinned wickedly. "And wanting a
ringside seat so they can watch."

"I know what I saw," Megan insisted stubbornly. "But that doesn't mean
they're actually involved."

Jenny patted her shoulder affectionately. "Now, now. You're only
jealous, m'dear. We'll investigate - okay?" She leaned back and put
down her glass, reaching beside the chair for a couple of padds she'd
brought with her. "Anyway, we didn't come here just to gossip all
night. Sue, I think you should take a look at these readings while you
can still see straight. Soren sent them to us in cartography.
Astronavigation are trying to plot a course around this thing we got
trapped in but we still can't find the ends of it." She fiddled with
one of the padds, suddenly serious. "We've marked in what we know
about this region - which thanks to the Torvellians is quite a lot -
and unless my astrophysics is totally off, these readings are
impossible. As this is more your field than mine..."

Sue took the padd. "Okay, what's the panic?"

"According to my calculations, that damn thing is bigger than the
space it occupies."

---

By the time he left Kathryn, it was getting late. With a sigh of
relief Chakotay entered his security code and stepped into his
darkened quarters. The woman certainly didn't pull her punches. He
felt battered, exhausted, as if he'd just survived a Cardassian
interrogation. He'd be seeing four lights next. He needed sleep. That
anomaly wasn't going away, and the Captain would need her officers on
full alert until they cleared it.

"Chakotay?"

The disembodied voice made him jump. He looked around him, startled,
trying to see into the darkness. What the ...? "Computer, half
lights," he ordered.

Warm light bathed the stark Federation decor, softened here and there
by the occasional wall hanging and a delicately woven rug beside the
sofa. Delta quadrant keepsakes. Almost all of his personal belongings
from home had been destroyed with the Crazy Horse. Then his eyes
lighted on the figure standing casually on the opposite side of the
room, arms folded, shoulder propping up the wall, watching him, and a
shock of uneasy arousal coursed through him.

"Tom! What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?"

Tom smiled crookedly. "You learn all sorts of interesting things in
prison, Commander," he said lightly. Then suddenly serious, he added,
"I came to say sorry."

"For what?" Chakotay was still struggling with the shock of Tom's
presence, here, in his quarters. This was the opportunity the Captain
had been talking about. But could he trust himself enough to do it?

"For decking you," Tom replied quietly. "For being such a jerk in
Sandrine's." He shrugged and looked away. "I'm surprised you didn't
have me dragged off to the brig."

Chakotay approached Tom warily, realising with surprise as he crossed
the room that for once he was seeing Tom with his defences down. The
younger man looked tired, rumpled - as if he'd just climbed out of bed
to come here. His hair was mussed and his eyes pensive. Even the
trademark smirk was absent. He looked like he'd had a fight with
himself in his sleep, and lost.

"I'd prefer an explanation," he said at last. He tried not to notice
how beautiful Tom looked in the half-light, his loose black sweatshirt
contrasting sharply with his pale face and blond hair. So arrrogant,
so self-reliant, and yet in many ways so vulnerable; a man of
contradictions. Chakotay was drawn to him for reasons he'd never
entirely understood, and had long resisted. With self-deprecating
humour he thought suddenly, maybe I just have a thing for blondes.

The thought brought his father's voice to him on a sigh and a memory.
"Chakotay, you always were a heyoka."

"A what?"

"A contrarywise, my son."

Chakotay struggled free of the memory and focused again on Tom as the
younger man shrugged and looked away. "Oh hell, I don't know," he said
at last. "Loads of reasons. Pick one at random."

"Tom, I think we both know the real reason you took a swing at me.
It's my fault - I shouldn't have grabbed you the way I did." He paused
for a moment, noting the hint of colour which rose in Tom's face, then
added quietly, "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Tom gave him an inscrutable look, and Chakotay could almost see the
defences slamming into place. "I came here to say sorry," he said
quietly. "Not for a counselling session." With a sudden heave he
pushed himself away from the wall and stepped past Chakotay.

"Tom. Wait."

Tom came to a halt behind the sofa, one hand stretching out absently
to finger the cloth. He didn't turn round.

Chakotay took a deep breath and was surprised to find he was shaking
slightly. It was now or never. "I'm not trying to counsel you, Tom,"
he began tentatively. "I'm trying to understand you. Why you kissed me
like that. Why you took a swing at me. Right now, I'm having to guess,
and that's interfering with our relationship."

Tom turned, blue eyes wide. "Relationship?" he echoed, incredulously.
"What relationship? We don't *have* a relationship."

"That's the problem."

Tom was getting angry. "Don't give me that crap, Chakotay. You've
spent the better part of three years hating me. You're not going to
convince me this is anything more than a quest to get into my pants."

Chakotay came closer again, his dark eyes fixed firmly on Tom's face.
"And you *want* something more, don't you?" The sudden insight
startled him, shocked him, delighted him. Looking into Tom's eyes, he
saw horror and dismay, then the shutters came up, hiding his emotions.
But that one brief look told him with unswerving certainty he was
right.

Tom flushed and his jaw tightened. "There you go with that imagination
again, Commander," he said tightly. He turned away, as if to leave,
but Chakotay stepped in his path and blocked his escape. Acting
entirely on instinct, he grasped Tom's hands in his and with gentle
determination pushed the younger man bodily against the sofa, holding
him there firmly.

"Let go, Chakotay," Tom growled dangerously, attempting to break free.
Chakotay just tightened his grip and held on. If Tom really wanted to
break his hold, he could do it. It wouldn't take much effort. From
this angle, pressed awkwardly against the sofa, Chakotay couldn't get
a proper grip on him.

"You have to learn to trust me," Chakotay insisted quietly. "I'm not
going to hurt you."

Tom stared back at him with darkened eyes and finally gave up trying
to break Chakotay's hold on him, just stood still under his hands.
Tense.

"What is it you *want* from me, Chakotay?" He asked at last. His
expression was blank, totally unreadable, but his voice held the
barest hint of vulnerability, of confusion, mixed with something else.
Was that longing?

Unable to resist, Chakotay released his hold and reached up, taking
that sharp, beautiful face in his hands, angling his head to gaze
directly into his eyes. Both were caught instantly, mesmerised by the
intensity of that look.

"I want *you*," Chakotay admitted at last, his voice rough with
emotion. It cost him, this admission, and the price was audible in his
voice, velvet turned to sandpaper and dust. "I want to see *you*. The
man you hide behind that mask." He brushed a thumb gently across Tom's
cheek, seeing the way those incredible eyes widened almost
imperceptibly, the way his breathing suddenly deepened. Tom didn't
move, didn't speak. But the heat in his eyes was winter fire, sharp
and wild.

"Why are you so afraid?" Chakotay breathed.

For a long moment, nothing, then at last Tom reached up, pulled
Chakotay's hands away from his face, but didn't let go. He looked at
the older man searchingly, emotions shifting across his face.

Moments passed like hours while Chakotay waited, frozen. Then finally
Tom shifted and tightened his grip on Chakotay's hands, pulling him in
close.

"You want to know why?" he whispered at last. "Because of this."
Without another word, he leaned forward and touched Chakotay's soft
lips in a lingering kiss.

The world grew dim around Chakotay as his entire existence narrowed
down to that kiss, to Tom's mouth moving on his, so gentle, so -
giving. One of them made a helpless sound as the kiss deepened, grew
more erotic, then Tom's mouth opened, letting him inside.

Desire was a dark undercurrent between them, rising like a tide in
strength and intensity, until it threatened to drag them both into
insanity.

Another sound, this one more hungry as Chakotay stepped forward again,
pressing Tom down hard against the back of the sofa, until the man was
almost sitting, then he brought a hand up and round the nape of Tom's
neck. He slid broad fingers into soft blond hair and angled Tom's head
to deepen the kiss while his other hand slid around Tom's waist,
pulling him in tight. Their tongues danced and mated as one hot,
open-mouthed kiss merged into the next.

Spirits. What this man does to me. . .

Kissing Tom was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. The man
said things with those kisses, perhaps more than he realised, putting
his entire soul into that one simple act. Beautiful, brave,
passionate, complex. A free spirit. A survivor.

Suddenly Tom pulled back and stared at him, wide-eyed, flushed,
aroused. Fear and confusion flashed across his face before his
defences kicked in.

"What the hell are we doing?" he managed at last, breathless.

Chakotay smiled wryly as he found his voice again. "You never struck
me as the naive type," he observed softly.

"Hey, I thought I was the wiseass around here," Tom shot back
automatically. "Dammit Chakotay," he continued, a hint of real anger
appearing in his voice. "I didn't come here for this."

"You started it."

"I know." He shifted, pulling himself free and Chakotay dropped his
arms and stepped back. Tom ran a hand through his hair, flustered, and
pushed himself away from the sofa.

"Look, I better go," he said at last.

"Do you want to?" The quiet inquiry stopped Tom in his tracks. Warily,
he glanced back at Chakotay, who gave him a measuring look.

As Kathryn was fond of saying, this was crunch time. If Tom left now,
it was over. Finished. The wall would be rebuilt; and once that
happened, Chakotay knew that nothing he could say or do would ever
change his mind. He chose his next words with care.

"Tom - the way I feel about you. I haven't felt this intensely about
anyone in a long time." He wondered briefly whether he was laying
himself open to ridicule, but the flow of words continued unabated.
"I've lied to myself for far too long; I can't - I won't - deny it
anymore. I want you, Tom. And if there's a way to make this work, I
want to take it." He reached out and touched Tom's cheek gently. "That
is, if you'll have me."

For a long moment Tom didn't move, didn't say anything, thoughts and
feelings colliding within him, each of them warring for supremacy.

"Oh hell," he muttered at last, sagging down onto the back of the sofa
again and casting Chakotay a helpless look. "Why did you have to go
and say something like that?" He bit his lip, embarrassed, and shook
his head, glancing around him, showing every indication of wanting to
bolt. But Chakotay wasn't giving him the chance. He moved in close
again, capturing Tom's gaze with his own, and put as much of his
longing and confused emotion into that look as he could, holding
nothing back. He forgot all the years of mistrust. Right then, he
didn't care if his very soul was on the line. None of that mattered
anymore. Just this. The two of them. Here. Now. Together.

Tom's hands turned to fists on the back of the sofa, twisting the
fabric into a death grip, but he didn't look away. Encouraged,
Chakotay reached up again, cupped Tom's face tentatively with both
hands, then let his fingers trace gentle lines down his neck. Tom
shuddered, drew in a deep breath, and his eyes half-closed, grew
cloudy.

Down, lower still. Trailing powerful hands across Tom's well-defined
chest, then moving downwards again, slowly, sweeping outwards to trace
the lines of his waist and hips, down past the battered denim shorts
he was wearing to the bare skin of his thighs, covered with downy
hair. It was like being burnt, that instant connection. Skin on skin.
The desire. The desperate need to have him again.

"Tom..." Not sure if he was pleading or asking a question, Chakotay
pushed apart Tom's thighs and moved between them, bringing his body
hard against Tom's, all the way from their chests to growing
erections.

"Oh god," Tom whispered, stunned, as arousal kicked in, hard. He
turned dazed eyes on the man pressed against him, body to body. Where
the hell had *this* come from? Sure, he'd been attracted to the guy
from a distance, but still...

Once again Chakotay slid his arms around Tom, pulling up the
sweatshirt to reach the hot smooth skin beneath. He raised a hand to
Tom's face, tracing the aristocratic line of his cheekbones,
delighting in the wave of desire he saw in Tom's darkening eyes.

"I want to make love with you," he whispered.

Wordlessly Tom nodded, and they leaned in for another soul-searing
kiss, which left both of them breathless and shaken by its intensity.
At last Chakotay broke away, placing a hand on Tom's chest to hold him
back.

"Are you sure?" he managed at last. Words were an effort, his mind a
whirl. "Tom..."

"Chakotay," came the hoarse reply. "Shut up and fuck me."

Then they were kissing again, and words were superfluous.

Both of them naked now, Chakotay sank to his knees in front of Tom,
gentle lips and hands caressing him all the way down, past his chest,
his flat stomach hard with muscle, skirting the region Tom most wanted
him to touch, then continuing down his thighs. Tom made a small sound,
half-frustration, half-wanting. Chakotay reached up suddenly and
placed his hands over Tom's as they clutched convulsively at the sofa,
then without warning he opened his mouth and went down on him, taking
him all the way in.

The sound became a strangled cry. It was the most wonderful thing
Chakotay had heard in a long time. He explored with lips and tongue,
with the hard-sweet scrape of teeth, until fine tremors raced though
Tom's body and a sheen of sweat covered him, his breathing harsh.
Chakotay pulled back for an instant to glance upwards. Tom had his
head flung back, exposing the graceful line of his neck, and his eyes
were closed, ecstatic. He was unutterably beautiful.

Chakotay traced the head of Tom's erect cock with his tongue, teasing,
then withdrew again, kissing the tip. From a distance he heard Tom's
gasping words. "You're killing me..." He felt the younger man try to
move his hands, to reach for his head and make him finish the job, but
he held him in place.

"No," came his equally intense reply. He struggled to his feet,
distantly astonished his legs still bore his weight. "Turnabout is
fair play." Looking directly into Tom's oh-so-blue eyes, now dark with
desire, he whispered, "Fuck me."

Lord knew how, but they ended up on the bed, Chakotay on knees and
elbows, Tom above him, caressing him gently. Chakotay had never found
this act much of a turn-on, not on the receiving end at any rate, but
the things Tom was doing to his body left him incoherent with need.
Those sensitive hands, those teasing fingers. Chills raced up and down
his spine, intensifying the furnace heat gathering just below his
skin, until his body broke out in sweat and he groaned harshly. He was
almost ready to reach out and grab him, shake him hard, demanding,
"Just do it!"

Yet there was a warning voice inside his head, questioning whether
they should be doing this, whether sex was really the answer, but he
couldn't stop himself. He wanted this so much, and the way Tom was
touching him, almost diffident - no, *reverent* - left him shaking and
gasping. Tom hadn't been much of a participant their one time
together, but this time - oh spirits, so sensitive, so - so - tender.
Almost - loving? He hadn't imagined it could be like this between
them. For an instant Tom withdrew, looked around him. "Where...?"

"In the drawer," he gasped in reply. Tom began fumbling in the bedside
drawer, looking for something, then with a grunt of approval he was
back.

"You okay with this?" came the rough voice. "You sure?"

"Yes."

Then there were no more words, just sounds, as slowly - oh, so slowly
- Tom entered him. No pain, no roughness, just this overwhelming
gentleness and concern, laced with fire. It felt indescribably right.
They moved together, and they were flying, souls dancing the sky.

Tom cried out once and came.

---

Chakotay's control was pushed to its limits. Still hard, still flying,
the urge to turn and pounce on his new lover was almost impossible to
resist. Tom lay sprawled bonelessly beside him, spent, with pale skin
flushed and eyes closed. He studied that aggravating face in repose,
noticing the long pale eyelashes which brushed his cheeks, his sensual
lips. Want. He wanted him. *Now*.

Then Tom stirred and turned to him again, a smile slowly spreading
across his face. God he was beautiful when he smiled like that. Really
smiled. It lit up his face like sunlight breaking from behind clouds.
It was almost blinding. An instant later Tom's arms wrapped around
Chakotay again and he began kissing his way softly down his chest.
Further, tracing a slow line downwards with his lips and tongue, down
to his navel, but going no lower, just hovering, teasing him. Chakotay
groaned, and the desire to have that hot mouth on his aching shaft
destroyed all sense and reason. Tangling his fingers in Tom's hair he
tried to steer him firmly to that part of him which was crying out for
attention, but Tom wrenched away, so sharply some of that golden hair
was left clenched in Chakotay's fist. Oh shit, he'd forgotten.

"Tom! I'm sorry - I -"

With gentle determination Tom placed a hand over his mouth and shook
his head, wordless. Then replacing the hand with his mouth,
effectively silencing him, he moved his hand further down, wrapping it
firmly around Chakotay's erection. Lost in the sensations flooding
him, Chakotay gasped and let the matter slide as he surrendered to
that kiss, those warm hands caressing him, seducing him. He came with
a shout, the sensation slamming through him hard and fast, but
afterwards he was left with an uneasy feeling in the pit of his
stomach.

So much hurt. So much he didn't know about this man.

---

"Harry? You awake?"

With a groan Harry fumbled blindly for his comm badge. "I am now," he
managed at last. "What is it B'Elanna?"

"I've got some strange readings on that anomaly I think we should look
at. I need you to set up the scans for me."

"B'Elanna, it's after midnight," Harry responded sleepily. "Can't it
wait until tomorrow?"

"Come on, Harry. Sue just brought them to me - sooner we get started
the sooner we have some answers. Where's your dedication to scientific
discovery?"

"My dedication to science tends to diminish after bedtime," Harry
responded tiredly. But already he was out of bed and fumbling for his
clothes.


"Take a look at this." B'Elanna grabbed him by the arm the moment he
stumbled into Engineering, half-asleep, and steered him over to a
console. "I want to see if we can confirm these calculations with
available information. This is incredible, Harry. Do you realise what
it means if these readings are correct?"

Harry yawned hugely and silently followed B'Elanna's directions, too
tired to summon much enthusiasm. He'd forgotten the last time he'd had
a decent nights sleep. He just found himself lying there, awake,
thoughts buzzing like flies around his mind.

"Voyager calling Harry? Harry, you in there?" B'Elanna waved a hand in
front of his eyes, concerned.

He blinked and focused on her, as if suddenly waking up.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

B'Elanna paused for a long moment, watched as Harry set up the last of
the battery of scans she wanted to run. But the questions in her mind
refused to stay silent.

"Have you tried talking to someone?" she asked at last.

"About what?"

"Akriteria. What happened down there."

Harry's face closed off in a way remarkably reminiscent of Tom at his
most defensive. "Yes," he answered shortly.

"You talked to Tom. Didn't you?" It wasn't really a question and she
didn't wait for a reply. "Harry -" suddenly B'Elanna's words were more
hesitant. "What the hell is going on between Tom and Chakotay? Has Tom
said anything to you?"

Harry shook his head abruptly, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the
sensors.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" she persisted doggedly.

That earned her a glance and a stifled sigh, then Harry lowered his
eyes again. "You *do* see it," she breathed in amazement. She gave a
low whistle, then fell silent for a moment, brooding over her work,
until at last she seemed to reach a decision. She reached out to
Harry, placed a surprisingly gentle hand on his arm. He looked up at
her, startled, through the tangle of black hair falling in front of
his eyes.

"You okay with this?" she asked, quietly.

"With what?"

She just looked at him. "Stop it, Harry. That innocent act doesn't
fool me anymore."

Harry continued to fiddle at the console, saying nothing.

"Have you told him how you feel about him?" she asked quietly. She'd
known. She'd always known. It was one of the reasons Tom's sudden
interest in her had left her feeling flustered, flattered and so
damned guilty.

He looked up at that, eyes shining with suspicious brightness. "I've
*tried* B'Elanna. But how do I tell him when I can't barely explain it
to myself?"

---

Barely an hour later Tom snapped awake with a start and a stifled cry.
Shit. The dream. The fucking *dream*. He hadn't had that in years. For
a minute or so he lay there, tense, listening to the pounding of his
heartbeat in his ears. Shit, shit, shit. Was it because he was here?
Sleeping next to a man, for the first time since...? He glanced over
at Chakotay sleeping peacefully beside him, one large arm draped
heavily across his middle, but the man never stirred.

He studied the other man for a moment, dark face quiet in repose and
his pulse quickened again, forcing a sigh from him. Even asleep, those
intense eyes closed, he was an attractive man. There was a strength in
him, a sense of power held in check, built on the hidden wellspring of
principles and ideals by which he lived. A spiritual man. And to Tom,
an enigma.

He tried to extricate himself from under Chakotay's arm without waking
him - jeez, it was heavy - all bone and solid muscle, like the man
himself. He had to get out now, before things became awkward. Before
Chakotay could tell him what he already knew. "Sorry, Tom, you're a
good fuck, but you can't seriously think I want anything else from
you." It had happened before. Sometimes that lightweight image of his
could be as much curse as protection, but it was so ingrained now it
was a part of him, impossible to change. While at the back of his mind
was the fearful certainty that Chakotay was only marking time until
Janeway came to her senses and admitted how she felt about him.

And it was too easy - just too damned easy to be seduced by Chakotay's
show of caring; he couldn't let himself be convinced. He'd wanted it
for far too long - wanted *him* for far too long. He couldn't keep
doing it. Not and keep his self-respect. It had taken him a long time
to regain that respect, to stop trying to fuck anything that moved,
more by force of habit than genuine desire.

But he wasn't a whore now and he couldn't do that anymore. Not
casually. Not with Chakotay, not even with Megan - no matter how much
they flirted together.

And there was a part of him which felt obscurely guilty about being
here, naked in bed with Chakotay, as if he was betraying someone.
Unbidden, a sudden vision of Harry's concerned face sprung to mind,
soft black hair falling in his eyes, and fiercely he shoved it aside,
heart hammering wildly once again. What the hell was he thinking?
Wasn't his life complicated enough already? He climbed out of bed,
feeling suddenly shaky, then hunted down and retrieved his discarded
clothing, donning it rapidly.

"Where are you going?"

The quiet voice startled him, made him jump. He twisted round to see
Chakotay's eyes open, looking at him. His face was as calm as ever,
but there was hurt and anger in his eyes and voice.

"Back to my quarters," he replied, looking away. He ran a hand through
his shock of blond hair and cast his eyes about the room, searching
for his socks.

"Why? Don't I get an explanation?" Chakotay's voice had turned
hostile. Slightly sarcastic. Familiar. Ah well, it had been nice while
it lasted. Hell, it was almost a relief the other shoe had finally
dropped - at least it put an end to the uncertainty, the damned
temptation. "Or is that too much to ask of you?" the Commander
continued, his words like ice.

Tom threw Chakotay his best innocent look and a smirk, so obviously
fake it should have been made of twentieth century plastic with the
words "Made in Taiwan" stamped on it.

"Hey, this is *me*. Tom Paris," he countered lightly. "What did you
expect?"

Chakotay threw back the covers and approached him, unselfconsciously
naked. Tom averted his eyes, took a step back as if to flee, but a
pounding began in his ears and his legs refused to co-operate. God he
wanted him. The urge to reach out and caress Chakotay's broad, smooth
body was almost overwhelming. But this man meant entirely too much to
Tom to let this keep happening.

A hand closed gently over Tom's shoulder, turned him back to face him.
"Tom," Chakotay began, and this time his voice seemed somehow less
harsh. "Why do you keep running away from me? Is this just a game to
you? Is this your way of equalling the score?"

Tom was wide-eyed, staring, shocked. Was that what the Commander
thought?

"No," he breathed. "I thought - I thought you -" he trailed off,
confused. Who was using who, here?

"No, Tom. You didn't think." Chakotay's soft voice held a trace of
hurt, taking some of the sting from his words. Tom found himself being
pulled in closer, until he felt soft breath on his face and the heat
from Chakotay's naked body penetrated his clothing and into his skin.

A surge of desire raced through him and he closed his eyes tightly,
tried to fight the sensation. No. He didn't want this. He *couldn't*
want this. But he did. Oh god - he did. So very much.

"You just assumed all I wanted was sex, and decided that wasn't enough
for you. Am I right?"

Tom opened his eyes again and stared into those wide dark eyes which
seemed to see into his very soul. He couldn't look away. Another strip
of his defences torn away, he thought distantly, and slow anger built
up, eclipsing the desire. Was there nothing he could hide from this
man?

"I should have listened to myself," Chakotay continued musingly. "I
knew having sex again so soon was a mistake."

"Oh, drop the sanctimonious shit, Commander," Tom burst out suddenly.
"You're no better than the next guy. You wanted to fuck - I wanted to
fuck. Fine. So we fucked. But I'm not doing it again, all right?"

 "Why not? You seemed to enjoy it at the time." The instant the words
were past his lips, he regretted them. Why was he always so defensive
around the younger man, lashing out with such biting sarcasm and
anger? Tom could be damned annoying, but he didn't deserve that.

Tom flinched and his face turned to stone. He squashed the memory
those words carried, and trod on it firmly. No way, Tom. Don't go
there. It was a long time ago. He shoved away Chakotay's hand, fists
clenched in the sudden desire to hit him again, and turned away.

"Go to hell, Commander."

"Tom...?"

Something about the way Chakotay said his name - the hurt, the
confusion - pulled at Tom and involuntarily he stopped, glanced behind
him. Chakotay had snagged his bathrobe from the floor at the foot of
the bed and as he belted it around him, he met Tom's eyes with silent
apology and resolve.

"Running away isn't going to help, Tom."

Tom smiled tightly. Dammit, why did the man have to push it? Now, when
the dream was still fresh in his mind, leaving his emotions raw. "So
what do you suggest, Commander?" Tom's voice was as brittle as his
smile. "A nice cosy counselling session about my wonderful childhood,
the great times I had as Tom Paris, prison whore? Well sorry
Commander. No go. I've had enough of that shit to last me a lifetime."

Chakotay came closer again, his approach cautious, as if afraid of
frightening him away.

"Tom. Drop the 'Commander' routine," Chakotay told him quietly,
seeking out and meeting Tom's eyes again. "I'm not your counsellor and
right now, I'm not your commanding officer. I'm your lover."

The word sent startled fear and arousal shooting though Tom's body,
leaving him shaking.

Aware of the effect his words were having on Tom, Chakotay moved in
closer still. "I want to continue to be your lover. Not just for
today. Or tomorrow. Or the next. I told you before, Tom, I want more
than that. If that's what you want, too."

Tom stared at him sceptically and Chakotay added, exasperated at his
stubbornness. "Dammit Tom, do you really see me as the type to go for
casual sex? To me, sex without love, without commitment is shallow."

"So why the hell are you chasing *me*?" Tom was incredulous. "I'm Mr
Shallow himself! I can't give you love, or commitment, or any of that
crap."

"Can't you? I might have agreed with you once, but I was wrong. I
think you can. And I think that scares the hell out of you."

---

Tom wasn't quite sure how Chakotay managed to drag him to the
holodeck, but here they were at some ungodly hour of the morning,
waiting while Chakotay entered the program into the computer. Maybe it
was that command voice, he mused distractedly, the one which had
ordered him to wait while he changed, then told him to follow him.

Nah. He'd never paid much attention to it off duty, and wasn't about
to start now. It was just an excuse to spend more time with the man,
to be with him. Admit it, Tom, you got it bad.

"Where are we going?" he'd asked, en-route, as he trailed Chakotay
through the empty corridors.

Chakotay glanced back at him. "I want to show you something."

"Oh yeah?" Tom arched an eyebrow at him, deliberately teasing, then
swept an appraising look down his body, fixing on his ass, leaving
Chakotay feeling hot and decidedly uncomfortable. Oh lord, the
smartass was back. Tom must be over the worst of the shock. Either
that, or he was nervous.

"Yes." He grabbed Tom's hand and pulled him along with him. "Come with
me."

"If you insist," came the arch reply. Chakotay felt the heat reach his
face. Dammit all to hell, was everything he said going to become a
sexual innuendo? But after the tension of their confrontation, the
teasing was almost a relief. It felt familiar. Like coming home.

****

"Well, what do you think?"

"I think you're trying to tell me you're a back-to-nature kind of
guy," came the light response, with a hint of huskiness beneath.

"Tom..."

"It's beautiful," Tom said honestly. "Really beautiful." Wide eyed he
looked around him at the trees, the hillside stretching down to a lake
in the valley below. The sky was vividly blue; all the colours seemed
somehow sharper, brighter than he remembered of Earth.

"It's my home planet. Garda IV," Chakotay said softly. "I'm not much
of a programmer, but I spent a lot of time on this."

"It shows." Tom cast a knowledgeable eye around the holoprogram, but
Chakotay had done a good job. Everything felt real, down to the
whisper of wind through the trees, distant birdsong, the damp heat and
the sharp, brittle smell of grass and leaves after rain. "I can see
why you miss this place."

"Come on," Chakotay urged. He grabbed Tom's hand again and headed
determinedly down a tiny path.

Tom *was* nervous. All the way to the holodeck he'd been asking
himself what the hell he was doing. Chakotay couldn't possibly feel
this way about him. The guy had spent the better part of three years
hating him. First in the Maquis, then on Voyager. So what the hell
were they doing here? In one of Chakotay's personal holoprograms? It
was frighteningly intimate. Part of him wanted to turn around, run to
his quarters and lock the door, but that was the coward's way out.
Well, he knew all about cowardice, didn't he? He thought bitterly.
Hell, so did his entire family - after all, he'd learnt from the very
best.

They trudged silently along the tiny path as it weaved though the
trees, descending now and then into boggy pools. As he floundered
through yet another sea of mud, just barely managing to keep his feet,
he began to revise his opinion of this little pastoral paradise. Sweat
dripped in his eyes, and he wiped his face irritably. God it was humid
in here. All it needed to complete the picture was a bunch of nasty
biting insects and this'd be nearer to his personal view of hell.

Well, one of them, he amended silently. "Okay, I take it back," he
grouched to Chakotay at last. "No offence, but this is the kind of
place I'd rather look at from a distance."

Chakotay's voice was wistful. "When I was growing up, I agreed with
you wholeheartedly. I couldn't wait to escape to the Academy and live
with technology around me. But then, I don't know, I missed it,
somehow."

"I always knew you were odd," Tom quipped. "Where are we going anyway?
How much further?"

"Not far now." Chakotay smiled at him maddeningly and tugged him
along. Grumbling to himself, Tom followed.

Before long, a sound grew distinct from the wind in the treetops, a
hissing, with the faintest hint of something deeper. As they got
closer still, Tom began to recognise the sound. It was running water.

With pleasant thoughts of immersing his sweaty head in a clear stream,
he followed Chakotay from the line of trees and gaped around him. This
was no stream. Before him was a huge pool of water in the centre of a
gorge, with off to the left, about a hundred feet high, a small
waterfall. Recent rain had swelled it to perhaps twice its normal
size, while off to the right, the pool drained slowly into a creek,
heading down the hillside to the lake below.

He turned to Chakotay and grinned wickedly. "Hey! Skinny dipping! I
haven't done that since the Academy."

Before Chakotay had the chance to respond, Tom was heading off towards
the pool, shedding clothes as he went. Chakotay smiled and followed
more sedately. The man never ceased to astonish him. It was almost
disorienting, his sudden shift from intensity to playfulness; he
recognised it as yet another defence mechanism, but right now, he was
glad of it. They were both emotionally drained, tired, and right now,
all he wanted was to spend some time alone with Tom, no tension, no
arguments, just being with him. He grimaced to himself, thinking of
all the years he'd stubbornly held on to his hostility towards Tom. He
could be dense at times. His father was right about that. And because
of his hostility - his refusal to see past surface appearances - the
two of them knew next to nothing about each other. They would have to
start from scratch.

"Come on!" Tom called impatiently from the pool. "What are you waiting
for? A written invitation?"

The memory of the last time Tom had said those words to him flashed
through his mind and he hesitated. Was he pushing Tom? What did the
younger man really want out of this? He'd never said. Not once given
any indication of how he really felt about him. A faceful of water
jolted him from his reverie, followed by another splash.

"Hello? Anybody at home?" Tom asked provocatively. "You in there,
Chakotay, or are you off on some vision quest?"

That did it. He stripped off the last of his clothing and dived in
after Tom, the water a cool shock after the summer heat. Tom laughed
at him and swam away. Catching the younger man somewhere in the middle
of the pool they wrestled and splashed, trying to drag each other
under.

Chakotay lost resoundingly. After being dragged under for about the
fifth time, he broke free and swam powerfully for the shore, Tom in
hot pursuit, calling out, "Hey! Come back here you coward!". But as
soon as his feet touched the bottom, he turned and lunged at Tom,
trying to use his greater weight and strength to his advantage. Tom
retaliated instantly, sweeping Chakotay's legs out from under him with
a roundhouse kick then laughed as he went under again with a splash
and a curse.

When Chakotay at last managed to regain his feet, spitting water and
coughing, Tom was sitting in the shallows, watching him. "Gotcha," he
crowed, smirking.

Chakotay's eyes fixed on him like a weapon targeting its prey. Oh
shit, he was in for it now, Tom thought, with a bolt of delightful
fear. Then that heavy body landed on him, hard, driving the breath
from him, and they rolled over and over, part in, part out of the
water, striving for dominance.

It wasn't much of a fight. Tom was laughing breathlessly as they
wrestled, while Chakotay was silent except for his harsh breathing;
his whole being focused, determined. At last Chakotay rolled on top of
Tom, pinning his wrists firmly above his head when he tried to twist
aside.

Their eyes met, electric. Tom's eyes were wide and dark as he looked
up at Chakotay, felt the length of that hard body lying on top of him,
almost crushing him, the evidence of Chakotay's arousal pressing
against his thigh. He pulled experimentally at the hands imprisoning
his wrists, but they were like steel bands. He wasn't going anywhere.

"Mine," Chakotay whispered suddenly, intensely, then his mouth crushed
down on Tom's, claiming him.

Tom made a small sound as Chakotay's tongue pushed determinedly
against his lips and slid inside. He opened willingly to the kiss, a
wave of desire crashing through him. Oh god, he wanted this. Wanted
him so much. This heat. This passion and longing mixed with
possession.

Then Chakotay blinked, seemed to wake up to what he was doing, and
pulled away from the kiss with a look of horror and guilt, releasing
Tom's wrists. He tried to get up, off of Tom, but Tom wouldn't let
him. He grabbed Chakotay by the scruff of the neck and pulled him in
close again, their bodies pressed together, lips almost touching. Blue
eyes stared intensely into dark ones.

"Chakotay," Tom whispered. "I want you inside me. Now."

He felt Chakotay's erection twitch powerfully against him, and the
intensity of their gaze multiplied a thousandfold. The heat between
them could power the warp core for a month, Tom thought dazedly. He'd
never felt this way before, still couldn't quite believe he felt this
way for another man. But he did. He could. He'd stopped trying to
understand it.

But Chakotay was shaking his head, pulling away, and Tom stared at him
in wide-eyed shock and dismay. Now what? Hurt replaced shock in his
eyes and he looked away, schooling his face again into the perfect
mask. Shit. It was his own damn fault for allowing himself to believe.
He was a gullible fool. Would he never learn? The breeze against his
wet body was cold after Chakotay's heat, and he shivered, began to get
up to find his clothes.

A hand stopped him. "Tom, wait. I think we need to talk before we do
that again."

"Sheesh, haven't we talked enough?" Tom couldn't quite school his
voice the way he had his face. Even he could hear the pain and
disbelief in his words.

"I don't want to hurt you. And I don't want you running away from me
again the moment this is over," Chakotay explained, his voice
strained, serious. "Look, you're doing it now. As soon as you think
something's about to go wrong, you run."

"Great survival mechanism for us cowards." There was a world of
bitterness in Tom's light voice. "So *now* what do you want to talk
about?"

Chakotay said nothing, just grabbed Tom by the hand and pulled him the
rest of the way to his feet, leading him back to the shade of the
trees, to a blanket which was draped over some flat earth in front of
a tree.

As he sat down again, he drew Tom's tense body into his arms. "I
needed to make sure you're okay with this," he explained at last. "I
was ready to fuck you raw, Tom. You shouldn't issue invitations like
that to me, I want you too much."

Tom sighed in exasperation and felt the tension leave his body in a
rush. "Hell, Chakotay, you sure know how to spoil a mood," he
grumbled. Shifting out of Chakotay's embrace he fell back on the
blanket, arms raised above his head to grab a treeroot sticking up out
of the ground. He stretched unselfconsciously, like a cat, still
aroused. Chakotay couldn't drag his eyes away from him.

"Chakotay," he continued conversationally, turning his head to catch
his eyes. "I'm not a basket case. I'm not going to freak out just
because you get a little rough. I want it as much as you do."

"But before - when you pulled away..."

"You mean when I decked you, or when you wanted me to suck you off?"
Tom was matter-of-fact. "You took me by *surprise*, Chakotay. What did
you expect? In my experience, surprises are rarely pleasant." He
paused for a moment and looked away, his eyes dark with memory, then
an instant later he was on top of Chakotay, looking down into his
eyes. "So stop treating me with kid gloves and fuck me," he added
huskily.

Chakotay's arms went round him, pulling him down into his embrace. "Is
this what you want, Tom? What you *really* want?" he asked softly. "I
mean this. Us."

"Sheah, what do you need, Chakotay, a diagram? A truth test? I've
wanted you for as long as I've known you," he said honestly. "I
thought you knew that. I thought it was one of the many reasons you
hated me."

"I don't hate you, Tom. I never hated you. I was blind and I was
stupid and resentful, but I never hated you."

He rolled Tom underneath him, and once again their lips met in a soft
kiss, Tom's eyes half-closing as a flood of arousal coursed through
him. But he wasn't passive for long. He flashed a sudden grin then
heaved upwards, flipping Chakotay onto his back again, knocking the
wind from him. He peered down into that dazed dark face with dancing
eyes. "Course, if you really want to fuck me, you're going to have to
work for it. Else I'll just take *you* again."

Then his mouth descended to plunder Chakotay's soft mouth, not giving
him a moment to breathe or respond.

For an instant Chakotay was almost tempted to submit, then he
remembered how it felt to have that beautiful strong body beneath his,
moaning for him, the incredible intensity of thrusting inside him. He
had a sudden vision of Tom stretched helpless beneath him, crying out
as he held him down and drove into him, hard.

A second later, he was moving, wrestling, and Tom was pinned firmly
beneath him.

"You don't waste any time," Tom gasped out, as he tried to wriggle
free. Chakotay was beyond words, just increased the pressure on Tom's
wrists and stared down at him with burning eyes. He was going to fuck
this man so hard he'd be sore for days. His entire body was alive with
unleashed passion, the same kind of near-violence he'd felt earlier,
by the water, and recoiled from in fear. This time there would be no
stopping it.

He lunged for Tom's mouth, possessing it, biting it, forcing it open.
Their tongues duelled hotly, both fighting for control of the kiss and
neither winning. With a groan Chakotay moved to Tom's neck, some part
of him noting the marks he'd left there before, even as his mouth
descended to scrape a path down to pale shoulders, leaving a faint red
line in his wake. He bit hard into the soft skin between Tom's neck
and shoulder, and Tom cried out.

For a moment he raised his head, looking hard into Tom's eyes, so
dilated now he could hardly see the blue. Under his hands he felt Tom
clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly as he tested his human
restraints, but Chakotay held him firm.

"Do you want me to fuck you?" he grated out, his voice sounding
hoarse, almost unused.

Tom stared at him, wide-eyed, aroused. His response was barely
audible. "Yeah."

Chakotay released him, moved back slightly. That look in Tom's eyes -
"On your hands and knees," he grated, barely able to speak for the
blood pounding in his ears. With a flash of eyes and a certain
deliberate grace, Tom obeyed. Chakotay ran a big hand down that smooth
pale back, delighting in the feel of it, the way Tom shuddered under
his touch. Spirits, how he wanted this. Wanted it so much it was
driving him completely out of his mind.

"Spread your legs," he ordered. He watched heatedly as Tom hesitated
for an instant, then complied. A little voice in the back of his head
was wondering if he was pushing this too far, but he ignored it. He
was too far gone to stop now. "Further," he added breathlessly, a hand
straying to caress Tom's ass and parted thighs, a finger sliding
possessively down Tom's cleft, wrenching a gasp and a moan from him.
He paused suddenly. Shit. He'd nearly forgotten.

Shakily he climbed to his feet. "Computer," he gasped out.
"Replicator."

For an instant he stood still, looking down at Tom kneeling at his
feet, blond head bowed, the posture uncharacteristically submissive,
and the feeling of sudden power sent the blood pumping straight to his
erection. He let out a shaky breath, feeling the heat gathering under
his skin - he was so close already. Trying to touch himself as little
as possible, he prepared himself and dropped again to his knees, slick
fingers moving to Tom's ass.

Tom shuddered and moaned as he felt the first finger enter him, then
another, and a third in rapid succession. Chakotay was clearly not in
the mood to wait. Moments later, the fingers were gone and grasping
his hips with bruising force, Chakotay was pushing into him, barely
pausing to let him accommodate himself to the invasion.

Ooohhh, it *hurt*, but it was almost pleasurable, this pain. It was an
ache which spread through his body in the wake of his desire,
intensifying it, magnifying it, cresting with a cry as Chakotay's hard
cock struck like a hammer against his swollen prostate. Once. Twice.
Again. He lost count. God. He shuddered beneath the onslaught, wave
after wave of sensation rising within him until he was crying out
constantly, not sure whether this was pleasure or exquisite torture.
<Let me come, already>

Suddenly the pounding stopped, Chakotay buried so deep inside him it
felt like he was pulsing at his throat. "Am I hurting you?" came
Chakotay's soft voice, ragged with desire.

Tom could barely articulate a reply. "For God's sake, don't stop!" he
gasped. He reached for his erection, but Chakotay shoved his hand away
and grasped it himself, matching the speed of his thrusts to the
rhythm he set on Tom's cock. Tom pushed back in time, eyes closed,
transported into another dimension, aware only of the sensations
building in his body.

"You *like* this, don't you?" that soft voice gasped out, but this
time Tom was beyond responding. He moaned, his legs and arms trembling
under him, and collapsed down onto his elbows as every thrust took him
closer and closer. A hand reached up to pull at his nipples and the
thrusts became harder, stronger, faster, sending fire tearing though
his body.

Oh god, this was it, he was going to... going to... With a soul-
wrenching cry he came, and came hard, stars on the edge of his vision
as he felt his life being wrung from him, one wave following another
until at last he slumped, exhausted.

Chakotay's arms wrapped around him, holding him tight as he thrust
faster and harder - delicious pain - sending shockwaves of pleasure
through him. He felt the heat of Chakotay's powerful body above him,
around him, inside him, hot breath on the back of his neck, dark hand
pulling his head back and exposing his throat to eager lips and teeth.
He cried out as strong teeth bit savagely into the soft skin between
neck and shoulders, feeling Chakotay almost pull out then shove
himself back in, hard, the thrusts becoming wild, uneven, savage,
until with a loud moan of relief Chakotay came powerfully and
collapsed on top of Tom.

They lay like that for a moment, gasping, until Tom shifted, groaned
as Chakotay crushed the breath from him.

"Sorry," Chakotay responded breathlessly, and rolled to the side.

When he finally managed to catch his breath, Tom turned dazed eyes to
Chakotay, stunned at the intensity of their lovemaking. It wasn't sex.
Tom'd had plenty of sex, of all different kinds, and none of it had
felt like that. The older man was so intense his every touch, his
every gesture felt like being burnt. And when their eyes met... He
reached out hesitantly to touch Chakotay's warm, strong shoulder,
still damp with water and sweat, and their eyes met and held. Gods. An
instant later they were in each other's arms again, pressing together,
Chakotay's head pillowed on Tom's chest. Tom ran gentle fingers
through Chakotay's cropped hair as he frowned and once again the
doubts crowded in.

What the hell was he doing? What had he gotten himself into? After all
the shit he'd put up with, how the hell could he want it like this?
Hard, almost violent - so out of control? How could he enjoy being
taken like that by a *man*? By *Chakotay*? He tried to shut down that
train of thought, but Chakotay's words came back to haunt him. "You
*like* this, don't you?" A shudder ran through him suddenly.

He did. And that scared the hell out of him. But another question
darkened his mind, one which almost scared him more. What happened
when Chakotay lost interest? When the novelty of fucking him wore off?
What happened then?

---
Epilogue
---

It was after three in the morning by the time Chakotay and Tom dragged
weary bodies back to their respective quarters, both too tired to make
an issue of it. Duty took priority; they both had the early shift that
day. Whatever they had together, it was like grabbing a tiger by the
tail, Chakotay thought uneasily, leaving them exhilarated and
exhausted and questioning their sanity. Without a word, they both
retreated.

So here he was scant hours later, on an away mission with Tom and
Harry and Ensign Vorik, trying hard not to stare at Tom.

Their relationship - or whatever the hell it was - disturbed him
immensely. He kept thinking back to what had happened between them on
the holodeck. He knew enough about Tom's past to guess at some of the
terrible things which had happened to him. After that, how could Tom
ever want it that way? And how could he have allowed himself to lose
control like that?

He cast another glance at Tom, but his shields were operating at full
strength, his face impassive. Professional. What if Tom hadn't wanted
it, but had done it because Chakotay had pushed him? Or - worse -
because he had learned to seek out abuse?

Once or twice Chakotay had been with lovers whose interests had been
somewhat - exotic. Even before Seska. To them it had been a game, but
it had always disturbed him, the kick he got out of dominating them,
tying them down, making them scream for him. And almost more
disturbing was the way he'd felt when he'd let them do that to him. So
he'd shoved it to the back of his mind and closed the door on that
part of his experience. Until now.

He looked at Tom with troubled eyes, ashamed of the way a part of him
appraised the younger man hungrily, wanting to throw him up against a
wall, tear off his clothes and fuck him so hard he'd feel it for a
week.

Spirits. Was it him, or was it hot in here all of a sudden?

With an effort, he turned his mind firmly back to the task in hand.
Concentrate dammit, you have a job to do! Like the threads themselves,
the ship hadn't shown up on their scanners at first, just appeared
before them, like a vision, in the dark quiet hours of the night, as
they tried to navigate around the anomaly. She was beautiful, a
strange amalgam of ghost and galleon, with solar sails like
outstretched wings, broken and torn. Suspended in space, with
glittering threads wound around her and through her sails, she looked
like a pinned butterfly, or a tiny bird caught in a spider's web.
Strange energy readings emanated from her, very faint, almost that of
a life form, but they were diffused throughout the ship. They hadn't
been able to locate it.

When there was no reply to their hails, they had scanned the ship, and
determining that the atmosphere was breathable, if stale, Janeway had
sent across an away team to investigate. That was when the trouble
began.

"It's a bit dusty," Tom remarked unnecessarily, as they transported
across.

"It would seem that some humans have a talent for stating the
obvious," Vorik commented dryly.

"Watch your mouth Ensign," Tom replied with deceptive lightness, a
hint of danger beneath. Vorik was not his favourite person at the best
of times, hanging around B'Elanna like a wet blanket, always getting
underfoot. And this was definitely not the best of times, he thought
sourly, still suffering from a sleepless night and a *very* sore ass.
Guess he'd asked for that one. "Or you'll find yourself scrubbing the
exhaust manifolds for the next two weeks," he added for good measure.

"Both of you, get your tricorders out. You're meant to be searching
for lifeforms," Chakotay reprimanded quietly. Tom threw Chakotay an
unreadable look, and silence fell as the small group began scanning
the ship slowly. Harry found himself staring first at Tom, then at
Chakotay, his mind wandering from his scans, but thankfully neither of
them seemed to notice.

Something had changed. The tension was still there between them, if
anything, more intensely than ever, but there was also a sense of
knowing in the way they looked at each other, like a shared secret.
Something had happened last night, after the confrontation in
Sandrine's, after Harry left Tom pacing his quarters, angry and
confused. And Harry had a pretty shrewd idea what that something was.

He could hardly see straight for the sudden white hot jealousy which
surged through him, leaving him stunned. Blinking, he trailed the
others, his tricorder forgotten. What the hell was that all about?
What right did he have to be jealous? He'd almost encouraged Tom's
tentative forays into B'Elanna's closed world, so why was this so
different?

Because this was more than theoretical. This was very real.

But it had to happen sooner or later, he reasoned with himself.
B'Elanna. Chakotay. What difference did it make? He still lost his
best friend. There. *That* was the reason for his jealousy. Had to be.

Or - or maybe it was anger. Yes. Anger at Chakotay for brutalising his
best friend down on that planet - those marks and bruises he'd seen
beneath Tom's shirt were proof enough of that. And looking at Tom he
was sure there would be some new ones today, hiding beneath his
turtleneck. With an effort of will he held back from glaring at
Chakotay again. How could he do that to Tom? The Commander had never
liked Tom much, but surely he knew something about Tom's prison
experiences? Wasn't it enough, what he'd done to him on Torvellia,
that he had to punish him back on board Voyager, too? Didn't he care
what this could be doing to Tom? Didn't *Tom*?

He tried again to focus on his tricorder, to concentrate on the
readings, but he was so damned tired. He and B'Elanna had been up half
the night trying to verify Jenny's theory, but to no avail. All they'd
been able to show was that the neucleus of the anomaly comprised an
energy centre with no apparent mass. They'd seen nothing like it
before.

Without volition his gaze returned to Tom. Lack of sleep must be
interfering with my judgment, he concluded at last. He wouldn't let
himself contemplate any other reason for his jealousy.

Tom was drawn towards the front of the ship. The helm controls had to
be around here somewhere, he thought, frowning. There was almost no
equipment of any description, just stark panelled walls, serene and
bare, and a few chairs. Then his eyes lighted on a small console
positioned in front of a panel, which hung from the wall like a huge
picture, or a mirror, only opaque. There was a suspicious pile of dust
on the floor in front of the console, which the tricorder confirmed as
humanoid remains.

"Maybe it's a computer," Harry offered, following Tom into the bare
room and noticing the his interest in the console. "If we can get the
thing working, we might find out what happened to the crew."

Tom pointed with his tricorder at the pile of dust in front of him. "I
think that's one of them. But a ship this size is designed to carry a
crew of at least ten. Look." He pointed to the various seats around
the bridge, which reminded both men of a smaller version of Voyager in
its layout. "It's a Marie Celeste," he continued.

"A what?" Chakotay asked, as he walked into the room, closely followed
by Vorik.

"Marie Celeste. A sea-going ship that went missing near the so-called
Bermuda triangle. Turned up whole, but with her crew missing. No-one
ever knew what happened to them."

"It's creepy," Harry offered.

"Yeah." Tom ran elegant hands gently across the console, trying to
find some kind of button or power device, but the surface was blank.
Smooth. Chakotay watched him, watched those hands caress the console
like a piano - or a lover - and tried very hard not to think about how
much he wanted those hands on his body. Think professional, Commander,
he warned himself. You're on duty now. But it left him with a strange
sense of double vision - the image of Tom as lover and subordinate
officer.

Suddenly the whole console flashed with light and Tom jumped back with
a startled cry, a jagged line of white lightning arcing the distance
between them. He slumped to the ground, and Chakotay was crouched
beside him in an instant.

"You okay?"

"Fine. Fine." He pushed Chakotay away, but something passed between
the two men as their eyes met, shutting out the world, something which
was not lost on Harry.

"Commander. I think you should look at this. It is most intriguing."
The Vulcan's supercilious tones broke into the thoughts of all three
and they turned to look.

A pulsing light now filled the cabin and they heard a strange buzzing
in their ears, which finally became comprehensible.

"Please state course and heading."

"Sorry girl," Tom responded quietly, "But you're not going anywhere
right now." He reached out without thinking and touched the console
again regretfully, but this time it remained quiescent.

"Commander," Harry broke in, looking at his tricorder. "That lifesign.
It's now concentrated in here. With us." He looked up. "I think it's
the ship. The *whole* ship. It has artificial constructs which
confused our sensors, but this ship is a living organism. We're inside
a living being." He sounded disturbed, more than a little afraid.

"So this is part of the creature?" the Commander asked, looking
thoughtfully at the white light pulsing above their heads. The image
of wandering through a creature's innards was innately disturbing, he
agreed, but at least it didn't appear to be hostile. Yet.

Before Harry could reply, the light coalesced into a shape, a form
almost recognisably human. "I am one," it said quietly. "I am
everything you see."

"What happened to your crew - I assume you had a crew?" Chakotay asked
almost reverently.

"I did. Once. Many millenia ago. Are you a pilot?"

"Only sometimes," he responded awkwardly. "Tom here is our pilot."

"Are you here to pilot me?"

The ghostly shape turned to Tom, pulsing and contracting with
something that looked remarkably like hope.

"I wish I could, girl, but you're trapped. We're not sure how to free
you."

"I can free myself, with the aid of a pilot. My old partner died many
moons ago; he refused to leave his friends."

The cryptic statement left them uneasy.

"Can you not control your own movement?" Vorik asked, with the
curiosity of a research scientist.

"Not in the way you mean. Once, I could, but the pilots took away that
ability when I was very young, when they took me from my mother and
carried out the modifications and additions you see. As you guessed,
this ship is mostly a construct around my true form. A graft."

"Commander Chakotay," Janeway's voice broke into the stunned silence.
"We're reading a surge in neutrino levels from inside that ship.
Prepare for emergency beam-out."

"Neutrino levels? But that's not possible," Harry declared. "That
would indicate wormhole activity, and our scans showed no evidence of
wormhole activity in this region."

The Commander threw him a quelling glance and acknowledged Janeway's
words with a quick, "Aye Captain. Ready on your mark." He turned to
Harry, his velvet voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm. "Let's not take
any chances, shall we?"

He and Harry glared at each other for an instant, almost forgetting
where they were, then quickly looked away. If anyone noticed their
veiled hostility, no-one commented. Not even Tom. Perhaps most
especially not Tom. They waited silently for emergency beam-out,
nervously aware of the white presence above them, but for a long
moment, nothing happened. Then at last, a familiar light surrounded
Chakotay, Harry and Ensign Vorik, and the three of them vanished.

Tom looked around him, startled, and tapped his communicator. "Ah,
Captain, I don't know what's wrong with the transporter, but I didn't
beam across with the others."

"With the others? Tom, we're still reconfiguring the transporters to
work through the phase instability caused by the neutrino emissions.
What happened over there?"

"I don't know." The faintest edge of panic touched his voice. "They
just vanished, Captain. I thought *you* had them."

"Hang on, Tom, we're getting you out of there."

"Dammit," he shouted. "What about Chakotay? And Harry?" he looked
wildly around him, at the grey walls and shadows, fixing at last on
the white shape hovering in the background. "Is this your doing? Are
you responsible for this?"

"It was possible for me to protect only one of you," the ship intoned.
"Naturally, that person was the pilot."

"Where are they? Are they okay? What have you done with them? Can you
take me to them?" Tom's questions were rapid-fire.

"That would not be advisable."

"I don't care! *Can* you?"

"With your assistance, then yes. I can."

"Then *do* it!" He ignored Janeway's shouts of warning over the
communicator, grabbed his comm badge and tore it off. They weren't
going to beam him back yet. Not until he had Chakotay. And Harry.

"Dammit, Chakotay, don't you dare do this to me," he muttered
furiously. "Or I swear I'll kill you."

The console before him sprung to life as the ship fed power to it from
who knew where. Under the ship's guidance, not allowing himself to
stop and think, he punched in command after command. Strange noises
began to echo through the ship as it came alive again, for the first
time in a millenia. They build 'em tough where this baby comes from,
he thought for a moment, admiringly, then he remembered uneasily it
was not a ship, but a living creature and he turned back to his task.

The wall panel in front of him flickered, then it too came alive,
showing him the gossamer threads surrounding the ship, and in the
distance, Voyager. One glance of longing was all he allowed himself.
Shit. Three more people were *not* going to die, not if he had
anything to do with it. Not Harry. Not Chakotay. Not even Vorik.

He punched in the last command and sat back on his heels, staring up
at the strange form hovering over him, like some kind of angel. "Is
that it?" he asked.

"You will not leave them either," the ship observed mournfully. "Will
you?"

"No," Tom confirmed shortly. "I won't."

There was a long pause, then at last the figure spoke again, with the
hint of a sigh. "Very well then."

Suddenly the console went dead under Tom's fingers and the threads on
the screen in front of him vanished, to be replaced by an empty void.
Nothing. "Hey! What happened? Where the hell are we?" he asked,
confused.

"Wait. Watch."

As he watched, the view on the screen changed from blank to blue, as
the sun reflected on the clear blue surface of a lake. Not just any
lake. This was Lake Como, in Italy, he thought in stunned realisation.
Or a mirage of it. He recalled asking B'Elanna to go sailing with him
here only last week - though to him it felt like half a lifetime ago.

For a moment the image held, then shattered like broken glass and
reformed, showing a different picture. He recognised this one, too. It
was home. White house in classical lines, surrounded by trees and
grass. The sun was shining down, and the scene was picture perfect,
not a leaf out of place. Suitable residence for an up-and-coming
Admiral and his young family, he thought bitterly. He stared at it
with a sense of dread and no little regret, memories flooding him.
Then the picture shifted subtlely; the same house, but this time the
sun was gone, and the wind blew a carpet of dead leaves into swirling
eddies. Even the house looked unkept. Deserted. He knew what that
meant. It was afterwards. After she left them.

He had a nasty suspicion he wasn't going to like this place.

"Well Tom," he said to himself, in a feeble attempt at humour. "I
guess we're not in Kansas anymore..."

---

To be continued....